The next morning, Warren returned, bearing blood. He stood and regarded Spike for a moment, where he sat on the floor by the bed. The vampire’s blue eyes darted between his captor and the bag of blood with a mixture of suspicion and hope.

“How’re the legs feeling today?” Warren asked, sounding actually interested in the answer.

Spike made a cautious attempt at moving his legs again before answering. It still hurt, but he could feel himself getting stronger already. Of course, it couldn’t possibly be to his benefit to let Warren know that.

“Not too good,” he replied with a grimace. “Course it takes a bit more blood than that to do any good, anyway.” He carefully kept his voice casual.

Warren just looked at him for a moment, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small smirk. “Does it,” he said quietly, and as he spoke he took out a compact but heavy black nightstick that Spike had not seen at his side.

Spike’s mouth went dry with fear, his wide eyes fastened on the weapon as Warren casually touched the end of it to his battered leg, trailing it slowly downward toward his knee. Instinctively, he started to jerk away, but froze at Warren’s cold, menacing command, “Don’t move.”

Warren paused, allowing the silent waiting to fuel Spike’s fear, before going on, “You still think you’re smarter than me, don’t you?” The stick froze in its slow path back up Spike’s leg as Warren demanded a response, his voice hardening. “Don’t you?”

Spike shook his head rapidly, breathing hard, his eyes focused on the nightstick. “No,” he whispered. “No, I – I don’t…”

“Then why are you still trying stupid stunts like lying to me, Spike?” His tone was almost sad. “You think I’m stupid? Is that it?”

“N-no,” Spike hated the stammer in his voice, but was too concerned with the weapon poised against his injured leg to worry much about it. “No, you’re not…”

“No. I’m not,” Warren cut him off, a hard, deadly quality to his voice. “You know, I’m not in any hurry here,” he informed Spike calmly, with a shrug. “I don’t care if it takes you a year to heal. You’re going to learn…” He suddenly interrupted himself, snapping, “Look at me!”

Spike dragged his eyes off the weapon and raised them to meet Warren’s. His instinct for self-preservation had stolen control from his pride; all he could think was, *Just do what he says. Whatever he says. Anything to keep him from…*

Warren’s cruel eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, pressing down harder with the nightstick, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare Spike out of his mind. “You’re going to learn,” he repeated slowly, holding his gaze, “who is in charge here. I am. You can’t put one over on me, Spike. I’ve been watching you for months. I know how you think, and I know you still think you’re getting out of this. But you’re not. I call the shots, Sparky. What I say goes, and I say that when I ask you a question, you are going to tell me the *freaking truth*!” As he spoke, his voice rose with each word, until the last two were a shout, punctuated by his raising the nightstick and slamming it violently down – on the floor, mere inches from Spike’s leg.

The vampire gasped and flinched; he had been sure that Warren was going to crush his mending leg.

Warren laughed at his reaction, raising the hand which held the weapon to rest on his hip, his voice calm, amused even. “So…one more time, Spike. How’re your legs?”

Struggling for control, trying to stop his own violent shaking, Spike responded quietly, “Better.”

“Can you walk yet?”

He shook his head. “No. Still hurt pretty bad. Too weak. But getting better.” There was a resignation to his voice which obviously pleased Warren, judging by the smile on his face.

“If you feed once a day – how much longer do you think it’ll be before you can walk?” Warren asked him, and the steely look in his eyes was a silent warning to truthfulness.

“I – I don’t know – a week maybe?” Spike guessed, genuinely trying to be accurate. His hopes began to fade once again. One bag of blood a day was barely enough to heal at all, let alone to get strong again. The blood flowing through his body might promote healing, but he would still be too weak to overpower Warren – and that was not even considering the chip.

Warren’s nod indicated that Spike had only confirmed something he had already known. It made Spike glad that he had opted to tell him the truth. The boy obviously knew more than he was letting on. Therefore there was no way of knowing if any given question was really just a test of his honesty.

“Fine,” Warren said, tossing the bag of blood onto the floor within Spike’s reach, giving him a disgusted, contemptuous look. “Like I said – I’m in no hurry.” He smiled as he said, “Lie to me again…and you’ll be starting the whole process over again. We clear?”

“Yes,” Spike whispered, turning his head away, to hide the seething hatred that he knew was in his eyes, knew would get him seriously hurt if Warren saw it. *Just give me time,* he thought to himself. *I’ll tear him to pieces on my way out the door!*

But a part of him recognized the thought for what it was – a sad attempt at hope, in an increasingly hopeless situation.

His estimate proved accurate, and by the time a week had passed, he was able to stand, holding onto the bedframe for support. Walking – well, he couldn’t be sure, as his chain gave him no room to try. It was uncomfortable even to stand, pulling the chain to its limits in the attempt. By this point his burns had almost completely healed, and most of his lesser injuries from the accident as well, though at a much slower rate than if he had been feeding properly.

