You Can Never Go Home Again... by DarthTenebrus
Disclaimer -- The story, and nothing else, belongs to
grd and myself; characters and elements of Star Wars, Stargate SG-1, and Buffy belong to their respective owners. We're just playing with their toys for now...
The Tok’ra shuttle rode high into the stratosphere in less than ten seconds. Inside, though, its passengers felt not the slightest pull of inertia due to the advanced Goa’uld technology that produced an inertial dampening field around the craft. They felt not the Earth fall away as they watched their ascent into low Earth orbit, nor the thinning of the air as blue sky gave way to black starlit space. For many of them it was their first time off planet, and the mysteries of the cosmos soon beckoned to them. For a moment, the wonder and terror of the void drove out the memories of Stormtroopers, of Sith and Jedi, and of vampires and magicks and the Force.
“It’s beautiful,” said Buffy as she looked out the porthole at the unimaginably huge vista of eternity.
“Yeah,” said Faith next to her. The curve of the Earth appeared as the shuttle made a slow turn. “It’s never what you see in pictures.”
“You have no idea,” said the voice of Jack O’Neil behind them. He had walked up to the hatch practically without a sound, so his voice was naturally startling to the Slayer and her Slay-sister. They spun toward him and nearly jumped out of their skins. Hardly anything could startle the Slayer, so finely attuned were her senses. It was a testament to the fury and chaos of the last few hours.
, Colonel! Stealthy much?” squeaked the Slayer in quite an un-Slayer-ly tone of being very much startled.
“Just didn’t think a view like this should be spoiled by a bunch of noise,” said Jack quietly, reverently. “You have to be stranded out there in a Death Glider that’s run out of fuel, running out of oxygen, and getting ready to burn up in reentry to really appreciate that.” He smirked silently at himself that he could still be sarcastic in sacred moments such as this.
“Well, however you’re used to looking at something like this, it’s amazing either way,” said Faith. Turning to Buffy she said, “What are you going to tell your mom about this when she comes out of the hospital?”
“Not sure, but I bet she’ll just – oh SHIT! Mom! DAWN!!
” the blonde Slayer exclaimed, suddenly panicked. “We totally forgot them!!!!
” She sprinted faster than the eye had a chance to blink toward what she hoped was the cockpit.
“B!” Faith ran after her, hoping to stall her a bit or, failing that, to get up there with her and talk sense into her.
Jack slapped his hand on the hearest comm unit in the wall. “Selmak, you got two Slayers about to tell you to turn this thing around, one of them has her mother in the hospital and her sister watching over her. “
“Get up here too, then,” said Jacob Carter in reply. Jack ran like the wind, though he knew from the firefight that nothing moved faster than two Slayers in the heat of battle. He’d never catch them before they reached the bridge and started badgering the pilot to go back to Cleveland and search the whole town for Buffy’s family.********
Darth Maugrim had been infuriated ever since he got the word from his Master that he was being retasked to hunt down a band of rebel fugitives from the Watchers’ Council. He wished that Lord Mortalis were before him now, on his knees and begging for mercy, only to witness the beauty that was Maugrim’s change into the wolf he truly was, and the burning agony as the fangs and claws began to rend his flesh. Yet he had to suppress that thought, joyful as it might have been, and focus on the mission at hand.
For a development had occurred, one which even the werewolf who once had gone by the name of Daniel Osbourne had not anticipated.
He thought the stories were just that – stories. Tales to fill the hearts of hopeful people who wished for something better than the dreary world in which they lived. Stories to placate the weak masses who were incapable of affecting change on their own. They were too dull-witted, too slow to realize the nature of power. Tales such as the ones made famous by the late George Lucas gave them something to make their days just a little bit brighter.
Mortalis had said to him, “Rupert Giles has returned. And what’s more, he appears to have learned the ways of the Force.” How ironic it was, then, that he, Darth Maugrim, was being sent to verify this. Surely this was something Mortalis himself would have wanted to be in on. Sadly, the would-be Emperor had affairs of state to manage. That took time away from more interesting pursuits.
But find Giles he would, and he would see how the newly-christened Jedi would fare against a Sith Lord like himself. The confrontation should prove enlightening. For it meant that if Giles had not been dead after all, then he had been someplace where he had trained as a Jedi . It would have been a real place, whether in this dimension or another, and there would have been real Jedi in that place from whom he had learned the secrets of the Force. The logical conclusion then was that the Star Wars universe and his were one and the same. This was truly enlightening….
