Krukval gestured with his gun barrel once more, apparently unaware of the shadows growing at the mouth of the tunnel. Bob didn't need to look around to know the other tunnel outlets were filled with shadows too. Freniks were great muscle-very hard to kill, immune to bullets, mean and stubborn as all hell. But they were not, as a rule, the sharpest knives in the drawer. "Move your ass, Bob," Krukval snarled, still ignorantly blissful.

But Bob remained stock still, unable to keep from smiling at this stupid little man. No wonder he had never made it far in the underground. "Did it ever occur to you Bellara isn't the only one who can play with people's heads?"

Krukval's crimson eyes bugged out in annoyance with him. "Do you ever shut the hell up? You can't fuck with our minds, Belial-what, are you some kind of retard? We're immune to you, asshole."

"They're not," Bob said flatly, giving him a cold smile.

Krukval, his expression suddenly falling like a badly made soufflé ,finally glanced over his shoulder to see the nest of vampires filling the sewer tunnels all around them. All in vamp face, they started to snarl, yellow eyes glowing like pen lights in the darkness.

Vampires were ,as a rule, dead easy to control-no pun intended. But he wasn't even controlling them; he just basically asked if they wanted to kill something.

It was surprising how many vampires said 'yes' to an open proposition like that.

They were actually three separate nests of vampires, using the tunnels as a method of transport, but they had been easy for him to find, and easy to draw in. And while Frenik demon blood was as unappetizing to vampires as Belial blood, nearly every demon got a visceral kick out of killing a smug Frenik demon.

And vampires were immune to bullets too. He bet Krukval and his boys were kicking themselves for not bringing any wood along.

Krukval snapped back around, gun aimed at his head. "Call them off!" He demanded, unaware Bob had moved until Bob slammed an elbow in his face and grabbed his gun arm, twisting it until Krukval's wrist snapped as loudly as a tree branch.

He screamed, gun dropping to the concrete floor as the vampires attacked Krukval's men, and then the sewer seemed to ring with the peals of screams, snarls, curses, and pointless gunshots as the two groups of demons engaged each other in what would surely be a battle to the death.

Bob knew Freniks were among the strongest demons-and hell, he'd just died what, a few minutes ago?-so he wasn't surprised that, even with a broken wrist, the bastard Krukval elbowed him so hard in the face he was thrown almost five feet, slamming up against a concrete wall hard enough to send an electric jolt of pain down his spine as he sank to the floor of the sewer.

Krukval briefly looked around for the gun, but it had been lost in the creeping dimness and general scrum of brawling bodies (a bald headed female vampire-a former club kid, he assumed-had just broken the neck of one of Kruk's men, so the tally so far was Vamps-1,Freniks-0),so he simply stalked towards Bob, shoving aside any vamp who got in his way. "You're paying for that ,Belial-even if I have to bring you to them in pieces," he snarled, black, swampy smelling blood dribbling from his flat, stereo slits of a nose.

"Oh yeah?" Bob replied, sliding his feet across the floor as he brought his knees towards his chest, and sneaked a hand inside his boot. He felt the hasp of the knife, almost glowing with warmth in spite of the leather strips he added to the handle to protect his hand. He rested his fingers on it lightly, pretending to catch his breath as Krukval continued stalking towards him like a panther on the prowl.

"Oh yeah," Krukval repeated in a strange voice. It took Bob a moment to realize he was trying to mimic his accent. "Are you gonna get up, dickwad, or do I kick your fucking face in?"

"I'm going to pick door number three," Bob told him. As soon as he was in range, Bob, in a single smooth motion, lunged to his feet, pulled the blessed knife out of the sheath, and buried it deep in Krukval's gut.

Krukval made a sort of gasping wheeze, like a balloon deflating, and Bob gave him a grim, humorless smile as he glared up into his face. "So where should I send your pieces, Kruk?"

Bob watched the light fade from Krukval's eyes before he yanked the knife out and let the green skinned Frenik collapse to the ground like the sack of garbage he was.

Freniks normally could be killed by decapitation, broken necks, and something copper, but this knife could kill anything. Which was why it was so valuable.

He watched the skirmish for a while-it didn't last long-and he sent out a subtle 'no edible blood' message that made him essentially invisible to the vampires. If they noticed him anyways, it wasn't for long.

Finally there was only one Frenik left, a copper skinned one with a build like a tank-squat and broad across the shoulders and torso-leaking black blood from several gashes on his face and neck, which had pretty much ruined his pale blue Arrow shirt.

