A man and woman hurry home after dark in downtown San Francisco. The woman is jumpy, yelping at shadows. The man tells her she’s being paranoid — until he glimpses a shadow darting overhead. He grips her arm and runs, but she screams as a blur of motion passes, throwing him to the ground. A flourish of black leather and blonde hair is all she sees, the movement so fast it blurs.

Her friend lies pinned, hands wrenched behind his back, the blonde kneeling on his spine, face exposed.

Jordan. The Vampire Slayer.

She strips the man’s shoes and hat, exposing hooves and horns, and arrests him for breaking transport rules. She orders him sent to the nearest Safe Zone. When the girl objects, Jordan sneers:

“The Supernatural Crisis Act says I can do this. You can go home, or to jail — it doesn’t matter to me.”

A yell interrupts her. Across the street, Dawn Summers and Xander Harris march forward, Jordan flashing her badge as Dawn shouts for her to release the demon. Xander edges them away quietly. The woman cries out in anguish:

“This is wrong! How is it any different from when people got arrested for interracial marriage? Or Japanese‑American internment camps?”

Jordan replies coldly that those rules were for humans. She’s more than willing to take the rest of them in if they interfere.

Elsewhere, in a dim backroom, a shifty man with a goatee slides paperwork across the table to an anxious sixteen‑year‑old Giles. Buffy sits beside him.

“Congratulations,” the man smarms. “You’re a normal human being.”

Giles picks up the fake credentials. He asks if they’ll work. The man insists he doesn’t do bad work — some of the most supernatural clients in the realm pass as human thanks to him. Buffy seems impressed enough to hand over a rolled‑up bundle of cash. Giles questions its past as she pays.

But the man stops her: he’s upped the price. Buffy bristles, but he tells her she’ll pay for getting her “gnome” past checkpoints. Giles objects to the insult, temper rising, but the man shrugs. Pay up or not. He could always be his associate’s dinner, he smirks, gesturing at the horned demon beside him.

A silent exchange passes between Slayer and Watcher. Giles suddenly twists, levitating the man into the air with magic. The demon lurches forward, four arms raised. Buffy smiles:

“You think extra hands are an advantage? I see one more thing to break.”

She twists one of his arms until he screeches in pain. The salesman quickly agrees to the original price. Giles lowers him. Buffy warns that if he bluffs again, she’ll call her friends at SFPD. He cackles: if her friends were that close, why does Giles need fake credentials? Buffy and Giles leave in silence, his grin lingering behind them.

Back at the apartment, Xander reports that he and Dawn passed the credentials. Dawn’s magic as the Key is so detailed it fooled every system. She wonders if they can copy the spell for Willow. Willow shakes her head, forlorn. The government has made it clear: either she works for them, or she goes to a Safe Zone.

“But you’re human!” Dawn protests. “You just know magic, that’s all!”

Willow’s voice hardens. “And whoever unleashed the dragon on the city was probably the same thing. They’re rounding up Wiccans by the dozen — my friends, my students, people I taught. They’ll be surrounded by demons and monsters. Sheep in a lion’s den. I have to be there. To fight for them. To make sure they’re protected.”

The room falls silent at her resolve. Giles notes that at least he can travel freely now — as long as he acts his physical age. He’s soon to be attending high school. Buffy shoots him a look.

“Yeah, have you ever actually been to a real school? Not Watcher Academy, not one of those British places with blazers and shorts.”

Giles smiles. He reminds her he worked in the high school system for years. It cannot be that different being a student. The others exchange knowing looks. Giles sighs.

“Hang it all, then. Perhaps I should go to the Safe Zone.”

Buffy interrupts immediately. “No way. Magic‑wise, you’ll be a small fish in a big pond of demon piranhas — and you’re appetiser‑sized.”

Xander grins. “In Eighth Grade, they’ll just destroy your will to live.”

The front door opens. Spike enters, downcast. Buffy smiles, then falters at his expression. He’s been to the police, asking for work, but was declined.

“And just to put the boot in, they revoked my SFPD credentials. Gave me a ticket to the camp though, so it’s not like I left empty‑handed.” His sarcasm doesn’t mask his despair.

Giles is concerned. He thought Andrew was exaggerating, but he was right. “You should flee the country,” he tells Spike. Harmony managed.

Spike points out Harmony was abroad when the dragon attacked. She stayed overseas. “It’s harder now for vamps to get out. Slayers are dusting more of us. And I can’t travel during the day.”

Buffy calls it an excuse. She’d leave with him now if he wanted. Xander warns her everyone would know who she is, blowing her cover.

“They want to stop us, they can try,” Buffy says defiantly. Spike wraps his arms around her, cheeky smile returning. “Now we’re talking. Buffy and Clyde. Let the coppers try to take us alive.”

A pounding on the door silences them. A Federal agent calls: “I’m here for Willow Rosenberg and William the Bloody.”

Buffy yanks the door open, righteous fury blazing. Jordan stands there, smiling, relishing her role. Buffy warns that Willow and Spike have until Friday to report. Jordan shakes her head:

“Change of plans. We’re evaluating certain flight risks. Guess who made the list?”

She strides past Buffy, gesturing at Willow and Spike. “You go under guard. As in me. Fifteen minutes to pack. Most of what you need will be provided.”

