“I won’t do it.”

It’s the fifth time he’s said it, and yet Spike is still calm.

Buffy stands before him, arms raised. “We’ve had this discussion before.” She manages not to sigh. He doesn’t budge.

“Doesn’t mean it was right then, and it ain’t now.” He’s steadfast. Unmovable. Stubborn as a jackass, she thinks.

“You need this. It makes you stronger.”

“And you weaker!” The words burst out. She knows she can’t smile at this win. “I’ll be fine. And it’s my choice.”

He quietens, looking away so she can’t meet his eyes. “What if I can’t stop?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “You will.”

Then, still not looking at her, he pulls her close. His eyes flare yellow, features twist, teeth sharpen.

And Spike bites into Buffy’s neck.

The sensation hits instantly — warm liquid oozing down his throat. The first swallow he resists, but then the rush of Slayer blood overwhelms him.

Buffy moans softly, woozy as her blood drains. She tries to speak through the haze.

“That… That’s…”

Then, ignoring the pain, she shoves him away, hard, sending him crashing into the nearest piece of furniture.

“That’s enough,” she finishes, clutching her bleeding neck.

Spike wipes his mouth, face human again, shame etched across it. “That’s the last time…”

He fights the urge to spit the blood out.

“Don’t. Just don’t,” Buffy says, raising her hand to stop him.

In the centre of the so‑called Safe Zone, the noise is deafening. Mid‑evening, and creatures of every kind swarm the meeting point: demons, humans, things Buffy can’t even name. She remembers Hooverville photographs after the Wall Street crash — shanty towns of cardboard and wood.

The Safe Zone looks worse. Makeshift tents sprawl everywhere. Fires burn in metal drums. Rubbish piles high. Trailers, too few and too shabby, cram with residents. People scramble, bicker, fight.

Buffy walks through with Spike beside her. She cannot believe this is happening.

Spike mutters that he’d rather not take her blood, especially with rations being handed out. Buffy scoffs. “Most vampires gulp half down right away and starve by mid‑week. You can control yourself.” She watches him take in the squalor. “It’s best this way.”

“Best in this place is a bloody low standard,” he sulks. She grips his hand tighter.

At the ration line, a commotion erupts. A vampire screams, “I’ve got to get out!” He transforms into a bat, screeching skyward. Buffy sighs. “Here he goes again.”

He slams into an invisible barrier, stunned, and crashes back inside the dome.

“Nice one, Trevor,” Spike says, approaching. “Now you’ve got broken bones and you’ll be hungrier. You gonna test the force field every week?”

Trevor snarls at Buffy. “The Slayer. Together we can take her. We can feed!”

Spike doesn’t move. “Right. I was going to get your spot back, but it’s the end of the line for you, mate.” He turns to Buffy, ignoring Trevor. “Better get going before the rest get homicidal ideas. Love to Willow.”

Buffy smiles, kisses him gently. “See you soon.”

Elsewhere, anti‑human rhetoric grows louder by the hour. Demons claim a natural order, insisting it’s their right to rise above human oppression. A cyclops leads a gang targeting smaller creatures. Their motto is simple: if you’re not with us, you’re against us.

Buffy ignores two such incidents as she heads to Willow’s trailer, shared with her Coven member Calliope.

The rookie Wiccan is delighted, oblivious to the squalor. In her hands, a glowing light flickers into flame. “It’s working, Willow!” she gushes, too loudly.

Willow hushes her. “Sure. Nothing magic can pass through the field, but they can’t turn it off inside — most inmates would die. Even they won’t go that far.” She spots Buffy approaching and tells Calliope to keep practising. “Flame’s your best deterrent. Most species fear it instinctively.”

Buffy asks if she’s interrupting. Willow says the lesson is complete. She asks Buffy to walk with her. Calliope looks up from her smoking hand. “You won’t be gone long, will you?”

Willow turns slowly to her. “I’ll stay within earshot. Any problems, just yell. Don’t worry. I’d never leave you… guys.” She falters on the last word.