Bob scattered the vampires by saying, "Sunlight." It was irrational-how could sunlight get underground, and at midnight no less-but it was an atavistic fear that bypassed the logic circuits and hit straight in the primitive brain: they would react now, and think about it later.

The lone Frenik was left staring after them in bewilderment, shaky on his feet, standing among the bodies of his fallen comrades.

Bob walked up to him and kicked his legs out from under him, sending the Frenik sprawling on his back. Bob straddled him, dropping to his knees over the Frenik and pinning the demon's arms down to the floor. The Frenik looked up at him, and the black blood slicked knife ,before laughing contemptuously. "Should have let the vamps have me, Belial. That ain't gonna do nothin' to me."

"Are you sure?" Bob asked. He held the Frenik's head down with one hand (it would have been so much easier if these type of demons had hair),and lowered the knife until the side of the blade touched the merc's left cheek.

The Frenik screamed in pain as his skin sizzled and burned, accompanied by a rank scent like flaming leather, and Bob, figuring he had enough for now, lifted the knife away, but kept it hovering low over his face.

"What the fuck is that?!" The Frenik demanded, his snake like crimson eyes bulging out in pain and fear.

"Something I'm going to flay you alive with if you don't shut the fuck up and do exactly what I say," he told him coldly. "Listening?"

Eyes still glued to the knife, the Frenik nodded as best he could.

"Fine. I want to get out of this alive-I ain't going to die on behalf of a bunch of mewling Humans. So tell your bosses I want to make a deal; I want a piece of the action, and in exchange, I'll give them Angel and his 'Super Friends' on a fucking silver platter. Tell them to call my cell-I know their phones work-and we'll bargain, but they'd better make it fast, 'cause I know the shit is going down soon. Maximum Bob does not end up on the losing side of anything. Got it?"

"Got it," the Frenik agreed eagerly.

Bob got up and stepped aside, knife held at the ready. "Get moving," he ordered.

The Frenik got up warily, never taking his eyes off the knife as he stumbled away, over the bodies of his friends, until he reached the end of the tunnel. Then he ran for it.

Bob listened to his footsteps echo and recede until they were gone, and for some reason he suddenly thought of that old movie 'The Third Man'. Hollywood versions of sewers always looked so much nicer than the waste streaked real thing.

He bent down and used the Prada jacket of the nearest dead Frenik to wipe the blood off his knife, then set off to put the second part of his plan in motion.

23

Lindsey knew this was all bullshit, but he kept his mouth shut as Nathan laid out his grand plan.

Sitting at the table in the conference room for this hastily called 'emergency meeting' were himself, Leo Maguire (Nathan Reed's latest 'executive assistant'), Caliban, his bizarre demon 'familiar' (whose name was unpronounceable, but Caliban referred to him as 'Tom', in some spasm of absurdist humor),and Nathan Reed himself. Although, to be perfectly accurate, 'Tom' was standing in the corner closest to Caliban, lurking in the shadows like a bad reputation, and Nathan was standing at the head of the table, looking as avuncular as a college lecturer as Lilah-and Bellara-joined them on speaker phone.

Before bringing the great bitch (and Bellara) into this, there was a brief discussion of strategy, as Bellara was bound to be far from pleased.

Of all the mercs sent to retrieve Bob for Bellara, only one came back alive, and he had an interesting message from Bob.

Lindsey didn't trust that fucker for a second; hadn't he just walked through Wolfram and Hart hours ago, like he owned the goddamn place? And, for that brief span off time, he did; he owned everything and everyone in it. Including him.

He only knew this thanks to security camera footage; he had no memory of talking or even meeting Bob, but then again, he wouldn't. His last memory was leaving for a lunch appointment, but then he woke up at his desk about twenty minutes later, wondering when he had nodded off, and why he would dream about something as mundane as leaving his office for a luncheon meeting?

When he found out Bob had 'invaded' the building (with back up from, of all people, Angel-the security cameras on the lower levels had been screwed up, but security guards identified him),probably after information about what had happened to his stolen stone, it made a lot of sense. It also explained the curious note he found on his desk after he woke up.

Maybe Bob's mental trespass was what got him dumped from the Marla/Bellara case, and, if so, he owed Bob a fruit basket-that thing creeped him out royal. The fact that she'd adopted Dru as some sort of 'pet' only confirmed Marla/Bellara's basic mental instability.

