From: Holger Harksen <harksen@informatik.tu-muenchen.de>
Date: Fri, 20 Oct 2000 11:10:20 +0000
Subject: Bloodstone Rocks
Source: direct


Title:  Bloodstone Rocks
        Part One of the Pilot Series 

Author: Holger

Category: Crossover (AU)
          X-Files, Buffy TVS, Highlander, La Femme
          Nikita, X-Men

Rating: R

Disclaimer: None of the shows are mine

Summary: All big things start out with seemingly simple
         and unimportant events. But do they have to be
         that simple?

Feedback: I'd like to see that happen.
          Try harksen@informatik.tu-muenchen.de

Part 1 of 4

#1
2 000 000 years before:


The ship that brought Them here hovered in the air.
An oval shape it had, with a big mouth of steel up and
down - with the foursome of erecting lip lookalikes the
sight was the mocking of a worm's mouth.
It reminded of an animal, a very primitive fish with the
bronze colour it displayed and the lights shining of it.
But it was not alive and it hovered in the air, not in
the water.
Aboard the crew supervised a part in their act of the
seeding, seeding this vast and mostly empty planet with
a species of meaning.
The crew observed the latest attempt, a herd of the
primitive half-intelligent animals that had the greatest
potential for becoming the dominant organism They had in
mind for their ends. The manipulated creatures displayed
all the desired characteristics.
But They also had to take care, pay attention that their
creation did not go out of it's way, did not go awry.
Much depended on it being done right.
The being that a human would call the chief scientific
officer on the vessel looked at a machine and took the
readings over to a larger set of statistics. The data
got archived and analyzed.
They did not expect any troubles to come from this one
among so many other worlds they had visited and worked
upon. There was no reason for haste, special diligence
or caution.
The ancient programs, working with formulas explaining
the physical world to Their ideal representation, began
to analyze the data.
And soon the values representing aspects of the not so
remarkable creatures walking the plains of this part in
the world, descendants of some mostly vegetarian tree
dwellers who got lost from the great woods to the south, 
got put on display in a form.
Merciless and mindless science reduced the native beings
to just another amount of data. And then the officer saw
the screens blink and show several values way off their
calculated limits.

The work the great masters had ordered had failed, once
again.

The being just was in the process of ordering the ship
to destroy their failures and go to another experiment
with a new group of specimens when something unexpected
happened.

The air crackled with an unkown sort of power and the
ship began to howl in alarms as systems began to get
shut down or malfunctioned outright. Then dark clouds
high overhead sent down their mightiest lightning bolts
and the ship got hit again and again.
It fell down to the surface and crashed, kept lying
where it was without any hope of ever returning to the
cold dark ocean of stars it had originally come from.

Aboard the injured chief scientific officer freed itself
from the wreckage of his position and noticed it was
mortally injured, the ship was wrecked for good and it
was unable to send any warning to another ship. If some
other ship had been nearby at all.
Panic reached into the alien's consciousness.
Panic and dread at the question of just what had done
this to the ship and the crew.
This planet was not like any other they had visited.
There were hidden dangers here.
With a pained last grasp the creature died.

Outside a young representative of the native species
stopped plucking fruit from a bush nearby and then
eating them. For a short time the young being tried to
understand what the curious bronze rock was doing in the
sands ahead. It even touched the rock and it was hot, it
hurt to touch even it.
Then it gave up and walked away, pausing to bow down and
take up a stone. It had never done this before. The young
threw the stone away and hit a tree, breaking the rough
outer rim of the tree.
An idea formed in the youn being's little brain.
If that stone hit one of the furred little animals out
in the grass, he might get a free meal out of it. The
young took up another stone and started to look for an
animal.

Beyond, invisible to the alien as well as to the young
creature, hovered the nameless entities in the air. And
they were very pleased with their work.
It had begun.

All the question was - how would it end?



#2
707 AD, Southern England


Artur of Camelot, king of the british, felt the sweat
run down his helemeted head and the back under his
armor. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling as well as the
pain of his tired muscles the king once more moved his
legendary sword into the air.
A hoarse scream rang from his mouth and he moved the
heavy blade down again, nearling cutting another of the
demons apart with the glowing blade.
Bloody satisfaction showed in the king's eyes as he
now had only one enemy left to fight - the knights and
he were winning the battle against this army of servants
to Tamodred, the dark Wizard, the blight of the world.
Now if only Merlin was able to keep his word, have the
bloodsucking fiends of the night not attack his weakened
army, then they also might win this war!
The king could see his mage at the back, throwing
fireballs and lightning strikes and other magics at the
demons around, killing and destroying the most of them.
And Modred and his army were forming in the north and he
really had to take care of his bastard son and his mad
mother Morgan le Fay.
But first they had to prevent the dark wizard to send
all the world to hell. Damn Modred for picking just this
time to come and lead away half of his armies, right
when he needed them the most.
Not that it would be so hard.

Artur quickly disposed of his remaining enemy and went
to help his army, many of them were not fearing so well
in their battles than he did so far...even if they only
were facing human oponents. The mercenary scum that he
had driven out of his realm and noone else was dumb
enough to hire - only Tamodred, in his desperate need
for an army, had dared to do so.
But then Tamodred did not care about the dead he left
behind, in fact he needed the vilest and cruelest men
he could find for his dark magics.  

Artur grimaced as he beheaded one giant men with a
great club who challenged him openly and simply walked
on, dealing death to his enemies. Doing what he seemed
to do best, winning a battle. Waging war.
It sickened the great king.
The battle had long, long ago lost any real joy it ever
had held for him. Too many dead and maimed friends and
too many years spent campaigning had taught him this
bitter lesson.
Now he learnt he should have waged a war when the time
called for one, not when events forced him into action.
In all this battle there could only be one winner, and
that was Modred...

* * * *

Deep in his lair the wizard Tamodred tugged at his black
beard and looked into his crystal ball. The scrying
instrument showed him what he had been fearing, the slow
defeat of his main army. Now Artur and his army would be
at his stronghold in barely another three days - maybe
less. Probably less.
He needed five times more time than this to complete his
spell of dominion. And without it, any attempt to go and
challenge the mighty Merlin was simple suicide.
With it he would be the master of the world.
And if he did not cast it right, he would be banished to
hell for an eternity of torture...not exactly the kind
of fate he foresaw in his future.

He needed time and with all the forces he could muster
in his defense he would not get it. Nowhere near enough.

His only chance was if he could get the vampires to come
to his aid. Ridiculous. He was lucky they kept away from
his army, but they had been following the army in the
wake. Hundreds and more had been attracted to slaughter
all that had survived in the path of the great army of
the darkness.
He had not hindered it, quite the contrary.
It had added to his power to let them do their worst.
They were strong enough to hinder the great king, in
their combined might. But he had nowhere near enough
acolytes and powerful demons that could make all these 
vampires obey him.
There was an artifact of magic which gave the owning
vampire into their king - one with incredible power over
so many vampires, and up to a short time ago a servant
of the wizard had held that artifact and claimed the
title.

But that vampire had been found and slain by Merlin and
some ally of his, and now the bloodstone was gone. Most
of the vampires shied away from facing armed men, much
less from a real army of them. They would soon start to
wander into the world again, dissolving their ranks to
get where there was more feeding nearby.

Tamodred darkly considered the situation.
He needed the bloodstone. NOW.
Merlin would have hid that very well.

But could he hide it for all times?
There was a spell, a possibility open to him. It was
risky as hell, but what did he have to loose left?
Tamodred decided to give it a try.


#3
3.19.2000, Sunnydale


Xander Harris awoke with a scream on his lips, and as
always of late he was covered in sweat. Another of these
freak dreams that bothered him.
He could not remember everything of it but it was a lot
about him. Him kneeling in the center of a stone circle,
in the deepest night and naked...he could feel the wet
grass on his skin. And hovering above him these weird
shining things were waiting. There was some talk but so
far he could not remember any one word of it.
Not one word of it all had a meaning to him.
He heard sounds, a melody.
In the dream he understood the words but not now.
He had the idea it was horribly important that he did
but he just could not. Something - something was going
to happen.

"Should really go to Giles and talk to him about this,"
Xander muttered as he stumbled to shower. He needed a
cold shower right now. But at least he had been able to
sleep for a few hours.
But he did not dare to go there.

After all, how long would it take the G-Man to discover
how many secrets young Alexander laVelle Harris kept
from the distanced Scooby Gang these days?
He was rather happy with things as they were right now.
Meaning everyone ignored him for most of the time and
that meant he could act as he liked to. Without any one
man or woman looking over his shoulder and asking some
dumb questions.
And since Anya decided to go away in search of a means
to get her powers back he also slept alone again. Well,
he had gotten used not to do that anymore.

The breakup had been a nice one. One better did that
with a former avenger demon. Even without powers Anya
had the potential to be nastier than most vampires in
town were. Good for them all that she was powerless.

Still, sleeping alone was nothing he preferred.
Not after knowing the alternative and he felt like some
long hours with Anya would be right what he needed at
this time.
Without any girlfriend he was left to fend for himself.
Xander sighed and began to work away his by now evident
energy overflow.
He felt tired as after days without sleep, yet he was
nowhere near exhausted. Another crazy paradox. Not that
it meant so much to him, half his life was about how to
deal with these kind of thing.

Better to take his weapons out of the compartment and
go out, vampire hunting. There always were some of the
dumber nasties hanging around places - even with the
Initiative and a Slayer in town. and he knew how much
Buffy kept her patrols to the usual gathering places.
Like the UC, the clubs, the graveyards, the parks.
There were other places she never visited.
Places where a lone man could go and work off steam.

"Maybe I really have a deathwish," Xander said aloud.
But if he had, he wasn't going right about getting
himself killed.
Looking at the crate of arms he had gathered he knew
his part time hobby of being a LONE demon hunter was
getting out of the way.
The others would totally flip at the idea of him even
considering doing this. Much less than be astonished he
even got away with it and got better and better.
But then, he was merely human, wasn't he?
Now superpowers like a Slayer, no magic and no real
fancy watcher training. Didn't need that to kill the
nasties.

But then, when did he tell the gang the hyena spirit
was still there? He had only noticed a while ago, on
his road trip, that part of the hyena was still there.
At first it had scared him.
Then he had learnt to control it, make use of it.
He had his own private demon. Not such a big and nasty
one as Angel had, of course, but still his pivate own
possessor.
But then, Angel had to keep his demon out of control.
Xander went to control his hyena side and he got some
short time benefits from it.
Increased strength and speed and ferocity and enhanced
sensory perceptions for short periods of time, with him
later paying a heavy prize for them. If he used up his
juice too much he got a breakdown, that hurt.
The candle burning twice as bright was burning twice as
fast, to say it poetically.
It was an asset, nothing else.
One to be used with great care - unless he wanted to
really get himself killed.
Just like the GI Joe guy who gave him all the soldier
knowledge, that he picked up during one of Ethan Rayne's
big attempts to raise havoc in Sunnydale.
The soldier had so far been useful.