His CR-20 craft touched down, and the main hatch slid open to reveal the honor guard mustered and made ready to welcome him. He hopped down to the pavement and saluted the pilot, giving him the go-ahead to lift off and depart. He strode between the two ranks of Stormtroopers standing at attention with their weapons held at Present Arms. At the end, Clone Commander Cody and his chief lieutenant, Captain Rex, stood waiting to receive him.
Cody and Rex snapped off a hand salute each as Cody said, “Welcome Lord Maugrim.”
He returned the salute and said, “Thank you, Commander. How goes the search for the rebels?”
“We have a CR-20 fitted for long range surveillance deployed to shadow the Goa’uld shuttle that carried the rebel contingent out of the area of operations, as per orders relayed by Lord Mortalis.”
“Excellent news, Cody. Is there a chance that it could yet be detected?”
“Not yet, milord,” said Cody, “but they’ve only just went out. It’ll be some time whether or not we know the capabilities of Goa’uld sensor technology; our intelligence analysts are going over the reports from the SGC command staff. In the interim, my lord –“
“In the interim, Commander, I suggest you keep an eye on the skies. My feelings tell me that they will soon return to retrieve a couple of precious valuables, in a manner of speaking. Concentrate your search at Cleveland Memorial Hospital. We should be able to get there before the rebels even think of coming back here. When they come back to recover their family members, we will be there to welcome them. Then they will all be mine.”
Outskirts of Sunnydale
“How’s the test run going, Warren?” queried Cordelia. Warren had requested to take his first Terminator prototype out to the local desert and set up a basic obstacle course to put it through its paces. The results had shown some promise. The firing range was part of the next battries of tests to see if it would hold up.
“Just fine, Cordy,” he said. “Guidance systems are one hundred percent functional, agility and strength testing are positive, reaction times are off the charts. I think we have something that’ll give those clones a run for their money. All we need now are targeting and accuracy data as well as judgment assessment by the neural net processors in each one I plan to build, then I can safely say we’ll have a robot that’ll do James Cameron proud.”
“Good to hear it, I hope Giles found our Slayer, it’s getting pretty nasty out there. Clones are taking over more and more regular Armed Forces operations. I even heard they’re scrapping the entire F22 Raptor project in favor of full scale production of the new TIE fighters.”
“Yeah, I heard what they did to the Iranians in Afghanistan. Their whole air force was wiped out! I mean, who’s next? Russia? Japan?”
“Eventually. Xander’s not gonna stop until he has the whole world in his grip, Warren. This is gonna be a long fight, you realize that, right?” Cordelia suddenly turned away. “Can Jonathan work some glamours for them so they look like regular people?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yeah, I think he could,” Warren replied slowly, “but that’s a lot of mojo to work considering the number of robots I want to field. You all right?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath and sighed, the very action of respiration opening the floodgates of emotion to wash over her. “I wake up every day, Warren, and every day is a reminder of that stupid wish I made. Do you get how that feels? To have to wake up every day knowing you’re responsible for causing all of THIS?” she sobbed. Her shoulders shook with each breath she dragged into her lungs. “With just two fucking words? I? Wish? Do you know that?” Her voice had begun to crack under the cascade of grief and regret that defined her countenance at this moment.
“Come here,” he said as he held out his arms. She leaned into his embrace, grateful for the simple, warm heart he had, She let loose her tears as he folded his arms around her trembling body. “We can’t change what we’ve done,” he said at length. “By that logic, feeling sorry for ourselves over the mistakes of our past is a great waste of energy and effort. You think you have the monopoly on bonehead mistakes?” He chuckled to himself softly in reminiscence of his own sordid affairs. “I could tell you stories of things I did that went to shit afterwards. But you don’t see me crying myself to sleep over it, because I choose to do things a little better, make better choices.”
She looked up at Warren, confused and hurt that he could so casually refer to his most remorseful moments and decisions as if they were entries in a file system. She thanked God, the Force, whoever and whatever was out there that he had Katrina in his life to help him stay on the straight and narrow. He caught her gaze, the tears still fresh in her eyes, and smiled. “Of course there’s no great and powerful moment in anyone’s life that changes them so profoundly that they don’t have to continually rededicate themselves to their purpose in life. We can’t expect that to happen to us and still hope to remain human.”
“Can’t we?” she asked. Cordelia had borne the burden of rebel leader for several years now. There were always moments like this when she felt overwhelmed by the weight of it.
The weight of years. The burden of command. The knowledge that she was the one they all looked to for guidance, for purpose.
