Strawberry Red

Chapter One
Curiosity

“Thanks for the relocate. I perform better without an audience.”

The clueless vampire froze, only now becoming aware that the girl he had been chasing was perhaps a bit more than just a girl. He frowned at the blonde girl’s confident words and tone of cold amusement.

And a moment later, the infamous Slayer was laying into the poor sod.

“You were thinking, what, a little helpless coed before bed? You know very well, you eat this late...” she quipped as she plunged the stake through the hapless vampire’s chest, “…you're gonna get heartburn. Get it? Heartburn?” she asked doubtfully, just before the vampire’s body crumbled into dust.

*Now that’s just bloody cruel. Can’t she just send the stupid git off to hell in peace? No, she’s got to do the swaggering and taunting thing…infuriating bint…*

“That's it? That's all I get? One lame-ass vamp with no appreciation for my painstakingly thought-out puns? I don't think the forces of darkness are even trying. I mean, you could make a little effort here, you know? Give me something to work with…” the Slayer groused as she sauntered slowly out of Spike’s line of vision.

He glared down at her from the bluff where he watched her, murderous intent in his crystal blue eyes.

She had cost him more than he could ever regain.

If not for the tiny blonde, strutting off in all her perky glory, his former master status over this town, Drusilla, and the Gem of Amara would all still be his. But no, she had to thwart his plans at every turn, even going so far as to add insult to injury by sending the gem off into the hands of the bleedin’ pouf in L.A!

He *had* enjoyed the chance to inflict a little well-deserved torture on his git of a sire, though. That much had been fun. Almost worth it.

Almost. But not quite.

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” Spike smirked maliciously. “You should know better than to tempt the fates that way. 'Cause the Big Bad is back, and this time, it's...”

His threatening words cut off with a startled cry of pain, as a searing jolt of electricity coursed through his body, and he collapsed backward onto the ground. He had not even begun to recover from the blast when a clinging, restraining net fell upon him. It wrapped around his body, and his captor began dragging him away across the ground.

The moment he recovered enough strength to struggle, a second blast of electric current shook him, taking away his consciousness.

**********************************************

Spike awakened suddenly, his nerves already alert and shooting warning signals to his brain, even before he remembered what had happened – as though, while it took his mind a few moments to recall it, his body hadn’t forgotten. He struggled blindly against bonds that he could not see, which held his wrists and ankles fastened down to some sort of table beneath him.

He could not see, he soon realized, because he was bound face down, his head held firmly in place by a complex set of interwoven straps, tight enough to keep him from moving his head at all.

And that fact alone would have been enough to send him into a panic – if he hadn’t already been nearly there.

The harsh, antiseptic smell that filled the room nearly overwhelmed the scent of the humans surrounding him, but Spike could still make out that there were seven people in the room, three of them female, and several of them quite nervous. He felt a meager sense of gratification when he sensed the fear of the young woman standing closest to him, and heard her stumble backward in fearful haste when he tried to move.

“It’s awake, Commander Walsh! It’s awake!” she hissed in a loud, ridiculous whisper, as if he could not have heard her even without his enhanced hearing.

“I’m not a bloody ‘it’, you stupid bint! Where am I? What is this? If you don’t…”

Once again, his words were cut off, though this time it was by the use of two additional straps in the contraption fastened on his head, pulled tight across his open mouth, and then one up and the other down, stretching his mouth wide open, and preventing any further speech – as well as taking away his ability to bite.

Spike struggled wildly to pull free, letting out a choked cry of indignant protest, as his mouth was quickly stuffed with white medical gauze. The straps were removed, only to be replaced by another that went around from the crown of his head, under his chin, and was pulled tight to keep him from dropping his jaw and spitting the fabric out.

He tried to fight, to voice his protest, but either was impossible.

“Should we – should we at least administer a local anesthetic?” an uncertain male voice spoke to Spike’s left. “I mean – if it’s awake…”

“There’s no need to waste time or anesthetic on this thing,” a harsh, commanding female voice replied. “We’re already prepped for the insertion of the behavioral modification chip – and it doesn’t matter. It’s not human – and I highly doubt, if your situations were reversed, that it would worry about *your* pain, soldier.”

Spike had to confess, even in spite of his panic and confusion, she was right.

If he had the chance, he’d tear them all to pieces.

Through his haze of fear and disorientation, it took Spike a few moments to register the darker implications of her words. When he did, he resumed his resistance with renewed vigor, desperate to break free before they could begin whatever procedure the young soldier – clearly more compassionate than his commander – had thought would require the use of anesthetic.

“Just check the restraints. Make sure it’s secured, and then we’ll begin the procedure,” the woman – Walsh – coolly advised the people under her command.

Even the slight struggles Spike was able to manage quickly became impossible as the restraints at his wrists and ankles were cruelly tightened. Walsh herself moved in closer to his face, yanking the straps until he could not budge his head at all. As her hands slipped away from their work at the straps, she touched the back of his neck with unsettling familiarity, and Spike jumped reflexively, in a futile attempt to avoid her touch.

He heard the sadistic amusement in her voice as she spoke softly, close to his face. “Relax. It’ll only take an hour or so. With any luck, you’ll pass out within minutes.”

Spike snarled at her as best he could with the uncomfortable gag in his mouth, unconsciously shifting to his game face. He knew it was a useless display of bravado, but could not help the instinctive response to the threat now facing him.