Nathan-and Caliban, for that matter-had not been surprised by the message the merc brought back: apparently they assumed Bob would switch sides as soon as he realized how deep the odds were stacked against him. After all, he was a Belial. That's what they did.

But, if Belials were basically untrustworthy-and they were, in his experience-how could they trust him now?

Bob had a history of antipathy for Wolfram and Hart. Before he came to work for the firm, two agents, Sanders and Boynton, approached Bob, as the general consensus was he'd make a great 'independent contractor' for Wolfram and Hart. According to the file on the case, they remembered him greeting them warmly and shaking their hands-and then they woke several hours later in their car, stripped to their underwear and mysteriously clad in fishnet stockings, with a note taped to the rearview mirror. The note, still in the file and written on a bar napkin, said:' Next time,you won't wake up in your own car.'

As threats went that was terribly vague, but also extremely creative, and no one from the firm ever approached Bob again (and to this day, Sanders and Boynton were teased by the others with fishnet stockings appearing in their drawers, briefcases, 'get well' bouquets, etc.). He was classified as 'mostly harmless' though, because his work in the underground-the buying and selling of weapons and artifacts-helped them more often than hurt them, and if they used third party buyers, who had no knowledge of who they were actually working for, they could often take advantage of his services.

His teaming up with Angel was bizarre. They weren't exactly on the same side, were they? Angel was on his self-righteous "mission",and Bob was a raw boned capitalist, with no mission other than to make a ton of money and consolidate his power in the black market (by all accounts, he had completed his 'mission' quite well, unlike Angel). But they must have pissed Bob off more than they realized, or he was more desperate than they realized. Still, it was a partnership doomed to failure.

Reed wasn't concerned about it, even if Bob's switch was just some angle he was playing, and even in the face of Bellara's rage. "I want him," Bellara's flat, enraged voice demanded over the speaker set up in front of an empty chair at the end of the table (always a nice touch).

She was obviously not placated by more 'toys': after the mysterious disruption of channel seven's transmission towers (Bob had to be responsible for that-no one could imagine Angel doing it), they had to scramble to splice Bellara into another network's prime time broadcast just to keep her from hitting the ceiling. They managed to do it, and Bellara had several thousand other 'playthings' to keep her busy. And it was getting bad out there: the last time he looked, it looked like Hell-literally. People continued to kill each other mindlessly, destroy property, and mill around in hollow eyed packs, like rabid dogs looking for something weak to tear apart.

They were safe here, of course-one of the perks of working for Wolfram and Hart was you were always safe from any apocalypse-but just seeing the burning bodies and flaming buildings made something in his gut twist itself into knots.

No ,he knew none of these people, and probably never would have; and, if he ever did encounter them on the streets under normal circumstances, he'd find them forgettable at best or truly aggravating at worst. He might even wish some of them dead.

But they were dying out there in droves; in dozens ,in hundreds, and he knew it could only get worse. He had no idea what Reed was planning to bring through the new Hellmouth, although he suspected it was the senior most of the partners, but he knew it too would kill even more once it had crossed over. He was sure Bellara would be uncontrollable once the Hellmouth was open and her part in it all was done, but Reed had confided in him that he shouldn't worry, because what they were bringing to Earth was 'far more powerful than Bellara could ever be'. And he knew Reed meant that to be reassuring, but it wasn't-far from it.

"You'll get him," Reed assured Bellara, in his most placating tone of voice. "We'll use him to bring Angel to us-a worthy first meal for our 'friend', I think-and then Bob is all yours. Do with him what you will."

There was a long silence, broken only by the hiss of static on a line that should never have been functioning at all, and then Lindsey though he heard her laughing, a sound that seemed to make his skin crawl and his testicles shrivel up, like they were trying to hide inside of him.

God, she was insane. Insane and too fucking powerful by half. They were just lucky she had not turned on them.

It was honestly a suitable punishment for Bob-the traitor being betrayed; the screwer getting screwed. A Belial getting...well, out Belial-ed.

There were smiles all around the table as Bellara seemed to accept the proposal, and Lindsey forced one out too, but he actually felt mildly ill.

God damn him, but maybe some small part of him wanted Angel to stop this before more people died. But he didn't have a chance in hell, did he? Especially with Bob becoming a turncoat to save his own worthless neck. If Angel survived-which was highly doubtful at this point-maybe it would teach him to pick better allies next time. But there never would be a next time. This was end game, and Wolfram and Hart were winning.