She cups Calliope’s cheek. Calliope brushes her fingers against Willow’s. They linger, until Willow realises what she’s doing. She pulls back, stammering, breaking free from Calliope’s perfect eyes.

A little while later, on the edge of the Safe Zone, Buffy teases that Willow’s new relationship is moving fast. Willow hushes her hurriedly, clearly embarrassed, guilty, or both.

“Stop. She has a girlfriend on the outside. And there’s five of us to a trailer… for safety. Wiccans are some of the only humans in this place. We’re like gingerbread men at weight‑loss camp.”

They can’t rely on the guards — unless there’s a riot, they don’t care. The Slayers watching them can’t be trusted. Even the residents working as trustees only do it for extra rations.

They stop as they spot the cyclops and his gang, once again picking on the weaker, stealing supplies. One snarls at a smaller goat‑like creature:

“Consider it your contribution, punk. A revolutionary army needs food. Donate or be it!”

Buffy rolls up her sleeves, prompting a look from Willow.

“Guess it’s time to remind everyone who’s king of the yard.”

The cyclops, with his single eye, sees her coming and shows worry. His companion, a green lizard demon, is less cautious. He’s eager to show the Slayer what they do to traitors.

Buffy smiles as she closes in.

“Wow. Really? It’s been too long since I did this!”

The lizard swings his tail to trip her, but she lands effortlessly between them, kicking both apart with ease. She grins — it’s been a while.

With the creatures down, Buffy turns, satisfied. Willow shouts a warning. The lizard spins and coils his tail around Buffy’s neck, squeezing tight.

“You’re losing your touch, Slayer.”

Willow raises a blast of magical energy, ready to strike, but Buffy shakes her head.

“No. I started this.”

She breaks free, grips the tail, and swings.

“I’ll finish it.”

The demon flies through the air and crashes down again, like a jack‑in‑the‑box, as Buffy slams him repeatedly by his own appendage.

From beyond the perimeter fence, Jordan watches.

“Not bad, Summers! You decide you want to join the rest of us, there’s still a spot.”

Buffy doesn’t respond. She pulls Willow close, whispering for her to get out of sight.

Hidden behind a trailer, Buffy leans against the wall, dizzy.

Willow looks at her, concerned. “I knew as soon as I saw the scarf.” She pulls it from Buffy’s neck, revealing vampire wounds. “How often?”

“Just when I can see he’s struggling. He needs it, Willow. The rations aren’t enough.”

“But it drains you,” Willow says. “And in here, that could be fatal.”

“Lucky me,” Buffy replies. “My rep mostly keeps me out of trouble.”

When she regains her breath, she leads Willow back out. A bus full of residents passes through the gates. Willow silently counts them.

“I see a lot of vampires getting jobs on work crews. Gets them out of the camp, in contact with locals who sell them blood.”

Buffy shakes her head. “The bosses don’t trust Spike. He’s tried.”

Willow is sympathetic as they walk back toward Buffy’s temporary home. “Well, it can’t stay this way forever, right?”

Buffy sighs. “No. But it can always get worse.”

A cheery Spike approaches from behind, a bag of blood in his hands. He’s sorted his rations. “Missed anything?” he asks. Willow covers for Buffy’s dizziness. Buffy insists they refrigerate his blood, excusing them as she pulls Spike away with an awkward grin plastered on her face.

Six days later, Buffy fixes her hair and tells Spike she’s going to call Dawn. He acknowledges her, proudly claiming he made his blood ration last the week. Once she’s out the door, however, he grimaces in discomfort.

“By not eating for three bloody days…”

At the row of call phones along a wall in the Safe Zone, Buffy joins the crowd of humans and demons, each desperate to reassure loved ones. There’s no privacy.

Dawn tells her the lawyers say they’ll be out within the year. Buffy changes the subject, asking about life outside. Dawn says it’s relatively normal, aside from an overwhelming military presence — armed guards on every corner.