Xander began to suit up, get himself equipped. He had
discovered some basic facts during his time with the
Scoobies. Weaknesses of the demons noone seemd willing
to exploit.
Demons did not like silver. Most were almost as alergic
to holy water as vampires. And they also were not that
hard kill. Usually.
Even if shooting them was not lethal, it still was able
to hurt them. Put enough firepower to work and they got
destroyed.
And to kill a vamp it didn't need a stake, any bit of
wood into the heart did the job. Even a tiny splinter
put into a bullet.
He had two guns with him, old .45 army colts from his
grandfather. One with wooden bullets, the other with
silver bullets. He had a double barrled shotgun,
incendiary rounds up close flamed a vamp for good. Or
could rip off even a demon's head.
He had a few stakes and crosses and a silver knive on
him, as well as a lot of holy water. If he really had
meant to go to war he could have added explosives and
Molotow Cocktails and the assault rifle he had stolen
from a dead drug dealer. The guy and his partners had
been dumb enough to come to Sunnydale and do a deal at
nighttime.
Noone would miss that sort of scum. And Xander had been
able to make use of what these scum had left behind.

One of these days he really would go to war and then run
into a situation he couldn't handle. And then he would
get killed! But then, who wanted to live forever anyway?

All that mattered was that he was alive, out there were
the bad guys and he had so much rage and energy inside
of him he had to let some of that out.

Maybe I should go and ask Riley about some of their
fancy tech equipment, Xander thought. The Initiative
surely seemed to have all the choicy tools. Not that
they were so good at using them, though.
There still was the fact that he hated Riley Finn's
guts - not that big a hindrance. There were not so many
people around whom he liked to have around. And then,
noone said he had to like them all, or had he?

An hour and a short drive with following walk later he
finally found what he was looking for. A group of five
vampires, he could smell their decayed bodies.
They hung out in front of some closed shops and stared
at the windows. Were up to no good, but nothing so bad
either. Probably had shared a victim.

"Hey, see who's there," a girl said. An appearing teen,
with too much makeup and rather daring clothes. A teen
hooker turned vamp, great. But she stared out between
two homeless, a college football player and some more
conservative old geek. "You looking for me, cutie?"

"Maybe," Xander answered, his guns hidden under the
long black coat he wore. As were the crosses. "Wanna go
for a short ride?" He glanced over to a dark alley.

"Anytime, dearie," she laughed and blinked to her group,
a conspirational smile followed. And then she came close
and closer. "I'll soo eenjjooyy being alone with you..."

"I bet," Xander answered as he let a stake flip from his
sleeves into his right hand. One quick move and he had
her, she just looked stunned before she became dust.
"Sorry to decline the honors, babe."
They were that surprised that they stood still - and he
had no troubles to throw the stake. Surprisingly enough
he actually hit his target and the big brawler (who did
not seem to have so much brains) got dusted.
"Wow, I never thought that could work!"

"Fuck," the older geek said, turning his attention from
the goods presented by the shop to Xander. "What is it
with this town? You guy think you're the fucking bloody
Slayer now or what?"

Even during his talk, the two homeless persons vamped
out and came from him from two sides at once. Eager to
tear out his throat and drain him.
Xander took out his gun and shot the left one, then
the right one before they could reach him. He smiled.
"Who needs to be the Slayer to kick your ass, sucker?"

"How...but bullets cannot...!" he croaked.

The third shot rang and the window behind him crumbled
to shards, with the vampre dissolcing into dust right
away.

"Noone ever told me," Xander laughed as he turned away.
His adrenaline was still up and so he looked for another
dumb vamp to come after him. Or a demon. He reloaded his
gun, though. It always paid to be prepared.

He did not get a block before he found a fight going,
some black suited commandos took it out with a few of
the vamps who didn't like to be abducted and then get
an implant that neutered them. Made them unable to kill.
They usually suicided within days.
Too bad Spike didn't loose his will to continue live, or
rather unlive, in the same manner. Xander would love to
see the bleach blonde badass burn away.
Looked like the soldier boyz had made a mistake and now
it was a free for all. Xander sneered as he took out a
cross and his watergun, saving some lives the next few
seconds.
Vampires ran with bruning faces and others growled at
the sight of the cross, and then the Initiative men had
their guns up. The high whine of the energy guns rang in
his ears as a pair got taken down and another decomposed
after he swallowed a mouthfull of holy water.
Shouldn't have growled so loud and long at him.
The other three got away.

"Who the heck are you, mate?" one of the battered young
soldiers barked at him.

"I recognize him, sir," another said. "One of Summer's
gang." That also meant they would leave him alone, as
per commandant Finn's orders.

"Right. Anytime a pleasure to help you guys," Xander
answered with a broad grin. "Next time don't let them
get you in a pincer, okay? Won't always be around." He
whistled happyly as he left, with the soldiers still
trying to come up with a suitable answer.

Maybe the got the toys and the training, but these guys
usually didn't have any more fucking brains than the
vampires they fought - probably the reason why they got
selected for the job. They were reliable not to talk,
and what could they talk about if they were to dumb to
understand?

Now, six vamps for the XandMan, zero for the baddies
and who needs any holier-than-thou Slayer around...not
bad for a night. Really, not bad at all.

* * * *

"What do you mean, Riley?" Buffy Summers croaked out.
Not that she minded to see her boyfriend and spned some
time with him during lunch, no. Or talking to him.
But she was not used to him coming over to say thankyou
for something she never did.

"Well, I thought you had sent Xander over to the old
district last night," Riley said. "He got some of my
men out of a tight spot, if I remember how to read a
report..." He smiled. "You could have told me, you know.
I wondered what exactly did hunt the hostiles down in
the area lately."

"No problem," Buffy said stunned. Old town district was
off limits, she rarely went there. Faith had done a few
strides, in her long ago days of beeing a good girl.
It probably was crawling with vampires and demons, but
the residents were a tough lot. They would survive on
their own by now.
What was Xander doing there?
And was Riley really implying that Xander did HUNT on
his own, alone? She thought so. How stupid could he be?
Well, he certainly was crazy enough to try.
That sort of attempted herosim would get him killed.

She would have to talk with Wills and Giles about it.
Maybe he was a bit left out of the loop, with them at
the UC and him working nowadays...and since Anya had
left him he was alone.
Maybe he felt leftover and wanted to prove to himself
he could stand on his own feet or some other nonsense.
He should know he could and be sensible enough to stay
where it was save.
Buffy decided to visit him and get an answer out of
him, an explanation. Before anything else happened.

* * * *

"Xand?" she said as she entered the basement he called
home. The usual chaos, with his so-called parents up
and behind their TV. Probably out drunk already.
She did not bother to check that.

He laid on the bed, in his underwear. Appearantly asleep
until she came in and said the word. His eyes flew open
and he got up, quickly.

Buffy had to admit there was nothing wrong with his
reflexes. He looked ragged and worn out, but that he did
most of the time. One hardly noticed anymore. One hardly
noticed! That line of thought seemed to be of importance
wherever he was considered.

"Buffy," Xander said astounded. "What the...uh, what are
you doing here?" He wiped his face and forhead and for
the first time Buffy noticed he was covered in sweat.

"I came to visit a friend," she said. Which was not
quite a lie. But a reminder of her failing. She almost
never came here. "Your room never changes. Must be a
hellmouth phenomena."

"Rather me not cleaning up," Xander chuckled with a
slight yawn. "What's up?"

"Well...it's nothing, really...just an idea," she got
out. Stammered. Buffy gathered all her dignity and then
looked him in the eyes. Oddly enough, he did not look
away. When had she done that last time? There was
something about him, something in the eyes. Whatever.
"Riley said you were stalking around old town."

"Sometimes," he admitted.

"A lot more than sometimes. You would not mind to
explain?" Buffy said, insistive. She hoped he would not
say her he was doing his own hunting now. She saw the
face he made and knew better, she sighed. "God! What are
you thinking, you'll get yourself killed!"

"Maybe I am a little bit harder to get rid off than you
think, Buff," he said, pissed. He shook his head. "Did
you ever consider that I can take care of myself?"

"Of course you can," she said. "But putting yourself
into danger! Xander, old town's crawling with them and
you...even Riley's folks stay clear of the area."

"Didn't have so many troubles with that," Xander said.
"How many did you get last night anyway?"

"Only three," Buffy said. And that was the most active
night in a while. She had the sure feel that the vamps
were up to something.

"No wonder old town's crawling with nasties," Xander
said, with a sneer. "Well, I got myself six there."

"SIX?" she croaked. "With what?" Nearly she would have
asked with what army. Six vampires. In one night.
And the tone said he did not find that unusual.

"Give me a bit of a break, okay? I can take care of
myself," Xander groaned. "Consider it my private issue,
I mean, what do you say when Wills again messes up one
of her spells and we have to clean up the shards?"

WEll, Willow certainly made her mistakes, Buffy thought.
She and Tara were pretty busy trying spells and there
always were mistakes and serious side effects. The two
should probably stop before something serious happened.
But that still did not answer the question.
"I still want to know how you get six. Did you lure them
in and stake them or something?"

"That sort of thing."

"Xander, this will...you know how your chances are in a
fair fight with any of them?" Buffy croaked, shivering.
"You can't win that. Not regularly. You will get hurt
or...or worse."

"That's why I usually don't fight fair," Xander replied
a bit to aggressively for Buffy's taste. "It's none of
your business what I do, Buff. I'm my own person."

"You're my friend!" Buffy hwoled. And she kept to care
for her friends, she wanted to know them save.

"Comeon, Buffy. How often was I out there with you?"
Xander smiled, with the humor not reaching his eyes.
"You know I can do that."

"All alone?"

"Well, you could take me along again...?" he proposed.

Which she would not do. She could not let them get
hurt, that was her fight and hers alone. "Aren't you a
little bit old to still think I need a white knight to
look after me?"

"Then why do you think I would?" he hissed back, hurt.

And Buffy bit her lip, regretting her stupid outburst.
This was going all the wrong ways. She just could not
win this argument...never had been able to.
She sighed and said she would let him a few days to cool
down and get sensible again. Even said loosing Anya was
not the end of the world, there were other nice girls in
town.

"With my luck I'll end up dating Harmony," Xander said
disillusioned. He gave her a bitter laugh. "You know."

