An Undisclosed Location, Nov ‘01

Sweat slicked Colonel Simmons’ neck as he made his way down the steps that led to their captive’s underground cell. He paused at the door at the bottom, nervously licking his lips as he input the four digit code that unlocked the door. Once the key was input, the door slid soundlessly open and he stepped inside. After nodding to the marine sat behind the desk by the door, he stepped up to the soundproofed cell and turned the intercom on.

The man inside was thin and of medium-height yet an aura of savage power surrounded him. "Why hello, Colonel," his perfectly polite guest greeted, not bothering to rise from his seat, slicked back black hair gleaming in his cell’s fluorescent light. A cold smile stretched the man’s mouth, utterly failing to reach his maroon eyes. The wiry man sniffed. "Have you been exercising this morning?"

"Exercising?" Simmons queried without thinking.

Simmons realised his mistake the moment his captive’s smile began to widen. "Oh you must have been exercising," purred the man. "You couldn’t be frightened of me, not I. Not trapped behind this bullet-proof glass." The man knocked on the glass for emphasis. "What is there to be scared of?"

Simmons looked around the cell, reassuring the monster in human form was held. A highly trained and heavily armed marine was outside the door, another just inside the door. The basement only had the one cell and one occupant, its glass bullet-proof, and his cell easily floodable with nerve gas.

And yet he couldn’t help feel nervous, especially when confronted with his victim’s ghastly grinning visage.

Of all the operations NID had undertaken, this was the blackest.

Their prisoner was as far from the run of the mill criminal as one could get. A man of rare genius and an enjoyer of high culture, he’d been toasted in the highest society circles, none of his many friends and associates dreaming just what sort of man he truly was. And then the news of his crimes had broken, and those same friends had pulled away in revulsion, terrified by the cannibalistic serial killer’s exploits, crimes of almost unequalled brutality.

He’d been incarcerated in a mental institution for life, the diagnosis of sociopath unquestioned. Yet, as reviled as he was for his deeds, his genius as a psychiatrist was also unquestioned. As such, he had to be the man for their job, and so they’d liberated him from his previous cell in exchange for their own.

Simmons reluctantly returned his eyes to the man sat before him. "I understand you’ve had a breakthrough with our patient?"

"Our patient," Lecter chuckled. "What a cold, impersonal manner to refer to a man, no a patriot such as James Buchanan." The esteemed doctor paused. "You realise of course James Buchanan is the name of a former president?"

Simmons gritted his teeth. Much as he was inclined to push the doctor, he knew Lecter did not react well to pushing and there was little he feared. "I know, the fifteenth," he replied.

"Yes," Lecter’s brow furrowed. "A strange choice."

"How so?" Simmons decided to play along. The quicker Lecter got said what he wanted to say, the quicker they could move onto real business.

"To name one’s child after someone who achieved such high office, the highest our country has to offer, but then to choose one of the most miserable failures in that position," Lecter shook his head. "There were far less choices then there is now, seventy years on, but even so. It is almost as if his parents were undecided as to whether his birth was a blessing or a burden. Perhaps that’s what spurred him on to such heroics."

"Fascinating," Simmons lied. To him it was anything but.

Lectar chuckled, not fooled by his response. "Actually it is, the very key to breaking his programming." Lecter’s chuckles intensified at his impatient. "Ah now, I have your interest."

"You’ve broken his programming?"

Lecter looked around his cell as if suddenly bored by the conversation. Which given the madman’s assorted mental illnesses and phenomenally high IQ probably wasn’t too far from the truth, but Simmons sensed this was nothing more than bargaining tactics. "After a hard day’s work I always liked to relax by spending a couple of hours listening to the classics, Mozart, Bach, Beethoven," Lecter mused his eyes returning to him. "I don’t suppose you could organise some CDs for me?"

In the hands of this man a CD could easily be made into a weapon. "I’m afraid not," Simmons hid his impatience behind a genial smile. "You know the rules, nothing inside your cell that could be used as a weapon. However I could organise some piped music. Once we’ve finished you could speak to the guard and we’ll see what we have in our library."

After a second Lecter nodded. "Very well." The doctor paused. "It was quite simple to do really. All I needed to do was make James Buchanan remember his past, remember the boy he was. Then I held up a mirror," the doctor laughed as he opened his mouth, "a figurative mirror, Colonel. One that displayed his darker actions, the ones done under Russian control. That broke him, allowed the heroic child out."

Simmons’ heart quickened. "And how do you intend to program him to work for us?"

"Ah," Lecter smiled. "I had found the key to the boy’s psyche. All I have to do is turn it." Simmons stared blankly at his prisoner. Lecter giggled. "I intend to use the memory of the idealistic boy he was, the patriot. I intend to use that to ensure his obedience to your organisation."

Simmons smiled. "You’ve done well Dr. Lecter, I’ll send the guard to get your order on my way out."

"Ah heck!"

Faith climbed out of the steamy shower, wrapping a towel around her before striding out of the bathroom to stare at her scowling boyfriend pacing the hotel floor. "What’s the sitch, studly?"

Xander glanced towards her. "You’re dripping water on the floor."

"I’m stood here, soaking wet, with nothing but a towel around me and all ya notice is the water dripping on the floor?" Faith pouted, lower lip jutting out. Damn, she was losing her touch. "Anyhow," she re-grouped. "What’s the sitch?"

Xander slumped down on their bed. "Have you ever heard of Iram?"

Faith snorted. "Do you seriously expect a yes answer?"

"Fair point," Xander half-smiled. "According to the Eternal Archive," Xander held up the leather bound tome, "it was a city fifty thousand years on the Arabian Peninsula, a real den of iniquity."

"Oh, I love those sort of places!" Faith smirked.

"You wouldn’t have liked this one," Xander returned her smirk with a grin. "It was a real foul place, somewhere where money bought anything-."

"Damn, now it sounds like Hollywood," Faith wisecracked.

"Here demons walked freely through the states, took what they wanted, as long as they had the money to pay for it. It became a base for the foulest demons, the most debauched criminals, and the most powerful mages. Its rulers carelessly allowed anyone in, not caring about their morals or powers, just as long as they agreed to defend its walls from its rivals. There were several attempts to overthrow Iram by neighbours either jealous of its riches or fearing that the debauchery and decadence went on there would spread to their cities. None of these attempts succeeded."

"So how did it fall then?" Faith asked, caught up in the story despite herself.

"No-one knows for sure," Xander replied. "At least not according to the research I’ve been able to find. There’s theories, like the mages inside its walls went to war with one another and in the process destroyed the place, or the demons massacred the people, or a magical experiment went wrong, destroying the city, or that it finally fell to one of its neighbours."

"Right." Faith’s brow furrowed. "But why’s this Iram a problem now?"

"Because according to Angela’s daily report, a satellite has picked up a city in the Rub al Khali desert where there wasn’t one," Xander explained. Faith stared blankly at her boy-friend. "It’s probably Iram, and there’ll be a lot of magical artefacts there that we can’t risk falling into the hands of W&H for example."

"Shit that’s a problem." Faith tugged on her towel, allowing it to fall, pooling at her feet. "Let me take your mind off it for a moment." Her hips swung as she slinked over to Xander and straddled his lap, legs wrapped around him. "Oh, look I’m gettin’ your clothes all wet," she shot her boyfriend a coy look as she wrapped her arms around his neck, "ya best take ‘em off."

* * *

Cairo W&H

Nadim Rafi smiled as his subordinate entered his office. "Glorious news, Daim Laith, glorious news!" His subordinate looked inquiringly first at him and then the empty seat at the other side of his polished desk. "Please, Captain, sit."

"Thank you sir."

Nadim smiled at the man sat opposite him. As Director of Special Projects, W&H Cairo Division, he met a lot of dangerous people in his job, but none were quite the match of his guest.

His guest was a lithe man, dusky skinned with a hooked nose between a pair of burning brown eyes, although his hair was greying at the edges, his vitality and power was beyond question, nor did his neatly pressed suit do much to conceal his true status as a warrior born. Laith was a former major in the Takavar, an elite unit of the Iranian military, as such he’d earned a reputation for both bravery and cold-blooded ruthlessness with an uniform filled with medals to prove it. As such, he was the perfect man to run W&H’s middle east enforcement unit

"Yes," Nadim nodded. "I assume you are aware of the myth of Iram?"

His guest flashed him a dangerous half-smile. "I remember the tales as bed-time stories. When I first came here I checked all the files."

A thorough man, brains, courage, and merciless, a most dangerous package. "Excellent," Nadim approved. "What you won’t be aware of is a satellite found Iram’s whereabouts last night." Daim raised a bushy eyebrow. "The spell books, the artefacts, our firm wants it all. And I think you’re the man to secure the city for us."

Daim nodded. "I expect I’ll be getting a thorough briefing," from his tone Daim demanded no less. "My men won’t be able to leave until the day after tomorrow, they’re currently dealing with a problem in Tripoli. But one thing I need to know, what opposition will we be facing?"

"Ah," Nadim nodded. "We believe that the Vatican and the Illuminati will be sending groups."