In moments like this she wished to herself, never out loud of course -- she made that mistake once already and look what happened as a result. Besides, she knew what was listening out there -- wished to herself that there had never been such a thing as magic, or demons, or vampires, or the Slayer. She found herself more than once cursing the Powers that Be, cursing the Force, or God, or the whole universe that the Force had claimed one of the best friends she had ever known. A doofus Alexander Lavelle Harris might have been in public, but inwardly she had craved his simple wisdom, a wisdom that was cultivated from tragic circumstance and bitter hardship. And now she was plotting to destroy him. The thought brought fresh sorrow to her heart, and she found herself once again a sobbing, nervous wreck in the arms of Warren Mears.
He rocked her gently as she let her tears soak his shirt. It had seemed like time could stand still here, so long as he or someone held her and gave her the simple comfort of a warm embrace. Here she could forget she was Cordelia Chase, Leader of the Rebellion, and could just be Cordelia Chase, the woman. Let the Sith and their hordes clamor at the gates. Let Giles and his fellow Watchers, and the Slayer, mete out vengeance in the name of justice. Let the Hellmouth open and vomit forth its horrors upon the Earth. In this moment it all stood still for her. Here in this moment she was safe from all harm and peril.
At length she had cried her last tears, and she slowly extricated herself from her comforter’s embrace. “Thank you, Warren,” she said, and she looked him in the eyes. “I just don’t know what I’d do without you here.”
“Ah, it’s okay, Cordy.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Just lending a helping hand, that’s all. Excuse me.” A beep began to sound from his board in the monitor station. He turned and looked at the readout. “Looks like diagnostics are completed, we’re ready to begin testing weapons interface and combat logic subroutines. Stand by, arming now.” He punched away at his laptop computer and sent a series of wireless commands to the Terminator unit standing at the ready line of the live fire range. Data scrolled across his screen as systems reconfigured for combat in the drone. In only a moment a tone sounded on his laptop. “Ok, I think we’ll start with a few static targets for accuracy and response time. Let’s see how sharp ol’ Arnold’s eyes are.”
“Arnold? Oh,” said Cordy once she filled in the blanks. “As in Schwarzenegger.”
“Got it in one,” said Warren as he punched in a command. “Here we go.”
Targets started raising at various ranges along the lane. The Terminator seemed to know where each one was almost before it popped up. Its metal fingers caressed the E-11 blaster rifle and touched the firing stud. Before the targets could raise to their full height, a scarlet bolt erupted from the rifle’s muzzle and burned a small hole in exactly the center of mass. The skeletal figure of the Terminator made no hint of emotion, no satisfaction whatever; it was responding according to its core programming, and the neural net processor embedded in its skull automatically made corrections to the drone’s aim.
“Goodness gracious me,” blurted Warren in amazement, “the data I’m getting is just incredible. How can the NNP still be trying to improve its aim? Arnie’s accuracy is already at ninety-nine percent and climbing – I’m jealous!”
The friendly tone Warren conveyed served to improve Cordelia’s mood, and she soon found herself exchanging snarky remarks with him, to the amusement of both. It was the panacea she needed after a long period of sorrowful contemplation.
“What are you
talking about? You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, you doofus!”
“Hey, my aim ain’t that
bad…but the way he’s taking down targets makes me want to spend a few hours over here myself, just me and a trusty old AK-47.” A tone bleeped on his display, and he shook his head with envy. “Damn, he’s way better than any of us. Static target test is complete. Accuracy at 99.98%, response time is – whoa! Between five and eight milliseconds! Well, he’s got me
stoked, let’s see what a few moving targets look like to him. Starting next test….now.”
In a moment the range came alive. The first target popped up and slid left to right on an angle that closed with the drone. It never got more than a foot before it fell from a blaster hit at exact center of mass. The next target popped up at twice the distance and seemed to move farther away as it slid from right to left. As with the first, it never made it more than a foot or two before it collapsed from an extremely precise hit to the center of the chest area.
“This is incredible, Cordy!” said Warren in sheer awe. “I’m showing no deviation, no degradation of aim; the processor is at the same time storing, analyzing, and recalibrating based on target information.”
“Yes!” he all but squealed with joy. “It’s anticipating the next target’s actions, it’s predicting
“How?” she asked in confusion. “Robots aren’t supposed to be able to predict, they just do what they’re told. How can a machine think ahead?”
