The Man With A Thousand Faces: Prologue
by redmoon
Prologue

4 August, 1989, New York City

Spike threw the young woman against the side of the subway car. Her lover lay unconscious on the floor. The blonde haired vamp hissed as his face took on its natural, inhuman form. His hand closed around her throat.

“Wha’s your name, slayer?” He hissed, lifting her by her throat from the ground.

“Fuck you,” she gagged, driving her toe into his stomach. He groaned and dropped her, stumbling back between two seats on the empty car. Her foot connected with his jaw and he had to jump back to avoid the swing of her fist.

He caught her other hand, though, twisting it viciously, pinning it behind her back. “Your name, slayer, so I can visit your grave stone.” He pulled her blonde hair back and inhaled her scent from her neck.

“Niki,” she hissed, then with a shout threw her weight into elbowing him in the ribs. He barely felt it, but he released her anyway, taking a wary step back.

He frowned, looking about himself, examining the subway car as it was blanketed in darkness every few moments. “Well, ini’ this some sort of freaky deja vu?” He finally turned back to her, looked down and gave her slowly stirring lover a kick in the face, throwing him into unconsciousness again. “Y’know, I killed another slayer by the name of Nikki in a subway car like this... couldn’t a been more than ten years ago...” They exchanged blows. “She was a dark beauty, though,” he mused, smashing his fist into her pale cheek, “and a hell of a better fighter.”

“Enough chit chat,” she spat, “the deja vu ends here.” She pulled a stake from her Ramones-style leather jacket and dove at him. Spike remained unfazed as he caught her easily and drove her into the gritty floor of the subway, pinning her cheek with his knee.

“You know what?” He said quietly above the distant thundering of the tracks. He brought his lips close to her ear as he sat on her chest and held her head with his knee. “I don’t fancy your jacket,” he whispered, then put his weight on his knee until he heard her neck crack.

He slowly got up from her body and looked over to the man laying near her, a small amount of blood issuing from the wound Spike had given him. “There’s time for a snack,” he grinned, lifting the man’s head by his wavy blonde hair. As he drew close, closing his eyes to take in the scent of his flowing blood, something hit him square in the face and all was dark.

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