Daim bit his bottom lip. "What of the US. Government? Surely they’ll be sending an operative?"

"Ha!" Nadim chuckled. "We doubt it, we don’t believe that the Americans even realise the significance of what their satellite uncovered."

"What of the Mithras Quartet?" Was Daim’s next query.

Nadim sucked in his lip. "We’re uncertain," he finally admitted.

"Make certain," Daim ordered. "The Slayer is a distinctive beauty, have men placed at every airport into Oman watching for her and her companions. Stop them even becoming an issue."

* * *

Colonel Simmons looked around the darkened boardroom’s occupants, its grey walls and minimal furnishings only adding to its bleakness. Each of the people in it were high-ranking operatives in government agencies – CIA, DIA, DOD, NSA, Secret Service, FBI, Customs, and Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, & Explosives. They were drawn together by a single purpose and goal, to protect the United States no matter the cost or method. Between them they had access to every bit of sensitive intelligence and could therefore warn NID of any threat to them or alternatively fill them in to anything that could be of interest. Such information had saved them from interfering congressmen and intelligence do-gooders without the spine to do what was required on a number of occasions.

It was rare for them to meet like this. Rare and dangerous, the risk of exposure was slim, but it was there. But this was the sort of thing the entire ‘board’ had to be in on. "This information NSA has given me," he nodded to the agency’s representative. "Of the hidden city in the Arabian Peninsula. Our researchers have been hard at work and we believe it is the believed mythical city of Iram."

"Is this city important?" FBI asked.

"Legend has it," this came from CIA, a former Middle East Station Head and so expert in the culture, "that Iram was a city of great magic." CIA looked at him. "There could be weapons there, the sort of thing we don’t want falling into an unfriendly Arabic state’s hands."

"And conversely could be very useful to America," DOD added.

"So we’re agreed?" he pressed. "This lead needs to be followed up on?"

"Who do you intend to send?" FBI asked.

Simmons hesitated. "James Buchanan."

A shocked murmur ran through the room. "Is he ready?" FBI asked, a sceptical note in his tone.

"The only way to find out is by using him," he evaded.

"That’s not an answer," commented NSA. "If this is as big as you think it is-."

"He’s the best agent we have, none of our teams could match him, never mind any of our men on an one-to-one basis." Simmons paused. "And he’s perfect, a brain-washed drone who has no idea who he works for. He can get the best objects, hide them and get out. We can send another team to pick them up later. Even if he does go rogue, he can’t be traced back to us."

CIA growled. "Of all the things we’ve done, this sits the least well. The boy was a hero."

"And we’re giving him a chance to be a hero again," Simmons argued.

Finally CIA joined the others in nodding. "Send him in."

Xander licked his lips as he finished his briefing, the beautifully furnished private place with its suede sofas, five star cuisine, and model-like stewardesses making it difficult to concentrate. But he persevered, ‘cause he was good like that. "That’s about it," Xander finished. "Any questions?"

"A couple," it was predictably Kennedy who spoke up. She’d never be mistaken for a shrinking violet. Xander stared inquiringly at the brunette potential. "Why has this city reappeared after fifty thousand years?"

As questions went it was a good one. Xander shrugged. "I don’t know," he candidly admitted. "My best guess is that it’s a spell, either one that caused the city’s destruction or banishment has waned, or the one used on the city to make it disappear has somehow warped into a spell making it reappear."

"Is that feasible, Tar?" Faith queried.

The witch started at the question. "Over time spells can lose their potency, so sure." The New Mexican looked at the potential. "What was your other question, sweetie?"

"Okay, how are we supposed to get all the magical stuff out of Iram?" queried the potential. "I know you’ve got The Always Pocket, but there might be objects too dangerous to touch, or we might miss something."

"Yeah, I thought of that." Xander hid a grimace as he shot a furtive look at Tara. She wasn’t going to like this at all. "I’ve still got that Wrathful Energy we took off Fathi Burhan. I figure that’ll blow the city back to hell."

"No!" Tara hissed. "It’s black magic you can’t!"

"Better than letting some megalomaniac with ideas of world domination get his hands on Iram’s goodies," Xander defended.

"Using the black arts never ends well," Tara scolded.

"It’s not an ideal solution," Xander admitted. "Unfortunately the alternatives are worse."

"Whoa," Faith broke in, eyes hard. "Ya said that things blows up everything for miles. No-way am I lettin’ ya doin’ somethin’ as dumb as that!"

"I’ve no intention of committing suicide," Xander chuckled. "No, ever since I got my hands on it I’ve been working on a device to open the Wrathful Energy remotely."

Faith shot him a distrustful look before slowly nodding. "Five by five, any idea who we might be facing off against for this city?"

"No idea," Xander admitted. "Wolfram & Hart," he grinned at Faith’s groan, "have an Egyptian office, the Oman government might be interested if they know, the Vatican, others."

"You’re a real fountain of misinformation," Faith groused. "What about what’ll be in the city itself?"

Xander shrugged. "The history books are sorta of vague on that."

"Jesus!" Faith threw her hands up, a frustrated expression on the sultry beauty’s face. "But I assume you’ve got a plan?"

"Yeah, be very careful." Xander nodded. "We should be landing in about," he glanced at his watch, "thirty minutes. Because Iram is four hundred miles in-land and in desert, I’ve ordered us a hummer-."

"Wicked!" Faith exulted. His girl-friend smirked as her companions turned to her. "What? Don’t tell me ya all don’t think the car is cool as fuck?"

"Unfortunately it won’t be here until tomorrow," Xander continued with a shake of his head. "So we’ll head to Muscat’s biggest and best hotel, have a sleep and head out in the morning. I’ve gotten GPS so we’ll head straight there." Xander smiled. "Faith, don’t forget no tight or revealing clothes until we leave town." His smile widened at his girl-friend’s glower.

"What about all these possible rivals?" Kennedy queried. "They could have already started for the city?"

Xander scowled. "That’s a worry but we have to have that hummer, besides, Angela’s email came in before the report would have even been passed around the departments, we have something of a lead."

* * *

Muscat International Airport

"Shit," Faith groaned as she stepped off the plane, the city’s searing heat threatening to drive her to her knees. "That’s what I hate about Muslim countries." Xander looked at her. "Nope, none of that xenophobia or sex politics bullshit. What I hate is, all this freakin’ heat, all these sandy beaches, and I can’t wear this tinsy wheeny sequined bikini I picked up last week!"

"Yeah," her boyfriend nodded mournfully, "when you put it like that I hate it too."

"Me three," Kennedy added. Both her and Xander looked towards the potential. Kennedy shrugged. "Hey I’m a perv."

"Have you ordered us a car?" a blushing Tara asked.

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "And two suites at The Grand Hyatt Muscat." Faith’s mouth opened. "Yes dear," Xander sighed, "it’s the best hotel in the city. Jeez, materialistic much?"

"I did you warn you," Kennedy put in. "She’s only after your money."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"Hey!"

* * *

"That is the one, the Slayer."

"I know, follow them. When we have a location, we shall report."

* * *

Xander enjoyed the sights as he drove through the city. It had a strange appearance, a collection of generally low white buildings with hardly a landscaper to be seen and architecture frequently homaging historic regional styles. For a city at the edge of the Arabian peninsula and in Oman's sometimes fierce climate, Muscat was remarkably green, with many of its main streets lined with leafy trees, in addition to several sizeable public parks, and grass, shrubs, and flowers decorating many traffic circles and other public areas. But what gave Muscat its unqiue flavour was its people. Omanis in their cashmere turbans, the Sudanese blanketed in cotton, Krelan women in multi-coloured saris and the occasional european who’d gone native, fallen in love with the city’s laid-back life, low crime, and pristine streets.

"Thanks honey," he glanced at his companion sat beside him, the other two in the back. "I know I rag on ya sometimes, but without ya, I’d have never got to leave the US., go anywhere." Faith smiled wanly. "So the London trip wasn’t a highlight, but other than that…."

"You’re welcome," Xander smiled as he tousled his girl’s raven locks. He looked up as he pulled into their parking lot. "We’re here. Does it meet with madam’s approval?"

"Holy shit," Faith breathed.

"That’d be a yes then."

The multi-storey building was built in a U, backing onto a beach. The front was a thing of legend, four floors of exquisite Arabian architecture, its stone a sunny yellow, while on an innocuous neon sign flashed on its flat roof.

The only way across the running stream at the hotel’s front was over a small, humped bridge flanked by two bulky hedgerows while the glass lobby entrance was flanked by a pair of railing-less steps. "Holy moley," Tara whispered as they entered.

"Yeah," Faith nodded, "’bout sums it up."

The centre of the lobby was dominated by a revolving metal statue of a mounted Arabian with a palm tree on either corner. The marble floor was filled with green velvet covered chairs while light blazed in through the lobby’s glass wall, shining in from the illuminated swimming pool at the hotel’s rear. "Why don’t you three have a seat while I go and see about our reservations," Xander suggested. "Then we’ll go to the Tuscany, it’s reputed to be Muscat’s best Italian restaurant." Xander grinned as the three women sat down. Tomorrow would be damn hard, but tonight they could relax.