Harmony, one of the gang of girls playing at being more
Cordelia Chase than Cordelia herself had been, was by
now a vampire. And so far she seemed able to elude the
Slayer and everyone else, staying alive and killing.
Not that she would be a problem - she was just sort of
an annoyance and a weak spot.
They should have prevented this from happening.
They really should.

Buffy said he shouldn't sell himself any short and then
she left, promising herself to follow him in the next
days and watch him in action. Just keep an eye on him.


#4
3.20.2000: New York


She awoke to the sounds of the ringing metal clangs of
two swords hitting together and she was immidiately
disdained.
Not just because she had a near phobia of seeing any
sword...probably the result of getting three feet of
steel shoved through her intestines.

It had been just another X-File. This time it involved
freak lightning storms, beheaded people with fake IDs
and some minor medical anomalities. And a serial killer.
Typical. There always was one of the nutcases involved.

It turned out to become her nightmare X-File.

Mulder had not needed five days until he had found a
few connections between the victims and next made up the
theory of a whole race of incredibly long lived mutants.
People who healed so well that they could not be killed
by mere age and minor wounds, thus they went for
beheadings in ritual duellings to settle scores.

The most annoying was that he had been basically right,
there was a whole race of them. Thousands. And they were
there since just about forever, too.
She even got to see the freak lightning storm that came
from the power these people carried inside their bodies,
the power their decapacitation set free.
It was not just electricity.

They had investigated the string of victims and their
connections and discovered their next likely victim, a
Thomas Nash.
Mulder had needed twenty seconds from their greetings
before he identified him as the same Russel Nash who had
been suspected in a series of beheadings back in 84.
He had quite a lot of casefiles...and suspects.

Scully then had told him Nash was just the lookalike
nephew of his uncle, who had died with his wive in a car
crash in scotland nearly ten years ago. That sort of
thing happened.

Questioning Nash showed him to be as uncooperative as he
could be within the law - he just admitted that he had
met some of the victims or been frequenting the same
circles.
He said that somehow almost everyone in this city got
connected to everyone else, and he just had an interest
into sports and swords. Not least because he traded in
antiquities.
A completely rational argument for Dana Scully.
One she ate hook, line and sinker as the police got a
video picture of their unsub. The headhunter was a big
man, heavier than Nash and broader, darkhaired and also
dark eyed. 
The unsub had done a duel with another law abiding
citizen, a female artist moved into town only two weeks
ago. Everyone was totally shocked over her death.
And the next instant the headhunter had escaped after a
gunfight with two uniformed officers patroling the area,
he had put one in critical and the other under with his
blade. He was wounded.

And of course so much bogus, Dana figured. Somewhere in
a higher dimension some sort of god must have taken a
special interest in her...

Mulder had made them watch Thomas Nash and merely a day
later they got to follow Nash as he left his home. It
was a bitter pill for her that the surveillance the NYPD
did on Nash never even noticed him vanishing.
Mulder was a bit smarter, he expected Nash to escape and
so they waited in another car, another location.
Got to see him take a cab and then switch cars twice as
he went his way to an abandoned warheouse on the edge of
the docks.

Going in after him they got to see Nash fight a young
man with a sword, a furious fight with both trying to
kill the other.
They were in a pit, three levels down from the top
level position they were in and Scully went to look for
the stairs leading down.
They of course went in to stop that fight and arrest the
two duellists when the fight got more serious. Something
distracted Nash or he took a misstep, whatever, the
other suddenly was in the advantage.
Mulder, standing above the pit, pointed his gun over the
rusty old railing and screamed his text. Freeze, FBI!
and all the usual rest.
That scream of warning was not enough to make them stop
so he fired a warning shot...which did at least make
Nash hesitate. The asian did not hesitate to pull out a
small gun and shoot his opponent in the chest.

A straight out kill it was not but it was an attempt.
Nut neither another shout or warning shot did stop the
asian, the young mad rammed his sword into Nash's heart
and ran him through. Laughing he pulled his bloody
sword back out and kicked the limp body down.

Nash went down on his knees and Mulder had been forced
to shoot the young man. He put five shots right into
the asian, two of them to the head. If he had to he was
quite a marksman...if he only had been able to put the
same display out on the shooting range, when he got
evaluated with a firearms. He often nearly failed to
make the demand.
The asian went down...before he could whack of the
head of Nash.
Both were dead.

Scully was in the process of getting down there to do
first aid or an arrest when they got attacked from
behind...their unsub had shown and she got to see how
her partner flew down to the pit. The crack of his neck
and the scream that broke as he hit the floor were more
than enough evidence that he was dead.

She had been shocked.
Really shocked.

And then the unsub came down, after Nash. She tried to
arrest him on the first floor and as he just laughed at
her order to raise his hands and put down the sword she
fired. No warning shot either.
She still saw the surprise on the big man's face when
she ezed him with icz cold eyes and began to put her
lead into him. Hips, belly, chest, throat. And then the
shot to the head but there here weapon only clicked
empty.
He'd have to fall down and die of his other wounds.
No that she minded to see him die, she silently cursed
the monster.

She just put a whole clip into him and a part of her
broke as she saw him go down. She was feeling hollow and
empty. Her partner of seven years was dead. The man who
was most important to her. Dead, killed by a deranged
nutcase with a sword...after all they had went through!

It was simply insane.
It was...it was impossible.

And his murderer's death only made her sorrow become a
little bit less bad. Only so little less.

She was down there and wept, clung to his dead body and
saw first time the stabwound in his chest. The bloodied
suit where the bastard had shoved his weapon in.

And then Mulder twitched and spat and opened his eyes,
looking at her. Calling her name in awe, in wonder and
then in warning.
Too late.
Much too late.

She still felt the hard, cold steel of the broadsword
penetrate her back, her body and then the tip broke out
right between her chest.
She had opened her eyes wide, in fatal wonder.
"Mulder?" she had asked, not feeling the pain yet. "What
is happening...?"

Then a foot placed itself on her back and she scremed
as the heavyly built - and quite dead - unsub ripped his
sword bakc out of her. Kicking her down to drown in the
blood that rushed into her lungs or to bleed out.
She nearly fell unconscious from the shock alone as the
sword left her flesh.

The feeling still was enough to make her wake in the
night, screaming. She had a lot more reasons for having
nightmares, most often Donnie Pfaster or what They had
done to her during her abduction.
She had been close to death quite often, even been shot.
But up to now noone had put three feet of solid steel in
between of her ribs.
The sheer brutality of this act alone made her shiver.

She had laid on her back, stared upwards and bled. And
only watched in clinical fascination what happened.
Mulder screaming at the other man, who showed some broad
grin. He called her a whore and said he'd dealt what she
had earned...now she would see him die.
"You know, fibbie, you're one of us...could have lived
forever! But now I'll cut off your head and take your
Quickening. What little bit of it there is."

Mulder looked up to the nearly seven feet high man, the
barbarian from the past raising his sword high and he
still was grinning.
For just another second.

He made a big mistake to think just because Mulder was
down on his feet and weaponless he was also helpless.

It had been a while since they had investigated the
murder of several people and the theft of some curious
alien artifacts,
Then he had first come down to the asylum and vanished,
to turn up again later with part of his brain missing.
The same part where some unusual acitivty had shown and
made him go into a state of coma.
Scully had a hard time to believe he could read minds
during that time. A really hard time. Even after all she
had seen and experienced, even after finding an alien
spaceship wrecked on earth.

She did not have any troubles with believing into the
powers, there had been some mutants found before. Hell,
she herself had spent YEARS searching for scientific
proof of their existence.
And now she got it, now there were dozens, hundreds of
mutants out there. People with mostly minor abilities
or physical differences to the rest of the world...and
a very few had these really strong, dangerous powers.

She just had had a hard time to believe her partner was
one of them, one of the mutants himself. No hybrid as he
had been thinking before.

At first all he had was dreams revealing information and
he had been guessing on connections even better than
before. Sometimes she had wondered if he actually was
sort of prescient.
From time to time there were killing headaches, though he
tried to hide the fact from her for months. And then there
were nosebleeds. Which got her to get him to a hospital
and finally do an MRI...revealing that the missing part of
his brain had almost grown back completely.
A miracle.
Just another miracle among many.
And not exactly one she had been happy about.
For it clearly proved him a mutant.

This time there were no voices in his head, there just
were things moving around. Mulder got telekinetic.
He could not control it so good yet and continued use of
his ability made him extremely weak. He was even able to
fall unconscious from it.

But as the headhunter now got to see Mulder, being a
mutant, could do a lot of things before that happened.
He flew back against one of the concrete pillars carrying
the structure and the roof of the warehouse.
And there was nothing he could do about it but give a
terrified scream.
Nothing at all.
The sword cluttered uselessly to the ground and every
bone in his body broke. Some hardly visible blow of force
made the air waver around it before it hit him, making
blood spill through the air.
Flesh and bone were neatly crushed.

The oh so mighty barbarian looked like some ram had hit
his chest...and he was quite dead. The same sort as he
had been after she shot him.
And Mulder took his own broadsword to whack of his head,
some sort of irony that was. Really.

Scully was far too weak to even consider yelling a
warning, she felt herself slowly fall unconscious. She
knew there was no way she would survive a wound like
hers. She bled far to much for it.
The last she could register was the ligthning strikes
that had been hitting the place, coming from a beheaded
body and slamming into her partner. Who happened to be
five feet high hovering in the air during that time and
screamed his guts out.

It was as if a storm had gone up inside the basement of
the warehouse. There were things exploding all around.
She lost consciousness.

Later she learnt that Nash, whose real name was Connor
MacLeod, had revived only moments later. Mulder had
simply sat besides her and wept and then there was yet
another beheading.
Mulder had not even minded the fires burning around them
and Nash had to take her along as he goaded the numb
agent out of the inferno.

Scully awoke hours later, in a hospital bed.
MacLeod had managed to reason with Mulder that she
needed help and he was desperate enough to give it a
try. None of them had expected her to survive at all.
Technically she could not have done that at all.

But dying seemed a little bit out of the question for
Mr. and Mrs. Spooky. Either one of them.
Scully had no idea how but for that photograph from a
case about two years ago. Before she got shot and had
once before nearly died from blood loss.
The men had claimed he was unable to die because the
death had missed him once, and he needed to take the
place of someone else to die. Her place. That was rather
spooky but right at home with the X-Files.

Whatever the reason, she survived.
And noone was more happz about it, or more astonished,
than her partner. Who had meanwhile been kicked in the
ass by Connor MacLeod.
MacLeod told him about Immortals, the Game thez played
and the rules of it. It was such a lot of legends and
whatever crap she would have laughed if she had not
had to see the turht about it.

Still, agent spooky had been right yet again. And the
rational mind had been at a loss. That was just that
frustrating.