“Okay, listen,” he replied as he turned to her. “It’s what you might term a neural net processor. In simple language, it thinks and learns like we do. It remembers like we do, and it uses what it’s learned to predict a probable outcome. It’s a heuristic learning program within the processor that enables the chip to formulate a strategy and respond accordingly. Even beyond that, really. If you throw a Terminator in with a mix of those stupid battle droids that I saw in the concept drawings for the next Star Wars movie, ah, A Phantom Menace, I believe the working title was, that Terminator will outperform them all. It thinks for itself; they can’t. It’ll anticipate and plan accordingly, and it’ll even respond to unanticipated scenarios with the same degree of alertness and foreknowledge. It’s really the mother of all artificial intelligences. Isn’t it great?”
“Yeah. I guess so. It’s actually kinda scary, too, if you get my meaning.”
“I told you before, Cordy. There’s not gonna be any Skynet problems like you’re thinking. I’ve got loyalty software hardwired into the NNP; he’s not gonna turn on us. It’ll be alright.” Warren clamped a warm hand on Cordy’s shoulder and shook it gently to drive the point home.
Cordelia sighed and shook her head in resignation. Relieved, she said “You’re the best cyberneticist we have; if someone else had said these robots wouldn’t – I should say ‘droids’, shouldn’t I?”
Warren simply shrugged and said, “I suppose we could, now anyway.”
“Whatever; if someone else had said these droids
wouldn’t run amok, I’d have said 'no way
', but you built this one, and if you say it’s gonna work right, then I’ll believe it.”
“Hmph, you’d better
believe it, lady. Ain’t no one
better at building bots than Warren Mears
“You think we stand a chance against Xander, Warren? I mean, with all his resources and technology, the might of a nation behind him, and all the power of the Dark Side of the Force, do you think we can win?” Cordelia asked suddenly.
Warren snorted again. “Sister, with you in charge, all the people we’ve got working with us, and with Giles on our side, who’s to say we couldn’t?”
“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you. I’ll try my best,” said Cordelia, chuckling gently.
Warren looked up and to the side, suddenly recollecting something. “An old wise guy once said, ‘Do or do not, there is no try.”
“Who said that?”
“Who do you think, Cordy? Yoda!”********Cleveland Memorial Hospital
Dawn was worried sick. She had been nervous ever since Buffy left with Wesley several hours ago, and it was just less than several hours ago that her nervousness had evolved into full-blown anxiety. They had discussed making plans to get out of town and go into hiding to avoid the Council Recovery Teams that her Daddy Wesley was sure were coming to get Buffy and take her to England, the rest of the family be damned.
“Dawnie, stop pacing, it won’t bring your sister back any sooner,” her mother said from the bed where she was resting from her surgery.Thank goodness for Imperial Inc., otherwise…
she didn’t want to think of the alternative. It was a very good thing that the vaunted technology research firm had produced such medical marvels as what enabled the staff here to detect the tumor in its infancy, and to remove it with such a degree of precision allowing Joyce such improved chances of recovery.
“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m just so nervous. What if the Council decides to come after us? What would our chances be without Buffy and Dad here?” Dawn complained.
“Dawn, your sister and her Watcher are both very capable people when it comes to looking after themselves. If the Watchers’ Council did send someone after them then they wouldn’t have much of a chance against Buffy. Besides, if they sent someone who would just shoot Buffy before she could get close, then why would they need us for leverage? Buffy’s not that stupid, she’s made assurances for our safety, I’m positive.”
Just then someone knocked at the door, and a voice spoke an instant later.I hope that's one of Buffy's so-called assurances,
“Ms. Summers, Dawn, there’s some gentlemen here to see you, they say your sister sent them to make sure you were both safe, said you were in some sort of danger. Any idea what this is about?”
“Where do they sound like they’re from?” Dawn didn’t want some British SAS type coming within twenty miles of her family, especially her sister and her Mom.
“Dawn Summers!” shouted an outraged Joyce at her daughter.
“No, ma’am, you misunderstand. They’re ours, they’re clones.” Just then another voice, muffled as though it came from a helmet speaker like the ones the clone troopers always wore, spoke through the door.
“Ma’am, we have reason to believe you’re being targeted by a terrorist cell from the International Watchers’ Council. May we come in?”
“Terrorists?!” cried Dawn. This was a new twist; they never agreed with the Council and their methods to manage the Slayers throughout history, especially Buffy, but Dawn and Joyce had never had a reason to believe the Council would stoop to terrorism. “Sure, I suppose.”
The door opened, and six white-armored troopers entered the recovery room, followed by a seventh who would have appeared identical to the others were it not for a gold pauldron around his left shoulder and a slightly different looking helmet that seemed to be decked out with more gear than the standard trooper’s helmet. He walked up to Joyce and spoke.
