Buffybot was getting worried.
She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the Emissary, or Angel, or whatever it was had carried her off from the gray place. It was almost impossible for her to measure time wherever she was right now. Everything had gone dark awfully quickly, and she had the unpleasant sensation of being pushed along somewhere, almost falling, at fantastic speeds. She tried to inquire about what was happening, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even turn her head...in fact, she had the queerest notion that her body as she knew it wasn’t even there anymore...she couldn’t feel it at all!
Oh dear, Botty thought with a fret...maybe I shouldn’t have left Mister Ramsay after all..?
Before she could give any more voice to that line, Botty saw something faintly glowing up ahead...like a distant light. Suddenly she felt a crushing weight being imposed on her, and the thoughts started rushing out of her head faster than she could think them. She experienced just the briefest moment of panic before she reached the light. And then, illogically, everything got dark once more.

He stood waiting, and waiting, hovering over the girl’s inert form with mounting impatience. For what seemed the hundredth time he paced the room, strolling anxiously through the sparse furniture, going over his own worries again and again in his head.
Was he up for this? What had he really signed on for? And why did the Powers that Be keep picking on HIM?
He was about to glance once again at his wrist, forgetting yet again that he wore no watch, when he felt it happen. Turning awkwardly, he dashed over to the girls side and waited, glad to have no heart beating right now for fear it would burst out of his expectant chest. He didn’t think he would be this nervous.
Play it cool, he told himself, play it cool. First impressions are everything, ya know.

Beginning Startup Routine///
Initializing Primary Servers///
Engaging Main Power///
Auto-Recognition Programs Active///
Personality Software...Check///
Motor Control...Check///
Accessing Plasmonic Interface...Enabled///
All Systems 100%///
Buffybot Unit Version 2.0...Active///

All those words flashed in Buffybot’s internal displays at high speed, and they seemed to confuse her. Buffybot? Was that her..?
Before she knew it, she was accessing her main memory core and discovering that yes, Buffybot WAS her. And her was Buffybot. That was her name. But Who was...?
Slowly, she accessed her motor control nodule and creaked her eyes open, rotating all the while through terabytes of stored information, files, memories, programs. She was remembering.
Visual information started flooding into her processing core, along with data from dozens of other background scanning systems. She was in a room...a room with a very poor paint job, and a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling for illumination. She was lying on a table. From her scans, she could tell you everything about the room, it’s dimensions, the air pressure, temperature, everything.
Everything except the identity of the strange, nervous looking man staring down at her. She didn’t recognize him from any of her files, and aside from audio/visual, he wasn’t registering on any of her scans.
And there was something else...something she was starting to remember that wasn’t IN any of her files. A feeling...like she’d been somewhere recently. Somewhere...gray...

Relaxing somewhat, the man above Buffybot leaned back, still staring into her open eyes with relief. She eyed him back cautiously, sifting through her combat subroutines...noting with fascination that they, along with almost all her other programs and software, had been greatly upgraded from her last active memory...
“Thought you’d never get here,” the man said, only half-joking. Buffybot still just stared back, more than a little confused.
“...Buffybot, I presume?” He asked knowingly, and now she was REALLY confused. A little awkwardly, she slid her legs off the tabletop and shifted to a sitting position. Data kept pouring in from her scanning array...massive amounts of data, data she didn’t think she should be able to receive.
Everything was wrong...different. Buffybot ran a quick diagnostic of her systems (oddly relieved that she was able to do so), and everything once again checked out. But what an everything! A worried look crawled across Buffybot’s robotic features.
This, she realized with a flutter of electronic trepidation, was NOT her body.
It looked the same, of course...or so her internal schematics told her. A moment later she glanced around the room, and saw her reflection in a mirror, confirming her reports. That was her, all right.
Only it wasn’t. This wasn’t her body, not her proper one...the internal construction was brand-new, filled with hundreds of new systems. Her programs were all shifted about too...many of her previous behavioural protocols had been altered, or flat-out erased. What was happening? Where was she?
She accessed her latest memory files...the last recorded instance before now was of the demon attack on Sunnydale. She’d been grievously injured, and went offline.
But there was that odd, niggling thought scurrying beneath her active programs. Something that had happened in-between those events. She remembered the gray, and...something about Ramsay? But wasn’t he dead?
Buffybot looked forlornly about the room as more and more of these odd memories started coming back to her. She was starting to understand what had happened, she thought.
Now if only she knew who the strange man in the room with her was...

Doyle stared, waiting for Buffybot to respond. But she didn’t seem overly interested in him straightaway, just looked around the room in an offhand, distant manner. She seemed confused. That made sense, he thought.
“You all right?” he asked, drawing the girl’s attention back onto him. She looked almost distraught, as distraught as she was capable of being at this stage, anyway. Doyle began to worry that the ‘trip’ had been much more traumatic than the Powers had foreseen. Maybe she hadn’t been in Heaven, he mused, but being torn between the planes like this could still mess with ANYONE’S head. Even a mechanical one.
“Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot the last little while,” he started, hoping to calm the little machine down, “...but that’s all through. You’re okay now. I’m here to help. You’re probably full’a questions right about now, so...y’know, fire away.”
For several long seconds, Buffybot just continued staring at Doyle, as if she were trying to figure out what he was. In fact, that’s exactly what she was trying to do.
She’d already ruled out his being either a human or a vampire...even a vampire has SOME sort of heat signature present. And if he was a holographic entity, his projection system was more sophisticated than she was able to detect. Her deductive battery was leaving her with only one likely option remaining. She didn’t care for it.
She remained silent, staring at Doyle as he waited with more and more frustration. After all the time he’d spent building up to this moment, the lack of immediate action was wearing thin rather quickly.
“You in there?” He shouted, leaning closer and snapping his fingers a few times in Botty’s direction, “...hello?”
The robot remained immobile, and Doyle was starting to worry. A little net-surfing aside, he’d never been very mechanically inclined. Slot machines notwithstanding. He stared up at the ceiling.
“Am I supposed to flick an ‘on’ switch, or something?” he asked the ceiling, “...because, seriously? In my present condition, that ain’t gonna be a piece of cake.”
