Rating: PG-13 to NC-17 (NC-17 in later stories in this series)
Content: Graphic Violence, perhaps a few graphic language points
Spoilers: None (This story takes place during the Angel Series but the story
ideas are completely my own)
Summary: Someone's new in town and causing defenses to heighten in Los
Angles. Not only among the human world but among the demon world as
well...and that someone is watching Angel...but why?
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own any of the characters involved with
Angel. They belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, and Fox.
Angel lashed out with an upper cut of his own, the vampire landing spread
eagled on his back with a sickening thud. Angel watched cautiously as the
vampire regained its composure, wiping the blood off its chin. The vamp
looked down at the blood staining the back of its hand. Angel took that
moment to make a funny. "I think you need to wipe your mouth...your
bleeding." With a growl of frustration, the vamp charged, intending on
ending the life of the much older vampire.
Above that very alley, two stories up, where the wind drifted ever so
gently through the night, the figure watched from atop its perch, studying
this, this vampire with a soul. How amusing he was. Doing the world a
favor. Had he no logical morals? Ever since they had arrived, they had been
studying this character. Not for competition, but...for a challenge. Not
for physical aspirations, but a mind bender, something to do in the off time.
What little he knew. What little he knew about the night and the demon
world. He based his world on vampires, simply demons, hookers. But that's
where it stopped for him. But the shadowy figure shook their head. Oh, what
little he truly knew.
The stake went smoothly through the chest cavity of his charging
opponent, and slickly through it's heart. The dust settled at his feet,
Angel staring at it for a few moments. Glancing around, Angel turned down
the alley, heading back toward the crowded streets of L.A. But midway
through the alley, his vampire instinct kicked in. He felt as if...he was
being watched. Turning to look over his shoulder, his instincts directed him
to look at the rooftops, finding them as they had always been: abandoned and
deteriorating. Narrowing his eyes, he looked harder, but found nothing.
Only the sounds of emptiness. Stuffing his hands back into the pockets of
his duster, he continued on his way, on his mission to save the lives that
inhabited this very city from the very things they had no idea about. Their
feet hit the ground firmly as he rounded the corner, walking out of sight.
Their hand rested on the cracked asphalt, keeping them balanced from the
two-story jump. Standing up slowly, the figure's leather duster slipped over
its hips, resting inches above the ground. Looking through the viewing slot
of its helmet, the figure listened to his footsteps as they faded into the
many that walked beyond that alley. The footsteps of the oblivious.
Part 1: Welcome to Los Angeles
Cordelia leaned back in her desk chair, ever the proper receptionist.
The nail file glided along her perfectly tamed nails, Cordelia occasionally
blowing the remnants off. The sound of the elevator door caught her
attention, knowing that her boss had woken up for a midday "snack" so to
speak. She pulled her feet down off the desk as soon as she heard the
ancient elevator come to a squeaking halt. "Good afternoon"
Angel headed toward his coffee marker without thinking twice about his
answer. "Good morning Cordelia"
Cordelia glanced at her watch. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s
almost three o’clock in the afternoon. Man, you vampires sure lose track of
"Well" Angel took a sip of the black coffee, spoke in almost a whisper. "I’ve
busy as off late."
Nodding her head, she downloaded a false smile on her face. "Right, reading,
researching. How fun that must be. How I wish I had your intellect. Doubt I
Angel released a deep-throated chuckle. "One day Cordy."
The office door opened, Wesley walking in sipping a cup of his own coffee
seemingly chipper. "Good morning everyone."
Cordelia looked at him as if she was the only one with any sense. "Oh no. Not
Setting his suitcase down, Wesley gave her a worried glance. "Why? What’s
"It’s not morning!" She stated in her whiny voice. "It’s 3 o’clock! In the
after noon. De la tarde!"
Wesley looked down at the watch on his left wrist. "you’re right. It’s been
such a slow day I’ve seemed to have lost track of time."
Cordelia flopped back in her seat. "Who are you telling. Which brings up
another thing. Since we’re having such a slow day and the world’s not about
to come to an end...I was wondering if I could possibly ask for a day off."