MacLeod also told Mulder about his own fate, since he
was one of these Immortals. Made for some interesting
questions that he was a mutant with at least some
telekinetic abilities. Even if he only could use them
at a few times. Yet.
Even for MacLeod, who should have known his way around
the world since he was about five centuries old now,
that was a question left unanswered.
For now.
The explanation that all Immortals just were some sort
of mutant was a little bit lame. Mutants usually never
had the same sort of abilities.

He became Mulder's teacher anzwaz and got him to learn
how to use a sword. Not exactly the standard weapon for
any bureau agent, especially for a mutant one.
And it turned out that MacLeod did not just mean to
teach him advanced fencing lessons but a high and very
deadly amalgam of martial arts.

That sort of stuff was meant to cripple and kill, not
just take somebody down like in the burea's self defense
training. Though that was a good base for building up,
it also proved a hindrance.
There were some reflexes to be overcome. For in a duel
between Immortals anyone not going for a kill would end
up dead. Hardly the sort of behavior the FBI wanted his
agents to display. 

Not that she didn't see any use in taking some added
lessons from a true master herself. She was tired of
always getting trounced and it made for great rehab.
Not that she put herself through even half of what the
Immortals went through. She lost count of how often
Mulder ended up with broken bones and dead for a few
minutes to full hours.

Scully wondered how they ever were going to explain any
one bit of this to Skinner. Or the rest of the bureau.

She had been on sick leave and Mulder took an extended
vacation, possible since he manged not to get banged up
anymore since last year. And he had been working double
time as usual.
Their three months out was rapidly coming to an end.
And she still had no answer. All she managed was to get
a headache and so many worries.
He was convinced thez could get awaz with saying that
nothing had happened, nothing at all.

She doubted they would get away with just pretending
nothing at all had happened. Neither the ever present
conspiracy nor the bureau nor her family let her get
away without some explanation now.

Down in the gym the men probably enjoyed cutting
themselves apart with their overlong knives. Scully had
seen less brutal attempts of murder than this sort of
training. She had a better way to spend her morning
hours than to watch someone get hurt and killed.

She could alwazs staz up here and worry herself crazy
about what to write up in their report. Without giving
that much lies in.
She sneered, there was a time when the very idea of even
lying once would have been inacceptable to her. Time and
painful experience taught her that she better kept some
secrets - especially with her unable to control who was
reading these reports.
With the world in a frenzy about mutants barely after
they got discovered, the last thing she needed was to
hear the questions after the mutant agents. Mot of the
higher ups wanted all the mutants locked behind some
bars and throw away the keys, in the hope of the problem
solving itself over time.
Damn unlikely to happen.
But mutant discrimination was by now a fact of live.
It also became one of policy. Some bigshots already
began to stage campaigns and especially the religious
nuts had their answer to mutantkind made.
Freaks of nature, spawn of satan, to the furnance with
them all...they even were for abortion of mutants now.

Same old dumb people, really.
But the facts were the facts.
Especially for mutants.

She probably qualified as one herself, even if all she
did was just to stay alive. Really great and awesome
power.

Scully sneered.

God, if Mulder was discovered now, he would loose the
X-Files for sure. He barely had managed to prevent them
from becoming some subordinate part of this new mutant
registry commission.
It was a little bit hard for them.
Suddenly all the bureau agents got to learn that the two
mad people from paranormal were not quite so mad and bad
at all...and now thez had to avoid any attention. Evade
any big success.

Mutants were just ONE of the many aspects of X-Files.

And with the public in falmes about the issue, what
would these folks first think if they learnt their own
government was collaborating with aliens to get them all
killed during alien settlement of earth?

"Oh boy," Dana rapsed into the silence.
Why couldn't live be any easy?

Maybe she should have listened to her father and become
a MD in some quiet little town or clinic. Blissfully
unaware of the darker spots in the world.

Down below some scream heralded the end of the fight.
Mulder was getting better, he had survived for a full
three minutes this time.
Scully just was happy she was no Immortal.
She doubted she ever could use a sword to kill.



#5
3.20.2000: Washington DC



The medieval exhibition of the Smithsonian Museam of
History was quite the attraction this year.
Archeologists had discovered the hidden lair of an
ancient sage in England and some great treasure, somehow 
it had been left untouched for centuries. The wealh was
not exactlz immeasurable but very high. Especially the
collection of crystals, gems and artworks the same sage
had hoarded there added to the value.

Among the treasure also was an amulet, heavy gold welded
around some odd red crystal of unknown origin. Didn't
seem to be that valuable, though. It was nowhere looking
so good as the real jewelry and medallions. 

Ethan Rayne stood among the masses of gaping ignorants
and studied the objects. Most of the magic was gone and
the rest not worth the picking, except for some rich old
private collectors who would not ask questions about the
sources of their treasures.

Americans, he thought disdainfully.
No idea of history at all.

And then displaying one of the most important objects on
the whole fucking globe in public sight, as just a minor
oddity. Draped around the neck of some dummz, made to
look like some medieval tradesman.
A good luck charm, indeed.
If they only knew!

He hardly was able to breathe. That thing could make any
one vampire a king of blood and start troubles the sort
of which none of these minor humans around knew. Last
time it had been seen was when Vlad Terpes was haunting
the Carpatians, as the legendary Dracula.

He had been stopped from leading the vampires to rule
the world. He still had managed to gather and amrz and
kill tens of thousands of people, enslaving a kingdom in
utter secrecy. Another few years and his armies would
have ruled the balkan, the turk empire and who knew what
came next.

Ah, the air of the great emperor of the world!
If he just had not been stopped.
Not by a Slayer and her Watcher, van Helsing lost his
girl almost at the beginning and he barely came back
alive himself. No, some unknown warrior had slaughtered
an army of vampires during one night and burned down the
cave Vlad had retreated into. Must have been some fight.

Ethan wondered how the object could show up here when
the legend said it got destroyed with the Count of Blood
during that legendary battle. Not many vamps had gotten
away. Someone had really not been in any good mood that
day.
But this was centuruies ago.
No way that the warrior could still be around.

Now, the chaos adept thought, for the taking.

The people would have minded him just smashing the glass
and picking it from the puppet. The security guards for
sure. And the glass before him was of the unbreakable
variant. Without some heavy hammer and a lot of work he
would not get through that.
Thankfully he had alternatives.
Which meant he needed a diversion.
Lucky that he had one handy.
Ethan closed his eyes and muttered the spell he had
cast on the people in the whole museum. Thousands got
affected at all the same instant.

The chaos mage reopened his eyes and saw the magic take
effect. People stopped in midmotion and began to show
fear on their faces. Heads flew around.
The first mouths opened.
Then the sharp screams of people in utter panic filled
the air, where there had been words muttered before.
Now all people just wanted to run, to break free of the
monsters surrounding them.

"What a sight!" Ethan said. He had to try that again in
Sunnydale. Once he got there. "Too bad they don't get
that in the new movies..."

Around him people began to cower in the corners, some
fainted and others took flight. Men left the women,
women left their children, children ran from their
parents.
A few took to rage, began to attack anything in sight.
Good old mass panic with oh so many people getting
trampled underfoot of the mob. 

Ethan smiled and took a pen from his jacket. He hummed
a melody as he painted some minor magic on the glass,
then he took a step back and made a gesture.

For a moment there was black before his eyes and then
he felt something hit him from the inside. He at once
felt more exhausted and tired. His body reminded him he
was using up his energy and fast.
Not that it mattered, now.
Ethan blinked the shrot stiff pain away and ignored his
tired muscles. Before him the glass had been neatly
shattered.
Somewhere in the distance bells rang, but he ignored
that. People had other things on their minds than to go
after a thief. Most were too busy loosing their little
minds.

"Come to daddy," Ethan humorlessly grinned as he took
the amulet with him. He simply put it into the pocket
of his jacket and then turned around.

In between of the hoard of humans caught up in their own
madness and raving destruction noone paid any attention
to one aging little man.
He simply walked out of the front gate, along with too
many hundred others to count, and outside found even
more chaos.

There was fire, there was blood, there were bodies.

Someone called in the cavalry and the armed troopers of
the Washington Police Department entered the zone his
spell took effect. They went mad at once and now they
were wildly shooting in the crowd.

Ethan remembered that he was not bulletproof and evaded
the mob, thinking this spell probably had overdone it a
little bit.
But what the hell, it would all be over within another
ten minutes - actually eight, he corrected himself as he
checked his watch.

He left for the outside world where crazed people slowly
came back to their senses and smiled as he left with the
pityful excuses the United States had for public
transportation.
Like your car or not, if he had had any say he would
have them use more public transports. That was not just
less expensive at the global economic level and much
more conservative with fuel and everything. It also made
for a lot less people needing to be able to afford any
car. They could spend their money much better financing
their leadership's extraluxury lifestyle.
A leadership he intended to be part of, one day.
He wasn't getting any younger here.

* * * *

Walter S. Skinner had spent years as a marine sergeant
in Vietnam and closer to thirty at the FBI. He never
had seen a scene such as what the media dubbed the
Smithsonian riots.

At noon some unknown force had managed to get everyone
in a roughly one mile radius around the museum to go
crazy. Literally crazy.
People were mad with fear, rage, panic.
There was no reason left.
Some hid, some fell to the grounds as dead. Some had
heart attacks. Some ran around aimlessly, screaming.
And some others raged and began to kill anything they
laid eyes on. A lot went to commit suicide.

The madness lasted for not even half an hour before it
went away again. But in this time the museum was almost
devastated and there were several fires.
There had been five hundred severely injured, eighty
dead and there would be more soon. Probably one to two
thousand of lighter injuries.
There were no actual figures yet.
Thank god the raging shooters had not been able to
reload their guns or go for vital spots. Most of them
had then used their brute force...which still had gone
bad enough. The press certainly would be.
Some of the police and security forces as well as armed
citiyens had simply fired into the masses. Or shot at
whatever they thought they saw.

It took hours before the quickly mobilized response
teams from the government got the situation under
control. Somewhat.

Some people stayed crazy.
Most would need therapy for a few days or years.
Some of the cops who had started to kill...they just
could not stop crying.

Skinner bet half of them would eat a bullet before the
month was over. And about as many of the others who had
flipped would be with them.
The dying was far from over.
There still were the children...the children in the
place. God. They had been left to fend for themselves,
as had anyone else around there.

"Lord!" Skinner croaked hoarsely, looking over the total
disaster. Just what everyone had lacked in this year.
Another massacre on US soil. Right in the capital, at
the most public and visible place in the country. 

And it made absolutely no sense.