“Excuse me,”
Doyle snapped his attention back to the robot, noting with some cynicism that she had waited for the precise moment when he was making a fool of himself to speak up. This did not bode well for their working relationship, he couldn’t help but think.
“...Are you a ghost?”
Doyle leaned back in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to guess THAT so soon...but then again, she was a hi-tech roboslayer and all. Probably had some sorta ghost-detecting hardware in there, he surmised. That’d come in handy!
“Good call,” he answered back, smiling again, “...the name’s...”
“I knew it!” Buffybot suddenly shouted, leaping off the table and onto her feet and making Doyle edge back yet again, “...I’m dead!”
“What??” Doyle fired back straightaway, “...No! What’re you talkin’ about? Listen to me, there’s...”
“I got all pulled apart by those demons,” Buffybot recalled aloud, “...then everything went black and, and I woke up and everything was gray and I felt things, and Mister Ramsay and I fought with ghosty-things, and then a red Angel came and now I’m here and you’re another ghost and I must be dead!”
Doyle paused a moment to try and make sense of the sudden stream of botbabble issuing forth from his charge. “Sorry...any chance you could repeat that about half-speed or so? Footnotes might help...”
“But how come I can access my programs again?” Buffybot asked to no one in particular, “...only they’re not MY programs. This isn’t even my body! Is this another weird dead-thing?”
“Slow down, doll, slow down. I think I see what you’re drivin’ at...I can help. Just...calm down for a minute, okay? Please?”
“I...” Buffybot stalled for a moment before arguing. Whoever the ghost in front of her was, he SEEMED nice enough. And she supposed she had no reason not to be polite and let him talk. He had a very pleasant voice (Irish origin, according to her linguistic database), and she, of course, had eternity.
“I’m sorry,” she said calmly, folding her arms primly in front or her, “...I was a little surprised, is all. I’m still adjusting to being dead, I think. I hope I wasn’t rude.”
Botty flashed Doyle a winning smile, which he did his best to return. “Not at all,” he told her truthfully, “...and get ready for another surprise, darlin’. You’re not dead.”
Buffybot giggled. What a nice man he was! Trying not to upset her like that. “Of course I’m dead,” she replied happily, “...I remember. But it’s awfully nice of you to pretend. Are we not in limbo anymore?” she asked, looking around quizzically, “...things seem a little more vibrant here. Also, I feel much more like a robot than when I first arrived...”
Doyle started shaking his head. “No, no...you’re not exactly gettin’ my point here, darlin’...”
“Did you know I was a robot?” she suddenly asked, but started grinning before Doyle had a chance to answer. “Of course you did! You called me Buffybot! What a silly question.”
Buffybot’s grin broke into another smile, and Doyle could have sworn he felt a headache coming on, even though he couldn’t get those anymore.
“How did you know my name?” Buffybot asked, her eyes widening, “...Ooo! Are you psychic?”
Doyle stared back at Buffybot. “Used to be,” he answered, “...kind of. When I was alive. Which, and this is the part I’m really tryin’ to sell here, you currently ARE. Alive. I’ve been sent...”
“But I’m not,” Buffybot persisted, “...I died. Then I became all soul, and I came here, and I could feel things. I could never feel things when I was alive. I was just a robot.”
“Okay...okay, perfect! And can you feel anything now..?”
Doyle waited hopefully, but Buffybot had another surprise ready for him. “Of course I can,” she told him, running a hand along the surface of the table, “...and I could NEVER do that before. Go on,” she said, reaching her arm out towards him, “...touch me!”
“That’s something I meant to cover a little later on,” he told her a little sheepishly, “...I can’t actually touch anything.”
Buffybot blinked. “Not even other ghosts?”
“You’re NOT a...”
“It’s funny, though,” Buffybot continued, “...things feel...different, now. Almost less vivid. But colours and other data are much more pronounced. Is that some natural shifting effect of Limbo? Certain sensory information takes precedence over another from time to time? It sounds very exciting!”
Doyle was getting frustrated fast. Who would have thought he’d have THIS much trouble right off the bat? Getting Angel on board had been a snap compared to how this was going.
“I don’t know what happened to you in Limbo, darlin’...they wouldn’t let me step in there. Jurisdictional issues, apparently. But you’re not there anymore. To be brutally specific, you’re in room 307 of the Golden Sunset Motor Hotel, about five klicks outside of Sunnydale, California. You’re very much alive and in the material world, although I don’t have the faintest clue why you can ‘feel’ stuff. Although the Powers MIGHT have seen fit t’give me a heads up on that one.”
Doyle gave a noticeable scowl skyways with his last sentence, and for a moment, Buffybot followed his gaze as well. He seemed awfully insistent on this whole ‘alive’ business, she thought, but that was just silly. Dead people...or robots, for that matter...don’t come all alive again. Except in Xanders’ comic books.
And vampires, of course, but they were different.
Oh yes. And Buffy, too. Dear me, Buffybot thought with a frown, this is becoming awfully complex. But she COULDN’T be alive...she was positive. Everything that happened with Mister Ramsay...
Only, how come she seemed to be a robot again? A DIFFERENT robot, she reminded herself...and where was she?
It was in the midst of these questions that two new pieces of potential information were presented to Buffybot, each of them a cause for concern. One was her external sensors alerting her to the approach of one or more individuals out in the hall, nearing what was apparently her motel room (although she had no recollection of ever checking in. She would have to ask the ghost about that).
The other item was a sudden, lightly flashing signal in the corner of her heads-up display. It said, in plain red script, just two words.
READ ME.
Well, now we’re getting somewhere, Buffybot thought with a grin. Maybe this would be some sort of ‘how-to’ guide for being a dead robot in the afterlife. She sure could use one of those! Although she couldn’t help feeling a slight flutter of electronic worry in her processors. Every time people told her things lately, it seemed like it was something she really didn’t want to know. Would this be any different?
She should probably wait, she decided, until she saw whoever was coming down the hall. That would only be polite. Although that quietly blinking READ ME was awfully, awfully tempting for a robot with healthy curiousity imperatives like Buffybot.
