These characters belong to the good people at Mutant Enemy.
Two Heads Are Better
Sophie walked faster. The footsteps behind her became faster, too. She tried not to scream.
It was a stupid mistake, walking through the park at night, by herself. But it was late, and she was so damn tired, and she had to get up early in the morning to make sure her little brother was ready for school as well. Mom couldn't help any more, not with her bad leg.
The moon went behind a cloud. [Oh, great,] Sophie thought, wincing. She could hear footsteps on either side of her now, too. That meant more of them. Probably a gang, out to rob idiots like her, for kicks.
She tried not to think about what else they might do.
Nearly home – she could see the lights at the beginning of her street, beckoning her, welcoming her.
Then the taunting started. "Little girl," a gravely, masculine voice called. "Little girl, stop and talk to us."
"We won't hurt you, little girl."
Laughter. Laughter, with a manic edge. *So* not good.
A figure in front of her. "Hand over the bag."
She stopped, clutching it tightly against herself. "No," she said bravely, foolishly, hearing her voice crack.
He lunged towards her. Reflexively, she skipped backwards, with a squeak. Arms closed around her. She tensed, tried to break free of the strong grip. . .
Then realised it was quite easy. Not questioning her good fortune, she dropped out of the hold, then swept one leg backwards. The man behind her went down. The one in front tried to punch her in the face. She blocked, blocked the second punch, then spun, kicking him in the side of the head. She kept the movements instinctive, knowing subconsciously that if she thought about her usual clumsiness, she wouldn't be able to do this.
The moon came out again. Sophie flinched, seeing ten or twelve more people, men and women, waiting for their turn at her. [How freakin' big is this gang?!] They rushed her. The next few minutes were a blur of punching, kicking, blocking, ducking, and the occasional flare of pain as a lucky shot got through.
Sophie had laid out a young black woman when she realised there were no more people after her. She was the last. But that wasn't right – she'd only knocked out maybe four people. Where were the rest? And where were the bodies that should've been on the ground?
A noise behind her. She turned. Not the last. She dropped into a defensive crouch.
The person in front of her was a man in his mid-40s, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and blue jeans. His hair was dark, with grey at the temples. Deep lines were etched on the sides of his mouth, and in the corners of his eyes. He deftly spun the quarterstaff in his hands [Quarterstaff? The guy carries a quarterstaff?!], then saluted her, smiling.
"Nice work," he said.
Beginning to relax, Sophie smiled cautiously back at him. "You helped me?" she questioned.
"Yup." He moved around her and stabbed the end of his staff into the black woman's chest. The black woman dissolved into a cloud of dust. "Vampire," the tall man explained. "You have to stake them, cut off their heads, or do a couple of other nasty things. I'll fill you in later." He hooked the end of the staff under the strap of her bag, and handed it to her.
Sophie shrugged. It seemed to make sense, on this cold night when she'd just been attacked by a gang. This man seemed to inspire trust; which made sense, really, as he'd just helped her fight off the gang. When she was home, it would probably seem insane, but she could look into having him committed then. "Are you alone?"
He winced, then nodded. "I travel alone now, yes."
"Why – why were you here?"
"I heard about you, Sophie," he said gently. She frowned at his use of her name. "You've been chosen to be the Slayer."
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh. You'll explain later, right?"
"Absolutely." He indicated towards her home. Gratefully, she started walking. He fell into step beside her. "I heard you needed a Watcher. My name's Xander."
Go to the sequel/prequel, Two Way Street
