Within a few days, Warren’s purpose for capturing him began to become painfully clear to Spike – with emphasis on the pain.

Warren took him down to the basement, where he had an elaborate computer lab set up. Next to the impressive computer system was a hospital-style bed – or table, Spike wasn’t sure what it was called – complete with leather restraints. He felt his stomach drop with fear as he turned pleading eyes on Warren. This could not possibly be good.

The boy was impassive, unaffected by the haunted, fearful gaze of his captive. “Get on the table,” he ordered.

*Table, then. Not bed,* he thought, rather randomly, as he whispered hesitantly, desperately, “Why? What did I…”

The words were cut off by a cruel fist to his face, sending him stumbling back against a storage rack near the wall, knocking several items off to clatter onto the floor.

Warren was across the room in a moment, gripping the front of his shirt and yanking him close to his face, smiling viciously as he said in that soft, terrifying tone that had become so familiar to Spike, “Now look what you’ve done,” as he gestured to the mess on the floor. His expression hardened as he snapped, “Does *that* work for you?” He paused before adding coldly, “I don’t *need* a reason, Spike. Get that through your head. I’ll do what I want with you, when I want to do it. Who’s gonna stop me, Spike?” he sneered. “The Association for the Prevention of Cruelty to *Vampires*? You don’t even exist, Spike. You are *nothing* but whatever I say you are.” Warren took a stake from his pocket and held it poised over Spike’s heart, adding, “One quick move…and it’d be like you never existed. No body. No evidence. *Nothing*, Spike. That’s what you are. Nothing.”

Spike’s eyes were closed, his body trembling slightly with emotion. God, the words seemed so painfully familiar to his bruised heart! *It’s true,* a traitorous voice whispered in his head. *You’re nothing…worthless…soulless…disgusting thing…*

“Do it,” he whispered, so soft that Warren didn’t catch the words.

“What?” he snapped, irritated that his slave had spoken without permission.

“Just bloody *do it*, then!” Spike’s voice rose in an anguished roar of fury and pain as his fiery eyes met those of his captor. Then his voice softened and tears quenched the flames in his eyes as he added, defeated, “Kill me.”

Warren’s anger faded as understanding dawned, and he smiled a slow, cruel smile. “Maybe later,” he smirked. “For now, I’ve got other plans.” The smile disappeared as he ordered again, “Get on the table.”

And Spike obeyed, without another word. And so began Warren’s “experiments” on Spike’s chip.

That first horrific afternoon, Spike begged him to stop, please just stop, screaming in agony as the electricity tore through his body without mercy. Warren ordered him to be quiet, but even he had to admit that the command was useless. The pain was so intense that Spike really couldn’t help it.

So Warren gagged him.

By the time he was through, several hours later, Spike could barely move or make a sound anyway. Warren untied him and immediately commanded him to get up.

Spike knew he had to obey, knew he would receive more pain if he didn’t, and struggled to sit up on the bed, but it was no use. His meager strength had been drained by the torture he had endured. Irritated and impatient, Warren took him by the arm and helped him sit up. He sat there for just a moment, dizzy and fighting not to black out, until the warning look in Warren’s eyes told him he had better try to stand up.

But the moment his feet hit the floor, and Warren released his arm, he crumpled to the floor, his already weak legs, further weakened by hours of agony, unable to support even his slight weight. He felt like he was going to vomit, though he knew vampires didn’t. A curtain of darkness tried to block his vision, and he couldn’t stop his violent shaking.

Warren glared down at him in annoyance for a moment, before sighing and saying, “Come upstairs as soon as you can. I’m not gonna wait forever, though.”

Spike nodded weakly, still unable to speak, hoping Warren would see that and overlook it this once.

He did, and just turned and walked up the stairs.

Spike sat there on the floor for a while, as the pain and weakness slowly lessened. Finally, he was able to pull himself to his feet, holding onto the edge of the table. As he stood there, gasping for unnecessary but steadying breath, his eyes fell on the computer screen on the other side of the table.

