Summary: After deciding that he is no good to the Slayer the way he is, Spike takes a trip into the wild unknown...

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy are the creators of the Buffy universe and Spike. How do I love thee, let me count the ways...
Spoilers: Everything up to the last ep that was aired (just to be safe).
Rating: R, bad language, some violence and sexual innuendo.
Note: This is based on spoilers - Spike goes to Africa to get his chip out, but is not meant to be how I think ME will handle the story line but rather a how I think a Spike trip to the real Africa would look like. If some of the places I describe sound like real places, that's because they are *g*. Also a bit of a sequel to my fic "Spike's Song", but which you don't have to read to follow what's going on here. Thanks to Annerose for being the guinea pig with this one.
 

Chapter One - A Strange Country

Not for the first time, Spike wondered what the hell he was doing in this godforsaken city. Lorne had given him a name and pretty much that was it, but the big green queen had been certain that this Mister Mfozo could get the chip out of his head - and would ask no questions.

Spike wasn't sure what he would do once the chip was out, but he knew that he needed some kind of resolution to that part of his unlife before anything else happened. He couldn't be with Buffy, or apart from her for that matter, until he had proved, one way or the other, that he could behave independently of the Initiative's little techno-leash.

Lorne was a demon so one would wonder about his motives in sending Spike to the most ambiguous place he'd ever seen, but Lorne seemed to be one of those demons who was cast in more than just black and white - somewhat like Spike himself was. The host had seen something in his reading of the Vampire with a heart, if not soul, and had ventured to help him - even going as far as finding a box to ship him off to the southern most part of Africa in. At this point, Spike wondered if Lorne had just made a tactical move in getting rid of him.

But then there was the name on the tattered business card that Lorne had shoved in his coat pocket before he had nailed the lid on his transport container.

Mr Mfozo in simple black letters on the one side, and on the other, the silhouette of a stylised dragon.

The plane ride had been rather unforgettable, what with the stewardesses not even bothering to bring him a whiskey, and his box had been unceremoniously dumped in a warehouse at the local international airport. Apparently, the words 'urgent' had no meaning to the airport staff and Spike was forced to punch his own way out of the box before his patience ran out. Who was he kidding, his patience had run out even before he left LA.

The warehouse had been dead. It seemed nobody worked at night, here either. Spike wondered if African vamps managed to make a good living if the prey refused to skulk around alone in the dark hours. Come to think of it, he'd never met another of the nosferatu from this part of the world.

With a nose that lead straight to groups of people, Spike was able to find his way out of the deserted warehouse and back up to the airport terminal itself, which was still, surprisingly, a hum of activity. He managed to wind his way around the hordes waiting for incoming and outgoing flights like so much lovely cattle until he saw what looked like a taxi rank. Catching a cab wasn't usually his style, so he skipped over the wall to where rows and rows of cars were parked, waiting for him to pick one.

Spike grinned and rubbed his hands. He was brimming with unused tension and his body was screaming for action - any kind of action. He couldn't bite the people, but he could steal a car. And he was going to have to get used to driving on the left side of the road again.

The one that caught his eye was a sleek little number all in black with shiny alloy wheels. And it was a convertible. Oh yes, he could see himself cruising the African highways under the cool southern stars with the top down on that fine testament to human ingenuity.

He cautiously looked around to see that there was nobody lurking and made his move. A long, thin wire revealed itself from the shadows of his coat and he casually leaned against the car door while he slipped the wire between the window and the door frame. With a quick jerk, he unlocked the door and then opened it.

Wailing sirens screeched through the air making him cover his ears in shock. Bloody hell! The car had an alarm and he'd just set it off.

Panicked, Spike jumped into the car and stuck his hand under the steering column. He ripped out a bunch of wires, and mercifully the blaring noise subsided. He wiped his hand across his brow and then looked up to see some passers-by staring at him. He was done for now, he reckoned, they'd notify the authorities and he'd have to find another car. It was bloody irritating.

He started to get out the car, but the luggage bedecked people simply shrugged and moved on.

Strange, he thought. But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he ducked down to see what a mess he'd made of the car's ignition system and possibly fix it. These new fangled cars were a lot more painful to get going than his De Soto - old faithful, but eventually he sorted out what went where and soon the engine was revving.

Spike chuckled and dropped his hand down to shift the car into first, ready to get the hell out the car park, when he discovered that the gear stick wouldn't budge. "What the...?"

There was a damn gear lock on the car - as if the alarm hadn't been enough. Fortunately he was a vamp and, just a bit frustrated now, he ripped the entire lock out of its seat, almost taking the gear stick with it. He wound down the window and threw the entire thing out then rammed into first and skidded towards the exit.

There was a boom gate blocking his way out that required some sort of card to open it, but as Spike wasn't concerned about paying for parking, he drove at speed through the boom, wincing at the dents the new car was already picking up. Before long, it would be just like his old one, and that wasn't a bad thing.

He found his way out to the motorway and dug in his coat for the map he'd lifted from one of the airport's brightly lit stores. You could always count on the inner city of any big place to be where the action was, so with one hand on the wheel and half an eye on the road, Spike navigated a path from the airport to the city that was Johannesburg.

TBC...