“Do you have friends coming?” Buffybot asked, trying to get her mind off of blinking mysteries for a moment. Doyle looked bewildered.
“Friends?” He shook his head. “Nope...pretty much alone here, darlin’. Got the whole floor to ourselves...kind of a run-down place. Not what I would’a chosen...”
Doyle paused, rethinking his words. “Actually, it’s EXACTLY what I would have chosen. Which is why I assumed they didn’t ask me to pick...”
“Maybe it’s the hotel manager coming,” Botty mused, “...or room service!” Her face brightened at the thought, until a conflicting worry crossed her mind. Doyle was as confused as ever.
“Do they have room service in the afterlife?” Botty asked, genuinely concerned. Doyle shot her a look that suggested she was mad as a hatter, until he started hearing the voices now just outside the door. The handle jiggled a moment and the door popped open. Doyle, of course, was expecting no one. He had a very correct feeling that whoever this was would be bearing unpleasant tidings indeed.
Did this HAVE to happen on his first day..?
“...and I’m telling you,” came the first voice, rasping loudly out of the body of a burly, bearded man in a dusty overcoat, “...Argento and Bava are superior to ANY American horror director, and that’s that! Show me Suspiria’s match in this witless land! I defy you!”
“The Exorcist,” came the second voice from a tall man with long braided blond hair, dressed in leather and hefting several menacing looking devices slung over his shoulder, “...just off the top of my head.”
“Bah! Special effects and pea soup! Any hack could...”
The big man stopped in mid sentence when he saw the surprised look on his companion’s face, staring straight into the room. He followed the stare, and saw Buffybot smiling right at them. Her smile started to fade quickly, however. If they’d been smiling at all, so would theirs.
“Ernesto,” the tall man said in calm, clipped tones, “...I thought she wasn’t supposed to be revived for two whole days yet. This is SUPPOSED to be a stakeout, as I recall.”
The big man bristled, clenching his gnarled fists, one of which was laced with metal. “Of all the blasted, inefficient...does no one take PRIDE in their work anymore??”
Ernesto turned and pointed an angry finger towards his tall companion. “I remember a time, Bartholomew, when you could set your watch to a good prophecy! Down to the minute!”
With a snarl, Ernesto turned back towards Buffybot, who was assuming a more defensive stance now. “Ever since that vague lunatic Nostradamus showed up, prophecies have gone straight to hell. It’s a tragedy, is what it is!”
Bartholomew looked dubious. “You never knew Nostradamus. You’re not THAT old.”
“That’s not the blasted point, you elongated nitwit!!”
“Oh, well pardon me for not breathing,” Bartholomew replied, yanking a bizarre looking rifle off his back, “...now make yourself useful. Do that thing you do where you get all physical and let’s get this over with. We’re doing this one the hard way after all.”
“Fine with me!” Ernesto shouted, bloodlust rising, and he charged across the room straight towards Buffybot.

At first, the sight of new people had made Buffybot happy...she liked meeting new people. And so she smiled almost reflexively, even as her automatic systems ran in-depth scans of the newcomers. It was only a second afterwards, when her analysis confirmed that her two visitors were, in fact, vampires, that her smile began to slip. What were Vampires doing here? In a hotel in Limbo? And how come she was getting electronic readings off of both of them?
Phooey, Buffybot thought. Things have been awfully odd since she’d come to alongside this odd little Irish ghost. Botty cast a quick look in Doyle’s direction, and he seemed even more surprised than her at the sudden intrusion. That was something, she supposed...
Back to the vampires. They were arguing, and Buffybot automatically brought her slaying subroutines to active status. For whatever reason she didn’t understand, she seemed to be much more like a robot than she had first been. Even in this different body, Buffybot still found that quite comforting. She WAS Buffybot, she reminded herself...and Buffybot kicked vampire butt!
Now, if only she had time to access that tantalizing ‘read me’ file in her display...
No time for that just now, however, as the juggernaught-sized vampire, who seemed to be called Ernesto, charged across the room towards Botty. The ghost leapt directly in his path, shouting at Ernesto to stop, but the vampire neither acknowledged the protest, nor did he even slow down as he passed straight through the ghost’s immaterial body.
Wow, Buffybot thought with just a hint of an excited smile...he really IS a ghost!
A moment later, Buffybot gave her new legs their first real test, launching herself up and over the stampeding Ernesto, leaving him to crash through the table she’d awoken on. He stumbled awkwardly even as Buffybot landed with cat’s grace, snatching up a severed table leg as she rose. In the same motion, she twisted and hurled the leg towards Bartholomew with terrific strength, straight for his heart.
A flush of slayeresque pride filled Buffybot’s personality programs as she tracked the path of the projectile to it’s target. It struck Bartholomew dead-on. The resounding splinter and crack as the table shard rattled harmlessly off of the vampire’s chest made Buffybot’s eyes widen in surprise.
Bartholomew glanced distastefully at the splinters, then glanced unhappily at Buffybot as he readied the menacing, sleek weapon in his arms.
“Naughty naughty,” he said with a sneer, “...don’t they teach you youngsters manners anymore?”
“Aaaa, stuff it, blondie!” Doyle shouted, marching towards Buffybot hurriedly, “...she’ll get ya next time!”
Turning to Buffybot, Doyle’s face bore distinct worry. “You’ll get him next time, right?” He asked, nervous, “...how come that didn’t work? Wooden stakes are usually just the ticket!”
Pausing for analysis, Buffybot seemed a little concerned herself. “They seem to have been modified in some way,” she noted, “...cybernetic enhancements are being detected in my scanners. I don’t recognize their source, though.”
“They’re...what, then? Robovamps? How’s that possible?”
Buffybot furrowed her brow. “Adam performed similar upgrades on human/demonoid hybrids,” she mused out loud, “...but he’s...uh oh.”
Before Buffybot could move in response to her radar warnings, Ernesto tackled her from behind in a massive bear hug. Doyle leapt backwards involuntarily, then rushed back and started swatting ineffectually at Botty’s captor.
“Get offa her, you pug-ugly mug! Get a date somewhere else!”
