A new day begins in the San Francisco Safe Zone, and life has settled into a strange, uneasy routine.

Buffy Summers preps for work, tying her hair back. Spike tells her to be careful.

Willow Rosenberg has her own mission this morning: five Wiccans have approached her, asking to be drained of their magical energy. They simply want to go home.

As they walk to their destinations, Willow glances at Buffy. The Slayer can see the worry in her friend’s face — the tiredness, the tension in her shoulders. Without prompting, Willow voices it: is she doing the right thing?

Buffy pulls her close. She agrees that taking power from others feels like the opposite of what Wicca stands for. But things are getting worse inside the camp, and Buffy believes Willow is doing the best thing for her Coven. It will get them outside, where they can be safe. Or safer, at least.

As they talk, neither notices the creature above them — an eyeball with dragon wings, flapping like a bat. Calling itself Peeper, it reports back to its master. “The Slayer’s sticking to her usual routine. She’ll be at the ambush point in two.”

Around the corner, hidden among the trailers that line Buffy’s route, the Ogre acknowledges the call. He signals his men into position.

Buffy approaches quietly between two trailers. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots movement on a roof. A heartbeat later, she hears the familiar sound of spines being fired from a lizard demon’s tail.

Instinctively, she raises the Scythe, blocking spike after spike as they ricochet away — but one gets through, piercing her thigh. She grunts, sinking to one knee.

The demon, Karriok, grins at his companion. “That’s all we need. Look at her. The poison’s making her woozy. This’ll be easy.” As Buffy struggles to her feet, head swimming, she sees the Ogre approaching with more demons behind him. “Fire up the grill,” he crows. “Tonight we eat Slayer meat.”

Buffy doesn’t wait to hear more. She lashes out, swinging on what they thought was her bad leg. The Scythe twirls through the air, taking the head off one demon and slicing another clean in half.

“Eat this,” she quips.

The Ogre snarls at his henchmen to slaughter her.

Two groups of demons swarm her, piling in from both sides. Limbs and bodies crash together, dust rising in thick clouds that obscure the fight.

Then bodies start flying back out of the haze — demons, thrown like rag dolls. Buffy stands in the centre, holding one demon above her head, growling, almost inhuman.

The Ogre blindsides her, punching her hard across the face. “Why won’t you die?” he roars, frustrated.

Buffy reels but doesn’t show it. “It’ll take more than you’ve got.” He swings again, but she dodges, sending his fist crashing into the cliff-face. “Poison, then ambush?”

She kicks him away with a thud. “Know what I call that? Eighteenth birthday present. From my teacher.” Her eye is bruising, blood pours from her nose, and she may have lost a tooth — but she doesn’t slow.

The Ogre hits her again, sending the Scythe skidding out of reach. “No more birthdays,” he growls. He lifts her by the throat. “No more anything for you.”

Buffy struggles to see through her swollen eye, but her expression stays hard. She grips his wrists, pushes herself upward — then twists, flipping over him, bending his arms back and snapping them with a sickening crack. The Ogre screams and collapses.

“In case you haven’t noticed, your pal only poisoned me enough to make me dangerous,” she says, rolling him to face her. “So think carefully when you answer this: what’s your beef with me?”

Weakly, he calls her a traitor. Buffy twists his wrist again. “That line’s getting tired.”

She leans in, eye to eye. “You never attack the guards. Any time someone talks about a real revolt, you push them into rushing it — and when it goes down, you’re hiding. Your friends all ran. There’s no one left alive to hear you, so tell me the truth.”

The Ogre hesitates — then, to Buffy’s shock, he starts to cry. “I work for them,” he whispers.

“The guards? Thought so. And you know if that gets out, you’re dead before you take two steps.” She stands over him. “I’ll keep it quiet, on two conditions. One: stop informing. Should be easy for a while… you’ll be laid up.” She can’t resist the sarcasm.

She’s earned it.

“Two: spill everything. About the project everyone’s working on outside.”

The Ogre nods through his tears. He doesn’t know the details, but he knows it’s all connected. “Something to do with combining science and magic. I help them pick work crews… no one too smart. They said when it’s finished, it’ll let us get out of here. But I’m not as dense as they think. There’s a catch.”

