Disclaimer: I own nothing. To avoid spoilers, a further disclaimer is at the end of this story.
Spike always had to admire a good scam.
Especially since in this particular case, the whole cult ritual which an amused vampire was currently watching had obviously been dreamed up just for that robed bloke with the brutish face to surround himself by a harem of nubile prostitutes taken off the local streets. Those loose women with the killer bodies dressed in tight-fitting, cheap robes while standing in a semi-circle before their spiritual leader certainly hadn’t been selected for their presumed intellectual abilities, after all.
Hidden in the shadows at the very back of the run-down Los Angeles factory he’d wandered into a few minutes ago from a rear alley, his attention caught by the odd sounds coming from in there, Spike wryly contemplated humanity’s immense capacity for gullibility.
*I mean, any bint with a fraction more brains than a gnat surely wouldn’t fall for this whole silliness. Mister Whiskers, him in the hood and with what he’s passing off as real Egyptian hieroglyphs on his robe, is obviously making up everything on the spot: the daft chanting, his mystical gestures, and most of all, that stupid statue they’re all supposed to be worshipping.*
Spike slowly shook his head in genuine wonder.
*What’d he do, lift every scrap of it from the nearest municipal tip and then hamfistedly bung together his idea of what’s supposed to be some kind of bloody idol?*
The vampire glanced past the humans clad in their idiotic attempts at ceremonial dress. He sent a distinct sneer towards the clumsy replica of presumably one or the other Nile deities set up at the far end of the factory. Frankly, Spike had seen much better work done by a blind, senile, sculptor wielding a rubber chisel while dealing with a severe hangover at the same time.
Any concerns that he might possibly be mistaken and this was in fact a sincerely faithful ceremony of some kind were fading fast for Spike. For one, he’d strolled right into this factory without the slightest bit of trouble. There hadn’t been the least trace of consecrated ground or sanctified protective wards which normally repelled vampires and other unholy creatures.
Truth be told, Spike couldn’t detect any
sort of magic, light or dark, in this entire soddin’ place. Which lead back to the vampire’s original theory: that this was some sort of grand fiddle by the gent up there in his oversized tent of a robe, all done to get his ashes thoroughly hauled with those whores he’d conned into believing their holy man’s lies.
*Not tonight, though,* smirked Spike. *Wouldn’t miss it for the world, all those nice, juicy necks gathered together here, just for me.*
Making one last check, Spike took a deep sniff of the factory air. He got the same scents as before, with these being about a dozen female bodies in good health and growing excitement, one man who really should change his socks more often, and finally the lesser gasoline and oil-based smells still hanging around the place. This latter aroma was probably due to the factory’s history before it shut down and sold off whatever machinery had been here in the past.
At that point, Spike’s thoughts were diverted by the Pyramid Power Priest then bellowing out a long stretch of nonsense syllables, which culminated in an echoing “HA-NA-SAAAAAAH!” reverberating throughout the abandoned factory. In obedience to this, all of the women there now took off their robes in flawless unison, letting these clothes fall to the concrete floor next to the fabric-wrapped bundles which had remained there throughout the entire ceremony.
These rolled-up cylindrical packages, one for every woman, were undoubtedly the mattresses which would be placed together for the upcoming orgy between the con man and his devotees, Spike instantly decided. This prompt conclusion drawn by the vampire was due to the delightful feature of virtually all those bints presently wearing nothing more than a wisp of underwear.
Feeling like the luckiest demon in the world, Spike gleefully ogled the exposed bums revealed to him, each and every one of these barely concealed by the most rubbishy type of lingerie ever invented. Unfortunately, Spike couldn’t see past the backs of those women standing there, but they were clearly not wearing any bras, as indicated by the bare flesh of their upper spines. That little detail at once made up Spike’s mind that it was now time to introduce himself, and also get a closer look at those tits in all their glory.