The experts had not found any chemical agent which could
have done this. They had nowhere near an idea what sort
of gas could effect a mass like that at all.
Or whatever other means.
Half of his people already thought the mutants had done
it. Some random act of terrorism by some deranged freak
with a hate on humans.
Skinner had no idea if there even WAS a mutant which
might do something like that. He doubted it.
Utter crap, if some mutant wanted to hit back he or she
or whatever would choose other targets. More prominent
ones. Like the registration agency or the senate.

Whoever really did this, Skinner would have liked to rip
the bastard limb from limb. Then put him back together
and start over again.
And he would have wanted some answers.

Looking at the agencies investigating the incident so
far and what he got to hear, this was going to be one
big load of hot air to cover the fact that thez knew
nothing.
The FBI had no idea, the NSA had none, the cops did not
and not even the mutant experts had any. Experts, ha!
Most of these experts were headcases fired from the
bureau and other agencies, mostly hired from who knew
what kind of civilian job. And most of them were simple
mutant haters, too.

They'd get some big problems with that agency sooner or
later if they left it to the fanatics to run it. Small
wonder the mutants had no trust left for the government
and the registration.
Yeah, that was like sending the hard core racists a real
handwritten invitation whom to beat up and terrorize
next. Or do worse.

Skinner thought of some far less benevolant parts of the
government and wondered. Maybe They had a hand in this,
would have figured. Human lives meant nothing to those
scumbags - but the last thing They wanted was any sort
of publicity like this. People demanding answers tended
to unearth something and they did not even want people
to ask questions.

No, if he wanted answers he would need some fiendishly
smart investigators. No raving paranoia nuts bent on
getting a license to bully anyone they didn't like. Or a
green light to mount some surgical strikes against the
usual suspects, from chinese or northkorean secret
agents to muslim fundamentalist terrorists to whatever
sort of communist party left around.

"Great!" Skinner said, sipping the cold remains of a
horrible coffee down as he walked over the place. 
Then he took out his cell phone and rang his secretary,
Kimberly.
"Kim? Skinner here. Ring our two wayward holiday agents
and tell them their leave is cancelled. I want them back
here on the double...this night in my office."

* * * *

"A most interesting incidence," Operations said as he
looked at the monitors. "Don't you think so, too?"
A rather slender, wiry older man with short cropped
greying hair. Who radiated authority, ruthlessness and
icy cold as much as intelligence.

"I actually wonder how it was done," Madelyne said from
besides him in the command center, above the big hall
in Section One Headquarters. "We have no idea which
group could have done that."

It was Section's main business to fight terrorism, it
had been the original mission. Section had a lot of
other interests too - industrial and general espionage,
organized crime, global politics. But terrorism was
their main business.
They had mostly been able to prevent most of the bad
boys from striking a big hit so far. Mostly, meaining
that no city was wiped out and no important people had
gotten killed.

"Some new gas or is it a sonic weapon?" Operation asked.

"With all we know it has to be the sonic system or some
other machine. The effect was too fixed with time and
territory to be anything else," Madelyne said.

Everyone knew that a biological or chemical agent would
never have been able to produce these results. It was
frightening. That sort of mass panic...noone got spared.
There also had been no protection whatsoever.

"It might be a test for some new weapon," Operations
said. "A...demonstration."

"To whom?" Madelyne sneered. "We monitor most of the
players constantly. You and I know that we would have
heard of anything like this machine. We also would have
an idea about it. And if WE knew, the FBI experts on the
domestic terrorism would know. Or the army experts."

"And they are as much in the dark as we are?" Operations
asked, grumpyly. Small wonder. He hated not to be in any
control of the situation. "That is bad. Very bad."

"It could be a mutant," Madelyne said dryly. Maybe one
who had some curious ability to raise mass panic. But
did she really believe into this?

"Not again!" Operations groaned.

Mtuants where his worst nightmare come true, the worst
of them all. People with unexplainable powers, able to
do what people only with the use of heavy technology
should be able to do.
Section was able to keep an eye on the tech and, to a
much smaller degree, on the people able to use it.

But mutants did not need it. Or were able to come up
with things noone had ever heard of before.
The hit on the world leaders in New York by that group
had been a total surprise. Especially the weapon used.

How did one identify mutants or keep track of them? If
they could change shape or did not need any planes and
cars to cross country borders, one was hardly able to.
And then, how to take them down?

It was not exactly possible to sneak up on a telepath.
And it looked really impressive to threaten someone
who could stand a direct hit from a 20mm cannon with a
pistol.
Some of these things probably could take down a tank.
OR a whole company of tanks and infantry.

Good Lord indeed, Madelyne thought. Section so far had
not found any answers but to get a few new weapons. And
call in the batallion of heavily armed commandos the
military had assembled for use with the registration
agency. Not that operations trusted the soldiers much.

The best way would be to recruit some - but looking at
the old man Operations had visited in the special
prison, he had quickly given up on the idea. Half of
the mutants were clinically insane animals and the
other half were the sort of persons Section could not
control. And if they tried they got enemies who would
find and fight them.
That old man had just looked at Operations and laughed,
called him all the mutants were fighting against...he
had dared to say right into Operations' face that he
considered him more dangerous to the world than the
terrorists.

Operations had been less then thrilled to learn that
the mutant did know about Section. And then he had
nearly been killed.

"Just because I cannot leave this place at will now
does not mean you hold any power over me, flatscan,"
he had said in his icz voise. He had even been amused.
"We will never bow down to your tyranny."

Operations had nearly had a heart attack and a stroke
by whatever means the old man had used.

No, it was no good idea to try that again.
Not never again but not for some more years. Maybe then
there were more technical means available to deal with
the mutant problem.

"It is the predominant idea of an explanation," Madelyne
stated flatly. And if their own people could not come up
with an alternative idea - what else was there?

"What sense would it make?"

"Must a single human's action make sense to us?" she
asked back. Psychology was her chosen profession and
she was good at it. Very good.
What did not make sense to them must not have made none
to an individual. Who knows, maybe it was an accident!
Not that she really believed into this.
It was way to planned.

"No," Operations stated reluctantly. "But how shall we
find out? The registration agency can't find it's own
ass without help."

"There is someone who might," Madelyne answered. She
knew Operations would dislike that one even more than
mutants.

There were not many people whom Section had to fear.
Among them heads of states and world spanning religions
and corporations. Not that many.
And there was the smoking man, a man without name and
identity. Who knew everything about them in return.

Section once went after a traitor, a former federal
agent who sold secrets to other nations. Named Alex
Krycek. Their first attempt ended with five dead
Section Operatives and Krycek making his escape.
And next they found some letters in all their private
homes, a clear threat even more so when the unknown
enemy hacked their mainframe.

They found some pair of really weird federal agents.
Investigating paranormal occurences and other crap.

But how much of it really was crap, with real mutants
and paranormal abilities out there? Madelyne wondered
with a shiver. And where there really aliens on earth?
Not that she ever had paid much heed to that sort of
idea, but if there were aliens...what could they do IF
these aliens really were hostile?

Anyway, these two were a real nuisance. Always looking
at secret data, government operations and turning up
in military bases uninvited.
And one of them, an agent Mulder, had been for a while
Krycek's partner.
When they once again stuck their noses into national
security issues - after being told to fuck off nicely -
Operations had decided to eliminate them.

Next day the whole hit team was found dead and some five
others were found with the same sort of puncture marks
in their necks, here in Section. With noone having any
idea who did it. Someone with inhuman strenght, probably
a mutant, had killed them. Someone had penetrated their
security system.
And Operations got a handwritten note in his private
mail, telling him that ANY attempt to ever again mess
with the X-files agents and their work would mean the
utter eradication of Section.


"AD Skinner from the FBI has recalled his two intrepid
birdies," Madelyne said. "There is no question he will
have them work the case."

"Have you forgotten what happened last time?" Operations
uneasyly stated. He swallowed. "We still have no idea
how their agent got into section. Or who he was."

"They probably used a mutant."

"All the more reason to be paranoid," Operations said.
"And Madelyne, do you really think mutants have that
much clout in the government as these men do?"

She couldn't believe it. And if they had, they would
rule the world rather sooner than later. But up to such
a scenario the Section was still the Section. And she
would deal with things her way. "I did not say we shall
interfere, we just will...oberserve!"

"You think we can do that? We got our hands full."

"Better than to go on as if nothing happened," she said
depressed. "Or do you want to explain to George we did
not even take notice of the Smithsonian incident?"

A grimace was all the answer she needed.

"We could put Nikita on observation. A nice and easy
mission with no roubles," Madelyne proposed finally.
If anything happened to her, Operations would not
bother too much. Or at all. He rather would rejoice to
be finally rid of that troublesome women.

"Michael will stay out of this," Operations ordered.
"Tell her this is her chance to get back to team leader
rank. And after we see what the spooky agents turn up,
we can decide what to do next."

* * * *

Great, Mulder thought as he passed the metal detector.
He was far from ready to give up his identity and get
another one. He liked his work, Scully and the resources
the bureau offered to him.
He also suspcted that leaving would get Them to go after
him. Connor might speak about how he might hide but
Mulder knew better. If he had put his mind to it, and
the resources he had at the bureau, he could have found
any legit ID Connor could make up.

Names, dates of birth and addresses meant nothing these
days. But a picture on the passport or the driving
license and the modern computer systems would track
them down. And that didn't even take the global genetic
registry into account, the great archive They ran.
There was not much They did not know, it was just the
question who had access to all this data.

He had no desire to be a man on the run, live like the
invisible man Alex Krycek had become. Or the CSM himself
was. Much less did he want to make Scully do the same,
and she would have to. She had family left, after all.

If they ever wanted to leave they would have to stage
some damn convincing death. Or bring the Them down
before.

At least the security measures made it easy for him.
Noone would notice he now not only carried a gun but
also a sword. Pretty novel idea to do that. Or to be
able to finally control his TK a little bit more.

"You got any idea why we're called in, Mulder?" Scully
said, even if she clearly did know better.
There was one huge case and it all looked as if Skinner
would burden them with digging up the answers. Really
great way to end their holidays.

He was lucky he even got the basic training, if he ever
had to fight another Immortal he would not just go down
without some fight.
There also was the Quickening he had taken. The great
barbarian warrior who had killed him first had had a lot
of it. Nearly four centuries of headhunting and training
had left the scumbag to be full of it.
Still not enough to get Connor in a fair fight, nowhere
near enough. But if some bastard student got taken out
in the first fight the Highlander would have been weak
and vulnerable when the main challenge came.
The big man had not been a nice guy.
Mulder knew serial killers who were less bad men.
He also was able to use the Quickening to speed up his
own learning. He probably could speek six languages by
now, knew how to cheat at cards and use a sword...to
really use it.
He had not been so bad when he first started fencing in
Oxford, for a time he might even have continued it and
got a professional fencer. There was an offer of the
academy trainer to help him get into it.
But he had said no in favor of his profiling.
Of course, sports fencing was something entirely else
than doing a real fight. Most of all with some heavier
blade, for now he used the broadsword he had taken on.
Thing was probably worth a million and he still had not
learnt how to treat it right. Or get some sowrd which
was less heavy and large, some katana probably.