Lindsey felt the piece of paper in his coat pocket, and distantly wondered if things were not as bad as he thought. Maybe they had underestimated Bob and even Angel-it wouldn't be the first time.

The paper was the strange note he found on his desk after he 'woke up'. He'd told no one about it, and had carried it around with him all day, looking at it maybe once every hour.

In Bob's angular, hasty scrawl ,it simply said: "If you hate it here so much, why do you stay?"

And Lindsey still couldn't answer that question.

24

Until this moment, Angel had no idea a vampire could get a numb butt.

He got up, trying to walk it off under the guise of putting the book he had been scanning back on the shelf and getting a new one, while Wesley, still slouched over the front desk like he was going to collapse into sleep right on top of his book, said, "If we knew where the ritual was going to take place, we could consecrate the ground."

"How?" Gunn asked, stifling a yawn. He and Cordy were both propped up shoulder to shoulder on the couch, occasionally elbowing each other to make sure they were still conscious.

"Don't we need a priest or something for that?" Cordy asked. In spite of all she had been through, she looked more awake than all of them.

Wesley shook his head. "Holy water and a Latin invocation should do it."

"But that won't prevent the ritual from taking place there," Angel pointed out, feeling like a spoil sport-this had been the best suggestion in over an hour. "It just means they'll have to spill twice as much as blood to open the Hellmouth."

Wes made a disappointed noise, acknowledging the validity of that as he turned back to his book.

"What about some kind of spell?" Gunn wondered, looking between them. "Something that repels Hellmouths or something?"

"No spell I could cast could hold up to Caliban," Wesley pointed out, sounding doubly disappointed. "I'm not a warlock."

"Hey, what if we called Willow," Cordy interjected brightly. "I bet she could handle him."

"I'm not so sure about that; he's very powerful," Wesley replied, hedging a bit. “Also, the phones are out, remember?”

"I wonder how much of his power comes from the Sri-thal," Angel said, thinking aloud as he scanned the titles printed on the spines of the books. He had all but come to the conclusion they would never find what they needed here.

"You think he's enhancing his power through a union with the demon?" From the tone of his voice, Wesley was considering that. "It's possible. He wouldn't be the first practitioner of black magic to take such a short cut."

"So we kill the demon, we can handle him?" Gunn sounded hopeful for the first time tonight.

"Possibly," Wesley said, back to sounding doubtful again. It pained him, by the sound of it, to be the downer. "But we have to assume he's still a reasonably strong warlock on his own."

"Again-Willow," Cordy reiterated. “Maybe Bob can find a way to contact her.”

"We're not even sure she'll have the time to get up here, even if he can, "Angel told her, turning back to face them with a sigh. "The city can't last very long with so many people in the state they are now. People will get suspicious at the very least, assuming they survive that long; Wolfram and Hart had to be counting on a limited time frame. Besides, Bob said Bellara would burn them out after a while-they'll have to act before she destroys their sacrifices."

"So it could be going down right now, while we sit on our asses looking at books?" Gunn asked, impatience flaring in his dark brown eyes.

Angel could only shrug. It very well could be, but what was their other option? To roam very dangerous streets looking for a place of sacrifice? There were so many random killings happening now, it would be hard to find the exact right spot.

Wait a minute: random killings? What did that trigger in his mind?

"Hey, aren't we supposed to be letting the dogs out now?" Cordy said, and at everyone's uncomprehending looks, she pointed at the clock on the wall. "It's almost fifteen after one. Bob was supposed to be back by now."

"Even if we had dogs, where would we send them?" Gunn asked. "He didn't say where he was going."

Cordy could only shrug: no, no one knew where Bob was. He was on his own.

After a moment of silence, Cordy said, "Maybe Bob knows a witch-he seems to know everyone."

Speak of the devil-it was just then Angel heard the basement door shut.

"Well ,if I don't know ‘em, I know who's blackmailin' 'em," Bob said breezily, walking into the lobby. He gave them all a big shit eating grin,l ike he thought he was being funny.

Cordelia smiled back at him-oh no, she didn't actually like him now, did she?-then wrinkled her nose is disgust. "Eew-what's that smell?"

Gunn frowned too. "Yeah, what crawled on you and died?"

Angel could smell it too: it was swampy and fetid, redolent of fermented meat and bile, and very familiar. "Frenik demon blood," he told them, giving Bob a curious look.

"Was there a problem?" Wes asked him.

