Spike of Borg: Part 1 of 2
Jan. 7th, 2008 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunCharacters: Spike, The Borg
Rating: R
Warnings: Crossover obscura, adult language
Summary: “Right,” Spike nodded. “Assimilated. That some sort of code for a handy dandy make-over that turns me into spare parts? No thanks, mate. Try a few doors down. Coupla corpses there, they might welcome a new look.”
A/N: This fic could not have been written and wouldn't have been written without some fabulous input fromraemcn ,tamakin and everyone Tam bugged on my behalf. Thank you so much. In addition, all Star Trek facts were verified at the following websites:
Wikipedia (Borg Cube size, Star Trek Timeline, Colonel Green and the Optimum Movement)
Unimatrix 01 (Assimilation procedures)
Memory Alpha (general Star Trek facts)
For information on vampire physiology and why it might be possible for a vampire to be assimilated, go tothatotherperv 's fabulous metas on Buffyverse Science and Vampire physiology.
A/N The Sequel: Written for thefangfetish Unique Universes and Fandoms Challenge.
They had been everywhere in a matter of seconds. He’d heard the noise outside of his crypt and gone running, nearly slamming into one of them as soon as he opened the door. He still wasn’t sure what they were.
They…it had been roughly his height and human-shaped, but covered in some sort of armor. His first thought was of the long-dead Adam and his bitch of a Mum. This certainly looked like some of Maggie’s handiwork, but the Initiative hadn’t survived much past the Optimum Movement and anyways they liked their people…well, people-like. These sickening combinations of man and machine weren’t anything Green would have approved of, come to that. None of the various coalitions around these days had access to any technology this sophisticated. If they had, they’d never have agreed to any peace treaty.
“We are The Borg,” the hybrid human told him flatly. “You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.”
Spike cocked his head, eyes narrowing. The voice of this thing was off, somehow. Like it wasn’t actually talking for itself using its own voice, but was just a funnel for someone else. He inhaled lightly, and growled audibly. The thing smelled of death. The necrotic smell mixed with an unknown scent, oily and metallic at the same time, making Spike’s gorge rise unwillingly.
“Right,” he nodded. “Assimilated. That some sort of code for a handy dandy make-over that turns me into spare parts? No thanks, mate. Try a few doors down. Coupla corpses there, they might welcome a new look.”
Spike turned slightly, pivoting on the ball of his foot. As the creature reached for him, he feinted left, bring his right fist up and under the thing’s outstretched arm. His fist collided with its midsection, pushing through the lighter armor and into the flesh underneath. The robot-thing began to twitch, sparks radiating outwards from its damaged abdomen.
As it fell, two more moved towards him. As he raced towards them, he could hear the screams and prayers of the humans around him. The cemetery had become home to living and dead after nukes had destroyed so much of the planet during the last war.
Spike hated to use a trick twice, but the belly seemed to be the only place these monsters were vulnerable. He ran in low, pushing his fist forward. His hand bounced off, and the force pushed him backwards. He glared at them, forehead knitting in a scowl. Cheeky bastards had put him off somehow, but he hadn’t lived over two hundred years to get bested by a bunch of machines.
He changed, bringing his demon face forward. As the two creatures reached him, he growled and leapt, feet flying out to kick them. Again, he couldn’t connect and the force of the rebound sent him crashing into the stone mausoleum behind him. He lay there, bleeding and dazed, until one of the two reached out and lifted him into the air.
Spike watched impassively as some sort of tube snaked out from the robotic wrist, reaching out for his own flesh. He didn’t struggle. No sense in wasting himself on a fight he wasn’t able to win. They’d be in for quite a surprise soon enough. Trying to drug a vampire was just bloody stupid. Took something more than human drugs to knock out the dead, and he doubted any of these buggers had any idea how to work the mojo.
As soon as the worm-like tubes penetrated his flesh, his skin began to crawl. Whatever they had injected into him wasn’t like any drug he’d ever encountered. He could feel it, skittering through his body, a cold burn that had him shaking. As he stood there, jaw clenched against the pain, he smirked. Damned if these tossers would see him scream.
“That all you g-got, mate?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. “Shame that. I was looking forward to getting skunked. Oh well, can’t say you didn’t try, right? Best be on your way then.”