Where there had been a fulfilled silence in the factory at the culmination of their ceremony, this was straightaway ended by enthusiastic clapping coming from the gloomy rear of the vast room. The women’s heads swiftly turned to stare in shocked astonishment at the stranger striding into sight towards them while still appreciatively applauding. Spike shortly ceased in this, to instead bring his right thumb and forefinger to his mouth. He used these digits to then give a shrill, extended whistle which caused some of the near-naked women to wince at the lengthy blast of sound.
Leering around at the lovely topless ladies when he came up to and then went through their semi-circle they maintained during all this, Spike reluctantly switched his gaze to a much less pleasant sight. At the far wall next to the shoddy Egyptian statue, a supposed priest was balefully regarding their uninvited guest.
Stopping within arm’s length of that bloke, Spike decided to spend a few moments taunting what’s-his-name before getting down to an agreeable spot of rapine and slaughter. *Hmmm, maybe instead of killing him right off, I’ll just break all his arms and legs and let him watch until it’s over with. Then, see how much of that ridiculous statue I can shove up his arse--*
Spike’s evil plans were abruptly interrupted by the bearded man now authoritatively fixing his gaze upon his female flock and booming out at full volume to them, “SISTERS OF THE NIGHT, REJOICE! OUR ENEMY HAS SHOWN HIS FACE TO US! I COMMAND YOU, BRING HIM DOWN WITH YOUR HOLY WEAPONS BESTOWED BY ME! SO SHALL IT BE!”
“Yeah, right,” Spike jeered into the purpling face of the hooded man. Ignoring the sounds coming from behind him of shifting bodies and cloths sliding off unknown objects, the vampire snickered, “What are those twits you suckered in going to do anyway, pummel me to death with their boobs? I think that might kill me in, oh, a few centuries--”rrrrrrrrrrrooooooaaaarrrrrRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!
Whirling around at that totally unanticipated deep, mechanical growl, Spike gaped in utter disbelief at what now surrounded him. Every woman in their tasteless panties and thongs had picked up the wrapped bundles by their feet, removed the rags covering these, and fired up their personal chainsaws. These two-stroke motor-driven saws with razor-sharp cutting teeth attached together in a continuous chain continued to rumble as if actually thirsting for a vampire’s upcoming demise.
Glancing over his shoulder at a flicker of motion seen from one side then, Spike saw a previously-hidden metal door behind the Egyptian statue slam shut with solid finality behind after the escaping priest, or whoever he truly was. The undead Englishman next switched his attention back to where the women were lifting up their chainsaws at bare chest level and pointing these spinning links right at him.
Each of those female zealots with the light of actual madness shining in their eyes now charged ahead en masse, swinging their unusual weapons from side to side without any regard for the safety of others, least of all themselves. What mattered most instead was obeying the orders of their beloved Master, and chopping into very tiny pieces the already pale intruder swiftly backpedaling.
A few chaotic minutes later, Spike painfully leaned against the wall of the alley he’d sprinted through for the last several blocks. Groaning, the demon with his clothes ripped and torn into shreds and covered entirely in blood (which was a good deal of his own, alas) felt his numerous wounds start to magically heal. Casting a very apprehensive look behind to make sure his hasty retreat from the factory massacre was successful, Spike shuddered at his horrific recent memories of only just making it out of there reasonably intact.
It’d been absolute butchery, with those insane nude bints more than willing to take out each other by complete accident with their ghastly saws, as long as they also got Spike. That outright disorder was why the vampire had legged it at the very first opportunity, when it was either this or directly dodge by mistake into one of those damn cutting machines if he continued to fight on.
Well, he’d made it, and the blond demon definitely wasn’t going back there to seek his revenge. He wasn’t that stupid. Those surviving nutters could do whatever they liked, for all he cared. As for him, Spike was more than ready to find someone else to eat tonight, maybe one of the other whores working the main boulevards of his current location. At least then there wouldn’t be the faintest likelihood of a yard-long revolving saw blade being messily rammed into his groin by this hard-working lady of the evening.
Limping along the alley set in a certain seedy Los Angeles neighborhood long overdue for redevelopment, Spike bitterly groused, “Hookers with chainsaws, my arse! It could only happen here in bleedin’ Hollywood!”
Further disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers characters are the property of their original owners.