Spike glared at the debris littering the floor of his basement apartment. He dropped his packages and crossed the room. Shards of glass crunched beneath his boots and an acrid smell of burning assailed his nostrils.

"I do not understand," Illyria said gloomily. " I no longer control the ones who would serve my cause."

She handed Spike a small plastic box. He examined it, shook it, pointed it in the direction of the damage, and pressed a button.

Nothing happened.

"I think you broke it, Blue," he said gesturing at the smouldering remains of the television.

July 2006