But he still was not strong. He was not getting enough blood each day to regain his strength.

Warren knew what he was doing.

“Well, look at you!” Warren’s voice from the doorway startled him, and though he looked pleased to see him standing, Spike felt nervous, as if he had been caught in some infraction. His anger rose in him at the feeling; he was tired of being afraid, and especially of a git like Warren. He sullenly averted his eyes, not responding.

Warren had not expected a response. He smiled as he entered the room. “Good. It’s about time! I’ve got something I want to show you. Feel up to a little walk?”

Spike felt a mixture of hope and apprehension. He knew that if it was Warren’s idea, it couldn’t be good for him, but the thought of getting out of this tiny room that had imprisoned him for – nearly a month! he realized with shock.

He nodded slowly, then remembered himself and said, “Yes.”

“Master.”

“What?” Spike was confused for a moment, but then Warren’s meaning hit him, and a prideful anger and defiance rose in him in the moment before Warren clarified his statement.

“Yes, *Master*.” Warren’s smile was cool, and firmly in place, though the threat was obvious in his eyes.

Spike disregarded it completely, his eyes widening in startled indignation. “I bloody well will not!” he declared slowly, meeting Warren’s eyes defiantly.

Warren stepped toward him, and he forced himself not to back down or look away, despite the fear he felt.

But Warren just smiled as he reached for the chain. “We’ll see.”

Spike felt a sudden apprehension, remembering the last time Warren had not immediately punished him, and the hours of torment that had followed. A lack of immediate punishment meant that the boy had something worse in mind.

As Warren took the key from his pocket with one hand, pulling the chain closer to him with the other, Spike automatically pulled back against it. The smile disappeared from Warren’s face in an instant as he jerked the vampire back forward by the chain attached to his wrists, the sudden motion pulling him off balance, almost bringing him to his knees. He fought to maintain his footing, not wanting to let Warren abase him like that.

Warren’s face was inches from his as he held him by the chain, saying in a cold, deadly voice, “You don’t pull away from me. Ever.”

Spike did not respond, just held Warren’s gaze defiantly.

Warren, surprisingly, ignored it, and Spike’s uneasy feeling grew stronger. “I’m going to take the chains off,” Warren said quietly. “And you’re *not* going to try anything stupid – like hitting me – or trying to get away. Because we both know all that’ll get you is a whole lot of pain. Understood?”

“Yes,” Spike answered pointedly, resentment in his tone. Warren was right, at least for now, he knew. If he hit him, the chip would fire, and he was not strong enough to try to run yet.

Warren nodded and unlocked the chain. And for the first time in a month, Spike’s hands were free. He gingerly felt his tender, red wrists, painfully raw where the chains had bit into his flesh, rubbing against the wounds for a whole month.

Warren took a few steps back, watching him closely, as he beckoned with his hand for Spike to come toward him.

Swallowing hard, too nervous over how his legs would function after weeks of disuse to even think about Warren’s condescending manner, Spike took a hesitant step forward, then another. His legs were weak, and he had a feeling he would need to rest before long.

“Come on,” Warren ordered, grabbing his arm impatiently. Instinctively Spike jerked away, and without a moment’s hesitation or warning, Warren snatched his arm again and delivered a powerful backhand blow across his face that would have knocked him to the floor if not for Warren’s hand on his arm.

“I said don’t pull away from me,” he said calmly, as Spike tried to recover from the dizzying blow. “Now come on.” And he dragged the weakened vampire, stumbling on shaky legs toward the door.

Much too slowly for Warren’s liking, Spike gathered from his impatient sighs, they made their way down the stairs. At the bottom, Warren released him suddenly, and he staggered a step or two forward, trying to get his balance.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, much brighter than the room upstairs, he was surprised by how – well -- *nice* the house was. He was in a spacious living area, well-furnished, all leather and plush carpeting and expensive wood. He had expected a dark, dismal, run-down place for a two-bit nobody like Warren.

The next thing he noticed was the other two nerds, standing and just staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe.

“Oh this just gets better and better!” he said sarcastically. “You’ve still got Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber tagging along then?” He had thought Warren was going it alone, having not seen any sign of the other two since waking up here.

“Hey!” the one he knew to be Jonathan said, an almost hurt sound in his voice.

“Are you gonna let him talk to us like that?” the other one asked Warren in a whiny, demanding voice.

“Absolutely not,” Warren answered immediately, slapping Spike again, hard, and this time with no support, the vampire toppled backward onto his knees. He started to get up, but Warren’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t.”

He was kneeling facing the stairs, and Warren walked slowly around him to sit on the third step, at eye level with his prisoner.