“Take her now!” Ernesto shouted, not seeming to notice Doyle’s helpless flailing. Buffybot looked past Doyle and saw Bartholomew raising his weapon in her direction. With a worried flutter, she tried to break Ernesto’s grip, but he was stronger than a normal vampire. She could hear the hydraulic motors at work in his limbs, felt the metal somehow grafted over his skin. She didn’t know HOW she could feel it...but time to worry about that later. A new plan had formed in her tactical center, and she strained to lurch forward, shunting power to her legs. Bartholomew lined her up in his sights.
“This will be the shortest resurrection in history,” he chuckled, a second before Buffybot shoved off the floor with sudden, explosive power. She and Ernesto were launched backwards, crashing through the flimsy wall of the Golden Sunset motor hotel into the darkened sky, three floors up from the all-but-empty parking lot. As they tumbled, a single word slipped from Buffybot’s lips, even as it ran furiously through her electronic brain.
“...resurrection?”

Bartholomew and Doyle ran to the window (or rather, the oversized hole in the wall where once a small window had rested) and stared down at the concrete lot, where Buffybot and Ernesto were now scrambling to their feet and preparing to scrap. Bartholomew shook his head in exasperation. Unseen and unheard by him, Doyle could only stare, something like despair creeping into his voice.
“Seriously,” he wailed down, “...my first DAY??”

Ernesto came up swinging, clipping Buffybot in the chin. She spun back a few paces to reorient herself, trying to calculate some imaginative battle tactics to use against this particularly rough fellow. Her efforts to infiltrate his mechanical components with her (mysteriously) upgraded surveillance software had so far proved unsuccessful. Which was annoying, she thought, because she really wanted to know what was going on.
“Who are you creeps?” She demanded, sizing the bulky Ernesto up, hoping he didn’t have too much armour grafted onto him like his friend. “Were you part of the Initiative project?”
Ernesto snarled. “I’ve got initiative to spare, little girl. I’ll have plenty left over once I’ve torn your scrap-metal hide to bits, as well! Prophecy be damned!”
“I really don’t know what you mean by that,” Buffybot noted, “...but there’s no reason for potty talk.”
Ernesto roared and charged, and Buffybot was starting to think that he had some serious anger management issues, even for a creature of darkness. Buffybot tried to plot his attack vector and counter, but he was wilier than she’d anticipated. He dodged her opening swing and caught her with a powerful uppercut that knocked her back off her feet. It didn’t hurt, much to Buffybot’s relief. But she COULD feel it...it was very confusing. And what did that vampire mean, ‘resurrection’? What did he and the little Irish ghost know? Why did everyone always seem to know more than her?
Flipping backwards onto her feet, Buffybot let a smile grow on her face. She could answer questions later...right now, she had vampires to fight. Bad guys! That always put her in a good mood.
Ernesto leapt forward, but this time Buffybot was ready. She ducked and rolled beneath him, springing up in a flash and nailing him with an elbow to the back of the head. He howled and turned, and Buffybot got off two more solid shots to him before he returned with one of his own. They locked hands and pushed against one another, and Buffybot hoped her new construction, however that had come about, was up for this little wrestling match. So far so good...but he WAS awfully strong.
The two were stalemated for a few seconds, neither giving ground, Ernesto’s hungry fangs shining in the slender moonlight. Buffybot was working on a new battle plan when the ghost reappeared beside her. “Hey,” Doyle said awkwardly, “...so, how’s it going, then? The fight. Anything I can do to help?”
Buffybot kept her eyes locked with Ernesto’s as she answered. “Can you help me fight them at all?” Ernesto looked shocked.
“You think I’d help you?” He bellowed, outraged, “...you’re touched in the circuits!”
“She’s talkin’ to me, sasquatch,” Doyle sniped, glaring at Ernesto for a moment before returning attention to Buffybot. He seemed quite apologetic. “Sorry ‘bout that. They can’t see or hear me, actually. Only you can. It’s a whole thing.”
“That’s unusual,” Buffybot said, straining to keep Ernesto at bay, “...how come?”
“How come??” Ernesto growled, redoubling his attack and seriously testing Buffybot’s motors, “...construct, I will tear your tin hide with my TEETH!”
“Long story,” Doyle replied, ignoring Ernesto’s bluster, “...which I’ll get into later. For right now, however, I’d suggest you do something about the fella playin’ sniper up top.”
“What..?”
Risking a half-second glance over her shoulder, Buffybot spotted Bartholomew, still in the room, lining her up with that odd weapon of his. That wouldn’t do, she decided. She had WAY too many questions to go and get shot up or something silly like that.
Buffybot boosted power to her wrist motor junction, twisting sharply and painfully wrenching Ernesto’s forearms. He howled, relieving some of his pressure momentarily. Botty used the moment to haul him up off his feet, spinning him through the air and slamming him down, right back on his feet when they were in opposite positions from before. Her combat simulators, which had partially approved this plan of action, earned a smile from Buffybot when Bartholomew fired his weapon at just the exact right time she had hoped he would.
“Why you insolent..!”
The burst from Bartholomew’s weapon mercifully cut Ernesto’s latest stream of cursing short. Buffybot ran a full spectral analysis of the broiling energy stream that slammed into Ernesto’s back, burning his flesh and apparently scrambling whatever mechanical components he possessed as well. It was an incredibly potent attack, her analysis concluded, not even taking into account Ernesto’s loud shrieks and subsequent fading from consciousness. Botty struggled to keep him aloft to use as a shield, though she was rather hoping the weapon needed a moment or two to recharge itself. If her readings were right, it just might be capable of taking her offline in a direct hit. And she was having WAY too much fun for that.

“Oh.”
Bartholomew looked rather annoyed as he stared down at the smoking back of his partner-in-crime, and the blonde robot peering up at him from behind. He lowered his weapon (which Buffybot had correctly surmised needed some time to recharge itself).
“Well, that was excellent work, Ernesto. Just toss your wrinkled, flabby carcass directly right in my way? Now I have to get my hands dirty! Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you?”