He grimaced, his body arching against the tiny little things fighting their way out of his body. He felt the skin of his cheek split, feeling pressure as something small and metallic clamped there, He raised his hand to tear it out, gaping wound be damned, and saw that his hand was now covered in metallic veins that outlined his fingers , running along his tendons and curling almost lovingly around his wrist.
“What the bloody hell did you do to me?” Spike whispered, staring up in horror.
This was nothing like The Initiative. The pain, the feeling of crawling wrongness under his skin was similar, but nothing The Initiative had dreamed up had ever been like this. He could feel his body shifting, his insides being rearranged by the tiny, almost imperceptible bugs flowing through him.
The two butchers in front of him stared at him, eyes cold and lifeless. They were sizing him up, maybe. Bugger! For all he knew they’d fallen asleep, leaving him to his fate. But somehow, he doubted it. Still, as long as they were busy checking the footie scores or whatever the fuck Franken-beasties did with their spare time, he figured he’d have a chance to get away. Find a few Slayers and these ponces’d be history.
Spike felt the brush of cloth against his skin and stiffened. He cut his eyes sideways and recoiled at the sight of a woman’s face, covered in black spider veins with eyes as lifeless as those of things in front of him. Turning slightly, he saw she was part of a long line of other victims, all waiting blankly for…what? Spike didn’t know and with a shudder, he determined that he wasn’t going to find out.
Just as he began to move, sliding backwards fractionally, the larger of his two captors grabbed him and he felt his body begin to disintegrate. He struggled, lashing out with a booted foot. He’d disintegrated before, burned to ash on that stinking Hellmouth and he wasn’t doing that again without a bloody good brawl.
An instant later, his body solidified again, foot making contact with metallic armor. He smirked in satisfaction. Show these blighters ‘m not taken down as easy as all that, he thought.
The scent washed over him first, making him look around in panic. The air was stale, filled with that same oily, necrotic stench as the two that had attacked him. He stared around him at the vast space, thousands upon thousands of meters of metal filled with these half-machine men.
“Bloody buggering fuck,” Spike whispered. “Suit up, Toto. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore…”
Rating: R
Warnings: Crossover obscura, adult language
Summary: “Right,” Spike nodded. “Assimilated. That some sort of code for a handy dandy make-over that turns me into spare parts? No thanks, mate. Try a few doors down. Coupla corpses there, they might welcome a new look.”
A/N: This fic could not have been written and wouldn't have been written without some fabulous input from
raemcn ,tamakin and everyone Tam bugged on my behalf. Thank you so much. In addition, all Star Trek facts were verified at the following websites:Wikipedia (Borg Cube size, Star Trek Timeline, Colonel Green and the Optimum Movement)
Unimatrix 01 (Assimilation procedures)
Memory Alpha (general Star Trek facts)
For information on vampire physiology and why it might be possible for a vampire to be assimilated, go to
thatotherperv 's fabulous metas on Buffyverse Science and Vampire physiology.A/N The Sequel: Written for the
fangfetish Unique Universes and Fandoms Challenge.They had been everywhere in a matter of seconds. He’d heard the noise outside of his crypt and gone running, nearly slamming into one of them as soon as he opened the door. He still wasn’t sure what they were.
They…it had been roughly his height and human-shaped, but covered in some sort of armor. His first thought was of the long-dead Adam and his bitch of a Mum. This certainly looked like some of Maggie’s handiwork, but the Initiative hadn’t survived much past the Optimum Movement and anyways they liked their people…well, people-like. These sickening combinations of man and machine weren’t anything Green would have approved of, come to that. None of the various coalitions around these days had access to any technology this sophisticated. If they had, they’d never have agreed to any peace treaty.
“We are The Borg,” the hybrid human told him flatly. “You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.”
Spike cocked his head, eyes narrowing. The voice of this thing was off, somehow. Like it wasn’t actually talking for itself using its own voice, but was just a funnel for someone else. He inhaled lightly, and growled audibly. The thing smelled of death. The necrotic smell mixed with an unknown scent, oily and metallic at the same time, making Spike’s gorge rise unwillingly.