Bob shook his head nonchalantly, shrugging off his coat. "No-I came on a pretty ugly scene in the sewer-a group of vampire Sharks had a disagreement with some Frenik Jets-and let's just say the Jets ain't flying no more." He peeled off his smelly t-shirt and tossed it towards the garbage can. "Got a shirt I can borrow, Liam? Frenik blood stink is hell to get out. I mean, I'm sure it'll be too small for me, but I don't have time to run home."

"What do you mean it'll be too small for you?" Angel replied testily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Wow," Cordy said, openly gawking at Bob's bare chest. "You really do work out, don't you?"

"I'm three hundred years old-I have lots of time to kill," he told her, and then struck a classic 'muscle man' pose for her, raising his arms and flexing his muscles. She sat back and gave him a warm smile, clearly enjoying the show.

If just to put the nauseating spectacle to an end, Angel said, "Yeah, go ahead-you can borrow a shirt. But not one of my good ones."

"Is that the black one, or other black one?" Bob wondered, throwing another pose that made him look like he was about to toss a discus.

Gunn laughed.

Angel glowered at the smart ass, but Bob just threw him a wink, obviously thinking he was being clever.

"Why don't you have time to run home?" Wesley asked, sticking to the pertinent point.

Bob stopped his mock posing-although Cordy did not cease her ogling-and said,"'Cause I got a friend dropping by, but we gotta be gone, Angel, because if she knew she were helping you, the deal would be off. She's a spellcaster from Laguna Beach-I told her the hotel was yours, Wes. You she'll meet ,'cause she thinks you're a business associate of mine from England."

"Where exactly are we suppose to go?" Angel wondered pointedly. He still didn't trust Bob, and he really didn't like the presumptuous way he threw around orders.

And that's when Cordy cried out.

She spasmed back against the couch as if caught in the throes of a seizure, grabbing her own head, eyes screwed tightly shut, and she made an agonized noise before shouting, "No!"

Before Angel could reach her, Bob was there, and suddenly he reached out and put his hands over hers, on the side of her head, and closed his own eyes. "It's okay, Cordy-distance, no pain," he told her quietly.

Angel was tempted to rip his arms away-hadn't he had his hands on Cordy enough?-but Cordy slipped one of her hands out from beneath his and rested it on Bob's arm in what appeared to be a reassuring gesture, and she seemed to breathe a little easier and relax, although tears continued flowing freely down her cheeks.

She opened her eyes before Bob did, and unlike most times when she had a vision ,she seemed to be only in emotional pain instead of physical agony. "Oh god, it's started," she told them, blinking tears from her eyes as Bob finally opened his eyes. She gave him a grateful if sad smile, and Bob returned it. Angel did not like the subtext he sensed passing between them. He hoped Cordy was smart enough to never get involved with a con artist like Bob, no matter how good he looked with his shirt off.

"What's started?" Wesley asked, even though Angel was pretty sure they all knew.

"The sacrifices," Bob said, finally taking his hands off Cordy. Had he shared her vision? Could he? "Groups of people are slaughtering each other at a vacant lot about two blocks west of the Wolfram and Hart building."

"And guess who's watching?" Cordelia added ominously.

"Come on, let's roll," Gunn said impatiently, hopping up to his feet.

"And do what when we get there?" Wesley asked, sounding frustrated." We have nothing. And if we go in there without a plan, Bellara will enslave us as easily as she has everyone else."

"We won't look her in the eyes," Gunn said.

"Not enough," Wesley replied tersely.

"Besides, Caliban is there too," Angel added, wondering what they could do. Was finding a surface to surface missile out of the question?

"Leave Caliban to me," Bob said confidently. "Warlock or not, he can't fight me. And the spellcaster-Alia-is going to help us with Bellara. I've told her what we needed, but maybe you can think up something better, Wes-I'm new at the spell thing." Bob turned and headed towards the lobby stairs, obviously intending to get a shirt on before they left.

"What did you tell her we needed?" Wesley asked, before Angel could.

"A mental disruption spell; I thought if we scattered Bellara's attention, she'd lose her grip on most people, and leave herself vulnerable to a physical attack."

Wesley considered that, with an uncertain tilt to his head. "It might work..."

"It was the best thing I could think of," Bob admitted with a shrug, as he darted up the stairs. He stopped at the top, and looked back down at them all. "Come on, let's cowboy up-we have a Hellmouth to stop."

Angel moved hesitantly to the weapons cabinet. Why could he not shake the persistent bad feeling he had about all of this?

Maybe it was nothing more than the bad feeling he had about Bob.