Not that Mulder would get so much time to train, now.
Or could look for any kind of better suited weapon.

Now it was work again. Come up with an explanation for
the events at the Smithsonian. Wonderful. Everyone was
saying it had been one mutant terrorist, someone who
was just plainly nasty and willing to hurt people.

Mulder doubted it had been a mutant and if it was, it
was someone who had no control of his abilities. The
incident was far to chaotic to be anz terrorist hit.

"Maybe we get surprised," he said. Not believing into
it himself for a second. "And if it is..."

"There are already others doing examinations," Scully
said. "I will get you their resulkts by morning."

"Thanks," Mulder said, not so thrilled.
If they got called in it meant they found no chemical or
biological explanation. That left either some physical
weapon - some sonic system, nanites or whatever - or a
paranormal phenomena.

Now, he figured the experts knew more about these freak
special weapons than him. If they found none it had to
be paranormal.
If it was a random occurence there should be reports of
other incident. And he never heard of anything like this
so it probably was not random or natural.
That left...what?
Either a mutant or magic.
He had found a few things able to do magic but nowhere
near on that scale. Who could do this could probably
enspell a whole town. 

He would need to interview a few survivors. And look at
the reports - he would have to read so many of them.

Fifteen minutes later, after a quick introduction to the
case and some congratulation on Scully's recovering from
her injury, Skinner had assigned them the case.
And another five minutes later they were back in their
old basement office and had the reports flowing in.

Mulder wondered how many bugs and spying devices They
had installed in here during their absence. He had to
get someone to do a sweep again. Another five or ten
bugs were minimum. 
And then he'd have to go over everything himself to dig
up all those they had overlooked...he could do the full
scan himself as well.
Yeah, right. He got a real expert on locating the bugs.
He didn't even think of how many there were in his old
place. Probably the cancerman would really wonder what
had made him to carrz aorund a medieval broadsword.

"Welcome home," Mulder muttered bleakly. "How many will
it be this time, Scully?"

"I'd say at least thirty. We were long gone," his
simply wonderful partner said, as she hung her coat in
the corner. "Shall I do the honors and get the bugmen
here for the spring collection?"

"Scully, did I tell you lately I love you?"
 
"You actually did," she said, dryly but blinking in a
suspicious way. "Thankyou anyway."

He nodded as he took place and ebgan to look into the
paperweights on his desk. Oh man, there just was SO
much work to do here...and he still had no idea of a
place where he could work out. Maybe he'd just go on the
roof. Not that anyone would be surprised by anything he
did. Everyone already considered him crazy.
That held some advantages as well.
But no, he needed a big room under a roof.
Something were he would not be seen so much.


#6
3.20.2000: Westchester, New York


"Then we agree - this was done by a mutant?" Ororo
Munroe said, looking away from the TV displaying the
latest news (or none-news) about the Smithsonian
incident. All they added were more precise numbers and
a few names and so many statements by public officials.
Who had to say no comment or something similiar, in a
more diplomatic way.

"I cannot see how else," Charles Xavier stated from
behind his desk. "There is no known technology using
anything else then chemicals to atler human behavior to
what people suffered at the Smithsonian. And if they say
it had not been any gas..." The balding old man in his
wheelchair sighed and left the rest hanging in the air.

Scott Summers suppressed a sigh. Yet another mutant gone
mad...would it be another Magneto? Hopefully not. But
the damage this one had already done...so many dead! And
all the bad PR for mutantkind in general, right at this
crucial time. As if the vanishing of Senator Kelly and
Mystique's impersonation of him at the senate voting on
mutant registry had not already been explosive enough.
"Do you think this was intended?"

"If it was, I would wonder which mutant was crazy enough
to do that," Jean Grey added, sitting in a corner and
looking into a few papers. "The only kind of motive for
a planned attack like this was that the perpetrator does
want mutants to be hated."

"It could mean that a human agency is behind it," Scott
muttered, a very dark thought come to live. But there
already had been one shadow agency - they still had no
idea which one - interested in Magneto.
Maybe they wanted to instigate open war or something.
The people of the MRA certainly would have liked to do
this. 

"We should not act on mere suspicion, Scott," Charles
Xavier warned his student. "Or simple speculation."

"But we must act," Ororo claimed, discomforted. "If this
was a newly manifested mutant I don't want to see what
he or she does with full control of their abilities at
mass manipulation. What sort of ability was this anyway?
Telepathy?"

"If anything it was the projection of strong emotions
unto other beings," the professor said. "Telepathy can't
explain that mass riot. If it were a telepath people
would either have been affected at different times and
always reacted the same..."

"Whatever," Ororo laughed, bitter.

Scott had to admit it was besides the point right now.
It was far more important to find out about who was 
responsible and stop him.
The MRA investigation looked more and more like the new
form of a witchhunt. And the same sort of unfair trial
would follow.
He even dared to say so.
Of course, the MRA so far was not fully behind this so
called investigation. There were so many interviews and
questions, so many medical examinations and fact
gathering.
And so many of the MRA people were useless. If only it
had not been for the outright haters in their midst,
Scott Summers would have slept much easier.

"Unfortunately you are right," Charles Xavier said.
"Luckyly there are government officials who think the
same of these investigation."

"Then we will have to do our own?" Ororo asked and gave
a soft sneer. "I don't want to sound pessimistic here
but I don't think we would be so much more effective in
solving that sort of crime...are we?"

"Not quite," Jean Grey answered. She allowed herself a
smugg grin. "In some ways we are lucky, however. For the
government has some people who are much better at the
solving of paranormal crimes than the MRA. And I do mean
solving a crime, not just allocating blame on mutants in
a legal manner."

"What, they have real experts?" Scott gaped.

"You can say so," Jean nodded. Then she began to tell
about an FBI section called the X-Files, which were
their paranormal department.

The FBI had collected all sorts of weird cases and other
reports over half a century in them. Not just mutant
activities but also Bigfoot, ghost and vampire stories,
UFO sightings and abductions and more.
About ten years ago some high profile agent had been
granted permission to reopen these files and investigate
them. An agent with then only brilliant credentials, who
quickly became the bureau's leading outcast for his wild
theories.

"The pair of agents who work these X-Files have played a
minor but notable part on the scientific recognition of
mutant existence," Jean said at one point. "They also
have worked dozens of cases, if not more than a hundred,
which involved criminal mutants." She sighed. "A lot of
these criminal mutants got killed, only a few ever got
imprisoned."

Which had a downside too. Scott could have done without
the government recogniying mutants like it did now. The
simple ignorance of old days had been as much a curse as
a blessing.

"Are you sure they did not...kill their suspects on...?"
Ororo asked, paling a little bit.

"It does not look like it," Jean soothed her concerned
friend. "They usually went after criminally insane men
or beings whose nature noone is anywhere certain."

"Whatever," the professor cut her short. "These pair of
agents have a knack for figuring out the truth. They
also look like they don't trust their own superiors or
the government so much. They are known to be paranoid."

"It's only insanity as long as They aren't after you,"
Scott muttered, remembering some of the black ops teams
sent after some mutants. Mostly they abducted them and
sometimes they killed them. They seldom did any good.
"Who is their MRA supervisor?"

"Surprisingly noone. The FBI has retained his own
paranormal division, mostly due to the fierce resistance
by the agents in question," Jean answered with a grin.
"Which probably is good. The MRA has no idea how to do
an effective investigation. The X-Files agents, Mulder
and Scully, know very well what to look at and how to
get at connections."

And right now noone would have benefitted so much from
an MRA that could do much better work than it did right
now. Not with all the haters in their ranks, however.

"The important part is these agents can get to the
bottom of things without much support...even in crimes
done with mutant abilities. And they now have been put
on the Smithsonian case!" Jean said sharply. "All we
have to do is to stick around and watch where they go
to learn all that matters about the case."

"Great idea," Ororo said, doubting. "I only have one
question, Jean. If they do that sort of thing for
years now - how comes they still are alive?"

"Ability, luck and many close calls. Believe it or not
but these two have discovered several new sepcies of
plants, animals, bacteria, viruses...they spent more
time in hospitals than most of the agents of the FBI's
tactical response teams!" Jean laughed gamely. "They
have a very great ability to survive."

"And at least agent Mulder is a mutant himself, albeit
his abilities manifested rather late in live," Charles
Xavier added and dropped a bombshell. Even Jean had not
known that. "I am sure of him being a mutant...and if I
am not completely mistaken a rather powerful one."

"What abilities does he have?" Scott asked. A federal
agent being a mutant...now that was a new one. 

"At the least he is telekinetic, probably telepathic as
well. The man is one of the shrewdest investigators on
the planet," Charles Xavier said matter-of-factly. "I
mean it. He was the FBI's topmost profiler and literally
wrote their current book on them. I don't even want to
ask how psychic he is...but I can say he has no more
control of his abilities than our first year students."

Ororo gaped at him. "And that man is serving the
government? I can't believe it!"

"Storm, Fox Mulder claimed the existence of paranormal
abilities at a time when the heads of state had no idea
of there being mutants," the professor softly explained.
"Think what you want of a man who believes his sister
was abducted by aliens...or goes looking for Bigfoot in
his vacation. He may look ridiculous but he gets real
results."

"Okay," Scott said and sneered. "Say, you don't believe
that part of aliens?"

"With me being a mutant I have a rather open mind at a
lot of phenomena," Charles Xavier sighed. "But I never
found any alien. So far."

One problem less, Scott thought. 

"I want you to observe the man and be very careful. If
he or his partner notice you and they want to talk, you
will behave with respect," Charles said. "We do need all
the help we can get from the government and these two
would make great sources. Assissst their work as much as
you can without revealing too much about us."

"ASSISST their work?" Scott repeated, incredulous. But
then he nodded. Orders were orders and the professor
knew best. And the idea of government contacts was not a
bad one either, rather too good to be true. "Okay. but
who will go there?"

"All of you. If this case is not solved soon and that
mutant strikes again we're in big troubles with the MRA.
You know what that means!" the professor croaked. "You
will look into the MRA as well, if you're in the area."

"And who takes care of the school?"

"I will manage, especially with our new help," Charles
said, mostly referring to the fearsome looking blue
furred mutant known as beast. And some others. "You
better leave tonight. Take the Blackbird and be careful.
Maybe others will have the same idea as we."