Buffy snarls. “How are we supposed to get ready in—” Jordan cuts her off smugly.

“What’s this ‘we’? Slayers are exempt, whether you’re useful or not. You can stay. Go back to waitressing. Seems to be the only career that sticks for you.”

Buffy meets her gaze, holding her temper. “I’ll say this once. Get out. Or get thrown out.”

Jordan snaps back, anger flaring. “What the hell, Summers? Humanity is under attack by supernatural forces. That’s why Slayers were created — to protect people. To be the last, best line of defence. And you used to be the best of us. What happened to you?”

Buffy finds Spike’s hand behind her. “I lived longer than Slayers are supposed to. Learned the world isn’t black and white. You can’t paint everyone with the same brush, human or otherwise.”

Jordan sneers. “Let me translate: you got weak and developed a vampire fetish. ‘Once you go Drac, you never go back,’ am I right?”

Buffy slams her, sending them both tumbling down out through the doorway, into the corridor and down the nearest stairwell. She punctuates each blow with fury. “Say it again. Call me weak again!”

“Weak,” Jordan dares, kneeing Buffy in the stomach. She rises, swinging an elbow into Buffy’s face. “Soft. Traitor!”

Her final punch swings, but Buffy catches her wrist mid‑turn. “Amateur,” she says, and uses Jordan’s strength against her, hurling her over the railing. Buffy leaps down gracefully beside her fallen foe — and doesn’t stop hitting her.

“Bully. Everything you know you learned from me! You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you. And I’m telling you to leave, before—”

Spike and the others interrupt Buffy as Jordan picks herself up off the floor. Spike yells a warning for Buffy to move. Jordan simply speaks into a communicator hidden on her wrist.

“Now.”

An explosion rips through the building, tearing the hallway apart and exposing the lobby to the street. A group of Slayers and a man wielding magical flames stand in the doorway.

“I think Blondie was gonna ask for back‑up,” Jordan smiles, wiping her mouth.

Buffy stands firm, her family behind her, prepared and powered up.

“You’re not the only one,” she replies.

The Slayers rush forward, asking permission to use lethal force. Jordan agrees — a detail Buffy notes. As Spike swings at another Slayer, locals on the street react in horror to the blast and the chaos. Panic spreads.

Spike, enraged, grabs the bottom of a nearby car and heaves. “I… said… STOP!”

To his own surprise, the car tips a full 180 degrees, wheels spinning uselessly in the air. He pushes his hands out, shouting:

“This isn’t necessary. I don’t want anyone hurt on my account. I surrender. I’ll go.”

Buffy looks at him, emotion in her eyes. Willow stops her.

“No, he’s right. I already said I was going. Now’s as good a time as any.”

Buffy calms, then turns back to Jordan.

“Fine. I’ll stand down. On one condition. No Slayer exemption for me. I’m going with them.”

Jordan smirks, satisfied.

“Hey. Who am I to stand in the way of true romance? I’ll even give you fifteen minutes to pack, starting now.”

In her room, packing, Spike tells Buffy she doesn’t have to do this for him. Buffy smiles, but her reasons are larger.

“This is wrong. And I’m not gonna run or hide or avoid it. I’m going to stand up and fight it, protect those who can’t. Which, no matter what Little Miss Stormtrooper out there thinks, is what being a Slayer is all about.”

Spike takes her in his arms.

“I mention lately that I fancy you a bit?”

Buffy kisses him.

“Gonna need some proof,” she whispers.

In the hallway, Giles asks if she’ll take her Scythe. Buffy, strapped with it, replies:

“From my cold, dead hands, Giles.”

She hugs her Watcher. Spike asks Xander to feed the cats.

“I’m already the one who feeds them,” Xander jokes, hugging him goodbye. “You just worry about yourself.”

Dawn hugs Buffy, asking her to call as soon as she can. Buffy asks her to fill their father in. As Buffy walks out, Dawn calls after her, suddenly anxious.

“This… this can’t last long, right? I mean, you can’t just keep that many people… locked up forever.”

Buffy links hands with her sister.

“One day at a time, Dawnie. We’ll figure it out.”

Then Buffy and Spike link arms and walk out of the apartment building without looking back. Dawn cannot see through her streaming tears.

Outside, at a station where an old school bus waits, Buffy and Spike join the line. Willow stands close by as Calliope says goodbye to her girlfriend, reassuring her:

“Willow will protect me.”

Jordan stands by the bus doors, on full alert. Buffy asks if there’ll be a problem with her keeping the Scythe. Jordan shrugs: it’s fine, provided she uses it responsibly. She’ll probably need it.

On the bus, a Slayer orders Spike to sit at the back. At first he bristles at the second‑class treatment — until he realises the back has blacked‑out windows. Buffy joins him, and they huddle together in the darkened corner.

“We can handle this, right?” Buffy asks softly. “We’re together, aren’t we?”

Spike tells her to get some sleep. She nestles onto his shoulder, and soon she is asleep.

Hours later, Spike nudges her awake. The bus, teetering along a coastal back road, turns a bend.

Ahead looms a facility — less hotel, more prison. Its walls are designed to keep people in, not let them out.

Buffy’s eyes adjust in the dimly-lit back of the bus, the morning sun blocked.

“We’re here,” Spike tells her.