He glanced furtively toward the door at the top of the stairs. It was closed; he would have a little warning if Warren decided to come back down. He looked back across the table at the computer, and made his decision. He wanted to know what Warren was planning. Cautiously, holding onto the table for support, he made his way around to the computer. He dared not sit down at the desk, for fear he would not be able to rise fast enough if Warren came downstairs.

A few minutes perusal of the screen, and the stack of printed research beside the computer, revealed that Warren was building a duplicate chip to the one in his head. And judging by the specific commands he was planning to build into the new chip, Spike realized with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he was intending to use it on a woman.

He knew about the robot girl Warren had built for himself, and had learned since coming here about Warren’s murder of his ex-girlfriend. When she had failed to yield to him the absolute control he craved, when she’d tried to get away from him, he’d killed her. Now it seemed that he had found a way to gain that complete power after all.

Spike wondered sadly about the girl. Who she was, if she had any idea what was about to happen to her. Because there was no doubt in his mind that Warren would carry out his plan. He had grievously underestimated the boy’s intelligence before, and was paying for it every day. He was the only one who knew what Warren was planning to do, and he was certainly in no position to be able to stop him. Warren’s super-strength, combined with the power the chip held over him, made him utterly helpless to anything about it.

He thought again of the strange orbs in the glass case upstairs. If those could be destroyed – perhaps Warren would lose his strength, and it would not be so easy for him to carry out his scheme. But the chip would still work, he remembered with a shudder at the thought of Warren’s rage if he were to break the orbs. Ok, maybe not an option after all, he thought with a grimace.

Again, he found himself thinking of Buffy, as he looked over Warren’s plans to violate the as-of-yet faceless, nameless girl. The pain swept over him again, worse than the physical suffering he had just endured, at the memory of that night in Buffy’s bathroom. He could picture her face, green eyes blazing at him with disgusted accusation, laughing bitterly at the thought of his half-hearted, weak ideas of helping Warren’s intended victim.

“What right do you have?” he imagined her voice in his mind. “You’re as bad as him! Evil, disgusting – nothing!”

Suddenly, the basement door opened, and Spike jumped back away from the desk. A wave of dizziness and nausea came over him at the sudden motion, and he gripped the table for support before he could collapse again.

A small mercy, Warren did not come downstairs, just yelled down, “Spike! Get your pathetic ass up here, *now*!”

His own guilt and hurt over all the recent pain that had passed between him and Buffy; the physical agony and exhaustion of the past months; his ever-present fear at the sound of Warren’s voice – all of it combined too form a sudden devastating force against him.

And in that moment, as he headed for the stairs, slowly, but as quickly as he was able – something broke in Spike’s battered heart. There would be no escape, he realized, with clarity and certainty. There was no reason for hope.

He didn’t deserve a reason to hope.

Over the next few weeks, Warren continued his experiments on Spike’s chip, spending a few hours each day testing the intricacies of its capabilities, and the limits of Spike’s endurance, which, as weak as he was, was probably comparable to that of a human.

And Spike did not resist. He didn’t say a word as day after day Warren subjected him to the torment of his “research”. At times he couldn’t hold back his cries of agony, but he never again asked Warren to stop, or made any protest at all. He knew that it would not have helped; Warren would have done what he wanted regardless of his pleas for mercy. But really, he simply accepted it as what he deserved – all he could expect from now on.

And when it was over, and he was left alone with a few precious moments of solitude in which to recover, he would let his tears fall, as a silent, desperate cry reverberated in his heart.

*I’m sorry, Buffy! I’m so, so sorry!*


Buffy stood across the street from the First National Bank, watching as the police mingled with official-looking men in suits, taking interviews and collecting what little evidence there was.

The nerds had made another appearance.

She was sure it was them. The crime matched the last robbery in every detail. She sighed. Once again, she’d missed it. They’d gotten away with it. Thankfully, no one had been killed this time. But the injuries sustained by the guards this time indicated that they had been left for dead.

Warren Meers and his friends had become very dangerous.

Frustrated, she turned to go – just in time to get a glimpse of black leather slipping around the corner.

*Spike!* she thought, her heart racing as she took off for the spot where she had seen the figure disappear. She stopped when she rounded the corner and saw that the head atop the long black leather was dark, not platinum. Not Spike. Her disappointment was overwhelming as she turned away.

