When he was alive, Gordon would have busted guys who jaywalked. That was the highlight of his career as a cop -- the occasional speeding ticket and jaywalking. Heck, back in the 70s, Avarice was a relatively decent neighbourhood -- unpaid parking tickets were exciting. Then things got worse -- bad hats started moving in; the big projects became slums and then -- the vampires began to rule.
He didn't know that then, of course. He didn't even believe in them. Until that fateful night when his squad was called to investigate a body found in Baylor House.
While there, his squad team egged him to investigate the famous basement, and he remembered being afraid. Then John Maskins said he would, and he decided -- why the hell not?
Well, it certainly paid off. Four vamps came out of the darkness and took them. Gordon was fortunate enough to be turned. John was sucked dry and his body used for a dartboard for the next few weeks.
Life as a vamp certainly had its perks. First, there wasn't any pesky conscience to deal with, so he was pretty much happy to do the things he hadn't been able to do before like killing lots of people and torturing few and there when he was in the mood. And then there were the fringe benefits like super strength and immortality. He had a gang to hang out with and he lived in a posh, albeit a bit run down, warehouse.
So, when you find out that this peaceful existence is going to be disturbed, you're not exactly happy are you?
"I mean, this guy's stupid. Haven't we killed enough people to tell them -- hey, this is our pad, no touch?" said Arnold Thomas, a recently turned vamp.
Gordon watched as the movers began moving boxes into the first floor. The two of them looked nervous, as if they really didn't want to be here.
The smell of the blood running beneath their skins was intoxicating. Gordon sighed in happiness.
"Shall we get 'em?" Arnold asked.
"Why not?" Gordon replied.
Surprised, the two vampires turned.
"Oh ... hey April."
The leader of their gang, April, walked from the shadows.
"I don't want to scare our visitor, guys. I want to have fun with him -- so let's wait till he moves in, shall we?"
There were many smiles under the basement at Baylor House that day.
He found that he had slept for a long time in his motel room. When Wesley finally got off his bed, feeling a little like his normal self, he found a pile of newspapers at his doorway.
When he checked the dates, he realized that he had slept for three days.
However, he was glad for it. The pain was nearly gone -- and so was the uncontrollable energy that was coursing through his body. He felt almost normal, no hint of magic around him.
He stumbled to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked ... very terrible. There were dark circles beneath his eyes; his hair was limp and his skin pasty. Wesley bet vampires looked better than he did now.
As he washed up and brushed his teeth, he tried not to think about what he had done.
It was the only way, he reasoned. Fighting vampires alone without backup was foolhardy -- and what backup did he have now? So the only way was to have the strength of a Slayer or something better. He decided to give himself some power.
He looked in the mirror again once he cleaned up. Presentable, but not exactly great either. Old Wesley would still be appalled. Old Wesley would also be shocked at what he just did to himself.
He knew very well that Elemental magic would burn him out one day. It was something every Watcher knew -- of all the magics in the world, Elemental magic was the strongest -- and the most destructive to its wielder. Which is why no sane witch would touch it, even with a ten yard pole. Occasionally, some did attempt it -- and history recorded grisly deaths for all of them. Only very few could wield elemental magic for long and survive. They were called Naturals, or Elementals; wizards like Merlin, Othego, Ayas. But they were extremely rare, and Wesley doubted he even had a smidgen of their ability. He wasn't even very well versed in magic to begin with; he was just a typical 'by the book' magic dabbler that didn't have much power to dip in. That was why he needed power.
He needed power to do what he must do. He needed the strength to make sure that Sahjhan wouldn't succeed. His friends -- sorry, his former partners, have no idea how to deal with the monster. But he did.
So, what's done is done. And now, it was time to act.
He opened the weapons bag he had hastily packed from his apartment and took out a crossbow, a few stakes and then his favourite sword. He looked at the sword, gazing at his distorted reflection on the blade and smiled humorously.
Let the games begin.
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