* * *

Daim Laith scowled as his subordinate’s report came in. It couldn’t have been a lot worse, they wouldn’t be in Muscat for another fifteen hours, his team wouldn’t be in Cairo for another four hours, and the Mithras Quartet were already there. "The Grand Hyatt you say?" He pursed his lips. An attack on Muscat’s most prestigious hotel would be unfortunate, but he had little choice. "How many men do you have?"

"Fourteen including myself," his subordinate replied, the phone line crackling.

Daim pursed his lips. Fourteen was hardly enough to complete the job. But on the other hand, they might get lucky and injure or kill one of them, and that would derail the mission. Even if his subordinate got caught, he thought he was working for a member of Iraqi Intelligence, nothing could be tracked back to Wolfram & Hart. Finally he smiled. "Kill them tonight."

The receptionist looked up as the lobby’s doors swung soundlessly open, the night’s chill draft alerting him. His professional interest turned to terror as a group of armed men strode into his reception.

Even as his treacherously slow-to-react mouth opened in horror, colour draining from his otherwise dusky-skinned face, one of them raised a silenced pistol and pulled the trigger.

* * *

A soft phuft rang out as the bullet crashed into the receptionist’s head. The hotel worker’s head snapped back, blood spurting out from the back of his head as he fell soundlessly behind the desk. "Our agent has already supplied the infidels’ room numbers," hissed Kabir as he looked around. "The four men assigned to the lobby take your places. Allow guests in and out, you should only act if someone discovers our action of if one of the targeted infidels escapes down here." He looked around as one of his men headed behind the reception desk, pristine in his purloined hotel uniform while three others took up flanking positions in the lobby’s seats. "The rest of you know your assignments."

* * *

Faith yawned, something indefinable waking her. She looked around the shadowy bedroom wondering what had awakened her. She looked down at her naked boy-toy, grinning slightly at his snoring. "Man, warthog much?" Her head snapped to the door as a floorboard creaked and she realised what had woken her. "Xan! Trouble!"

Even as she yelled, Faith was moving, surging out of the bed as the door crashed open. The six who burst through stopped, jaws dropping and guns pausing in their rising as their eyes alighted on her uncovered goodies.

Faith took full advantage of the intruders’ astonishment, snatching a hold of the vase on the dressing table and flinging it head first into the first of the intruders. The man yelled what Faith assumed was an Arabic curse, stumbling back as the vase exploded against his head.

Faith guessed they’d be billed for that.

Snatching hold of the table itself, she flipped it onto its side and shoved it at the men, two crashing to the ground beneath it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Xander leaping up, guns magically leaping into his hands. "’Bout fuckin’ time," she muttered as she dived behind a chair as the firing started, "guy’s harder to wake than a fuckin’ zombie!"

* * *

Xander grunted and rolled over as Faith yelled something indistinct. First a long flight, then a drive in the baking heat, and finally satisfying his girl’s ‘demands’. A man only had so much energy-. He blinked at the sound of something shattering, eyes reluctantly opening. "Shit!" he cursed as he saw his naked girl-friend flinging the room’s dressing table across the room at a bunch of gun-men. "That’s expensive!"

Leaping out of bed, the sheets pooling to the ground at his feet, he swung his Desert Eagles up and started firing at the distracted men. His ears pounded to the sound of his automatics and his wrists reverberated as he took down three of the men before they had chance to respond.

Then the last of the group spun towards him, desperation glinting in their eyes as they aimed their uzis. "Shit!" Xander flopped backwards, throwing himself over the bed . He grunted as he crashed shoulder-first to the carpet, bullet after bullet smashing into his mattress, feathers flying into the air.

And then Faith threw a chair at the men, her shot smashing into the first, knocking him to the ground with a bone-breaking crack, the second’s attention diverted long enough for Xander to rise and get a shot off that smashed into the man’s face, turning it to a bloody mask as he crashed to the ground. "Wow," Xander looked around the devastated hotel room, gunsmoke and bullet-holes marking the walls as well as half the furniture and the mattress being completely wrecked, their attackers’ blood already soaking into the carpet. "We make a real mess."

"Guess we’re screwed on the depos-." Faith’s eyes shot to him, hardening. "Fuck! Sis!" With Faith to think was to act, in half a second she was almost by the door.

"Faith, wait!" The Slayer beauty’s eyes shot back to him, impatient. "We need to get some clothes on before we can go anywhere."

"Oh shit, yeah," Faith scowled as she caught the jeans he’d thrown her. "Hurry!"

* * *

Tara’s eyes fluttered open, groaning slightly as something disturbed the magical alarms she’d set on their hotel room. "Kennedy," she whispered in her girl-friend’s ear. "We need to get down, now." Before the potential could more than sleepily protest, Tara was shoving her out of the far side of the bed, head and free hand turning the other way as the door crashed open.

* * *

"Shit!" Faith dropped to one knee, Mini-Uzi swinging up as the men breaking into Sis’ room were flung back out of it. "Sis, has got some mojo!"

The men crashed to the corridor’s floor, guns swinging up as they attempted to turn to face her and Xander. Shots rang out, the air filling with arid gunsmoke as she and Xander unloaded into the unprepared gunmen, those who’d managed to regain their feet dancing like puppets who’d had their strings cut before flopping to the floor.

Sensing someone coming up behind her, Faith swung around. "Jesus!" she snapped at the portly, balding man stood there in a dressing-gown. "Way to get yaself shot! Back in your room!" Faith looked around to see a number of doors creaking open. "Everyone inside!" she barked. "Trouble’s over." Faith looked towards Xander. "We need to-."

"Get out of here, yeah I’m on it." Xander hurried over to the doorway of the two lesbians’ doorway. "Are you two-," Faith laughed as Xander reddened and turned away from the door. "Get some clothes on, we need to leave fast."

Faith stepped over the bodies, grimacing as she did so, hurriedly fastening her denim shirt’s buttons. "I suppose we’ll be taking the stairs?"

"Yep."

Faith nodded at Xander’s reply, before hurrying to the stairwell and peering down. Taking not getting her head shot off as a good sign, she looked over her shoulder to see Sis and the brat coming out of their bedroom. "Coast’s clear!" she called.

"Someone’s bound to have called the police by now," Xander worried. "I figure we’ve five minutes tops to get to the car and out of here."

"Lucky we’re only four floors up then," Faith tersely responded as she started down, feet slapping on the steps as she descended, her considerably less fitter companions huffing and puffing behind her.

They spilled out into the hotel lobby, feet tapping on the polished marble floor. "Three and a half minutes left, people," Xander worried.

"Jeez," Faith groused as she started across the lobby. "We all got dressed in less than two minutes, most guys would be grateful with that."

"Blood on the reception desk, get down!" Kennedy screamed.

"Fuck!" Faith twisted and leapt for the marbled floor, her uzi swinging up as the ‘receptionist’ brought up a sawn-off shotgun. Her finger squeezed the gun’s trigger, the sub-machine gun bucking slightly as hot lead spewed out to rip the man apart, his body shuddering as her gunfire connected with his chest and face, ripping flesh apart.

"Oh hell," Faith glanced over her shoulder to see Xander diving behind and under the statue of the Arabian horsemen, bullets from a pair of gunmen hidden behind a pair of overturned chairs ricocheting off the statue. "Screw this," Faith’s Slayer hearing heard her honey’s curse as he drew a grenade and underhand threw it at the men.

The grenade exploded in a storm of flames, flinging the two men and their makeshift furniture into the air. "Glad that’s over with," Faith muttered as she leapt up and grabbed Tara and Kennedy, pulling them both to their feet, "good call on the blood. Now move!"

* * *

Xander jumped in their rental, tyres screeching as he reversed out of their parking spot. "Just over a minute before the police get here," he muttered.

"Then stop watching the time and drive!" Faith snapped.

"Yes dear," Xander murmured. His girl-friend sure got tetchy when people shot at her. Dust was spinning off his wheels as he speeded out of the car lot, yanking the wheel to the left as their rental speeded off down the road, the sound of fast approaching sirens ringing in their ears.

"Night in the car?"

Xander grimaced as he nodded at Kennedy’s query. "Yeah," he turned left into an underground garage a dozen or so streets away from the hotel. "I’ll keep first watch," he said as he pulled up into the darkened lot.

"Nah," Faith shook her head. "I’ll take it." Xander’s mouth opened. "Face it hon, you’ll be doin’ the driving tomorrow. Me, I don’t need as much sleep as any of ya."

Xander nodded reluctantly. "When did you get all logical?"

Faith snorted. "I always was lover, ya were just too busy staring at my assets to notice. Now, sleep."

Xander groaned as he awoke, eyes reluctantly opening. Those self-same eyes widened when they fell upon his watch. "Faith!" he looked towards his girl-friend. "I’ve been asleep for six hours, you could have wakened me!"

"Could have." His girl-friend shrugged unrepentantly. "But I didn’t, ya needed the sleep, I didn’t. I’ll snooze in the back on the humvee. ‘Sides," Faith winked teasingly, "who’s the cutest little boy when he’s sleepin’?"