25

Wesley hated watching them go, but Bob had already signed him up to 'lying' duty, whether he liked it or not, and no one wanted to stay with him when there was a slaughter going on.

Wesley desperately wished he went with them.

But while he was waiting for Alia the spellcaster from Laguna Beach to show up, he decided to put in a little last minute research, see if he could think up a better spell. Mental disruption was iffy at best.

He had been perusing an older book of spells for perhaps five minutes, sitting at the front desk with a theoretically comforting cup of tea that was really doing nothing but turning ice cold, and giving the air around him a far more pleasant scent than Bob's Frenik blood stained shirt in the wastebasket.

He got the sudden, unsettling sense he was not alone, and looked up to see he was right-there was a green skinned, green haired woman standing in the lobby, clad in a form fitting sleeveless red sweater and snug blue jeans. He was both startled and attracted...and seized with a sudden sense of deja vu. "Are you Alia?" He asked, closing the book.

"I'm whatever you want me to be," she answered coyly, approaching the desk, her high heeled boots clicking on the floor.

Something about this was very wrong. Wesley started casually sidling over towards the weapons cabinet, keeping his hands in his pants pocket, being subtle so as not to alert her to his suspicions. "Didn't I see you in Caritas?"

"Probably. I saw you. One of Shaft's guys, right?"

Saying that was enough to do it. He lunged for the weapons cabinet, but she suddenly wrapped what felt like a garrote around his neck, and slammed him back first against the edge of the desk, making him see white motes explode before his eyes as pain shuddered down his spine, electrical and raw. He reached up to try and pry the rubbery rope from his neck, but it seemed to cinch tighter as she leaned in beside him. "Now, come on Wesley-I don't want to hurt you," she said, almost cheerfully, and Wesley suddenly realized she couldn't be the one attempting to strangle him, as she was at the wrong angle ,and her hands, which he could see, were free.

Then the rope moved, slithering around his throat like a snake, and he realized it was her tail-she was a Stansin demon, after all.

"I do," another female voice interjected, somewhat familiar. The woman-was this the 'Helga' Angel had mentioned?-allowed him to turn his head enough to see it was Lia...holding a machete. "I hate poncy British gits."

"Not now-we're not supposed to hurt him, remember?" A young man said, appearing from the corridor. He looked very similar to Bob, only with slightly lighter colored hair, and maybe ten (visible) years younger. And then another young man appeared, this one with visibly Asian features, but with a passing resemblance to Bob-and bright cobalt Belial eyes.

Of the now half dozen people who now filled the lobby, all-save for Helga-had bright Belial eyes. The last to appear was Luke, carrying a rucksack that rattled when she put it down on the couch.

"What is the meaning of this?" Wesley croaked, grabbing part of Helga's tail around his throat. But he couldn't pry it off: her tail was far too strong.

"Shite," Luke exclaimed, rolling her eyes, and throwing out her hands in exasperation. "Nobody told him. Fuckin' idjits..."

"We just got here," the Asian Belial explained.

"You're gonna help us, Wesley," Helga said sweetly, loosening her tail a bit.

"Like hell I am," he gasped, taking a needed deep breath, and wondering if there was any way he could escape.

He had no idea what was going on here, but he had figured out one thing.

Bob had screwed them all.

*********

It was decided they could take the car, because the streets had fallen eerily silent.

There were still sirens in the distance, like screams from another life, but the people seemed to be either sitting stock still or milling about randomly, like autistics caught in some endless loop of personal, compulsive ritual. They gazed out at nothing with empty eyes, standing around burning cars, buildings, and people as if waiting for someone to yell 'action', but Angel knew what it meant was Bellara's attention was focused elsewhere, and these people were very close to burning out for good. Occasionally he had to drive around one sitting or standing in the middle of the road, and they never moved; they didn't even blink.

Angel had seen a lot of horrific things in his life-too much (many he was responsible for)-but something about this silent tableau of mindless people standing in a ruined city, flames and columns of black smoke blotting out the dim light of the quarter moon, made his sluggish veins as cold as ice. Watching them kill each other or themselves was somehow less horrible than this, and he wasn't completely sure why.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Bob said, quietly. This scene seemed to require silence, even from the gregarious Bob, sitting to his right in the front passenger seat. Cordy and Gunn sat in the back seat, with a huge pile of weapons between them, although Angel didn't know if any of them would be any good at all.

"What is?" Cordy replied. Angel was definitely picking up a vibe between these two, and he didn't like it one bit. Bob was a user-it was in his nature.