“Everyone’s on edge. No surprise. But there are too many people happy that ‘their kind’ aren’t around anymore. Xander’s gotten into three fights with people talking smack about Wiccans.”

Buffy warns her not to let him take things too far. She raises her voice: behind her, a gnome shouts loudly, urging residents to use their calls to tell the world about the oppression inside, the lack of food and medical supplies. Dawn asks about the noise. Buffy tells her to ignore it, though she knows the crowd is listening — and the gnome grows louder.

She recognises the voice behind her without turning. The cyclops. Again.

His gang surround the gnome. He calls them traitors. That’s enough for them to strike. Five pile onto the poor creature. Buffy quickly signs off, telling Dawn to hug Xander and keep her grades up.

She places the receiver down calmly, then turns, anger rising.

“Make me cut short my phone call? Someone’s gonna get hurt.”

She marches toward the group. One warns the others, but the lizard demon shrugs her off.

“This’ll be easy. Bring it on, warmblood!”

Buffy stops, staring into his eyes.

“I’ve been called a lot of things.”

She sprints, leaping onto the cyclops, forcing him into the mud. She rolls into another move, kicking one in the jaw, flipping over another, high‑kicking the fourth.

“Never easy,” she finishes, hurling one demon into the last, sending them crashing together.

In his trailer, Spike savours the last drops of blood. He hears the cries outside.

“Slayer fight!”

He rushes out, ignoring warnings that the sun isn’t fully down.

Buffy falters under the blows. A baseball bat cracks her head; the cyclops smashes her senseless. Then a sound.

Spike stands before them, sizzling in the dusk. His teeth are gritted, his face intent. He snaps a metal door handle free, vamps out, ignoring the smoke and the smell of his own skin burning.

He spins the weapon, smashing a cockroach demon’s jaw. The cyclops fires a beam of red energy, but Spike moves too fast. He kicks him in the gut, leaps, fury in his throat. His teeth flash, sink. The cyclops screams, then falls silent. Spike looks up, face dripping with thick demon blood.

The gang are too stunned to stop Buffy. She throws them into a heap. Spike growls, spitting blood.

Buffy approaches gently, hand on his shoulder.

“Spike. It’s okay. We won. Listen to me. You need to stop, understand?”

For a moment she doesn’t know if he sees her. His face is still distorted. Then he softens, human again, horrified.

He promises he’s okay now that he’s eaten, though burnt. Buffy picks him up, leaning him on her. She’ll take him home. He hasn’t even noticed the sun has set.

Inside, Spike is anxious. He fears trouble after his actions. Buffy tells him not to worry about the guards.

“But Spike, you were out of control. You have to tell me when you’re starving…”

“Why?” His voice is harsh. “So I can drain more of your blood? Make you too weak to fight? Let them kill you?”

“What about you?” she asks. “What if next time you attack someone innocent? Or a guard? They’ll dust you.”

Spike turns away. He knows. He’s thought of breaking out.

Buffy stops him. “That’s suicide. The only way past the force field is on a work crew or as a trustee. The Slayers took care of the few who tried to run.”

“Well, we can’t go on like this. If you’ve got a better idea, let’s hear it.”

Later, under the full moon, Buffy approaches the perimeter fence. A clap pierces the silence.

“There she is. Heard you decided to try slaying monsters again instead of playing seven minutes in Hell with them. Bravo.” Jordan’s sarcasm crawls over Buffy’s skin. She ignores it, says what she came to say.

“What you said before. If I can get extra blood rations for Spike, I’ll sign up.”

Jordan grins at her colleague. “Is that right? A lot of the girls don’t trust you. Can’t say I blame them.”

Buffy peers through the fence. “Not with you. I won’t be a guard. But I’ll be a trustee. Actually keep order in here, instead of taking my extras and running from trouble.”

Jordan and her colleague exchange looks.

Back in the trailer, Spike asks how it went. He’s about to speak when he sees what she’s wearing.

A bulletproof vest, complete with badge. Buffy sighs.

“Well. My aptitude test did say I should be in law enforcement.”