But as she did, something caught her attention, and she turned back around, looking more closely at the black-clad figure. Her eyes narrowed in recognition, and she stalked down the sidewalk, quickly gaining on the boy. She reached him just as he was passing a dark alley, and he still did not seem to have noticed her.

*How convenient,* she thought with a grim smile, as she gripped Warren by the collar and one shoulder and propelled him into the alley, slamming him face-first against the brick wall.

“Hi, Warren,” she said brightly, leaning in close to give him a large, fake smile.

“Hey, Buffy,” he replied, his voice muffled against the wall, but surprisingly calm.

“You’ve been a busy little boy lately, haven’t you?” she smirked, thinking that she could grow to like dealing with *human* scumbags like Warren. Much easier to handle than demon scumbags. *Maybe those Career Day test results weren’t so far off,* she thought. *Officer Buffy Summers…*

“More than you know,” Warren sneered as she loosened her grip enough to allow him to separate his face from the wall.

She was amazed at his nerve. She was the Slayer! Why wasn’t he appropriately scared of her? She shoved his face into the wall again, saying in her most menacing voice, “Oh, I don’t know, Warren. Cause I know a *lot*!”

As she spoke, she glanced down at the coat Warren was wearing. It was amazing how much it looked like Spike’s – down to every last worn, softened spot in the leather – down to every last tear from his countless fights…

“Where did you get this coat?” she demanded suddenly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Warren’s expression became fearful for a moment – then angry. And suddenly, with an amazing strength he had not revealed before, he shoved her back off of him, spinning around to face her.

“What does it matter?” he asked, his voice defensive. “It’s mine.”

Looking into his dark, hate-filled eyes, Buffy felt a sudden chill of fear. Before she even thought about what she was doing, she slammed her fist into Warren’s face and pushed him back into the wall again.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded in a low voice filled with rage. She knew that while Spike might be able to hurt *her* now, he was still helpless against other humans. If Warren had hurt him…

“What do you care, anyway?” Warren snarled, shoving her back, startling her again with his strength. “You know,” he went on angrily. “I’m done being pushed around, *Slayer*!” He spoke the last word mockingly, advancing on her, and suddenly she was actually a little afraid.

He swung a fist at her, which she blocked, but then he moved in with the other to hit her solidly across the face, knocking her backward onto the ground. She tasted her blood in her mouth as she struggled against the dizziness to get to her feet.

But when she looked around, expecting another attack – Warren was gone. She cursed under her breath as she stepped out of the alley and looked up and down the sidewalk. Gone. And he knew where Spike was. He had done something to him.

“Oh, God,” she moaned softly, putting a hand to her spinning head. She took a moment to recover, and when she looked up, her eyes flashed fury. “If he’s hurt him, I’m gonna kill him,” she muttered to herself as he took off toward home, and a phone.

It was time to call in the troops.


Spike stood alone in the living room, staring down at the small object on the floor which was the source of a great dilemma for him. Warren had left hours ago, and he had no idea when he would be back. The other two were seldom around lately; Spike suspected that Warren didn’t want his friends to know about his little personal project, and was keeping them away.

This made things harder on Spike, because when Warren’s friends were around, he seemed to at least make an attempt to hide his darkest impulses; they called themselves “supervillains”, but even they would have been appalled by the extent of Warren’s abuse of Spike. He used the conveniently helpless vampire to vent his frustrations on a very regular basis, inventing small infractions for which to punish him whenever he happened to be in a foul mood, in spite of his own claim that he didn’t need a reason.

Now, Spike stared at the forgotten item on the floor, which was likely to get him punished regardless of what he did with it.

Warren’s cell phone.

The house had no land-line phones, and Warren’s cell phone was always in his pocket. Somehow, today, he had dropped it.

A part of Spike’s mind screamed, “Trap! Run!” But surely Warren would not have stayed away this long if he had known the phone was there and expected him to try to use it.

He had found it there on the floor only minutes after Warren had left, but so far had not dared to touch it. If he *did* use it, he would have to delete the number so that Warren wouldn’t know that he had, and leave it in exactly the same place and position he had found it.