Xander coughed, cheeks reddening as he fled the argument. "Okay," he looked over his shoulder to the two wakening girls. "We should head off to my contact."

"Screw that!" Xander looked towards Faith. "Hey, I don’t need sleep, but I do need food!"

"Fine," Xander pulled out some family sized bags of Doritos and started passing them around while also pushing the keys into the ignition.

"Junk food?" Faith groaned. "Last night we were eating at the best Italian restaurant in the city, and now we’re eatin’ processed crap?"

"Sorry but stopping at a gourmet chef isn’t exactly feasible," he retorted.

"Can’t you keep one in the Always Pocket?" Kennedy queried.

"There’s that all needing to breathe thing is a problem," Xander tartly replied as he drove the car out, eyes blinking slightly at the unaccustomed light, "that and you know, keeping prisoners."

"Tsk," Faith shook her head. "He’d be honoured to serve a trio of banging babes and their crony."

"Wait, I’m your crony?"

"What hadn’t you noticed?" Faith winked at him before sobering. "This guy we’re getting the hummer from how do ya know him?"

"I don’t," Xander replied, "but I’ve had Elektra, Quick, Lennox, Hunt, and Lyle working on a list of contacts who did work for them in their days abroad, so if we’re in a foreign country and need something, we have a contact. This man is supposed to a wizard at getting hold of stuff." Xander grimaced. "For the money I’m paying he better be."

* * *

The door to the warehouse swung open at Xander’s third knock. The man stood there was short and thin, with nervous eyes and tightly curled black hair. "Who are you?" The man’s eyes seemed to be constantly moving.

Xander looked towards the man. "Chris Randle sent me," using the name Preston Lennox had given him.

"Ah," the man smiled nervously. "Then you best come in." The Arab’s eyes widened as Faith and the others followed him. "Oh my."

"You’ve got my hummer and GPS?"

Gabir Neebeh nodded tightly, eyes shooting from each of Xander’s companions. "You have my money?"

Xander produced and opened a briefcase. "Four hundred thousand American dollars."

"H…..here are your keys."

"Thanks," Xander caught the keys flung to him. "I assume you understand the need for -."

"Secrecy?" the man nodded. "My business would die without it."

"Good." Xander stared at the polished black car. What he wanted most of all was a shower and a set of clean clothes, especially after the previous night’s carnage and before a journey through a mercilessly sunny desert. But last night’s attack probably meant there were other players in the game and meant there was no time to waste. He looked back towards the man. "The fuel cans?"

"Four in the back," Gabir replied, "as you asked."

"Good." He wouldn’t actually need them, not with The Always Pocket, but he didn’t need to raise questions of just how far he’d travelled without any petrol. "We’ll be off then."

"Whoa!" gasped Tara.

"Wow!" whispered Kennedy.

"Holy shit," came from the infinitely more earthy Faith.

"Yeah," Xander stared at the city. It had been hours in the baking sun, doggedly following their GPS to Iram’s location. But now they were here and it was definitely looked to be worth the effort.

In many places, the once-mighty wall encircling the city had been pulled down by the vines that had had grown unhindered in the eons since the metropolis’ mysterious disappearance. Even the previously stout watchtowers were in poor repair, roofs sagging under the weight of the ages, huge holes gaping in decaying battlements, and the once-lofty spires leaning drunkenly. The city’s gates had fallen, instead a gap wide enough for a score of men to march through stood in their place.

Xander swallowed his trepidation down deep, heart thumping as he pulled the car to a halt just by the gate. "Tara, is there anyway you can hide the car from view?"

The witch nodded. "I’ll do a glamour, but park it away from the gate so no-one’s likely to bump into it."

"Cool," Xander looked towards Faith. "You take over the wheel, I’ve got to set something up."

"Somethin’ like what?" demanded his always nosy girl-friend. Xander just winked as he slid out of the car and hurried up the dunes they’d just driven down. "XANDER!"

Upon his return he was hit by a bombardment of questions which he ignored while turning to the city. "I can’t wait to see what’s in there, what about you?" Faith reluctantly clammed up when faced with the age-old mystery of Iram. "Come on then." He pulled out a shotgun for himself and threw Kennedy a pair of Berettas, and Faith the same. "I’ll go first, Faith you take the rear. I figure we’ll head to the centre, place the Wrathful Energy there then get out."

Broken and chipped paving stones crunched underfoot as they crept through the deathly silent city, evil-looking weeds sprouting out through the road tiles’ cracks. The hairs on the back of Xander’s neck prickled as he felt a cold finger run up and down his spine. Not even a wind could be heard whistling through the grand stone columns lining the nameless metropolis’ main road. The metropolis was broken as if a giant foot had attempted to stamp it out of existence. A chill ran down his spine as he realised that not so much as a bird moved in the ruins.

Resisting the urge to shudder, he continued his inspection of the city. Long-dead weeds hung from cracks in the wall and pavement. Most of the buildings looked to have caved-in roofs, while piles of rubble from the city’s walls and buildings spilled out onto the streets, sometimes entirely blocking the road. Yet despite the surrounding destruction, any of lingering doubts about the city’s history and former greatness died when he looked around. There was a rusted bronze fountain at every intersection, still magnificent despite the many years since they’d had spouted water and the dead weeds littering the ground around them. Daunting stone columns lined the road, although they’d frequently crumbled and fallen across the road. The cracked pavement tiles were some of the finest workmanship Xander had ever seen. Most breath-taking of all however, were the multi-coloured domes of the city’s seven palaces. "What sort of city needs seven palaces?" Faith asked.

Xander cast his girl-friend a wry glance before replying. "From all I’ve read, Iram was the time’s foremost magical centre. And as we all know mages," he winked at Tara, "have massive egos, the bigger the more power they have."

"Hey!"

"I was talking about Doc Strange," Xander grinned at the witch. Tara glared suspiciously at him. "When Iram’s king created an open house for mages, the six most powerful all insisted on equal status with one another and the king. Each sorcerer would not allow himself to be upstaged by another in any part of their life, be it women, spells, or riches. If one wizard had a mansion, another would have a castle, if one had a castle, another had a palace. One of the palaces you see belongs to the king, the others to the most powerful of the competing mages."

"Geez," Faith said without a note of sarcasm, "imagine having an ego like that?"

"Yeah," Kennedy snorted. "Imagine."

"Any idea on what sort of dangers we’re gonna face?" Faith queried.

"There’s rumours but nothing concrete past the fall," Xander replied as they passed over a rounded bridge over a long dried-up river.

"You must know somethin’?" Faith pressed.

"I’ve done some reading," Tara put in. "It’s rumoured that Iram’s wizards broke the laws of magic, summonsing demons. Then there were the sorcerers’ creations, some the melding of criminals with animals. Yet still other beasts were the creations of truly warped imaginations, like the sewer rats that were mutated to the size of dogs and trained to attack any intruding army unfortunate enough to breach the other defences."

"Man," Faith cast a furtive glance left and right, "cheery."

Xander looked around. In what must once have been a bustling market-place, there stood a gold statue of a helmeted warrior horseman while they’d just passed the entrance of what must have been a theatre where there stood a silver statue of a winged horse.

"There were other magics too. Magical traps to ensnare invaders." Tara continued as they climbed over a fallen column. "It’s rumoured they created a battle-fury which they used to make Iram’s mortal warriors feared across the region. One of the most terrifying successes was The Shadow Of UnReason."

"Like I said, cheery." Faith looked towards the witch. "The Shadow Of UnReason?"

"A spell created so that the merest touch of its shadowy being would drive the person touched by it utterly, irretrievably insane. It was created by a mage by the name of Gausto Rublo to send against an invading force before they even reached the city’s walls. Since Iram’s collapse, it lumbers unseen in the shadows waiting for night when it comes out to roam the streets seeking more victims. Even demons avoid The Shadow."

"Lovely," Kennedy muttered.

"Hey, you chose to date one of these nut-jobs," Faith winked at Tara. "You can protect us from this though?"

Tara shrugged. "I think it’d be smarter to be out of here by night."

Xander looked up at the darkening sky. "We don’t have much more than a couple of hours."

"Give it an hour, drop the Wrathful Energy and then hustle back to the car then?" Faith suggested.

Xander nodded slowly. An hour would have them just out of the city by dusk. "That make-."

"Shit!" Faith’s panicked shout had him spinning to face his girl.

Faith’s eyes shot left and right as they crept through the darkened city, the unearthly stillness lying heavy on her chest. This place was wicked creep-."

"Shit!" Faith let out a shocked cry when a door to her left exploded open, a myriad of oily black tentacles erupting from it. Faith gasped as two grabbed her ankles and yanked her from her feet.

Faith hit the unyielding tiles with a grunt, briefly seeing stars as her head bounced off the ground. And then she was being dragged towards the monster’s mammoth head, a monstrous green-scaled thing that came up to her shoulder and was dominated by a solitary glowing eye situated beneath a curved upwards horn and above a doorway-sized mouth filled with finger-length teeth.

It definitely looked like she was dinner.