Bloodstone Rocks - 2 of 4
Disclaimer&stuff - see part 1

#7
3.21.2000: Washington DC


"Okay," MRA inspector Dan Turpin groaned, as he looked
at the small redhead fed. Pretty sight, relly. If she
just had not looked so cold. One bit of a bitch.
"Sure you can get a copy of our data...the MRA always
likes to be of help to the bureau."

What a joke, Dan thought. The director had tried like
hell to get this agent and her partner for the MRA as it
was made up half a year ago. Even if the spook patrol
was famous for being paranoid and well out there, how
bad could it be? There really were mutants with only god
knew what sort of inexplainable powers out there.
And who knew what ELSE was.

If there was anyone to answer the question, this woman
was among the short list. It was her job.
Probably made for fascinating work.
A number of the junior agents in the MRA tried to come
up with an immitation of the work style and procedures
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder used. They were not so bad
at figuring out how she did her magic, even if there
were few agents with her qualities.

Qualities...wonder what she looks like under that beige
suit, Dan thought and tried not to leer. There were a
lot of rumours about her and her partner doing some very
naughty and forbidden things in their basement office.
It was suspicious that they stuck together like they
were married.
But the betting pool was still out and in there was more
than most agents made in a month already. So probably
she was too cold for any sex and he must be gay. Or he
was impotent.
What a shame.

Whatever, Dan apologiyed for a quick trip to mindland
as he began to write down what she wanted to know. Or
what her infamous partner wanted to know.

Mulder was the real star of the show, the sort of man
they needed at the force. Brilliant, dedicated and very
clever at making connections where there seemed not to
be any. They tried it with profilers, paranormal science
experts and many others. None came close to the man.
Maybe the rumours were true and he was psychic.
But more probably he was just that damn smart.

Aside from the less than professional witchhunters in
the MRA, who had so much political backup from some
groups whose members Dan wouldn't want to be seen buried
near himself, they were just making so much noise. And
hoping someone might get lucky and have an idea on how
to progress.
If there had been any mutant at the scene he or she
surely did surely look very human. They found not one
trace and hardly were able to identify all the people
and run surveillance on them or do some medical tests
proving they were no mutants.

How did one prove one was just an ordinary man, anyway?
Dan had not heard one satisfying answer so far and would
not have any part in playing witchhunter. That sort of
unprofessional behavior belonged into much darker and
thank god long past ages.
Maybe Mulder knew why he had fought tooth and nail not
to be transferred to the MRA...with all the no-brains
and racists and amateurs going for brute force solutions
they did not get so far.

Whatever, he would send the questions out and then his
own men could look into it. Maybe they could figure out
what theory Mulder had.
He must have some if he wanted to know when and where
people started to loose it and where the effect stopped.

Dan felt his throat go dry as he read the questions.
Like it or not, Mulder and Scully managed to come up
with thirty questions that seemed to make sense.

Three hours later someone of his staff managed to steal
a map from one of the military guys one level up, those
who tried to determine where the unknown effect had
begun. After a not that long amount of work they stared
at some sort of a pattern. Of course they could not
figure that one out so far.

It was near evening and Dan had red eyes, his stomach
gave acid bile up his throat from too much coffee and
not enough real food - and he felt ready to keel over.

Then agent Mulder showed up in person, thanked them in a
nice fashion for all the data and interviews he had now
received and studied the big map.
Took the man three minutes to spot the pattern in there.

It looked like magic and yet Dan wondered how they were
able to miss it. They all had already gone through the
interviews of the victims and witnesses several times,
there clearly were differences.

The teams who were looking for chemical agents or such
as that had done the fact gathering and come up with
the mention of a territorial bound activation of some
thing. Maybe a gas that acted only if stimulated with
something like soundwaves?
Of course, the mutant experts did not pay much mind to
that source of information. 

But then he and his nine helpers stared at a more or
less perfect circle where the effect had begun...and
whoever had walked past the borderline of that circle
had been affected.

Mulder drew a few lines on the map and marked an area
inside of the Smithsonian museum. And asked for details
on what was there and what happened there. He even asked
if he could see the surveillance footage from the area.
That still was a big area, not just one house.

Another hour later they started to gather reports and
damage claims, lists of victims who stated they were in
the area when all hell broke loose. Noone had much of a
recollection what had happened afterwards anyway.
There was no forewarning and no idea of the reaction.

A sleepless afternoon and some coloured pills later
Dan Turpin wondered how Mulder, while fourty and not as
much into bodybuilding and sports as the younger man,
could manage to look fresh and attentive at all times.

Whatever, Mulder got to look at the reports and next he
asked after a special room in the history exhibit.

"Why do you want to see that?" Turpin said, chewing on
a sandwich. "I'd rather say someone was at a higher
point..."

"It was the only room where something got reported
stolen," Mulder answered reasonably. "Call it a hunch."

"Okay," Dan said. If he wanted to see that and bore
himself to death with another video of people going
crazy, he wasn't going to stop the man. "But that will
take a while..."

"We're just interested in the first few minutes of the
incident," Mulder said swiftly. "If possible with the
minutes before as well."

"Why?"

"Just a theory," Mulder said cryptically. "Nothing so
serious."

There were five cameras in the section and three just
showed nothing unusual. People gawking at the display
or yawning as they passed. And then they all went crazy.

Then came the fourth video and then Dan got attentive.
So far he had seen fourt types of behavior. One was to
faint, one was to get aggressive, one was to cower in
fear - and the last one was to run around aimlessly,
screaming with horror.
None of that explained how some aging man in a street
suit with short cropped hair was able to keep standing
still and just watching the events around himself.

And then the camera showed the man taking out a pen,
some that could write on glass. He painted a pattern
on it and stepped back, stumbling and gasping as the
glass cracked.

"You got our mutant...!" Dan croaked.

"Are you sure?" Mulder replied, looking dubious as their
unidentified men kicked in the glass and took an amulet
from a puppet. Stuffed it in his pocket and then ran,
not bothering to scream with the reast of the people.
"I bet he will run out of the museum and vanish. You can
always trace that. Oh, and I bet he will be seen like
anyone else, screaming on the top of his lungs."

"What do you mean?" Dan asked, taken aback. They HAD the
proof now! There was a mutant, who had first made the
whole crowd go panic and then broke into a glass crate
to steal some gem or the other. Probably a valuable one.
A mutant doing robbery and leaving a massacre.
"This is the big one, Mulder! We now can proce a mutant
did this as a crime...god, that bastard let close to a
hundred people get killed just so he could escape with
his booty!"

"I would not disagree on that part," Mulder said as he
looked at the repeat. Tried to get the face of the man.
No, he went for the painting on the glass. "You just did
not get a mutant doing a crime."

"What?"

"Inspector Turpin, what do you know about mutants? I
mean mutants using their powers!" Mulder began, looking
at the monitor with some fascination. "In my experience
they stand very still and concentrate on using any sort
of mindpowers. Or they just act, using their enhanced
physical aspects."

"Well, I see no reason to disagree."

"Good. Then why did he paint a pattern on the glass?"
Mulder said. "It was not a signature, that man had no
wish to be identified. In fact all this was a means for
him to do that theft unidentified...and undisturbed."

"Maybe he needed it to concentrate on the glass?" Dan
said roughly. "I read that some mutants can only affect
certain substances."

"If that were just a substance, why bother with making
such a clean pattern of symbols?" Mulder sneered, then
slowly shaking his head. "No, Dan. That was no mutant.
At least not more than you or me..."

"What then?"

"A mage."

A mage, sure, Dan thought and stopped. He groaned.
"You really believe THAT?"

"Makes for a hell of a lot more snese to me than any
random mutant attack," Mulder answered and began to
speak his mind. As if to ascertain himself.

The core argument was that a mutant would be put to a
great amount of stress, influencing thousands of man
and woman at the same time over such an area and then
at the same instant - the mutant would have to remain
in the center of the affected territory.

Which their unsub had not done.

But still, the idea of a mage...anyone being able to
make that much of an influence...hardly likely. And no
less scary than the idea of a mutant doing this.

Mulder even said it was not likely for a mutant going
to influence so many people to make them react in so
many independent and fundamentally different fashions.
A spell however would put the same effect on anyone and
that effect was to project simple fear into their minds.

"What if that is his mutant power?"

"Then I wonder how he was able to leave the area. You
can check the territory and see the border did never
shift. You could even stay nearby with not so much fear
being radiated at all," Mulder said and laughed. "I'd
even expect you will find something of arcane nature in
that room, something that made the spell take effect in
the area it did."
The spooky agent sighed.
"Just look at it, will you? What was stolen was probably
not even one of the more valuable gems and artworks. If
this had been a robbery he would have taken more than
this."

"Then why steal it at all?" Dan wondered. "Why all this
just to cover the fact of a simple theft?"

"When you were young, did you read fantasy novels?" was
the agents question. "I did. Without going into specific
literature, the whole fantasy genre is based on the old
myths and fairy tales. And as always with legends there
are more turth to them than we like to believe."

"So what?" Dan said and had to admit he had not read any
such stories. He had not been one for much reading. If
not for some accident he still would be a football
player.

"The point is that in this stories the heros most often
get sent to search for some magical artifact, which was
essential for great magic," Mulder answered grimly.
"I never found much on real magic, Dan. These people do
know what they are about and how to stay hidden. They
have probably millenia old traditions for all that...it
may well have evolved to a subject as refined as our
modern electronic science."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"And what are you here to police, Dan?" Mulder replied
dryly, another bitter laugh. Another point for him. "The
world took a while to acknowledge mutants were real. And
we still assume they started to appear only in the last
decades...or this century." 

"So if there are mutants, why not magic as well."

"More or less."

"Then there must be many people out there who are some
sort of experts...or are they?" Dan said, his voice
dripping with disdain. "All I got were some hippies and
new age freaks. Superstitions."

"I said they had experience to stay hidden, Dan. But we
all hear so much about the issue, why not start to think
there is some tiny reality to the whole talking?" Mulder
replied unaffected. "Considering what reactions people
display to mutants and what happened to the witches of
old...I would rather stay hidden myself."

"Well," Dan mused. Most mutants also liked to stay
unidentified. With all the racists putting their names
on the black lists and what happened to the unfortunate
mutants and mutant friends, it was no wonder. Publicity
meant to become a target on the shooting range.
"And you think they could stay hidden?"

"With all we know about mutants it is that they all are
rather unique, don't we? Even if some have very similiar
powers they are different!" Mulder replied. "That means
mutants always have to learn on their own how to control
their powers. Mutant power is a subjective power, magic
is an objective power. The idea of magic means that
people just have the ability to do spells that work like
a phzsical tool and can be used by anyone - which means
people can get together, research and store history.
What do you think will happen?"

