The feathered, beaked creature yells for help as the vampire grabs him. Yells, really loud. There’s a crowd of creatures around them, after all. He yells more, but no one moves. The vampire scratches at his plumage, desperate, repeating the word “blood” over and over like a man possessed. One of the crowd tells him it isn’t their problem. They start dividing up his rations before he’s even dead.

As the vampire finally overpowers his wings, the creature gulps as the bloodsucker grabs him by the beak, pulling him closer and closer to his teeth. And then there’s a voice. The sweetest voice he’s ever heard. Powerful, commanding, in charge. He looks through the corner of his eye, trying to spot his saviour.

“Let him go,” the voice says again. It’s like springtime to him.

“Only warning.”

Then he sees her. The Slayer. Smaller than he expected. Somewhat blonder. But she has that axe she always carries, and the creatures around them have backed off silently, recognising the badge on her chest.

The vampire flings the creature aside, forgotten, as if he was never there. Back to being unnoticed, fading into the background. The vampire has a better offer.

He lunges at Buffy, muttering that Spike shouldn’t be the only vampire privileged enough to have Slayer blood on tap. Buffy blocks his punch and tells him he has one last chance to back off and stand down.

He responds by knocking the Scythe from her hands, where it lands a few inches behind her in the dirt. “I’d rather drain you dry,” he snarls, convinced he’s won now that he’s disarmed her.

“Your funeral,” Buffy says, kicking his legs out from under him and bringing him straight down onto the pointy end of the Scythe, protruding from the ground. The vamp is dust in moments.

She dusts herself off and races to the beaked creature. She asks if he’s okay, but he anxiously pushes her away. He doesn’t know anything and he doesn’t want trouble.

He runs before a confused Buffy can ask more.

The group of demons who had been watching turn to her. An Ogre — an actual ogre who insists on the definitive article — snarls.

“Collaborator. She sides with the humans, even though they locked her in here. Because she’s a Slayer, like the guards. A born killer. She doesn’t care, as long as she gets to murder us.”

Some of the crowd disagree. Some join in with the Ogre’s chants.

Buffy says nothing as she walks away.

Later, in their trailer, Spike asks after her day. Buffy sighs, mentioning the Ogre. Spike isn’t concerned. He’s all bark.

“He fancies himself a resistance leader, but all he does is mouth off and stir up trouble. Then when it all hits the fan, funny enough, he’s not around.”

Buffy sighs again. She’s not trusted as a Trustee because, unlike the others who only do it for extra rations, she actually keeps the peace in the Safe Zone. She’s only doing it to secure blood for Spike. And to move through the camp — fight a way out.

Spike smiles. He points out that despite her words, nobody’s actually managed to get out so far.

“Well, if you’ve got a better plan, let’s hear it!” Buffy snaps, louder than she intended. She instantly looks guilty and pulls him into a hug. “Sorry. A vampire tried to bite my head off. Guess I wanted to return the favour.”

Spike shrugs. It’s fine. He doesn’t have a plan either. In fact, he has a feeling things will get worse before they get better.

The next morning, the front gate to the Safe Zone clangs open with a heavy thud. Willow waits there with a few of her friends — Coven members who ended up in the wrong place. Lake Stevens stands on the free side of the imposing metal barrier. Jordan radios to control to deactivate the force field at the main gate.

Lake greets Willow warmly, but Willow doesn’t want small talk. She just wants this over with. One of her friends asks Lake if it’s really true — she can go home. Lake affirms it and says they can thank Willow for convincing her they don’t belong in the Zone. She produces paperwork for them to sign: a waiver stating they won’t use any magical powers of any kind while back in society. Breaking it is punishable by prison.

One friend protests that this is against her rights. It’s her religion, not a cult. But Lake doesn’t budge.

“You can believe anything you want. That doesn’t give you the right to dangerous behaviour.”

If they’d rather not sign, they’re welcome to stay.

To her friend’s surprise, Willow suggests they sign. “It’s just not safe here.”

Once her friends are out of earshot, Lake softens. She agrees — they don’t belong here. Willow says there are more who can’t conjure more than a few sparks, but Lake reminds her that as long as they can demonstrate any spell‑casting ability, they’re classified as a threat.

Willow looks away, watching her friends leave, then back to the ground. “What if…” She hesitates. “Suppose I drained their magic? Made it impossible for them to cast any more spells?”

Lake is taken aback. “You can do that?”

