The Open BoxA/N: August Fic-a-day Challenge Response
- A prequel to the Pandora’s Box series. Feedback:
Yes, please! :)Disclaimer:
Stargate SG1 and BtVS belong to MGM and Mutant Enemy; plus a truckload of other people.
For the next few moments his world consisted of two things and two things only, the frantic pounding within his head, and the information screaming out as the Headline News. It seemed impossible really that, after years of fighting demons, vampires and the forces of darkness; of saving the world, that their home would be destroyed by something not quite supernatural.
How could they have missed it?
His first reaction was to think that the world had mistaken the supernatural for the extraterrestrial, but that explanation was quickly squashed as he watched the events unfold on Live Television; he watched the footage, appalled at what he was witnessing.
Comet-trails of fire streaked down from the sky, setting buildings alight; houses, schools, office blocks. The one colossal blast that hit London Bridge created a cloud of dust, smoke and fire; throwing up walls of flame that consumed everything it touched.
Giles watched silently from his standing position at the kitchen entrance as the vehicles using the bridge tumbled helplessly into the river below, followed by the rubble and steel. He was dimly aware that, had the circumstances been a little less astounding, the level of explicit detail would not have been allowed; censorship was very strict... Just not when it came to extraterrestrial attacks.
He realised that the pounding in his ears, drowning out all other noise, was his own heart; shock possibly.
The pale-faced reporter on the telly appeared to be screaming something into the camera; whatever it was Giles was incapable of hearing much, but from what he could tell from the images shown on-screen there had been devastating blasts on the QE2 Bridge; he watched as the long, thin bridge buckled and twisted, dropping like a long ribbon that had just been cut. Finally, it hit the river and pulled the rows of vehicles into the water with it.
They were destroying the bridges, he realised.
Giles’s legs felt weak, he leaned against the wall, the broken remnants of his cup lying scattered on the floor; the hot Bovril was soaking into his carpet.
A ringing sound was audible to his suddenly; faint, but he could hear it above his own heart: it was the telephone. Finding the strength that he’d almost forgotten he’d had, Giles pushed himself away from the wall and seized the telephone; it slid from his grasp a bit but he fixed his grip around it so tightly that his hand hurt, “Yes?”
No time for addressing people properly.
The voice from the other end barely reached his ears before Giles’s arm slackened and dropped to his side; his gaze was plastered firmly on the television. For the first time since the caption of ‘Alien Attacks’ had filling the screen Giles ignored the words and the reporter; his eyes were locked on to the image that had hit him the hardest of all - the decimated wreckage that used to be the Watchers’ Council.
Dully, he raised the phone to his ear; hearing Buffy’s worried voice, the anxious tone of Joyce Summers in the background.
The end of the world as they knew it came to an end at midday on the 6th of December 1997.