Even if he didn’t touch it, Warren would likely accuse him of it and punish him anyway. He decided with a sudden spark of his old impulsivity, and snatched up the phone before he could stop himself.

His finger froze over the last digit of Buffy’s phone number. How could he call her, after what had happened? She wouldn’t care. He had meant nothing to her, and that was *before* what he had done.

But…she would care about the girl, Warren’s intended victim. She would want to stop Warren. And when she stopped Warren…

He pressed the last digit before he could talk himself out of it and waited breathlessly.

One ring. Another. He felt sick again. Halfway through the third ring, someone picked up.

“Hello?” Dawn.

Spike’s eyes welled with tears and his throat closed up at the sound of her voice. Oh, how long had it been since he had heard her voice? *Any* kind, warm voice?

“Hello…ok…creepy stalkerish breathing on the other line, not cool…hanging up now.” Dawn sounded bored.

“Niblet,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper through his tears.

“*Spike*?!” Dawn’s voice was louder, shocked and excited. “Oh my God, where have you *been*? Are you ok? If you’re ok, you are *so* dead, because I have been worried out of my mind…”

“Not ok,” he broke in, in a rough, tearful whisper. He made his voice stronger, gasping back a sob before going on, “Bit, I really need to talk to your sis.”

Dawn’s voice was frightened now. “Spike…what’s going on? Are you *crying*? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t have much time, Bit. I’ve got to talk to the Slayer,” he insisted, not wanting Dawn to know how bad off he really was, though his voice was so weak and strangled with tears that she had to have some idea.

“She’s not here.” The dismay in Dawn’s voice matched what he felt at the words. “Tell me, Spike. I’ll tell her. What’s going on? Do you need help?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice a sob.

“Where are you?”

“I – I don’t know,” he went on, helplessly. “Big house in the country. That’s all I know.”

From the concern and genuine affection in her voice, he knew that Buffy had not told her what he had done, and felt an overwhelming gratitude. The thought of Dawn finding out about that terrified him more than anything Warren had ever done.

“How did you get there? Did somebody hurt you, Spike?”

He fought back another sob, struggling over the words, “W-warren and his friends – he’s gonna hurt someone, Bit. A girl. Tell the Slayer to…”

Suddenly, his words were cut off by a hand clamped over his mouth. “Hang it up,” the familiar menacing voice spoke in a whisper near his ear. “We don’t wanna scare the little girl, do we?” Sick with fear, he tried not to think about what Warren thought Dawn would hear to scare her so much.

“Spike? Spike! Are you okay? Talk to me!” Dawn’s voice sounded frantic in the moments before he snapped the phone shut, disconnecting the call – and his lifeline.


Just as the line went dead, Dawn heard the front door opening and Buffy rushing into the house, slamming the door behind her.

She hurried toward her sister, terrified for her best friend. She had never heard Spike sound so desolate, so fearful and achingly sad. And to have the call cut off like that…

“Buffy!’ she called urgently, stepping through the kitchen doorway.

“Not now, Dawnie, this is really important,” Buffy said, a little sharply, reaching for the phone and dialing Tara’s number.

Dawn started to speak again, but Buffy raised a hand for silence as she spoke into the phone, “Tara, is Will there? I need to talk to her, now!”

Dawn took the moment while Buffy waited for Willow to insert her desperate news – at the same time that Buffy took the moment to explain herself.

Both girls spoke the words at once.

“Warren’s done something to Spike!”

Their eyes widened in surprise as they stared at each other.

Buffy wordlessly hung up the phone. “I ran into Warren. He was wearing Spike’s coat,” she said slowly, staring at her sister.

Dawn’s eyes welled with tears. “He called, Buffy! he was so – so scared and – and he was *crying*, Buffy! We got disconnected, and I think he’s hurt, bad, Buffy! And he doesn’t even know where he is!”

Still stunned herself, Buffy put her arms around her sobbing little sister, staring into space over Dawn’s head.

As she wordlessly held Dawn, her eyes hardened with protective anger, and her mouth became a thin, firm line of determination.

“We’ll find him, Dawnie. We’ll find him.”