I thought Giles was always an interesting character. I was going to make this much darker, but decided he needed to be at least introduced. This is just an overview of The Ripper's point of view, sortof. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.


He takes his glasses off and wipes them with the edge of his shirttail in one swift movement. Then he massages the bridge of his nose, trying to rid away some of the tension and stress.

It's funny how things never used to be this way.

He used to be young and dangerous and destructive. People could only whisper his name, since saying it aloud made it all too defiling to people's ears. He used to be a sinner and a killer and a lover.

But things happen. And he's not that man anymore. He's not that young boy. Now he's smart and responsible and good and a bloody saint that will be fucking praised when he dies for all the self-sacrificing he did.

And it drives him bloody mad!

Because he was a fucking monster. He raped and he drank and he fucked and he cut and he bled and he fought and he loved and he killed and he was so bloody high sometimes that he had to hold onto something so he wouldn't fly. Because he was the fucking Ripper and he could get whatever and whoever he wanted. It was easy too. Just a twist of the wrist or a smirk of the lips or a jab to the stomach or a step to the right. Everything came easy when you were bad.

He was bad too.

And it made him want to shoot himself when he had these precious kids that hung on his every up-tight word. They knew nothing of his past. They were ignorant to the fact that he would go to a whore house every Saturday and have his way with all the women and leave them in the beds bloodied and bruised. Or that if anyone got in his way, he would find no harm in just taking a knife to their throat and causing wounds that would never heal. Or that opium, heroin, and marijuana was not foreign to his system. They had no clue who was leading them into a fight 'til death (that he participated in many nights and never came out with more than a scratch) or a late-night study group.

He was just a school librarian. A Watcher. A store owner. A surrogate father. A tweedy Brit. A G-Man. A goddamn American.

He found it so ironic that his "repentance" was to be everything against he once was. He had to tell everyone how bloody wrong it was to cheat, lie, and steal. To kill. To hate. To take over the world. He had to stop the people that his younger self would be proud of. Hell, still proud of. It made him feel so fucking hypocritical that even scotch wouldn't take away the dull pounding in his brain. That told him he was a liar. A bloody fake.

So he wipes his glasses and massages his temples just so he can forget. Maybe if he does it hard enough, he can blur the images and make everything seem not wrong. Or induce brain damage and make him lose all his memories. Maybe he does it to bring the images back to when he was actually something. But whatever the reason, he did it because of who he was. And who he will always be.

He was the bloody Ripper and he was nothing like he once was.

Nothing.