A/N: My first fanfic. Be nice. Rating for language and maybe other stuff later.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Joss and JJ do. I am not a genius. Joss and JJ are.
Faith groaned as she came to. God, what the hell was going on? She remembered leaving her swank apartment to go poison Angel with her sweet new longbow, but before she had reached the rooftop downtown, someone, or several someones, had accosted her with tranqs and a large van. She rolled her head on her shoulders and tried to reach up to rub her temples only to find that her arms and legs were bound. Her brown eyes snapped open, a harsh pain pounding through her head at the sudden bright light. She was on a chair in the middle of a large, airy room, its glass cabinets glaring in the sunlight. Next to her stood an easel-like table with an old-fashoined pen resting on it. There wasn't anyone else with her, but she sensed three people just outside. As quietly as possible, she strained against the bonds holding her, the leather giving under her Slayer strength. With a yell of triumph, she broke free and jumped out of the chair. Two guards rushed in, guns drawn and prepared to shoot.
"No!" cried an older male voice.
The guards ditched the guns and started throwing punches. Within seconds, Faith had both guards on the floor, unconscious. She whipped her head up to see the man who had protested her imminent death walking towards her. He had a small smile on his face, his eyes not quite shining so much as calculating.
He extended a hand to her. "Hello, dear. I'm Arvin Sloane, your father."
Faith raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, okay." She leapt on him, fists and feet flying. She had him pinned against a table, her hand encircling his throat, when he spoke again.
"Don't... don't you know who you are?" he choked out.
She smirked. "Yeah, I'm the Slayer. Who else would I be?" With that, she smashed his head against the table and turned to leave. Suddenly, something pricked her neck. She felt a tranq dart sticking out of her throat and turned to see the man on his feet, a gun aimed at her.
"You're the Passenger, my dear. The Passenger."