With a sneer, Bartholomew slung his rifle onto his back, where it settled with a quick magnetic click. He spread his arms, leaping down onto the concrete below even as Buffybot let Ernesto’s smoldering form fall heavily at her feet. He was awfully limber, and immediately started in on several impressive looking martial arts maneuvers, which Buffybot’s combat analysis protocols tentatively identified as a modified version of Kenpo.
“I’ve never fought an actual robot before,” Bartholomew noted, slowly circling Buffybot, who was scouring her surprisingly extensive new combat database for counters to her foe’s projected mode of attack, “...excepting your typical American consumer, of course. This should be quite amusing.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find dusting you pretty funny,” Buffybot replied cheerily, “...that always makes me smile.”
Bartholomew chuckled. “Brash thing. I’m starting to understand my Master’s fascination with you.”
That raised a hackle in Buffybot’s deductive processors. “Master..?”
“You’ll meet him soon enough,” Bartholomew answered ominously, “...but first things first, hmm?”
Bartholomew lunged forward with a swift punch, narrowly missing as Buffybot sidestepped, trying to counterpunch him in the ribs. But he had already recovered, and pulled his arm back to nail Botty with an elbow to the neck. She stumbled forward and Bartholomew spun, hammering her square in the back with both palms, sending her flying face-first onto the concrete. As her face skidded across the craggy lot, she was plenty glad that she wasn’t ‘feeling’ things as sensitively as before.
As fast as her motors could manage it, Buffybot rolled onto her back. She only just managed to see Bartholomew’s boot heel driving straight for her head, angling out of harm’s way at the last second. The concrete shattered where his foot landed and Botty took the opportunity to drive an elbow into Bartholomew’s leg, staggering him. As he bobbled, Buffybot launched a kick straight up that hit him solidly, sending him tumbling end over end. He rolled onto the ground, but was already springing to his feet just as Buffybot managed to do the same. They whirled to face each other and Bartholomew glared hungrily, unaware that Doyle was now, once again, at Botty’s side.
“He’s a nimble bugger, ain’t he?” He quipped, eyeing the tall vampire as he readjusted himself for fresh combat. “You CAN beat him, right?”
Buffybot looked annoyed. “Of course I can!” she replied, a little defensively, “...I’m a Slayer...I mean, I’m programmed to be a Slayer, anyways. Although there’s a lot that’s confusing me here. The vampire mentioned working for someone...”
“A flunky, hey? Better take him alive then...we’ll grill him, have him squealin’ like a pig in no time!” “How would that help..?”
“Talking to yourself, dearest?” Bartholomew taunted, “...I’m insulted. Don’t you find my company stimulating?”
“I’ll be the one doing the stimulating here, mister!” Buffybot said, a sudden smile springing to her face. She was quipping! She hadn’t quipped in so long, it felt like. Good quipping made for good slaying! She didn’t notice Doyle grimacing ever so slightly beside her.
With a burst of robotic exuberance, Buffybot leapt forward and lunged at Bartholomew, eager to finish this fight quickly (especially before old Ernesto woke up!). She jumped, aiming a flying kick directly at her foe...who ducked and rolled much, much quicker than Buffybot’s tactical software had predicted. He sprang up beneath her and spun her about in mid-air, using her momentum against her to hurl her right into the sole vehicle in the darkened lot, a beat-up old sedan. Buffybot slammed down awkwardly onto the hood, which crumpled and buckled underneath her. The front window shattered, and the whole car bounced and shook. Buffybot rolled backwards off of the vehicle and onto her butt, soon followed by the car’s front bumper, and a dislodged hubcap that rolled noisily along until it settled right in front of her with a clatter.
“Bother,” Buffybot moaned, unimpressed. She wiped some broken glass off her skirt, annoyed at being so careless. Some slayer! No wonder she had died...
“You all right?” Doyle shouted, running up beside the fallen robot. He looked frantic. “Come on then, up and at’em! No time for layin’ about...”
Buffybot glared at the ghost. “It’s okay,” she said glumly, “...I can tell from my radar scans that he isn’t attacking right now. Probably laughing at me, the big meanie...”
Nervous, Doyle pointed away from the car. “Think you’re missin’ the big picture here, doll!”
Buffybot turned and followed Doyle’s gaze, and saw Bartholomew standing some distance away, smiling. He was pulling the rifle off his back, and Buffybot confirmed with a directed scan that it’s energy levels were back up to previous levels.
“It’s been a pleasure, my dear,” Bartholomew chimed, arming his weapon, “...this won’t hurt a bit.”
As he raised his rifle, Buffybot’s tactical processors kicked into overdrive. She ran about thirty different options through her combat simulators, before ignoring the lot of them and grabbing the hubcap up off the ground. Her systems targetted what she was pretty sure was the power source of Bartholomew’s gun, and she reared back and let her makeshift missile fly. It impacted with the weapon in a loud explosion as it tore open the too-slender protective casing. Bartholomew scarcely had time to look shocked before he was showered in a sudden burst of superheated plasma.
“This will,” Buffybot said with a smirk, and Bartholomew dropped the wrecked shards of his rifle as he burst helplessly into flame. He stumbled for a few desperate moments, before crumbling into a cloud of hot ash, and wafting away into the night. Buffybot nodded smartly and got to her feet.
“That’s more like it,” she declared with pep. Doyle, cheering with delight off to her right, seemed to agree.
“That was GREAT! With the ‘boom’, and the fire and everything...and with a hubcap! Oh, this day’s pickin’ up!”
Buffybot giggled at Doyle’s enthusiasm, before her sensors tarted to pick up motion from Ernesto. She switched back to work mode, making a speedy dash to a nearby tree to procure a stakeworthy branch.

“Bff...whuuh..?”
Ernesto mumbled, face-down, into the parking lot as he slowly came to. He had a vague memory of searing pain on his backside, and then nothing. What sort of weaponry was that mechanical harpy packing, he wondered..?
“Ooof!”
The thought was driven out of him as Buffybot drove her knee into his back, stationing herself overtop of him. She nestled the sharp end of her makeshift stake into his back. He, you’ll pardon the phrase, got the point.
“No armour on THIS side,” she noted with a grin, scanning for any sudden motion from the bulky vampire, “...and I bet you’ll go poof no matter which side I stake you from.”