Buffy turns away, leaning on her Scythe. Her leg is worse than she let on; the feeling hasn’t fully returned. “Okay. Word of advice — stay out of my way. Come to think of it, stay out of everyone’s way.”

She walks off without a backward glance, leaving the crying Ogre to sit with his betrayal.

In Willow’s trailer, with Calliope by her side, two Coven members sit cross‑legged on the floor, candles flickering between them.

“You’re the last two. Final chance to change your mind.”

The girls shake their heads. They can’t take it inside anymore. They miss their families.

Willow doesn’t argue. She understands. She closes her eyes, takes both their hands, and forms a circle. She warns them this may hurt. Within seconds, as she concentrates, a blue light encircles her fingers and spreads outward, touching each girl. The glow flows from Willow to them, then completes the loop, returning to her.

It takes a moment for all three to come out of the daze.

“That’s it,” Willow says, and Calliope helps her to her feet. She’s clearly exhausted. “They’re waiting for you at the main gate. To take you home. I’d go with you, but…”

They tell her it’s okay. They understand, just as she did. They thank her quietly and leave, already mourning what they’ve lost.

Willow sinks back into her chair, drained. Calliope watches the door, then turns to her.

“Their eyes… it was like something just snuffed out inside them.” She hesitates. “I don’t think I could’ve survived in here without you.” She leans in and gently presses her lips to Willow’s.

Willow gasps. “Calliope, we can’t.” Calliope asks if she’s too injured, but Willow shakes her head — it’s her girlfriend outside she’s thinking of.

“I really like you. And draining their magic doesn’t make me weaker — it makes me more energised. And I have to control myself. Look… maybe you should just go, okay?”

Calliope nods, though her smile betrays the hurt. “Okay. I understand.” And she slips out.

Willow drops her head into her hands and sighs. A knock interrupts her. She sighs again, pushes herself upright.

“Oh, I don’t have the willpower for this,” she mutters.

She opens the door, expecting Calliope — but instead finds Buffy, black‑eyed and bloodied on her doorstep.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Buffy says, forcing a smile. “Can I use your… well, everything?”

Moments later, Buffy insists she’s fine, but Willow shakes her head. She has three broken ribs and poison still circulating. Willow holds her hands over the injuries, a yellow glow surrounding the wounds as she heals.

Buffy doesn’t want to clean up at home — Spike will go nuclear with some revenge plan, and they can’t afford attention.

Willow tells her to sit. She can do whatever she likes once she’s properly rested. She promises to send one of the girls to tell Spike there’s been a fight and not to worry. “It’s not like that’s a hugely unusual occurrence,” she adds with a smile. Buffy is relieved — she wants to talk about the project the Ogre mentioned.

Combining science and magic never ends well. “Remember Adam?” she says. “But this sounds way larger scale.”

She can’t piece it together from what she’s seen. Maybe Willow will have better luck.

“The science part, only if it’s computer‑related,” Willow says. “The magic part, possibly — but I’m not allowed past the force field, and none of my spells can penetrate it.”

Buffy smiles. “So we get creative.”

That night, crouched behind rocks overlooking the front gate, Spike, Buffy and Willow discuss their options. Willow explains that the force field rules her out completely — it blocks any magic from getting through, even teleportation spells. There’s another spell layered over the entire Zone that prevents portals or gateways from opening.

Buffy points out that supplies get in all the time, but Willow gestures to the small devices attached to the metal gate’s frame.

They look inconspicuous to Buffy — which, Willow says, is the point. Discreet sensors inside scan and record everything that passes through. They know exactly what’s authorised and what isn’t.

Spike asks if they can disable the sensors.

“Not without making them suspicious,” Buffy says. “They’d close the force field again as soon as one of them went down.”

Spike grits his teeth. “Then let’s not give them a reason not to be suspicious.”

The next morning, walking through camp, Spike is bundled in a hoodie and layers to protect him from the sun.

“I don’t like you being outside during the day,” Buffy says gently.

“Well, I don’t like you getting abused and nearly killed, do I?” he snaps back. Buffy matches his bluntness. “I can handle myself. I don’t need a bodyguard who’ll burst into flame if his hoodie falls down.”