“Ma’am, I’m Commander Cody, commanding 3rd Regiment, 1st Stormtrooper Division, we’re here to provide security until the current crisis abates.”
“Terrorists? Current crisis? Commander, I don’t know where you get your information, but I have seen nothing to indicate that the Watchers’ Council would stoop to terrorist activity. We have our disagreements about their methods, sure, but my Buffy and her Watcher, Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, are nothing like the terrorists you claim the Watcher’s Council to be. Now would you kindly tell us what this is all about?”
The clone officer looked toward the exit, and another presence made itself known. A white male with red hair and eyes the green color of the sea strode into the recovery room. He was of average height and build, but his posture and his stride spoke of a man who was used to commanding and getting respect from all he interacted with. Add the fact that his conservative black suit and badge all but screamed “Washington DC, federal government", and both Joyce and Dawn had every reason to be nervous.
“Sorry for not announcing myself earlier, Ms. Summers,” the young man spoke with a calm, easy voice that belied his nature as a federal officer. “Special Agent Daniel Osbourne, liaison to the Homeland Security office. “
“Homeland Security? Agent Osbourne, do you mind telling me what in the name of God is going on here, since your clone goon squad has seen fit to stay rather tight-lipped?” Joyce retorted with a rather high degree of sarcasm.
“I do apologize for the abrupt appearance here, but we’ve been tracking several members of the Watchers’ Council for some time now; we believe them to be members of a sleeper cell that’s been active here in the Cleveland area for a rather lengthy period of time. We don’t have very precise information yet, since some of the individuals in their organization are rather skilled in information warfare. But we did come up with some names, and that’s why I came here with this small team of troops while they secure the area against any possible threat by the IWC.”
This put Joyce in a decidedly foul mood, and a spirit of rage infused her very core as she glowered at Osbourne with a look that, should it have been decided by the Powers that looks could kill, would have reduced the agent to ashes and scattered the remains to the four winds. Never mind that the Watchers’ Council had apparently been declared outlaw by the US government, this individual was accusing her daughter of perpetrating terrorist activity, and he would be called to account for his poor choice of words, as God was her witness and judge. Had she her way, she would find him guilty of his crime and sentence him to an appointment with the hangman’s noose.
“If you’re in any way
implying that my daughter has anything to do with a terrorist group, I will literally jump from this bed and make certain of your inability to ever speak her name, or any other, for the rest of your soon to be short and agonizing existence, Mr. Osbourne. Do I make myself clear?” The tone of Joyce’s voice, while calm and even, revealed in the same tone a promise of terrible and brutal torment for his perceived slight against her family, for while she appeared outwardly calm, and her voice even, her voice was too calm – it was the calm of a thoroughly angered woman, and the words had been too clearly enunciated to give any doubt as to her intent.
For his part, Osbourne kept his temper in check and displayed outwardly the calm, professional demeanor that predisposed the officer of the Homeland Security Department to inner discipline, the aspect of which had permitted him to shrug off the threat to his physical person with no more effort than that of a duck allowing rain water to roll off its oiled feathers. He merely smiled and inclined his head in apology.
“Of course, Ms. Summers, I meant no disrespect to you or your family. I merely mean to elicit information which might better enable me to acquire the fugitives I mentioned earlier and bring them thus to justice. With that in mind, I do need to ask you a few questions about your daughter Buffy. Do you mind?”
She reluctantly replied, “I suppose. But you would do well to heed my warning during our brief session. And I do mean ‘brief
’, Agent Osbourne. So keep your questions short and few and your words sweet, just in case you have to eat them later. Get me?”
“Indubitably. What do you know of the true purpose of the Watchers’ Council, Ms. Summers? Its original mission?”
“I know they specialize in acquiring and procuring rather rare artifacts that tend to fall under the term ‘occult’. They have field offices in just about every country on Earth from which they field teams of Watchers to investigate rumors of such artifacts as well as rumors regarding supernatural occurrences. Beyond that, they tell nobody, and they like it that way. They don’t want to appear as crackpots, hence the secrecy.” Joyce replied offhandedly. Osbourne was trying to get something out of her, she realized, that she would rather be kept quiet, for her daughter’s sake and the sake of her Watcher.
The problem was, Osbourne saw right through the deception that she had wrapped so carefully in the truth.