“Tin-plated rascal!” he bellowed defiantly, struggling somewhat hopelessly to get free, “...You think you’ve won? Bartholomew will blast you to kingdom come yet!”
Buffybot shook her head. “Your friend had a bit of an accident, actually. But, that’s what happens when you play with guns. Guns are dangerous, Ernesto.”
“You..?” Ernesto stopped, Buffybot’s meaning crystallizing quickly. He seemed to swell momentarily, and Buffybot readjusted to keep him pinned. It didn’t last long, however. Soon enough, he settled into a defeated repose.
“Sweet Bartholomew,” he mumbled drowsily, “...at least you went out fighting. Good, good lad...”
“Ask him who he works for!” Doyle suddenly shouted from behind Buffybot, who immediately cast him a somewhat withering look. He quickly backed off.
“Your call,” he offered, “...just makin’ suggestions.”
Buffybot returned her attention to the somber Ernesto, a little bothered that she had been so short with mister ghost just now. She was just so confused about everything, now that the fight was over. But he’d had the right idea. The big vamp MUST know something.
“Start talking, you mook,” Buffybot commanded, prodding Ernesto with her stake for full effect, “...how’d you get all upgraded like you are? Who’s your Master?”
Ernesto seemed to notice Buffybot’s questions. “Master...”
“And what do you mean, ‘resurrection’?”
“Master,” Ernesto repeated, louder this time, “...I have failed you...FAILED!”
“That’s what happens when you mess with me,” Botty announced proudly, “...now stop...hmm?”
With her enhanced hearing, Buffybot’s audio receptors picked up faint sounds emanating from within the prodigious vampire, too faint to identify. A second afterwards, Ernesto started shrieking and convulsing, almost dislodging Buffybot from her perch. Smoke began to rise, and another second later Buffybot found herself tumbling to the dusty concrete as Ernesto’s body disintegrated into ash. Both she and Doyle remained behind, looking decidedly surprised by this turn of events.
“What happened?” Doyle asked, slowly closing in on the scene. Buffybot was running precisely that question through her logical and theoretical applications.
“He...he self-poofed!” she finally declared, incredulous, “...that’s just GOT to be cheating!”
“Self...?” Doyle was more confused than before. “How?”
“I’m not sure,” Botty admitted, “...my virtual systems are theorizing a series of micro-pellets filled with holy water that might have been triggered by an electronic signal, somehow. That would sure do it...”
Buffybot frowned. This all certainly seemed to resonate with what her files contained on the Initiative project, but that was impossible. The project was abandoned, and she’d personally finished off what remained of Adam. Plus which, the Initiative existed in the real, living world! And wasn’t she dead..?
Buffybot flickered her attention back to the blinking notice in her heads-up display. It continued to sit there and blink, rhythmically, as it had since she’d awoken in this new body.
READ ME...READ ME...READ ME...
Buffybot curled her face into a determined glare. All right, she decided...but this had sure better be good!
With a combination of reluctance and excitement, Buffybot toggled over and clicked on the enigmatic message. It blinked one final time, and a moment later Buffybot’s active systems shut down, and to all intents and purposes she appeared to go into a trance. Her screen went dark...
...lighting up shortly afterwards with bright white light. Buffybot found herself in a vast space, facing what looked like a mechanical workshop. A massive table was littered with computer and robotics equipment, electronic viewscreens hung motionlessly as if on an unseen wall, and a mild electrical hum filled the air. Amidst it all, on a chair that didn’t touch the floor (if there had BEEN a floor), sat an old man in black roes. His hood lay on his shoulders, revealing his short silver hair, and the beginnings of a ragged beard on his face. Buffybot thought there was something odd about his eyes, which seemed to flicker now and then.
The man made a slight motion with his right hand, the fingers laced with wires, and his chair moved smoothly and silently closer to Buffybot. She regarded his approach with a little apprehension, but more interest than anxiety. He stopped about six feet from her position, and a warm smile grew on his lips.
“Welcome to the Virtual Reliquary, Buffybot, “ he said politely, “...my name is Vincent.”

“Well, that’s sure a new one on me,” Doyle said, scratching his head and looking at the last remains of Ernesto scattering across the concrete, “...usually they’ve got the decency to WAIT to get dusted.”
With a sigh, Doyle wandered closer to Buffybot, crouching down in front of where she still sat. He gave her a sheepish smile.
“Y’know, it occurs to me I never got the chance to really introduce myself, what with the dead-alive confusion, and the exploding vampires and everything. I’m...”
Doyle paused, noticing that Buffybot was staring blankly off into space, still as a statue. He snapped his fingers loudly at her.
“Hello? You still on? Hey!”
Doyle shouted a few more times, waving pointlessly in the robot’s face. Nothing. His head slumped.
“I’m not gettin’ paid enough for this gig...”

“How do you know who I am?” Buffybot asked, more confused than ever, “...and where am I?”
Vincent continued smiling. “Your physical form is exactly where it was when you accessed my summons,” he explained, “...this is a virtual holographic simulation existing within your electronic brain. A quick scan should confirm this...”
Buffybot paused, running a quick systems check, and sure enough it was true. She felt a little dopey at herself for not realizing it sooner. But who was this fellow, and how had he switched her interface modes like that? It was disturbing...although she had the oddest sensation that he could be trusted. “As to how I know who you are,” he continued, “...that is simple enough. I built you.”
Buffybot frowned. “You didn’t build me...a boy called Warren did. Even if he IS a rat.”
A wistful look overtook Vincent. “Indeed. I wish I had been as perceptive when I first made his acquaintance. But then, I always was a slow learner.”
“You know Warren?” Buffybot asked, most curious now. Vincent nodded slowly.
“He was my student, once. I’ll explain...but first, you have to know something.”
Vincent passed a hand across his forehead. As he did, an image suddenly revealed itself, a tattoo that Buffybot hadn’t been able to see before. She recognized it immediately from her files, and became more than a little uneasy.
“Holy moley!” she shouted, backing up into a defensive stance. Vincent motioned for her to be calm, but it was a tough sell.