“Right,” he nodded. “Assimilated. That some sort of code for a handy dandy make-over that turns me into spare parts? No thanks, mate. Try a few doors down. Coupla corpses there, they might welcome a new look.”
Spike turned slightly, pivoting on the ball of his foot. As the creature reached for him, he feinted left, bring his right fist up and under the thing’s outstretched arm. His fist collided with its midsection, pushing through the lighter armor and into the flesh underneath. The robot-thing began to twitch, sparks radiating outwards from its damaged abdomen.
As it fell, two more moved towards him. As he raced towards them, he could hear the screams and prayers of the humans around him. The cemetery had become home to living and dead after nukes had destroyed so much of the planet during the last war.
Spike hated to use a trick twice, but the belly seemed to be the only place these monsters were vulnerable. He ran in low, pushing his fist forward. His hand bounced off, and the force pushed him backwards. He glared at them, forehead knitting in a scowl. Cheeky bastards had put him off somehow, but he hadn’t lived over two hundred years to get bested by a bunch of machines.
He changed, bringing his demon face forward. As the two creatures reached him, he growled and leapt, feet flying out to kick them. Again, he couldn’t connect and the force of the rebound sent him crashing into the stone mausoleum behind him. He lay there, bleeding and dazed, until one of the two reached out and lifted him into the air.
Spike watched impassively as some sort of tube snaked out from the robotic wrist, reaching out for his own flesh. He didn’t struggle. No sense in wasting himself on a fight he wasn’t able to win. They’d be in for quite a surprise soon enough. Trying to drug a vampire was just bloody stupid. Took something more than human drugs to knock out the dead, and he doubted any of these buggers had any idea how to work the mojo.
As soon as the worm-like tubes penetrated his flesh, his skin began to crawl. Whatever they had injected into him wasn’t like any drug he’d ever encountered. He could feel it, skittering through his body, a cold burn that had him shaking. As he stood there, jaw clenched against the pain, he smirked. Damned if these tossers would see him scream.
“That all you g-got, mate?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. “Shame that. I was looking forward to getting skunked. Oh well, can’t say you didn’t try, right? Best be on your way then.”
He grimaced, his body arching against the tiny little things fighting their way out of his body. He felt the skin of his cheek split, feeling pressure as something small and metallic clamped there, He raised his hand to tear it out, gaping wound be damned, and saw that his hand was now covered in metallic veins that outlined his fingers , running along his tendons and curling almost lovingly around his wrist.
“What the bloody hell did you do to me?” Spike whispered, staring up in horror.
This was nothing like The Initiative. The pain, the feeling of crawling wrongness under his skin was similar, but nothing The Initiative had dreamed up had ever been like this. He could feel his body shifting, his insides being rearranged by the tiny, almost imperceptible bugs flowing through him.
The two butchers in front of him stared at him, eyes cold and lifeless. They were sizing him up, maybe. Bugger! For all he knew they’d fallen asleep, leaving him to his fate. But somehow, he doubted it. Still, as long as they were busy checking the footie scores or whatever the fuck Franken-beasties did with their spare time, he figured he’d have a chance to get away. Find a few Slayers and these ponces’d be history.
Spike felt the brush of cloth against his skin and stiffened. He cut his eyes sideways and recoiled at the sight of a woman’s face, covered in black spider veins with eyes as lifeless as those of things in front of him. Turning slightly, he saw she was part of a long line of other victims, all waiting blankly for…what? Spike didn’t know and with a shudder, he determined that he wasn’t going to find out.
Just as he began to move, sliding backwards fractionally, the larger of his two captors grabbed him and he felt his body begin to disintegrate. He struggled, lashing out with a booted foot. He’d disintegrated before, burned to ash on that stinking Hellmouth and he wasn’t doing that again without a bloody good brawl.
An instant later, his body solidified again, foot making contact with metallic armor. He smirked in satisfaction. Show these blighters ‘m not taken down as easy as all that, he thought.
The scent washed over him first, making him look around in panic. The air was stale, filled with that same oily, necrotic stench as the two that had attacked him. He stared around him at the vast space, thousands upon thousands of meters of metal filled with these half-machine men.
“Bloody buggering fuck,” Spike whispered. “Suit up, Toto. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore…”
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