"Fuck that!" Heart pounding, Faith sat up and started unloading her two automatics into the beast even as it dragged her towards it.

Her stomach hollowed and twisted as round after round bounced off the monster’s shell-plated head. She looked towards Xander in time to see another one of the beast’s tentacles smash into his chest and knock him on his ass as he rushed towards her. Like he had problems, she was first course. "XAN!" she yelled as she reached the house’s doorway, dropping her automatics in favour of grabbing hold of the door-frame. "Shotgun with explosive shells now!"

Sweat formed on her brow as she struggled to hold onto the doorframe, teeth clenched with effort and arms feeling as if they were being pulled out of the socket as the monster slobbered and squirmed, her nostrils filling with its depths of hell stench, its gaping maw less than a foot away from her feet. And then the wood she was clinging so desperately to began to splinter. "Oh fuck me!"

"Catch!"

Her right hand swung up at Xander’s bellow, snatching the flung weapon out of air, sitting up and tugging on the trigger. The Mossberg bucked in her hand and then the shell hit the monster square in the eye.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The monster’s eye exploded outwards, showering her in slime as its tentacles thrashed wildly around, flinging her into the air. "Fuck!" Faith grunted as she crashed into the wall opposite and slid down it to the ground, the beast’s wild thrashings dying as she put another couple of rounds into it.

"Jesus," Faith clambered to her feet, the monster’s dying screeches ringing in her ears, "only my laundry-man will know just how scared I was." Faith looked towards Tara. "Hey, sis where’s the love? Why didn’t you mojo it?"

"I tried," Tara replied, "the creature was too crazed with hunger to notice."

"Jesus," Faith shook her head. "Anyway, I need a change of clothes, Xan?"

* * *

Once Faith had changed, Xander turned to her. "You’re sure you’re alright?"

Faith shot him a tight grin. "Five by five, but I’ll be even better when we’re out of this hellhole, ya know?"

"I know," Xander offered Faith her Berettas back.

"Fuck that!" Faith glanced scornfully at the automatics. "Are ya trying to get me killed? I want a shotgun."

"Me too," Kennedy chimed in.

"You two agreeing?" Xander shook his head even as he passed the requested weapons out. "That’s a sure sign of the apocalypse."

"Funny fucker," Faith grunted as she snatched her weapon off him.

"You’re welcome," Xander grinned at Faith’s glower before sobering. "We best get a move on. I don’t suppose I need to tell anyone to -."

"Be careful?" Faith shook her head. "Jesus, got that memo." Faith slapped her forehead, a sudden look of horror on his beauty’s face. "Got that memo on my favourite jeans. Fuck! Fuck!"

"I’ll buy you another pair," Xander promised as they continued on their way. Faith winked at him. "Hey, I liked them too." The city was now bathed in orange, growing shadows failing to hide the city’s decay, the thread-bare curtains of long since cracked windows, heavy cobwebs often filling them, the decaying doors, and the weather-beaten stone or rusted metal statues. "To all things," he murmured, heart filled with unease, "there is a season."

"What was that hon?"

Xander smiled as they ducked under an arched bridge. "Noth-."

There was a sudden click and then the ground disintegrated under them, sending them plunging into a darkened hole, the brick debris accompanying their fall. SPLASH! Xander groaned as he hit the ground, a grime-covered water slightly cushioning their fall. "Shit!" Xander heard his girl-friend’s curse as he clambered to his feet, looking around the muddy-green water and the rounded tunnel they appeared to be in, the only light coming in from the hole above, an awful stench filling his nostrils. "Another pair of pants ruin-. Oh fuck!"

Xander looked towards his girl-friend’s silhouette. "What?"

"Other than the general sitch?" Faith snarled. "Those sewer rats ya told us about, they’re coming towards us."

"Oh hell-." He looked towards Tara when the tunnel was suddenly filled with a blazing light. "Thanks." He threw a grappling-hook to Kennedy. "Get that up, Faith and I will take care of these."

Xander turned his attention back to the ‘rats’. The brown-furred horrors had the characteristic beady eyes, sniffling snout, and skittering tail of a rat but each rodent was magnified to the size of a small dog.

And they were all heading straight to them, their teeth glinting in the glow of Tara’s magically created light.

Xander fought back a shudder as he began pulling his shotgun’s trigger. The enclosed place reverberated to the sound of gunfire and its arid stench clung to the back of his throat as he blew away rat after rat. Soon the water had turned copper with their blood, but they continued to come, their eyes glinting hungrily.

"Shit!" he jumped as he felt a paw on his shoulder. Spinning around, he relaxed when he discovered it wasn’t a rat’s paw but his girl-friend. Faith looked around, signifying the others had gone and then pointed at the rope. Xander shook his head as he shot the head off a charging rat. "You first."

Faith shot him an irritated look before leaping at the rope and starting nimbly up it. Xander groaned as his shotgun clicked empty, dropping it with a splash into the murky water, he leapt at the rope and started after his girl-friend, pulling his knees up as a rat leapt at his ankles. Reaching the top, he gasped and wheezed for fresh air after the sewer’s nightmarish dank, his heart pounding.

"Jesus," he looked up to see Faith looking down at her drenched in sewage pants. "Another pair!"

"You know I think for the sake of your wardrobes you three should just strip and walk around naked." Xander sighed when all three girls turned and glared at him. "Worth a try," he shrugged as he stood. "Let’s keep on going."

Eventually they reached a narrow walkway over a twenty-four foot wide orange river of what looked and smelt like larva. "Nice," Faith commented as she peered over the edge before stepping towards the walkway. "Thank fuck for the -." Faith’s eyes shot towards Tara when the witch grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. "What’s the sitch, sis?"

"This," Tara’s eyes shot everywhere, "is all an illusion, the walkway doesn’t exist."

"Shit," Faith scowled, "I can jump it, but I doubt ya guys can."

"No," Tara shook her head. "You don’t understand. Everything’s an illusion." Xander joined Faith and Kennedy in staring blankly at the wicca. "Apart from where you see the walkway, we can walk straight across."

Faith’s brow furrowed. "So where I can see flowing larva is really covered ground?" The witch nodded. Faith took a breath. "Here goes."

Faith swallowed as she started across the river, to the rest of them it looked like she was walking on air. "Thank fuck," the Slayer exploded across the river before turning to face them all. "That was wicked creepy."

"Yeah?" Xander gulped as he stood on the invisible surface and started across, all too conscious of the sea of larva beneath him. "I’d never have guessed."

Once they were on the other side, continuing on their way until they came to a long tall building. "We’ll leave it-."

"Ah," a sibilant voice hissed, "visitors and it’s been so long."

"Hello, Ms. Smith," Tony half-rose as his guest entered the room, offering her his hand. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"Thank you, no," the woman had the polished accent of an former English prep school pupil. Despite being in her mid-fifties, she carried herself with a grace and poise of a woman decades younger, her dark eyes shining with energy. "And please call me Sarah-Jane."

"Then you must call me Tony," he gave her the gleaming Stark smile that always worked when charming people. "Please," he gestured to the office chair at the other side of the desk, "take a seat."

"Thank you," the journalist shot him a dazzling smile. "And may I record this?"

"Of course." Tony glanced at the tape-recorder the woman had pulled out of her hand-bag. If the woman falsified anything he’d said, his own hidden tape recorders would have their own record. "I must admit to surprise," he commented. "A freelance journalist from England coming all this way to interview me about my businesses. I didn’t think I was that interesting."

"Oh, but you are," the woman disagreed with a smile. "Billionaire playboy genius with an open line to the president, friend to many a head of state, and of course friend to Iron Man. " The woman paused. "Not that I’ve come to ask you about yourself, at least not directly." Tony opened his mouth. "What do you know about The Mithras Brotherhood?"

Ah crap, when this woman had requested an interview, he‘d had her investigated, found her talent for ferreting out secrets and had invited her here to find out just what she knew. But he’d thought it was something to do with him or perhaps his alter-ego, not his kids. "I’m sorry," he forced a puzzled expression, "Mithras? I’m not as up on mythology as I suppose I should be, my academic tastes always ran to the sciences, but isn’t Mithras some sort of god or other?"

"The original Mithras was a Persian God Of War, also worshipped by Roman legionnaires." The journalist’s knowing smile suggested she wasn’t quite convinced by his bluffed confusion. "However that’s not the Mithras I’m referring to, at least not directly."

"Now I’m really confused," Stark lied.

"Really?" The English woman looked like the proverbial cat who got the canary. "That is a surprise." The woman paused for a second, waiting to see if he responded. When he didn’t she continued. "My particular area of interest as a journalist has always been secret organisations. I’ve always been a believer that the more light shone on a person or an organisation the less likely they’re going to do anything underhand."

"Perhaps there’s some people you can trust without the light being shone on them," Tony retorted, his face held carefully neutral.

"Such people wouldn’t scurry in the shadows, concealing their identities," Sarah-Jane retorted.

"Captain America and numerous costumed heroes do," Stark pointed out.