Spike frowns. “I’m walking you to work, all right? We’re almost there. Just leave it.”

At the front gate, Jordan signals to open the field. Buffy waves at Spike. “Okay, we’re here. I’ll see you tonight.”

From her vantage point above, Willow mutters, “Careful now…”

Spike grabs a demon worker in the line — completely at random — shouting that he’s mates with the Ogre. He slams the demon into a wall, then hurls him through the gate.

The sensors register him instantly. Jordan yells for the field to be closed.

Behind the rocks, Willow moves.

Buffy charges up to Spike. “What the Hell is wrong with you? Do you want me to get fired? Do you want to lose the extra blood rations?”

Jordan, crouched beside the dazed demon, shouts at Buffy to get to the work stations.

“Tell everyone to stay put. Shift change is delayed until we can fix your boyfriend’s mess.” She turns to Spike. “Keep away from the gate, or I’ll take further action.”

Spike looks wounded for a moment, then storms off. “Fine. Bloody Hell. I know when I’m not wanted.”

Buffy walks away too, whispering to herself. Jordan’s orders give her the perfect excuse to get inside the building.

She moves through the factory, department by department, worker by worker.

“Sit tight, guys. Shift change is delayed. Some kind of glitch.”

She makes sure she hits every section — IT, metalwork, assembly.

At the gate, Jordan has two demons repairing the overloaded sensors. As Buffy approaches, Jordan radios to open the field again, ordering extra eyes on standby.

A convoy speeds through the gate — and the sensors beep again, when they shouldn’t.

One demon curses. Jordan rounds on him.

“New fuse,” the small demon stammers. “Couldn’t handle the first multiworker energy read. I’m recalibrating.”

Buffy walks through the gate, smiling as she hears him reassure Jordan that it’s nothing to worry about.

Back inside the camp, Willow appears from thin air behind the rocks. Her invisibility spell fades. She gasps for breath. “Oh, Goddess…”

That night, she confirms to Buffy that her invisible tour of the factories proved her suspicions: everything they’re building is part of one enormous machine.

“That does what?”

“Only one thing I can imagine,” Willow says grimly. “Drain and store magical energy. On a massive scale.”

“What? Like you’ve been doing to those Wiccans?” Spike asks.

“Ouch,” Willow says. “But yes. Exactly like that.”

Buffy sighs. “So they’re trying to take away magic powers. Make me a regular non‑Slayer‑ish person again.”

Willow nods — but there’s more.

“If they activate this thing, you, me, any human with magical enhancements… we’d lose that. Which is bad. But think of the beings whose nature is inherently magical.”

The concern on her face spreads to Buffy.

“For some, it would be like losing limbs. A lot of their senses are magic. Imagine being struck deaf, mute and blind. The fliers — humanoid bodies aren’t built for flight. They’d be grounded. Some body types would be completely immobile. Giants, mermaids, satyrs, centaurs… their bodies aren’t natural. At best, they’d be crippled. A lot would die.”

She gestures toward a group of vampires playing cards by a flaming drum.

“And those who are only alive because of magic — they’d definitely die. Elementals, energy beings, plant‑based organisms… and all varieties of the undead.”

Buffy looks at Spike, dread in her eyes. “No.”

“So we wreck it,” she says. “Destroy everything they’ve made.”

Spike shakes his head. “They’d just rebuild.”

“And the machine itself isn’t here,” Willow adds. “They ship the components somewhere else. We’ve all seen the trucks.”

Buffy suggests exposing them to the world, but Spike counters that they’d deny everything — and a fair chunk of the world would agree with them right now.

“So what?” Buffy shouts. “We’re supposed to just let them commit genocide?”

Willow places a hand on her shoulder. “No. Of course not. But whatever we do, we’ll only get one shot.”

“Fine,” Buffy says. “Then we’re breaking out of here. We find out who’s behind this, expose them, and wreck whatever they’ve built.”

Spike gives a wry smile. “Lovely idea. But you lot barely made it out today for twenty bloody minutes. How are we meant to stage a prison break?”

Buffy looks at him. “I don’t know. But we have to figure it out. Because taking out magic is bad enough — but once they’ve got all that power…” She pauses, thinking it through. “I promise you, whatever they want to use that power for is going to be worse.”