“You’re one of those kooky Knights of Byzantium! What do you want with me?”
“Only a moment of your time,” he said, acquiescent, “...and I am no longer a member of the order of Byzantium. Not for many, many years.”
Slowly, Buffybot came down from active alert status, though she still kept her distance. He DID sound sincere...
“All right,” she offered hesitantly, “...but I should warn you, I’ve been programmed to be highly sensitive to religious fanaticism and intolerance.”
“I know,” he countered with a grin, “...I wrote that program. Please, listen, and I’ll explain everything that I can.”
Still a little cautious, Buffybot nonetheless soon decided to take the old man up on his offer. She DID want answers after all. She flashed him a quick smile, and settled into listening mode.
“Some two hundred years ago,” he began, “...I was inducted into the society you know as the Knights of Byzantium. I was young, and eager to please God in whatever way I could. It was as a teenager in Venice that I was spotted by members of the local Byzantium parish, who were impressed with my fervor. Once I was fully initiated, I became one of the first to relocate to these shores, in the hopes of expanding the Knighthood’s powers within the new world. My job was recruitment, spreading the word. All in the name of God, of course. All methods were open to us, no matter how brutal. We were on the side of light, you see, so it didn’t matter. We were very, very good.”
Vincent paused, clearing his throat, and Buffybot got the impression he didn’t enjoy telling this part of the story very much.
“I showed a natural talent for magic, and was made apprentice to a Byzantine wizard. My abilities grew strong, and so did my effectiveness as a ‘recruiter’. I was given accolades by my fellows, resulting in greater freedom to carry out my mission. I did so with great relish. Pray God forgive me for my foolishness,” he added grimly.
“As my work carried me across this country, I began to see the effects of your Industrial Revolution affecting the land and it’s peoples. Once I started to see the scope of this change, I was thrilled. I immediately set about writing to my masters in Europe, asking how we should use these amazing advances to further our divine cause. The answer was quick in coming, and clear. In no way were we of the Knighthood to despoil our crusade with ‘heathen science’. They included in their correspondence a stern warning for me, and my curiosity. I was astonished. We were to willingly root ourselves in the dark ages, and allow the outside world to leave us behind, like museum relics.”
Buffybot consulted her files, and nodded tersely. “The Knights who attacked Buffy DID seem quite anachronistic,” she agreed, “...Willow commented that they’re like ‘a Renaissance festival with attitude’.”
“I became, for the first time, conflicted about my role. This willed shortsightedness seemed too simple-minded to be of value. Surely, I reasoned, God would not bless mankind with these gifts if he didn’t intend for his most loyal servants to use them in his name?
“I experimented in private with the new technologies, for which I showed an even greater aptitude than magic. I combined the two early on, and the results made my heart leap. I knew, with utmost certainty, that this was the key to bringing God’s kingdom about on Earth. I confronted my order’s masters a second time, to plead with them to change their views and see the advantages of these new tools. If there had been any lack of clarity on their first communication, it was efficiently cleared up the second time.”
Vincent paused, rolling up the sleeve of one arm, where Buffybot could make out dozens of scars, obviously from deep wounds, lacing his skin. She made a sympathetic face, remembering the pain from when the bird-demon had gashed her earlier.
“They run the length of my body,” he added, rolling the sleeve back down. “I could have healed the wounds by know, of course, but I like them. They remind me of past mistakes.”
“Did you leave the Knights after they...hurt you?” Buffybot asked, thinking she sure wouldn’t want to work for bosses who were that mean.
“Not immediately, actually. I tried to throw myself into my work once again, tried to convince myself that they were right, that what we were doing was ordained by God. But the seed was already taking root...that’s a metaphor...and I couldn’t close my eyes fully any more. If the Knighthood was wrong about using technology, I began to realize, what else were they wrong about? Was I a priest or a fanatic? And were these musings heretical, or God’s own light shining truth down on me? I despaired, and prayed for guidance. At long last, I came to my fateful decision, and I split from the Knighthood. That was in 1880.”
Buffybot looked perplexed. “You really don’t look THAT old,” she said, “...you’re not a vampire, are you?”
“Hardly,” he chuckled, “...but I’ve been using my sorcery and other skills to stay alive for some time now. With those talents, I created my reliquary, at first if only to hide myself from vengeful members of the order. They took not desertion lightly, Buffybot, I can assure you. But they never did find me. In my private sanctuary, I began my new life. I read. I learned. My talents grew, and I strove to use them to make a Heaven on Earth. That was my dream. To blend the magickal, technological and spiritual, and turn this world into the paradise it was meant to be. As my final gift to God.
“I sought out students, to carry my teachings into the world. This was a difficult process. Most of my recruits were disappointments in one way or another. Perhaps I expected too much, I cannot say. I wish Bucky had stayed with me longer, though he accomplished great things without me. Great things. But for the most part, my successes were few and far between. In the last fifty years, only two of my acolytes managed to grasp my technological teachings to a measurable degree. But each time, my judgement was sorely lacking. My last failure made me nearly lose all hope. That failure was Warren Meers.”
A surprised look dawned on Botty’s face. “You...trained Warren?”
Vincent shrugged apologetically. “ He SEEMED pleasant enough, at first. A bit of a geek, but that had never bothered me before. And he took to my advanced techniques admirably. I almost let myself think he might work out.”
Vincent exhaled deeply. “But he was too single-minded. He had disdain for my magickal teaching, no aptitude whatsoever. And I soon found him to be a spiritually vacant lad. His morality, as you have discovered, was highly dubious.”
Buffybot nodded quick agreement. Truth be told she found that pronouncement to be rather light, actually.
“I ended Warren’s apprenticeship once his true nature became known to me. And, having failed once again, I once again gave way to despair. I thought perhaps, it was time to let myself fade away. To leave this world and it’s disappointments behind. It was in this darkest moment that I was visited by a messenger of God.”
A serene look passed over Vincent, and Buffybot perked up. “What did he say?” she asked, intrigued. Vincent sighed.