Willow nods. “Some people have more aptitude for magic than others, but it’s all just energy. If the other person’s willing, you can borrow theirs… or take it permanently.”

Lake thinks, then asks if Willow would be comfortable with this.

Remembering her past, Willow turns and shrieks in horror. “Goddess, no! It’s ripping away a natural part of someone. Like cutting off a hand!” She stops, looking down at the ground. “But if they stay here, they could lose a lot more.”

Lake smiles gently. If Willow can get them to agree and confirm their lack of magic, she can get her friends out. It’s Willow’s call. As Lake heads back to her escort vehicle, she seems genuine when she tells Willow to take care of herself.

Some time later, Willow discusses the idea with Buffy. She has her reasons, but she hasn’t told the other Coven members yet. When Buffy asks why, Willow stops — because Calliope is sitting on her trailer step, grinning as a bright light shines in her palm.

“But it’s not really a free choice, is it? I want to be sure it’s the right thing to do. And that I’m doing it — or not doing it — for the right reasons.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Calliope’s smile.

Buffy gets it. If Calliope is drained of magic, she goes home to her girlfriend. If not, she stays inside. Willow admits she knew this was an option but kept quiet. She wants to know if she’s stalling for moral or personal reasons.

Buffy stops her with a gentle smile. “Wil, you’re one of the best people I know. You’ll do what’s right. It’s how you’re wired. Anyway, who says they’re not safer here with you? Dawn told me hate crimes against Wiccans are a fact of life on the outside.”

Willow looks to the sky. Lightning pulses from her hands. Buffy is convinced the sky flashes too, as if Willow is tugging at the weather. Her eyes darken slightly. Her tone is resolute.

“I know. And it makes me furious that I have to choose between protecting the ones in here or the ones out there. I just wish this was over. I wish they’d do whatever they’re going to do and close this place down.” She sees Buffy’s worried face. “They are going to shut it down, right? This is temporary?”

Buffy shrugs. It can’t work long term, but people seem to be taking their time. “But it’s not like I’m invited to the meetings.” She tells Willow to take care of her girls and she’ll dig for info at work. Spike has heard rumours of an uprising — and he’s not the only one. She asks Willow what she knows.

The witch has heard whispers when people think she isn’t listening. Buffy knows an uprising will mean casualties. Willow, however, is already thinking ahead.

In their trailer, Calliope claims to know nothing about an uprising, though Buffy can tell she’s hiding something. Willow offers to drain her magic, but Calliope doesn’t even consider it; her magic is what makes her feel alive. Willow says they’ll talk, but first she needs information.

Calliope tries to change the subject again, but Willow points out the militant shift in her since they began practising magic. If the revolution fails, people will die — possibly Calliope herself.

“Look, why do you think there aren’t more actual guards in here?” Buffy asks, her tone firm. “Because they don’t care if we die. Just tell me who’s behind it. And I give you my word — if it’s not a suicide run, I’m in.”

Calliope weighs her options, then looks away, ashamed to break a confidence. “The Ogre. It’s a mass rush on the force field when they open it for the water trucks. Everyone heads for ops and tries to shut it down altogether.” She looks up at Willow. “And it’s today.”

By the main gate, the crowd gathers. The gates open. Water trucks move. Residents huddle, trying to look busy, waiting for the signal. The Ogre tells them to get ready. As he prepares to rally them, he feels a tap on his wrist. He follows the blade of the Slayer Scythe up to its owner’s stern face.

“Shut it down. You’ll get them all killed.”

He hesitates — then, with surprising speed, grabs Buffy by the throat with one hand and snatches her Scythe with the other. Lifting her off the ground, he snarls, “That’s it. You’re done, you traitorous—”

A knee to the jaw, then a kick to the gut nearly drops him. Off‑balance, Buffy punches him squarely. He drops the Scythe, which falls neatly into her hand. She swings it — partly to prove a point, partly because she likes the whistle.

“Everyone who can see I’m doing you a favour, go home,” she orders. “If you can’t… let’s do this.”

She breathes in, closes her eyes. The demons charge, one yelling for the others to tear her apart. Buffy turns, weapon ready, and sighs. Jordan and another Slayer move to open the gates to back her up, but Buffy barks over her shoulder:

“No. I’ve got this.”

Jordan shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She radios operations to seal the force field. As soon as it flickers overhead, Buffy shouts while fending off blows:

“It’s over! The force field is back up! It wouldn’t have worked anyway — now there’s no chance. Go home!”