"Ah, I see you’re not going to be very much help," Sarah-Jane leaned back on her chair, eyes briefly disappointed. "At least I enjoy a challenge." Sarah-Jane paused. "You won’t comment on your supposed affiliation to this secretive group with links to the White House, Doctor Strange, and Professor Xavier? A group whose personnel, goals, and resources are shrouded in mystery?"

"I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, you must be mistaken. However I wouldn’t be too disappointed." Tony Stark shrugged. "After all, what would the world be without mystery?" Tony smiled. "For example, where did you disappear to in the seventies Ms. Smith?"

"The velvet glove conceals an iron fist?" Sarah-Jane surprised him with a wry smile. "You won’t find any dirt on me to blackmail my silence with," the journalist stood, placing her tape recorder back in her hand-bag. "I won’t stop looking. Goodbye, Mr. Stark."

"Good-bye, Ms. Smith," he murmured as the woman strolled out, a heavy hand resting on his chest. She’d need watching, nothing could be allowed to get in the way of the kids and their mission.

* * *

The speaker was a three-headed winged dragon with the scale-covered bulk to rival a tank. Each head was exactly the same, a spiralled foot-long horn shot out from its forehead, its green eyes glittering dangerously in the almost dusk, and each massive mouth filled with glinting fangs. The ground appeared to shake underfoot as it padded towards them, taloned feet gripping the ground.

Xander swallowed as the monster approached, a deep chill threatening to freeze his heart. "Where the hell did your scaly ass come from?"

Xander rolled his eyes, typical Faith, open her big trap where angels fear to whisper. Or something like that. The dragon blew smoke out of its nostrils. Hopefully it was amused rather than angered. ‘Cause a thing that angry-. "Crap," Xander groaned as he caught the glare Tara was shooting the beast. When the nice as pie witch looked at anybody or anything like that, you knew it was evil of the darkest black.

Like worse than Snyder evil.

"I am Zahhak," the demon hissed, forked lolling over its fanged teeth. "And you are people of power," the dragon sniffed. "I can smell it."

"No, no, no," Xander shook his head, heart dropping. Zahhak was a name to inspire fear in the people of this region, a legendary dragon of monstrous evil and power, ancient beyond telling and as cunning as a snake. Why did this always happen to them? "That’ll be my body odour."

"He’s world famous for it," Kennedy both wisely and hurtfully agreed.

Xander ignored the potential to continue the questioning. "And why are you here?"

"Why I am here?" The three-headed beast seemed to laugh again. Which was marginally better than him attacking, but still creepy as hell. "That is a long story, a mage of surpassing ability and unsurpassing ego summoned me to this plane, thinking to make me his pet." The beast seemed to laugh again, this time with even more menace than before. "How he misjudged. Instead I took his magic, tore this paltry metropolis from its dimension and spent the past fifty thousand years feasting on its inhabitants. And such entertaining prey they were. But now those days of plenty are over and I have need of new flesh to feed me, so I brought the city back to snare the adventurous and the foolish." The demon stared at them with its dead eyes. "And here you all are."

"Tara! Magic defences!"

Tara nodded, having being holding the magic ready since they’d been confronted by the demon. She gasped as her mana hit the demon’s, its sheer power and dark, inky malice staggering her and fouling her own spells. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

* * *

"Ah hell," Xander reached into the Always Pocket, desperate for his rocket launcher.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a spiralled tail with a spike through it swinging around the monster’s huge body and right at his head. Heart pounding, he ducked under the swinging tail before straightening, rocket launcher in his hand. "Shi-." He cursed as the tail swung back, cracking into the side of his head, a crimson waterfall filling his eyes as unconsciousness beckoned.

* * *

"Xander!" Faith’s stomach somersaulted as her boy-toy crashed to the ground, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. She darted towards her boy-friend, only for the demon’s middle head to snap out in front of her, teeth glinting dangerously and eyes dancing with evil mirth.

"And you girl," the demon’s forked tongue lolled over its mouth. "You’re different, something I’ve never experienced before. What are you?" the demon seemed to laugh. "Will you taste exquisite as your power suggests?"

"You’ll never find out!" Faith threw herself to the ground as the demon’s head lunged at her, the Berettas bucking in her hands as she fired round after round into the demon’s face.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The demon’s high-pitched scream caused her ears to pound, its face morphing with every shot that crashed into its scaled face.

"Fuck!" Faith threw herself to the right as the left head lunged at her, jaws gaping. Her heart skipped a beat as its teeth tore through her jeans left leg, ripping the denim off at the knee.

She groaned as her guns clicked empty, the wounds on the demon’s face already healing. With Xander out cold there wouldn’t be any more ammo, and she didn’t fancy taking this demon on with just the hunting knife sheathed at her ankle.

Her heart jumped as her eyes alighted on the rocket launcher beside her motionless boy-friend’s body. "Ken!" she yelled. "I’m gonna go for Xan, cover me!"

Without waiting to see if the potential heard her, Faith scurried to her feet and leapt for Xander like a soccer goalie diving for the ball. "Shit!" she grunted as the demon’s pronged tail lashed at her, the spike tearing across her stomach, ripping away shirt and tearing a cut across her stomach. Faith grunted again as she crashed to the ground, her landing thrown off by the pain flaring through her midsection. "Jesus!" Teeth clenched in a desperate grimace, she stretched out a hand, reaching for the weapon the other side of her worryingly-unmoving lover. And then the tail crashed into the side of her head, bouncing her skull off the unforgiving concrete.

* * *

Kennedy wailed as she fired bullet after bullet into the demon with seeming no effect and then one of its heads crashed into her, lifting her from her feet and flinging her into the wall behind.

* * *

"And then," Zahhak turned his three heads towards the witch, "there was one."

"I won’t," the witch spoke through gritted teeth, "let," sweat beaded down her greying skin, but her eyes burnt with determination, "you hurt them."

"You stop me?" Zahhak rumbled a laugh. "I think not." The girl was powerful, far more powerful than the fool that had first summoned him onto this plane of existence, and more powerful than any of her foolishly valiant companions. But he was an Elder Demon with all the power that entailed, and as such had eons of experience in the black arts, expertise that a mere callow human with their paltry lifespan could not hope to match. "Ha!" He smiled as the witch groaned and swayed. "Have I found your weak spot?" he taunted.

"How about yours?" Suddenly the brunette beauty rose, the right side of her face bludgeoned, some sort of weapon attached to her shoulder. "Try this on for size!"

Zahhak screamed as something hit his left wing, fire scorching him, turning his world into a blazing agony. "Fool!" he screamed at the bitch. "I was forged in the fires of hell! Did you think this trifle would stop me!"

"Oh crap," the brunette gulped before pulling a knife.

"No," the witch gasped, "but this will."

Zahhak’s three heads snapped to the momentarily-forgotten witch, a deep horror filling him. It had been just a few seconds but it might as well have been a lifetime. Suddenly he felt it, pulling on him, its grip inexorable. "You bitch!" he screamed as it tore him away from this dimension with all its lovely victims into a far bleaker one.

* * *

Faith blinked as the demon disappeared, hand rising to gingerly touch the right side of her face. "Jesus," she winced as pain shot through her face. Nose grimacing with the lingering stench of sulphur, she turned towards Tara. "Not that I don’t appreciate it sis, but what the hell did ya do?"

Tara smiled wearily. "I found the thread of the summonsing spell that first brought Zahhak here and reversed it, sendin-."

"Shit!" Faith leapt forward to catch the witch when her eyes rolled back and legs buckled, catching the witch just a foot or so from the ground. "Don’t worry, sis," she whispered gently, "I gotcha." Looking up, she saw Kennedy struggling to her feet. "Hey, kid," she drawled, "yar gal-pal went weak at the knees, wanna take the load while I check on X-Man?"

"Tar!" Kennedy leapt towards her. "Is she-."

"She’s five by five," Faith interrupted as she gently passed Tara’s limp frame to the potential. "Just major mojo taking a toll, ya know?" The moment the potential had Tara, Faith spun to see to Xander only to find him groaning his way to consciousness. "Hey lover," she crouched beside her battered boy-friend, "how ya feelin’?"

Xander grimaced as he looked towards her, wiping the blood from the cut on his forehead out of his left eye. "Like someone dropped this entire city on me." Xander looked around, wincing as he did so. "Zahhak?"

"Tara kicked his ass back to the dimension he came from," Faith hastily reassured her boy-toy before lowering her tone, "what the hell was he anyway?"

"He was an Elder Demon," Xander replied as she helped him to his feet. "It’s too dark," Xander decided, eyes looking nervously around at the encroaching shadows, "we need to get out of here fast."

"What’s an Elder Demon?" Faith asked, half out of interest and half to deflect screaming heebies that threatened to overwhelm her when her man pulled out the Wrathful Energy.

"A demon," Xander didn’t look at her as he crouched before the supernatural object, attaching something. "One of the Old Ones’ major lieutenants in Mithras’ time."

"Shit," Faith gasped. "We," she glanced towards Tara, "Tara kicked major ass."

"Like that was even a question," Kennedy smirked proudly.