“You’re gonna show a little respect for my friends here, Spike,” he informed him with a smile. “They might not be able to hurt you – but I can.” There was unmistakable malice in his quiet voice.

Spike just glared at him, not responding.

“And really, I’m not too satisfied with the level of respect you’re showing *me* either, Spike,” Warren went on, anger showing in his eyes, but not his voice.

He reached into his pocket and took out a small, circular device, a little bigger than a quarter. A dial marked with numbers ran along the outer edge of the device, and a small silver button was on the top of it.

Spike gave Warren a derisive sneer. “Cute toy,” he remarked sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Warren grinned. “Wanna see what it does?”

There was something so maliciously gleeful about Warren’s manner that Spike had a moment’s apprehension just before Warren’s finger depressed the silver button – and all rational thought was swallowed up in pain.

A searing, white-hot bolt of pain tore through his head, radiating through his entire body. He doubled over in agony, gasping for breath which wouldn’t come, stolen away by the intense pain, worse than any he’d ever felt. A hundred times worse than the chip’s usual firing, worse than Glory’s torture, worse than the radiator had been. He had never felt anything like this before in his life or unlife.

Warren’s smile never changed as he held the button down, watching his helpless captive’s suffering.

Finally he released the button, and stood, towering over the pitiful, reeling figure on the floor at his feet, glaring down at him without pity.

“Ok, listen to me,” he ordered, a hard note in his voice, all business now.

Spike was not trying to disobey him, but did not even hear him through the fog of pain that surrounded him, as he held his head in his hands and moaned in agony.

Raising his voice, still calm, but loud enough to break through the pain, Warren said, “You’re going to listen to me, now, or I’m gonna hit it again.”

Spike struggled to gain control, raising wide, panicked blue eyes to meet Warren’s cold dark ones. His mouth trembled as he gasped for breath, fixing his gaze on his tormentor, desperate to avoid another such shock.

Warren smiled, looking him in the eye as he went on, “I did a little re-wiring in your head while you were sleeping. Your chip used to fire whenever you’d try to hurt someone.” He paused before going on in a harder voice, “Now it fires when I tell it to. You are going to do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, and you’re going to show a little respect from now on. Or you’re going to experience the higher levels your new and improved chip is capable of. That was only the first one.”

Spike’s eyes widened more, and began to show the beginnings of despair as he took in Warren’s words.

“If you ever attempt to lay a hand on me,” Warren continued in a voice of quiet authority, “the chip will lay you out so fast it’ll make your head spin. And then *I* will. Every door and window in this house is equipped with a sensor tied into your chip. So if you try to leave the house…the chip will fire. Not only that, but it’ll send a signal to this little baby right here,” he held up the device, “and light up and let me know you tried it.” His smile widened menacingly as he added, “And then the *real* pain will begin. Things starting to become a little clearer?”

Spike nodded almost automatically, his wide eyes full of fear.

“You’re not gonna speak without permission. I’ve had about enough out of your stupid mouth these past few days. So from now on, you don’t say a word unless I tell you you can,” Warren went on, his eyes narrowing in anger, and Spike thought with a hopeless, desolate feeling that this was why Warren had not punished him upstairs.

His situation truly was hopeless. There was no way out. He couldn’t attempt to defend himself, he couldn’t leave the house. He was hopelessly trapped. Warren controlled his chip…and by extension, controlled him.

As if reading his thoughts, Warren added in a softer voice, “There’s no way out of this one, Sparky. From now on…I’m your god. Got that? You make me happy…you do okay. You make me mad…you suffer. Simple enough?” His eyes narrowed on Spike when the vampire did not respond, and his finger teased the button on the control device threateningly.

“Yes,” Spike whispered, nodding quickly. He had not meant to ignore him; it was just so terrible and shocking to take in the enormity of what had just happened to him.

Warren’s words were slow and distinct as he bent down closer to Spike, looking him in the eye and smiling as he said, “You’re my slave now, Spike. You only exist to do what I tell you, and if you ever stop doing that, if I ever decide you’re no use to me anymore… I’ll make you *stop* existing…or at least make you want to. Understood?”

Spike nodded, his eyes downcast, trembling in shock and fear. All the fight had gone out of him with Warren’s terrible revelation. “Yes,” he whispered.

Warren grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back up, still smiling as he spoke again. “Yes, what, Spike?”

Spike knew the response he wanted, but fought back a wave of shame and humiliation at being forced to say it. He couldn’t; he just couldn’t.

“Yes. What. Spike?” Warren demanded, biting out each word menacingly, jerking his head forward a bit and holding the device where he could see it.

Spike closed his eyes on a look of utter defeat and despair, as he choked out the words in a broken, trembling whisper.

“Yes…Master.”