She looks around, surrounded by demons picking themselves up. She lowers her Scythe. Jordan jeers from the gate.

“Gotta say, Summers… you did your job. And made yourself the least popular girl on campus. Maybe you’d better work outside the force field for the next few days. Guard the work crews. You’ve earned it.”

Buffy grits her teeth. “Sounds good. Starting tomorrow.” She walks away, back to Jordan and the crowd. “Be here at eight,” Jordan calls. “If you live that long.”

As soon as Buffy is out of sight, she collapses against a trailer. Willow rushes to her, propping her up, guilt in her eyes. Buffy smiles through her broken nose and bloody lip.

“You helped more with your calming spell than you would’ve throwing lightning bolts.”

“But it worked,” Buffy whispers. “We didn’t have to kill anyone. The guards didn’t get an excuse to kill anyone. And I got a ticket outside. Where I can start finding a way out that’ll work.” She grins through the pain.

The next morning, by the busy front gate, Buffy preps. She asks Jordan how she knows she won’t run, but Jordan just leers.

“Be my guest. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You’d die of exposure, if we didn’t find you first.” There’s a cruel smirk on her lips and hatred in her eyes.

Besides, Jordan grunts, Buffy won’t go far from her lover or her witch. They don’t need to watch her. Though Jordan is, as always, eager for her to try.

As Buffy leaves the Safe Zone, she spends the day observing operations in the nearby factories. One is a metal shop where residents make metal parts — that’s all they know.

She recognises the culture of sneaking blood and organs around like drug deals in alleyways.

She sits in the staff canteen with the other demon Trustees. On the news, Ms Wise, the President’s press secretary, takes questions. She suggests the Safe Zones will last longer.

Buffy visits the assembly plant — they don’t know what they’re assembling.

In the IT room, they write code to control machines, but don’t know which machines or why. But it’s air‑conditioned.

Finally, she tries to slip through a door, only to be cornered by an armed guard who aims his weapon.

“This area’s off limits. No guards allowed. Turn around. Now.” His tone implies he’ll only ask once.

Buffy tells him to relax and moves away, not wanting to break her cover.

Later, Buffy asks Jordan about the restricted area. Jordan tells her that, for some reason, the Government agents are touchy about that section. She thinks they’re over‑compensating for the big, strong women around.

A small demon — blue, beaver‑like — approaches Jordan and asks if there’s been an update. The amphibian, water‑breathing community are dying in the desert heat. Jordan claims she passed the message on but hasn’t heard anything. She makes a crack about him smelling like low tide and angrily shoos him away. Buffy asks what the problem is. Jordan dismisses it — the beaver is exaggerating, just like every other demon in here.

She’s about to say more when she spots the beaver heading around the side of a military vehicle. “We’ve got a runner,” she shouts into her radio. She’s left her keys in the truck.

Buffy moves to follow, but Jordan stops her. “Don’t bother. It’s handled,” she says bluntly.

Then, a gunshot rings out, echoing loudly in the desert air.

Buffy stares at the demon’s body — a head wound visible, his small frame having smashed through the truck’s windscreen. “You didn’t have to do that!”

Jordan disagrees. “Actions have consequences, Summers. Remember that… and spread the word.”

Later that evening, in Buffy and Spike’s trailer, Buffy, Willow and Spike gather around a table. Her notes from the day’s facility tours are scattered everywhere. Willow notices that some of the machine parts resemble runes or magical symbols.

Spike agrees. He looks over Buffy’s sketches. “Am I daft, or does it look like a lot of these pieces…”

“Fit together?” Buffy finishes. “I noticed it too. I think the crews are working on the same project. And it’s big.” Spike wonders what it does. Willow wonders why. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s weird that a Government cracking down on magic is, y’know, building something that uses magic?”

Buffy shakes her head. “You’re not the only one. But we’re not going to get the answers we need with the access I’ve got now. We have to figure out a way into the restricted areas. And until we do, we keep a low profile.”

Across the camp, the Ogre and his cronies sit around a fire. He’s furious.

“She ruined it. That could’ve been our chance at freedom. Our only chance. They gave a murderer a badge and turned her loose among us.”

One demon dares to disagree, but the Ogre stands, towering over him, and the argument dies instantly.

“So, it’s settled,” he bellows. “Even if it brings heat down on us, we have to do it. For us to survive, the Slayer has to die.”