"Sure, kid." Faith snatched the limp witch off the potential, placing her over her shoulder. "Don’t even start, we’re gonna be moving fast, I’ll be able to carry her easier." Faith looked towards Xander to see him rising. "Ready, lover?"

Xander shot the approaching shadows a wary look before nodding. "Let’s go."

The next half an hour or so passed in a panting, sweat-soaked blur as they raced through the eerily hushed streets, not daring to take the time to watch out for traps. The only sound they heard apart from their pants was their feet slapping against the age-old paving stones.

They burst out of the city perhaps seconds ahead of total nightfall. "Thank fuck!" Faith fell to her knees, chest heaving and clothes plastered to her. She gently placed Tara on the ground. "All we have to do is get sis awak-."

"Hand over everything you took from Iram."

"Ah crap," Faith groaned as she looked up to see the dunes surrounding them lined with twenty or so gunmen.

Xander looked around, the surrounding dunes were all lined with hard-faced and heavily armed men of middle-eastern descent. "Would you believe me if I said we didn’t take anything and that going in there wouldn’t be a good idea?"

"No," the group’s apparent leader smiled thinly.

"And who do you work for anyway?" he queried.

The man’s smile broadened. "Al-Qaeda."

"Ah," Xander smiled inwardly himself. That made what he had to do much easier. "And I don’t suppose you’re just going to let us go?"

"You and your western whores aren’t going anywhere."

"Just for the record, not a virgin." Faith called up. Xander glanced towards his girl-friend. The sultry Slayer shrugged. "Hey, anyone who watches CNN knows they have a kink for virgins. I just want it known, ain’t been a vestal virgin for a long time."

"You’re deeply troubled." Xander pulled out his detonator and flicked the switch. The ordnance he’d planted under the sand dunes before entering the city exploded, flinging the gunmen into the air and returning them to the ground as dismembered chunks. Flashes of light briefly illuminated the dark sky as the screams of the dying and the booms of the explosion pounded his ears. Xander almost threw up as the stench of fire and human suffering mingled in his gut. Eyes determinedly averted from the carnage he’d just wrought, he turned to Tara. "You can de-magic our car now."

Tara stared at him, expressive eyes horror-stricken. "Xander, you just can’t do that!" she breathed.

"They drive planes into buildings and walk suicide bombers into supermarkets," Xander stonily replied, hiding his own revulsion behind a pragmatic expression. "Not one of them was an innocent, and that’s all we’re here to protect."

Tara shook her head. "You can’t make a jud-."

"Jeez, sis," Faith snapped. "Just what do ya think those assholes were gonna do to us, throw us a fuckin’ tea party?"

Tara’s shoulders slumped. "Alright, alright," the witch whispered, the car materialising where she’d left it, "doesn’t mean I have to like it though."

"It wasn’t exactly my favourite action of all time," Xander grumbled as he climbed into the car, the others silently following suit. Xander re-set the GPS for Muscat and set off, grimacing slightly as he drove through the scorched sands, fires still burning where the bombs had been buried, broken bodies littering the ground. The journey back was grimly morose, Xander only stopping after they’d gotten half a dozen miles to remotely open the Wrathful Energy, the sky behind them somehow temporarily turning the night sky an even darker more impregnable black.

The sun was beginning to rise when they made Muscat’s glittering outskirts. "Where we gonna stay, Xan?"

Xander looked warily around, noting a higher than normal police presence on the streets, an almost certain side-effect of the previous night’s carnage. "Well the Grand Hyatt’s out-."

"Doh." Kennedy snorted. "You think?"

Xander ignored the brunette lesbian’s comment to continue. "So we’ll head to the Intercontinental Muscat," Xander looked towards Faith, "yes, before you ask, it’s five star too."

"Better be," his girl-friend muttered. "Girl’s got standards."

"News to us," Kennedy muttered.

Xander ignored that in favour of continuing through the lightening streets. "I’ll use the alternate identities, but I’ll need Tara to put a glamour on us, changing us. Faith will be a taller blonde, I’ll be an older red-head with a patch over his left eye, and Kennedy’s hair will be braided and her eyes changed to a green. That won’t be a problem will it, Tara?"

"I’ll get on it," the witch retorted, an angry note in her voice.

"Okay," Xander decided rising to the bait in front of the others would provoke a full-blown argument. Instead he drove silently to the hotel, pulling into its palm tree-lined parking lot.

The hotel wasn’t anything like as ostentatious as the Grand Hyatt with its grandiose architecture, but it was impressive in its own way, a brown-bricked towering skyscraper, a neon sign on its front. "Come on," Faith leapt out of the car and started towards the looming hotel, Kennedy trotting behind.

"Wait," Xander stepped in front of Tara as she exited the car, hands reaching to grab her forearms and then dropping awkwardly by his sides. "I know," Xander licked his lips, uncertain as to what to say, "I know you wish I hadn’t done what I did, but I had no choice. They wouldn’t have let us pass."

Tara stared at him, big eyes troubled. "Y…you should have given them a chance."

"Given them a chance?" Xander shook his head, even as he struggled to hold onto his temper. It wasn’t Tara he was angry with, not really, it was the world for not fitting her vision. It was a world for eagles and not doves. "Tara, these people aren’t soldiers, they don’t believe in the Geneva Convention. They’re savages!"

"And doing what you did, what does that make you?"

Xander stepped back, genuinely hurt and surprised by Tara’s query. "I don’t send brain-washed children into schools and supermarkets wearing bombs, I don’t hijack planes, I don’t preach hate."

"I could have put them to sleep or something," Tara protested.

"I couldn’t risk you not being quick enough." Xander raised his hand at Tara’s opening mouth. "And even if you’d succeeded, what then? They’d have awoken, and any innocent they’d have killed from that point on would have been on my conscience because I’d had a chance to end them but hadn’t taken it."

Tara smiled weakly. "Let’s just go inside."

"Okay," Xander nodded before falling in beside the witch, striding into the hotel. Its lobby was a classically stylish amalgamation of white-washed walls and white titles, interspersed with neatly trimmed rows of palm trees and luxurious sofas.

* * *

Daim Laith hung up the phone, eyes narrowed in thought. He swept a look around his rented accommodation, the eleven men who made up his team ‘The Dark Dozen’, staring back impassively at him. "That was the office," he reported. "Apparently the Seers report that Iram is gone," a shocked murmur ran through his companions, "and that the Mithras Quartet are in town, at the Intercontinental to be exact. Our orders have changed. Now we’re strictly on a wet mission."

* * *

James Buchanan’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the quartet entering the lobby, the spells put on him by NID enabling him to see through the glamour put on them. Their faces were familiar, something from the files, but he wasn’t quite sure what. Then he had it, the Mithras Quartet. The boy, he reminded him of someone from his past, but he couldn’t remember who.

He’d have to keep an eye on them.

Xander groaned as he awoke and disentangled himself from his snoring girl-friend with a chuckle. He’d once taken a video of her snoring to prove to his steadfastly arguing lover that she actually snored. Her response had been to very sweetly ask him where he wanted the camera shoving.

Since then the topic hadn’t come up.

Xander strode out onto the balcony, glancing at his watch as he did so before peering down on the idyllic swimming pool a dozen floors below. They’d been asleep for almost eight hours, their private plane was booked to take off in two hours. They’d have to get a move on. "Faith!" he looked back into the room. "Get up!" Faith flipped him the bird while determinedly keeping her eyes shut. "The plane leaves in two hours."

"They’ll be another," Faith’s husky tones were slurred by sleep. "They’re like buses."

"Okay." Xander strode into the bathroom, closed the door, pulled a bucket out of the Always Pocket, and filled it with cold water before opening the door, and walking back out into the bedroom. "Rise and shine!" he shouted before throwing the bucket’s sloshing contents all over the prostrated brunette.

"Owwwwwwwwwww! You son of a bitch!" the soaked and completely nude beauty jumped out of bed, her dark eyes gleaming angrily. "I’ll rip your damn throat out!"

"Some days," he smiled. "It’s good to be me."

* * *

Forty minutes later and they were driving through the industrial area en-route to the private airfield their plane was meant to join them in. All around were warehouses and factories, their stolidly dirty-brown brickwork a grim contrast with the more gaily-coloured tourist spots.

"We’ve got a tail," Faith warned him.

"The grey hatchback?" Xander nodded. "Yeah, but they’ve with us since the motel, and if they’re staying at the Intercontinental, they might have the money to have a plane booked to take them wherever."

"Could be a coincidence?" Faith shrugged. "’Kay, but I’ll keep an eye on them."

"Right," Xander glanced in the rear window, grimacing slightly as his eyes fell on the witch and potential in the back. Tara hadn’t spoken to him all morning. He wished he could be as gentle as the witch, he really did, but for the lambs to be safe from the wolves, he had to be a hunter himself. He didn’t like it, but if killing a hundred scumbags like those he’d taken out the previous night saved one Tara, he was more than willing to do it.

Xander’s eyes narrowed as he noted the four police cars blocking the road ahead, a scowl contorting his features as he glanced left and right in a futile attempt to see any side roads they could escape into. "Damn," he muttered. "Tara, are our glamours-."