“Don’t – don’t *talk* to him,” said the girl who had spoken before, in a slightly aghast, pleading tone. “It’s just – it – just don’t…”

“Does that look like a person to you?” Walsh retorted in a calm, dismissive voice. “That’s a monster, young lady. Not a human being. If we gave it half a chance, it would drain you dry, probably rape and torture you for good measure. And in a few minutes, he won’t ever be able to do those things to anyone again. Our behavioral modification chip will make sure of that.”

That definitely did *not* sound good.

Spike’s taut muscles strained uselessly against his bonds, and he was painfully aware of his own vulnerable, exposed state, at the mercy of these humans who saw him as nothing more than a particularly vicious animal to be controlled.

Satisfied that her employees were convinced of the necessity of their actions, Walsh ordered with quiet authority, “Let’s begin. Go ahead and make the initial incision.”

When the scalpel sliced through the flesh on the back of Spike’s head, he could not hold back a stifled scream of agony, muffled almost completely by the thick cloth in his mouth.

When the tiny electric bone saw began to cut open his skull, he lost consciousness once more.

***********************************

Professor Maggie Walsh watched her psychology students file out of the room, her mind already drifting toward her other work – her more important work. The operation the night before on the newly captured vampire, Hostile 17, had been a complete success.

The vampire had awakened twice more during the procedure, wreaking havoc upon the still weak sensibilities of the young members of her staff, but the vampire’s bonds had held. The procedure had been successfully completed, despite the shaky, fumbling hands of her inexperienced new technicians.

When the vampire had awakened in its holding cell after the surgery, Walsh had felt the need to test the results of the procedure. After all, it was likely that, in their nervousness, one of her staff might have made a mistake. She had been waiting in the cell when Hostile 17 regained consciousness, knowing that the creature’s first impulse would be to attack her.

Naturally, it had tried.

And, of course, the attempt had been a failure.

*Or a success,* she amended to herself with a secretive smile. *Depending on your perspective.*

She waited until most of the students had left before beginning to gather her own things together. She took her time, watching with a knowing gaze as the little redhead near the back of the classroom headed toward her. She had seen the light of interest in the girl’s eyes as she discussed major psychological disorders resulting from traumas, and had known that today would be one of the frequent days when the girl would come to talk to her after class.

“Professor Walsh,” she began, with an expression that was both eager and self-conscious. “I had a couple of questions about the lecture. Do you have a couple of minutes to talk?”

“For you, Miss Rosenberg?” Walsh smiled at her. “My prize student? Of course.” She hesitated a moment, before deciding that now was the opportunity she had been waiting for. “In fact, Willow – may I call you Willow?”

The girl’s face lit up, and she nodded. “Of course,” she replied, sounding flattered.

“Willow,” Walsh nodded her approval. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you. I actually have a few questions for *you*. Do you – have a few minutes to speak with me in my office?”

************************************

Once the door to her office was firmly closed, Professor Walsh moved slowly, casually, back across the room to sit down in the chair behind her desk. Willow, already seated in the chair facing hers, felt unaccountably nervous, wondering not for the first time what Walsh wanted to talk to her about – and why it was private enough that she had to close the door first.

“Well,” Professor Walsh began, with a friendly, disarming smile. “It seems that we have some common interests, don’t we?”

Willow returned her smile tentatively, nodding in agreement. “I’ve always been fascinated by psychology, Professor Walsh. And your class is…”

“Not psychology, Willow. Your -- *other* interests.”

Willow’s eyes widened suddenly, and she wondered how much Walsh could possibly know – if anything – about the first of her extracurricular interests that came to mind. Walsh’s secretive expression told Willow that it was probably more than she was comfortable with her professor knowing.

Still, all things considered, she thought it safer to continue to play dumb.

“What other interests?” she asked innocently. “I – I’m kind of a bookworm. Or – or a computer worm, maybe…though a computer worm is…not exactly a good thing, is it? Ooooh! Is that what you mean? My work with computers? Because I didn’t know you were into computers…”

“I’m not,” Walsh cut her off mildly. “No, Willow, I’m talking about interests of a less modern nature. *Much* less modern.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about whatsoever…and…I’m not the least bit convincing, am I?” Willow sighed.

Professor Walsh just shook her head with a patient smile.

“Darn.”

“Willow, the very fact that we’re discussing this at all means that you have no reason to worry about your secret,” Walsh assured her.

“Oh, good,” Willow breathed out a deep sigh of relief. Then, she frowned uncertainly. “And – explain to me why that is...please?”

Walsh laughed quietly, before obliging. “I’m not likely to go public with your secret – interests – since I happen to share them. And I’m not likely to cause you any harm, since I believe you’ll find we’re on the same side in this conflict.”

Willows’ words were slow and cautious when she asked, “And what conflict would that be?”

“The ultimate conflict, Willow,” Walsh replied. “Between good and evil. Humanity – and the hostile entities that surround us, of which most of the world is not even aware.”

“Oh. That conflict.” Willow’s tone was flat, resigned, as she stared down at Walsh’s desk, before raising uncertain eyes to meet hers. “So, what exactly – did you want to talk to me about?”

Walsh’s smile softened with respect, and what almost could have passed for affection, if Willow had thought the woman was capable of it. “I admire your caution, Willow. I respect that. And it only makes me more certain of my decision.”

“What decision would that be?”

Walsh was quiet for a moment. Then, she replied, “I have an important proposition for you. Something very vital to this battle between good and evil – that you could be a part of.” She paused, before adding, “There’s something I want to show you. Will you come with me?”