"We're going to be saving people-Humans-but it's Humans doing all this. Not the controlling, but it's Humans behind this-Nathan Reed, Wolfram and Hart. The paragon of animals, huh?"

"What?" Cordy asked him, and Angel could see her frowning in the rearview mirror.

"Shakespeare reference," Angel told her.

"I know that," she replied crossly. "I'm not an idiot .I just wondered where you were going with the comment, Bob."

"Going? Oh, nowhere-I was just thinking aloud about the general irony."

"But the thing that's coming out of the Hellmouth is gonna kill your kind as easily as ours," Gunn said. He was guessing, but it was probably a damn good guess.

"I know," Bob said, sighing. "I just hope this works."

"What works?" Gunn shot back. "Do we have a plan? If we do, why wasn't I informed?"

"Well...is hope a plan?" Bob wondered, looking out at the desolate streets beyond them. Angel thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye ,a genuinely concerned look on Bob's face as he turned away. In itself, that was almost troublesome: Bob's carefully crafted persona was that of an Australian roustabout, a good old boy. When the mask slipped, there had to be trouble.

"How will we know when Wesley and what's her name-the spellcaster-have done their thing?" Cordy asked. It was a good question.

"I'll sense the disruption in Bellara's power," Bob said, although he was still looking out at the street. He sounded far away, distant.

Cordelia heard it too. She sat forward, and rested a hand on Bob's shoulder. "What is it? What's wrong? I mean, beyond everything."

He reached up and put his hand over hers, in a gesture far too affectionate for people who barely knew each other. "If anything happens to me, Cordy, let my kids know I loved 'em, okay?"

She squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, and told him ,in a soft, comforting voice, "Nothing's going to happen to you, Bob. You're stronger than all of us! We'll probably die long before you do."

"Oh thanks," Gunn interjected sarcastically.

"Not if I can help it," Bob replied, and glanced over his shoulder to give her a brave-albeit weak-smile as Angel pulled the GTX into an alley beside a Mexican restaurant, less than half a block from the vacant lot in question.

"So, who wants what?" Gunn asked, sorting through the weapon pile as Angel parked the car. "I'm taking an axe and a crossbow."

"And?" Angel wondered.

"Well, a couple of knives, a stake in case we run into a vamp...I think I forgot the holy water..."

"I should have brought my flame thrower," Bob remarked, although Angel thought he heard a tinge of sarcasm in that. He climbed out and gave Cordy his hand, to help her out of the car. She smiled and accepted his hand graciously.

"Why didn't you?" Gunn sounded genuinely ticked off at Bob's thoughtlessness. "We could have used that."

"And maybe a small tactical nuclear weapon," Angel muttered, pocketing his keys. He didn't know why he bothered-no Human out on the street was capable of stealing his car, even if he left the engine running for them.

As he got out of the convertible, he saw Bob had helped Cordy out, and pulled her immediately into a passionate kiss. Rather than slug him, which Angel had hoped she would do, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, and seemed to respond in kind.

He and Gunn shared an uncomfortable, mutually pissed look. Gunn cleared his throat loudly, but they ignored him. Angel frowned sourly as he pulled another axe from the pile, and slung a crossbow on a strap around his shoulder. They'd have to stop soon, if only to breathe.

Finally they parted, and Cordelia looked up at him with wide, astounded eyes. "Wow-what was that for?"

"It was the only thing in life I hadn't done that I wanted to do," Bob told her, smoothing her bangs back from her forehead. "Sorry if I was presumptuous."

"Finally you're sorry about it," Angel exclaimed, completely exasperated.

They both continued to ignore him. "Presumpt away," Cordelia told him, smiling slyly.

Bob smiled back, and Angel feared he was going to kiss her again, but this time it was just an affectionate peck on the forehead. "If only there was time enough. But, ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die."

"I thought it was do or die," Gunn said.

Bob shrugged as he looked at them, turning away from Cordelia reluctantly. "Well yes, I hope so. Come on, before we miss the fun."

"Don't you want any weapons?" Gunn gestured to the pile still on the back seat, staring at him like he was stupid, crazy, or a combination of both.

Bob looked at him curiously, raising an eyebrow, not quite smiling but clearly amused. "I have all the weapons I need."

Even though Angel knew what he meant, he still couldn't shake the feeling there was something big Bob wasn't telling them.

He decided to trail behind, if only to keep an eye on their Belial 'friend'.

*************

They heard it-and smelled it-before they ever saw it.