"Xander!" the witch poked her head through the gap between his and Faith’s seat, eyes wild, "their auras aren’t right, they aren’t police officers."

"Oh hell!" Xander gasped as he jammed the car in reverse, the eight men blocking the road bringing their guns up. "Everyone down!"

* * *

Daim Laith snarled as the target car began reversing. "Hit them with everything!" he roared.

* * *

"Shit!" Faith cursed as the window exploded under machine-gun fire, glass flying everywhere as she threw herself to the side and under the dashboard, her boy-friend crashing the car’s rear into a palm tree by the side of the road. The car shuddered as bullets began to hit. "Xan, throw us a fuckin’ gun!"

"Here!"

"Thanks," Faith caught the Mini-Gun Xander had thrown her, the gun comfortably heavy. A kick sent her door crashing open. "On three!"

"One, two, three!"

* * *

"Oh heck!" Xander cursed as his door crashed open and he started out, the air hot with flying lead, only to dive back in the car when another quartet of men burst out of the building opposite, their guns spitting lead. "We’re screwed."

* * *

James Buchanan’s eyes narrowed as he watched the ambush strike, the kids’ car coming under sustained fire.

Kid.

The word hit him like a hammer-blow, shattering a block on his memories. He gasped as a thousand images flashed before his eyes. That was what he had been when it had all begun. A kid like these, who believed in freedom and justice-.

Suddenly raw, visceral instinct took over and he was gunning the engine, the car screaming protests and tyres burning as he propelled at the quartet firing at the car from side-on. Two of them began to turn towards him at his speedy approach, but his only response was to duck under the window and jam his foot down even harder on the accelerator. His small but still substantial car shuddered with every impact as he crashed into the men, sending broken bodies flying en-route to screeching a halt beside the barricade of cars.

Seeing two of the men turning towards him, he punched out the window with his cybernetic arm and raised his gun. The two men danced like unstrung puppets as the young man kicked his door open and shot them. At the same time a brunette valkyrie burst out of the car’s far side and unleashed with a Minigun, screaming curses as she did so.

And then just as suddenly as violence had erupted, peace descended, the four kids turned to him, eyes grateful but understandably wary. "Thanks for the help, Mister," the young man of the quartet suddenly made him feel sixty with that ‘Mister’. Although to be fair, sixty was actually considerably younger than what his age would be. "Only, who are you?"

"James Buchanan Barnes," he smiled as a mist cleared, finally he remembered it all. Not just images and feelings, but who he was, what he’d done. The good stuff as well as the bad. "But you can call me Bucky."

"Buck-," Xander shook his head. "That’s impossible," he croaked. One of the few lessons he’d ever paid attention to in school had dealt with the exploits of Captain America and the Invaders in the second world war. "You’re dead. I remember reading -."

"Whatever you’ve read is wrong," Tara suddenly interrupted. "He’s telling the truth."

After a whiplash look at the witch, Xander gulped and turned to face the patiently waiting man. ‘Bucky’ was a powerfully-built man of above medium height with determined brown eyes and matching shoulder-length hair. His hard features didn’t match up to the youthfully optimistic photos he’d seen in history books, plus there was the fact the twenty-something man was maybe fifty years younger than he should be, but if Tara said he was Bucky, he was Bucky.

A sense of incredulity gripping him, Xander stepped forward and offered the man his hand. After a moment the man took it. "Mr. Barnes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I read all about you in history. Thank you for all-."

"Jesus," Faith broke in, a note of amusement in her voice. "Ya wanna get a room or somethin’, Harris? I’m standin’ right here ya know."

Xander glared at his girl-friend even as he realised Bucky’s touch seemed somehow metallic. "Your hand-."

"Cybernetic arm," the man flatly replied.

"Right," Xander stared at the hard-featured man, suddenly uneasy. "Must make magnets a bitch-."

"Xan," Faith snapped. "We gotta hustle. Someone might turn up at any moment."

"Right," Xander nodded before looking at Bucky again. "Our car’s wrecked, we need a lift."

"You’ve got a way out of this country?" the older man asked after a second. Xander nodded. "Take me with you and you can use my car."

"Deal."

* * *

"You have your own private plane?" Bucky gasped as they made their way across the airfield.

The Slayer shot him a smouldering look that he guessed was a speciality of hers. "Xan’s from old money," the sultry brunette flashed him her deep dimples, "actually it don’t get any older than his, come on."

Bucky’s eyes widened as he entered the plane, noting its suede sofas, beautiful carpets, and hand-crafted and gleaming furnishings. It seemed that adventuring and saving the world had moved on considerably since his day of parachuting from shot-at transport planes over enemy lines. "’I suppose you’ll be wantin’ an explanation?"

Bucky looked over his shoulder at the curvy Bostonian. "It’d be nice," he retorted.

"’Kay," the dark-eyed beauty nodded. "Take a seat, Xan will explain."

Buchanan forced himself to concentrate as Xander talked, explaining the world of Slayers, vampires, and the occult. "We can show you if you want-."

"That’s not necessary," he shook his head at the youth’s offer. "I remember Union Jack battling Baron Blood in the war and I know for a fact that Hitler experimented in necromancy and the occult in a search for a way to tip the war in his favour."

"Okay then," Faith stared at him. "And who have you been working for?"

"After I was captured, I was brain-washed and worked for the KGB until recently," Buchanan’s brow furrowed. "Then I was snatched by people, but I don’t know who they were or even where I was held, I was drugged and blind-folded before I left the place. No-one ever used a name or identified them as belonging to an organisation, even if they had, I had no way of knowing they were telling the truth."

Three of his companions looked towards Tara who nodded. "He’s telling the truth."

"Damn," Xander grunted. "Another potential enemy we have no idea about." The youth shook his head before looking towards him. "I wonder if you’d be interested in one of the Brotherhood’s units-," Xander shook his head. "No, I suppose you’ll want to go back to Cap, we certainly wouldn’t stand in your way for that."

"Jeez," Faith snorted, nostrils flaring cutely, "fan-boy much, Xan?"

"Says the girl with a huge Blade crush," Kennedy muttered.

"I just have an honest appreciation for a fellow vampire hunter’s exploits," the Slayer defended.

"An honest appreciation for his biceps," the potential retorted.

"Well," the sultry Bostonian shrugged, "that too."

"Faith," Xander groaned, "I’m right here, try not to emasculate me completely in front of company."

Buchanan half-smiled at the youths’ bantering even as his heart twisted inside his ribcage. Steve, he hadn’t really thought about Steve until Xander just mentioned him. As much as he’d like to see his old friend and mentor, he couldn’t, not until he was able to look him in the eye, and he wouldn’t be able to do that until he’d atoned for at least some of the misdeeds he’d done while brain-washed. Besides, it was time to step out of the shadows, and not be a follower but the leader of a team. "My home state was-."

"Virginia," Xander interrupted.

"What was I just sayin’?" Faith elbowed her boy-friend in the ribs before smirking at him. "You’ll be arrested as a stalker next. Virginia’s free. Welcome to the team." The gorgeous brunette looked towards the self-confessed witch. "Tar’, ya’re the gal with the facts."

* * *

Simmons’ guts were churning as he made his way down to Lecter’s cell. Normally visiting the sociopathic shrink filled him with dread, but at the moment he was just too angry to consider being frightened. After clearing the security requirements, he strode up to the prison cell, only the bullet-proof screen separating him from the sadistic serial killer.

Lecter smiled slightly at its arrival. "Why," the learned scholar barely whispered, "it’s my mysterious jailer."

Simmons hated himself for his instinctive lick of his lips, a momentary weakness. Lecter’s disconcerting level of self-possession was yet another sign of the man’s insanity, nobody in control of their senses could be that calm, especially in his position. "James Buchanan Barnes has broken his programming," he snapped.

"As he indeed?" the criminal genius’ eyes gleamed with amusement. "I trust the erstwhile Bucky hasn’t caused you too much problems?"

Simmons’ jaw clenched. All Iram’s riches gone, destroyed. All the effort they’d gone to in securing the Winter Soldier wasted. "You planned this!" he heatedly accused.

Lecter appeared utterly unworried by his anger, as if he was the prisoner and Lecter the jailer. "To be honest I didn’t expect it quite so soon, Mr. Barnes must have an exceptionally strong will," the shrink chuckled. "But I did leave a loose few ends to unthread in good time."

"You bastard!" Simmons’ temper snapped in the face of Lecter’s smugness. "You’ll die for this."

"As if I was ever going to be kept alive," Lecter’s smile didn’t move an inch. "At least this way I have the satisfaction of knowing that whatever plan you wanted me for was doomed by me."

"You bastard!" Simmons pressed the remote control to release the nerve gas into the cell.

"Ah almonds," Lecter nodded. "Nerve gas. I had hoped for a more-." Suddenly the shrink’s head snapped back, his body arching in his chair as he began to make gagging noises.

Simmons smiled sourly as he watched the doctor’s death throes. Lecter might have thwarted his plan, but at least he had Lectar’s death to comfort him.

The Mithras Chronicles