“Just so, ma’am. But what if I told you I know the true mission of the Council? The actual objective, not the lie you just told me. And before you interrupt with another one of your rather thinly veiled protestations and wing flapping, I might remind you that lying to a Federal officer is consistent with perjury in a court of law, and therefore punishable as such?”
Another raw glare from Joyce punctuated the words she was about to hurl at the Special Agent like spears, but Dawn got to him first.
“You’d better stop grilling my Mom before I go call Security to have you and your stupid clones thrown out of this hospital, buster!” she all but screamed in his face. She would NOT put up with this high-handed, self-absorbed government agent talking to her mom like he was doing, and threatening to throw her in jail. He didn't have any evidence, so what could he or his stupid clone squad do with the two of them, or with Buffy?
Osbourne turned to look pointedly at Dawn and said to Joyce, “I do admire your Dawn’s spunk, Ms. Summers, but perhaps your daughter should learn her place and not interrupt a conversation between grown adults, especially when it comes to a government investigation.” As he said this, his stare hardened, and for a split second, Dawn imagined – or did she – that his eyes flashed a molten, venomous yellow and then resumed their normal color. The imagination of those eyes chilled Dawn to her very soul, firing her every fiber of being with wonder and terror.
Who or what was this guy? Was he some sort of demon that had infiltrated the government? Or was he something worse? Dawn went pale from the stare, and she began to feel a chill in her blood which had nothing to do with the ambient temperature in the hospital. This…man…might or might not be an agent of the US government, but one thing Dawn was certain about.
He was evil to the core—she could feel it as surely as she felt the felt the clothes on her skin or the shoes on her feet. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it. They were in danger now, REAL danger that didn’t come from the Council or their mercenary lapdogs.
She tried to warn her mom, tried to form words with her lips, but no sound came out save a raw whisper. Her throat, she noticed with sudden alarm, felt as though something was gripping it, choking off the voice she treasured as the alarm which preserved her life by summoning her sister to dispatch the villains that sought to do her harm on a regular basis. And now to her wonder and growing panic she felt the constricting influence grow in its effort and fury, as her lungs failed to draw vital breath from the outside world. Through the growing red haze she beheld Osbourne, or the thing that called itself Daniel Osbourne, focus its malevolent gaze on her, though his countenance betrayed little, if any, of his intent toward her or her mother. For all Joyce saw, Dawn simply stood rapt in awe and shock at the tone with which Osbourne had addressed her mother, at the audacity he displayed in his behavior. And in the next instant she noticed suddenly the invisible claw had ceased its deadly labor. She drew breath as easily as a line drawn on paper. Dawn had been bereaved of her snark and her impolitic attitude toward the government agent. She, however, was not bereft of her anger toward him, that much the vile thing before her knew without knowing.
“Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?” the thing said. “Oh, yes. The true mission of the Watchers’ Council, Ms. Summers, is not acquisition of rare occult artifacts and witness statements of supposed supernatural events, just for the sake of historical accounts. You might have noticed the acquisition of such rare artifacts by your museum here in town has met with some severe difficulty in that regard, yes? Rather, the mission of the Watchers’ Council is to insinuate itself into all aspects of human society by rumor, disinformation, and concealment of the truth so that in time, when they are ready to make their move for dominance, they will have so thoroughly corrupted the governments of the world at all levels that resistance to an overt attempt at conquest would be a non-factor. Throughout history the Council has attempted infiltration into all levels of human society through deception, false pretense, impersonation of government officials, which never opposed their efforts as beforehand their military arm, the so-called “mercenaries” that they employ to do their dirty work, had seen fit to eliminate them. They then alter existing policy at the time so as to make their further intrusion less observable. They then establish various chapters and sub-chapters of their organization in each city, town and local community, as far as they can spread while preserving their command structure from the top down. They propagate like a virus, Ms. Summers, until they can consume the body politic from within. The Council sees itself not as a conservatorship of human affairs, but as director and overseer. Lords, in essence. Some of us would be made to swear fealty to them as their vassals, the rest would work the land for them as serfs. You understand the reference, yes? The Watchers’ Council does not intend to watch humanity as guardians in the darkness against the quote, unquote, “forces of darkness”, but to watch us, that they may control our daily lives and manipulate them according to their own will.”
"Now onto my next question. What do you know of the Slayer?"This chapter is not yet finished. Thank you to all those who have commented on this story thus far, grd and I promise to keep the thrills and suspense flowing here, so please be patient and keep reading. And if you liked this story, then please take a gander at my own two stories based on the Star Wars universe, called "Rise Dark Sisters" and "Balance of Powers". Comment and rate, everyone....