Despite the sounds, thuds of skin on skin, wet hacking noises like knives or axes chopping through fresh carcasses, there were no screams, no shouts, just an occasional grunt of pain. They were so far gone, even their own brutal deaths were hardly noticeable to them.

Then the wind shifted as they skulked around the long way, though back alleys and parking lots, and the scent of blood was so cloying and heavy in the air Angel felt mildly sickened even as a cramp of deep hunger hit him again. Maybe they were too late after all, in spite of the head's up from the Powers That Be.

A chain link fence at the end of a neighboring parking lot had been cut by vandals, so they were able to sneak through it, and get behind the only cover the vacant lot offered-the fallen and charred remains of the concrete foundation of the building that used to be here: ironically ,a church sponsored homeless shelter, burned down last month under suspicious circumstances.

They hunkered down, hiding behind the charred support beams as best they could, and looked on as about a dozen people, eyes as empty as the sockets of a skull, slaughtered each other with metal pipes and axes, their blows as regimented and choreographed as a movie action scene.

They were too late to stop it-the fatal blows were delivered as they watched, heads and limbs flying as blood fountained from arterial wounds and bodies fell, the ground black and muddy from previously spilt blood as demon minions of Wolfram and Hart came onto the mock battlefield and dragged the fallen bodies away.

Watching from the sidelines, forming a small ring, were the main players in this nightmare: Reed, several suited people who looked like lawyers (although Angel did not personally recognize any of them), Caliban and his demon familiar, Drusilla (!), and Bellara in Marla's form-in fact, she was still wearing the same leather skirt and pink halter top she had been wearing when Angel threw her into the dumpster. You'd think Bellara would have bothered to change clothes at some point.

Caliban said something-they were far enough away that the words weren't clear, but he was pretty sure they were Aramaic-and gestured to the sky as the ground started rumbling; mild at first, it slowly built in intensity. "Hell of a time for an earthquake, "Gunn whispered.

"It's not an earthquake," Angel whispered back. "It's starting. They're opening the Hellmouth."

"I guess we're too late all the way around," Bob said, and that's when Angel felt they were not alone. He looked back, and saw they were surrounded by a combination of Wolfram and Hart security and vampires, some armed with long stakes and tasers, others with guns, and all the vampires were in game face, snarling hungrily at Cordy and Gunn.

The others looked back too, and saw they were surrounded. "Shit," Gunn groaned. Which pretty much captured the general sentiment.

"Bob, do your stuff," Cordy said.

But Bob stood up-the guards and vampires let him-and joined their line, grimacing slightly at her. "I'm sorry, darlin'-the need to survive is paramount in all species."

Angel honestly wished he was surprised. But even as it felt like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach ,he said grimly, "You sold us out."

Bob shrugged a single shoulder. "Not much choice, mate. But there was no way in hell we could win, and I think you knew that."

"You son of a bitch," Cordy spat, and then she lunged to her feet, screaming in rage, her face flushing with it. "You son of a bitch!"

A guard made to shock her with the taser, but Bob elbowed him aside and grabbed Cordelia's arms firmly, trying to keep her from hitting him. "Honey, I'm sorry! I'll try and make it quick for you, okay?"

"I trusted you," she spat in his face, shedding angry tears. Suddenly a confused look crossed her face, and Angel realized Bob had 'sent' her something-what?

"Come on, love, get back down," Bob said gently, as if she was belligerent child, and Cordy kneed him in the groin.

He let her go as he stumbled back and doubled over, grabbing his crotch in agony as a security guard shoved her violently to the ground, and they all heard a click of cocking guns as one of the guards ordered, "On your faces, hands behind your backs now. Or we'll start taking you apart a limb at a time."

"You'd better do it to, Angel," one of the vampires growled ."Or your girlfriend will pay for it a drop at a time."

"I'm not his girlfriend, asshole," Cordelia snapped. But ,at Angel's look, they reluctantly obeyed, and they all laid on their stomachs as the group of enforcers handcuffed their hands behind their backs, probably more roughly and tightly than necessary.

"You're former L.A.P.D., aren't you?" Gunn cracked, as a vampire expertly cuffed him.

As Angel felt the cold steel snap around his wrists, he realized they had probably left Wes at the hotel to die alone.

If they lived through this, he'd make Bob pay for this, a pound of flesh at a time. And he'd be damned-well, again-if he ever trusted a Belial for the rest of his existence.

Which looked like, in his estimation, five minutes and counting.