"Sure" Angel interrupted Wesley before he started rattling on about
Turning to Angel, he started at him in shock. "What?"
"Great. There’s a sale going on a Bloomindales's. Half off on everything.
Which means more for me and...more for me." Cordelia gathered her essentials,
intent on leaving that place.
"Bye guys. Oh and don’t wait up guys, there’s a clearance at The Rave"
Cordelia warned. "Bye"
"Cordelia-" Wesley got the sound of the door closing. He looked at Angel who
just looked casually back at him. "Well you know that we won’t have a
receptionist all day."
Angel shrugged. "Yes we will"
"Who? You hired someone else?"
"No, you" He simply stated.
Wesley was taken back. "Me?"
"Yeah. It’s not like we’ve been getting any calls as of late anyway. What’s
the big deal? Can’t handle a telephone?"
"No" Wesley was quick to defend. "I think I can handle calls from rich,
rude...people. Yes, I think I can handle that."
"Good" Angel slapped him on the back. "Get started." Angel headed into his
Wesley adjusted the collar of his oxford shirt, moving around the
cluttered desk to sit into the still warm chair. Looking at all the papers
all over the place, and the little dinky items that should’ve even been
there. Sighing he groaned. "I never asked for a desk job."
The streets of Los Angeles weren’t as crowded as usual which would give
him a better view of the demon he had been tracking. This thing had killed
two people already. For Angel, that was two people too much. Better yet,
those were two lives he could have saved. So, he blamed himself. Wesley and
Cordelia tried to say to him all the time that he couldn’t save everybody all
the time. He was just one man. He wasn’t a man either. He was a demon with
the face of a man. A soul tortured by the killings of the demon. Killings
that plagued his thoughts and dreams. He couldn’t remember whether it was
hundreds or hundreds of thousands of dead souls on his tab, but the if he was
infamous for it, the latter was probably the one he should refer to. So much
pain he had inflicted, and so much he had endured. And so much more pain he
had to look forward to.
Following him had become such a routine that he was picking up on his every
move. Listening to his thoughts was sometimes interesting, listening to the
voices of the dead and the undead. Sometimes even Angelus the demon himself
would speak and taunt Angel with memories of things important to him. Which
usually revolved around one person when it came to taunting: Buffy. Some old
girlfriend she must have been. Someone he loved and lost. Love was for the
weak. He had no time for it.
Angel hit the asphalt hard, unneeded wind getting knocked from him. Forcing
his ridges along his facial features, he turned to glare back at his
attacker, the green eyes of the demon steadied on him. The yellow horns
seemed to worn, but still could cause some problems unless he wanted to
suffer some stab wounds to the stomach. Jerking a leg out, he took the demon
off its feet forcing himself up. With his horns pointed, it charged him,
Angel sidestepping and sending a stiff kick to it’s back forcing it to the
ground. The demon immediately got back up, charging Angel before he had a
chance to move. Angel flew across the alley, hitting hard against a rusty
dumpster. Angel watched as the demon stalked him, approaching and looked as
if it was going to finish him. The demon suddenly stopped a few feet away,
smelling the air for something. It surely had a better sense of smell than
he did because he could only smell the rotting food in the dumpster behind
him. It looked up and froze. Angel followed its point of view, only seeing
the empty roof of an old building. It hissed, and ran heading full speed.
Groaning loudly, Angel pulled himself to his feet, the back lacing his back
like spikes. As he was getting up, he stopped, as he heard a fighting. It
lasted a few brief seconds before giving way to a growl and a crack.
Using the wall he pulled up, then walking toward the end of the alleyway.
Coming to the end, he carefully turned his head around the corner and
stopped. There it was, his demon lying there is a heap. Approaching it, he
saw no movement, heard no heartbeat or breathing. Carefully, he moved around
in front of it. Its neck was what caught his eye. It was clean broken. But
that didn’t concern him to much either. What concerned him was that the
demon was killed...but he didn’t do it.