“The messenger came to me in my dreams,” he said, “...and bestowed upon me a divine undertaking. Something incredible had happened...a miracle...and unbeknownst to me, I had set this miracle in motion. Now, I was being called upon to complete what had been begun.”
Vincent smiled warmly at Buffybot. “The miracle was you, Nahtona. What had begun as a simple android built by Warren from my teachings, came to know the gift of life from the great giver above. I was told of your existence, and my despair ended.”
“I’m glad,” Buffybot said, smiling, “...but I’m sure I’m not a miracle. Besides...I’m not alive anymore. I died.”
“The messenger warned of this,” Vincent said, “...it had been foreseen. But God, he told me, would not allow your unique light to be taken so soon. Your death was unjust, unnatural. The messenger told that God had charged me with the task of recrafting your shell, that your immortal soul could once again roam the Earth. That time has now arrived.”
Running his words through her logic processors, Buffybot was seeming more than a little stunned. Even though this seemed to jibe with what the Vampires had said, and what the Ghost was telling her...it just seemed so...odd.
“I don’t quite understand,” she said sincerely, taking a step forward, “...how could I be...do you mean I’m back? On Earth? Earth-Earth, not some gray fake one?”
Vincent nodded. “Almighty God has returned your soul from the other side, praise be. You re now within the artificial body that I built myself, based somewhat on Warren’s schematics, as well as what I could salvage of your original programs and memories. I wanted to make you as comfortable and familiar as possible, although I say with all humility that your new shell is a vast improvement on the original.”
“But...” Buffybot wasn’t sure what she wanted to ask...part of her wanted to protest, as a matter of protocol. Things weren’t supposed to come back from the dead, were they?
“How come I can feel things?” she finally settled on asking, “...I could never do that before. Except when I was dead.”
“Your experience on the other side sounds fascinating,” Vincent said, “...I didn’t imagine you would remember it. But as for your current sensory perception capabilities, as I said, you are much improved. Your plasmonic nanoshell allows you much, much greater sense-experience than before. My own research in the field of haptics turned out most helpful in this endeavour. You can’t feel pain...I couldn’t bring myself to make that particular upgrade...”
“Thank you!” Buffybot interrupted, smiling gratefully. Vincent bowed humbly.
“...But all your senses are now greatly enhanced. Your vision, too, is much richer. Only your sense of smell remains comparitively ordinary...smell always gave me a headache.”
“Oh...I’m sure you did your best!” Buffybot was starting to get very excited, and it was showing.
Vincent grinned, and behind him the image of the Reliquary vanished, replaced by a series of technical readouts on huge screens. They were of Buffybot, and several of her main systems.
“I’ll walk you through some of the major upgrades now,” Vincent began, “...you could access it all yourself, of course. But...I wanted to meet you. At least this one time.”
Buffybot cocked her head. “How come?”
“I observed you, for a time,” he admitted, “...from afar. After the Messenger had come, and I wanted to see what Warren could possibly have wrought that would be worthy of divine intervention. And as I watched you...I became proud. So very proud.”
Buffybot felt her blushing function self-activating underneath Vincent’s praise. He continued with genuine affection.
“You were the best thing to ever come of my teachings, Nahtona. May your second life on this Earth be a happy one.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” Buffybot noticed, “...’Nahtona’. Is it a nickname? Because I know all about those!”
“It is my private name for you,” Vincent explained, “...it’s a word from the Cheyenne language, one of the native tribes of this land."
"It's very pretty," Buffybot decided, "...I like it!"
Vincent looked on Buffybot fondly. "I'm glad," he replied, pausing before adding, "...It means, ‘Daughter’.”
Buffybot smiled. And there goes the blushing again.

Doyle was dimly grateful that, as a spirit, he couldn’t get shinsplints or cramps, although there seemed to be no cure in Heaven or Earth for boredom. He sat hunkered down beside the inert ‘Bot, half-wondering why no Hotel personnel had come out yet to investigate the massive brawl that had just ensued.
Ah, well. That’s Sunnydale for ya.
There was a sudden snap of movement, and Doyle twisted around in a heartbeat (not that either he or Buffybot had one of THOSE). He saw Buffybot blink her eyes a few times, then stare straight towards him. A pleasant smile crept onto her face.
“Hello!” She said crisply. Doyle stared back at her.
“I’m Doyle,” he announced, not wasting any time, “...before you switch off again, or the sky falls, or we get pummelled by flyin’ monkeys or something. I’m Doyle.”
“Hello, Doyle,” she replied, “...I’m Buffybot!”
She paused, looking around her with a sense of wonder. The sun was just starting to peep over the horizon. The bright red colour filled her optic sensors, and she rose to her feet.
“I’m alive...” She said slowly, taking in the sense-data streaming in to her processors. Doyle nodded in affirmation.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell ya...so you believe me now?”
“I’m ALIVE!!” She suddenly yelled, throwing her hands up in the air and hopping about excitedly, “...Yippee yippee yippee!! I’m BACK! Yay!!”
She gave another few hoots, clapping her hands together with abandon, she smile nearly bursting her cheeks. Doyle had to laugh.
“Well, I’m glad you’re takin’ it well,” he said, “...not everyone’s as thrilled as you about the prospect of marchin’ the mortal coil again.”
“It’s WONDERFUL!” she announced, skipping back towards Doyle, “...and Vincent was explaining about all my new systems and upgrades? And I’m an even BETTER wonder-robot now than EVER!”
Doyle creased his brow. “Vincent? You...know about him?”
Botty nodded. “We were talking just now...” she explained, “...in my head? And he showed all the neat things he built for me! I have an independant power source now! And nanodrones for self-repair procedures!”
Buffybot beamed proudly, and Doyle tried his best to make sense of her bot-babble. He hoped he wouldn’t be asked to keep up too much on the technical aspect.
“Sounds peachy keen, doll. Glad the new threads are up to snuff. If you got any questions...you know, about anything BUT the hi-tech stuff...well that’s why I’m...”
“Oh!”
Buffybot settled down suddenly, looking concerned. “What?” Doyle asked, nervous, “...what now, dare I ask?”
Buffybot examined the system alert that just popped up in her display, as a new program self-activated. It was accompanied by a message:

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