In a New York minute
The two Bringer's walked stealthily along the corridor towards the potentials apartment, the oppressive heat of a New York summer going un-noticed by The Firsts agents. The lead daemon drew its long knife, holding it at the ready as it reached for the door.
The door opened without warning, a tall, dark haired young woman standing before them, her long back coat almost reaching the ground, an unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth, a small case in her left hand.
"Who the hell are you?" She asked before she saw the knife, and noticed the Bringer's non-human faces under their hooded robes. She dived backwards, daring a pair of 9mm automatics from inside her coat, bringing them up and firing in one fluid movement.
The first Bringer fell back as the hollow-point round struck its chest, knocking it two the ground but not killing it. The other drew its own knife and tried to throw it at the woman, who ducked below it.
"Who sent you?" The woman asked, dropping her empty guns and drawing a fresh one, "Lee? Did Eddie Lee send you?"
The first Bringer got back to its feet, unaffected by the barrage of gunfire, and charged down the corridor towards the confused woman, knife held high, ready to plunge it into her heart. Reacting on instinct, she brought her legs up against her chest, and pressed her feet against the Bringer's chest, kicking it away with all her strength as she fired again, this time aiming at its head.
That single round did the job that the first dozen failed to do: it killed the Bringer instantly, the body falling onto its accomplice, trapping it on the floor.
"Ok then, let me ask this one last time." The woman got to her feet, dusting herself down as the surviving daemon struggled to rise, "Who sent you?" She pointed her gun at its head and pulled back the hammer.
"He won't answer you." An English-accented voice said from down the corridor, "I don't even know if it can."
"Who are you?" The woman asked; bring her other arm up to point at the tall, well dressed man.
"My name is Rupert Giles: I came here to warn you that they," He pointed at the two daemons, "where after you."
"Why? What I do to them?"
"It's not what you did, it's what you are: you have the potential to become the next Vampire Slayer."
"A Vampire Slayer: 'In every generation there is a chosen one; she alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness.' The being these creatures work for wants to kill every last potential slayer, then kill the active slayer and thus end the line of gardenias that have kept the world safe for thousands of years."
"You're taking this a lot better than I had expected."
"I've seen a lot in my life: vampires and demons are not such a big leap of faith."
"Yes, I've read you file Mathilda: orphaned at the age of 12, you became the student of a hit man named Léon, who thought you your current profession."
"Hey, it's not honest, but it pays well."
"Given the situation, I'll look past your choice in career."
"More of these?" Mathilda looked at the still struggling Bringer.
"A lot more: they won't stop until you are dead, or we defeat them."
"'We'? There are more like me out there?"
"A few: most are dead or already in California, where we must now go."
"How young are these 'potential slayers'?"
"Some as young as 13. At 20, you're one of the oldest."
"13?" Mathilda's eyes went hard, and she looked down her gun at the Bringer, "No women, no kids: that's the rule." With that, she pulled the trigger.
"We'd best be going." Giles sounded apprehensive at the sound of approaching police sirens.
"Sure: I just need to pick up some money I'm owed on the way to the airport." Mathilda grabbed a potted plant from her coffee table, "Always wanted to see California…"