Too theoretical for him, but he got the point. Dan made
a sour face. "They learn a lot more?"

Mulder nodded. "And they learn how to stay hidden. Even
more, since people like to believe magic isn't real they
will usually ignore any proof of it being otherwise."

"Or maybe we're just dealing with a mutant who thinks he
is a mage!" Dan rpelied, thinking it as a stroke of
genius. "Now that sounds more likely."

"Maybe," Mulder shrugged. "But if the guy is as clever,
cold hearted and rational as I think he must be for
this - why go for something worthless?" The dark haired
man with the sharp features shook his head. "I'd say he
is a mage and he has indeed stolen something incredibly
valuable."

"Like what? An end of the world charm?"

"I have no idea."

"Anyway, we could at least put out an APB on him!" Dan
said. It would show they did something. And if they
could question the guy...

"You really think he still is around?" Mulder laughed.
"But I would guess there are some who recognize him at
the Smithsonian. Probably he's been there doing physical
labor. And likely it was in exactly that special room."

"I will check it," Dan offered. Some use for his team
of young and eager people. Do the footwork. "Even if...I
put out the APB anyway."

"Do what you want," Mulder answered unconcerned. "I
think he already has gone underground again and you'll
never find him." He yawned and got up again. "I'll get
some nap and then I'll start to look into that piece of
jewelry he stole."

"And where, with David Copperfield?"

"There are other sources," Mulder ominously stated
beofre he left. Wishing some good night.

* * * *

"Magic?" Nikita said, listening to what her microphone
had picked up.

Rather ridiculous.
God damn, it must be ridiculous.
For if it were not, if magic was real and could produce
reactions like at the Smithsonian, it was a threat. The
ideal terrorist weapon?

The idea of one mutant born with the ability to create
that sort of havoc was bad enough. Operations would want
such a powerful being simply dead. Too many problems got
caused if it were any other way.
Too bad for the mutant in question. But Operations would
not trust Jesus Christ himself not to become a communist
agitator or whatever. He would settle for nothing less
than a kill if he got the opportunity.

Typical Section crap, Nikita thought digusted. Yet she
had to put up with it if she wanted to live. 

"MAGIC!" she repeated, less startled then considering.

Whoever was the unknown benefactor to the agent, he
seemed to have his reasons. Mulder barely needed a day
to get the investigation further than an army of oh so
eager and well equipped people without any idea where to
go next.
Either the man was simply crazy or a genius.
Maybe even a bit of both, looking at the profile
Madelyne had written on the agent. Mulder was a lone
wolf, borderline paranoid and very clever. If it had not
been for his peculiar code of ethics he could have been
a psycho himself. 

Nikita put away her microphone and went to follow the
agent as he left for his home. She better had to tell
Section they had an unsub - someone who may have special
information to what happened at the Smithsonian.
If she told any tale of magic and artifacts and whatever
else, Operations might go and cancel her. He'd like it.
She knew damn well he wanted her here because mssing
with Mulder was a death sentence.
Whoever protected him had managed to scare Section. She
was nowhere to even imagine what that made them.

* * * *

"Magic?" Scott Summers rasped after Jeanb Grey stopped
to read Dan Turpin's mind. "Are they crazy?"

"I'd say he might be right," Ororo muttered, lost in
thoughts. "The old shaman of the tribe I grew up with
in Africa knew about it...and I got to see a few things
as well."

"A trick. Or a mutant power!" Scott snorted. He had
halfwards expect Mulder would come up with a theory on
contaminated water, posthypnotic TV messages or even an
alien experiment. But magic! Jesus Christ, the guy was
a weird one.

"I can't believe it either but what he said about our
powers was pretty much right," Jean muttered depressed.
"We all know how still I have to be to even read a mind.
Much less to touch that many."

"But magic?" Scott repeated, groaning.

"Westerners," Ororo said with mild disdain. "Magic is a
reality, Cyclops. Just because we might not want it to
be so doesn't change anything." She sighed. "And if the
agent is right, this man really might go for an end of
the world spell."

"That's possible?"

"From what my shaman said, he nearly saw it happen. And
it did not only happen once. AndCyclops, I SAW a whole
village got taken down by the dead rising from their
graves...there was no stopping them unless you burned
the corpses," Ororo exclaimed pissed. "Magic..."

"You saw that happen?" Jean wondered. "You never told
me before."

"I was a child then. And it was a nightmare come alive,
a nightmare that took my aunt away," Storm answered.
She looked to be sad and tormented by the memory. "I
grew up with enough legends...maybe the professor was
right and this Mulder guy is on to something."

"Oh comeon, you think an FBI agent happens to know the
truth about the world at large, more so than mutants
like us?" Scott scowled. Ridiculous. It was completely
ridiculous. "I'd say he simply is a headcase."

"Whatever he is, I'd say he has done some work. The MRA
guy thinks they would have needed a month at least until
someone would have noticed the man. He's as unsure as
we are, but he's sure that Mulder found a clue!" Jean
stated reluctantly. "At least we now have a face to the
bad guy."

"Yeah...and if he's some dark mage bent on killing us
all or something, we will find him and stop him," Storm
declared decisively. "Comeone, Jean, what do you think
of that Mulder?"

"He's got the strongest mental shield this side of
Magneto," Jean answered devoid of emotion. "Some very
smart guy, whatever you want to think."

"And his partner?"

"The same. She's rather resistant to telepathy. All I
can tell you that this woman's headstrong as hell. She
will not do anything she doesn't want if it means her
live."

"Great," Scott uttered.
Walk after some halfmad fed in the vain hope he might
get them to the unknown perpetrator of this massacre.
The plan looked worse and worse any day. Next that
imbecile Logan would show up and be this agent's best
buddie or something.
It would really make his day.
At least so far there was no sign of anyone paying the
agent any special mind. No trace from any secret agents
doing surveillance on the man.
Thank god for small favors, Scott Summers thought.
"What is he doing now?"

Mulder went home. Or into the direction.
He went to some abandoned factory hall and into a
place where he was not visited, then he took out some
broadsword from his trenchcoat and put away most of his
clothes. Next he began to exercise for more than a full
hour, martial arts kata and swordplay.
After that he finally went home to shower, eat some
takeout and get for a nap. He didn't use his bed but
the couch and slept with the TV droning on behind him.
He did not sleep very well.

So their federal agent was not content with a service
weapon or being telekinetic, he went for a long and
sharp sword. And a black belt.
And he had some severe disorders, too.

Scott felt very much disinclined to ever let the guy
into his back or any close to him. He also felt even
more disdained as Mulder awoke shortly after midngith,
donned his cloak and weapons and then went for a run.
In the dark, in the city.
For two hours.

Just keeping him in sight using his infrared sight was
bad enough.

* * * *

Nikita thought about asking for some reassignemnt. A
nice and comfortable suicide mission looked more and
more pleasant than this one man surveillance.

She was keeping her distance and used a spyglass and
some tracer to follow Mulder around. Going running in
the mid of the night was outright crazy. Especially in
DC, since this wasn't the best neighborhood around.

Not enough that the fed was doing a cross country trip
and she had no idea how to follow his investigative
reasoning. Magic, mutants, terrorists and psycho guys
killing hundred to achieve their ends. What came next?
An alien?

If there was one, she would have bet her money on it
being the agent himself. What was he doing carrying a
sword around and training in a random location?

The weather was horrible and he'd catch himself a cold
or worse if he kept running around like that. He was no
young man anymore, about to become fourty. His running
didn't show him being beyond the thirty he looked.

She gritted her teeth and followed him home again.
And then she got to sit in her car and could only do
a gurgle as Mulder began to search his apartment for
hidden bugs and cameras.
If he did not shit her he dug up about fifteen and even
gave comments to whoever was listenting in. How weird
could it get? And him asking aloud about how many of
the little bugs he had not found yet.
Holy hell, the man was paranoid enough to look into his
fisthtank for another device!

He also had plugged her tracer from his cloak and
sighed. "I knew I couldn't keep you out, could I?" he
had said. "Hope you liked to follow me through the rain.
By the way, keep that blonde around. She's a hootie to
look at. Please, don't kill her. That would be a real
waste." Then he laughed. "And she did a good job. You
just taught me to watch out much better. Why not make a
deal? I won't ditch her too often and you get me a date
with her. Hope she's as hot as she looks like." And he
sighed. "For your usual spotters, say hello to them all.
I'm sure you all enjoyed my vacation. Hope you didn't
mind to spill that coffee on your lap, agent Dobbs. It's
not as if you had anything there that was at risk." A
more nasty laugh. "And please, teach that guy with the
flashy infrared vision gear that he did the worst job of
covert surveillance I saw in all my years. I mean, did
you not tell him you had me bugged? Ah, knowing you as I
do...probably not. Pay his widow my condolences, if he
has any. And send the old smoking son of a bitch my
regards. Hope he keels over with his next astmathic
cough in the end...but don't we all? Have no good night
you damned creeps." And then he put the bugs into the
toilet and flushed them all down.

That hurt.

Icy showers of fear ran down Nikita's spine.
He had SEEN her? And he didn't have shown any interest
or wonder to him being under observation?
"What's going on with that man?" she rasped out. And WHO
else was observing the man?

* * * *

"I'm going crazy!" Scott whispered as he heard of the
news from Ororo. Who had used Mulder's absence from his
apartment to plant a bug in there.
Did not take him a minute to find it, however. He even
allowed himself a snide comment on it being one of last
year's models.
But then the comment about his surveillance.
His inaptitiude!

"Looks like you were not so careful as you thought,"
Ororo said with a frown. "But who the hell were these
other types?"

"How should I know?" Scott groaned and looked at Jean,
with a somehwat accusing face. But her opnely displayed
shock was great enough to make him forget any talking.
"You never found anyone?"

"No...I didn't look so hard however...and the bugs!"
the redheaded woman coughed out. "Cyclops, we better
inform the professor we NEED him. Looks like Mulder is
under the near perfect surveillance by a whole secret
agency."

"What you don't say," Ororo Munreo laughed. Then she
sucked in the air. "People, are you...I mean, can we be
sure that WE are not yet under...?"

Scott groaned and cursed and then they began to search
their room and clothes for bugs. They found none, yet
Cyclops car suddenly produced a bug when they looked at
it as the sun went up. And there were two people
observing them from a discrete distance.

"Shit!" Cyclops whispered as he spied them.
Worse curses rang through his brain. Some unknwon black
ops agency became interested in them and god knew how
much they would dig up and what they would do...
"Jean, whom are they working for?"

Before Jean Grey could find an answer the oberserves
started their car and sped away, leaving her range.
That left the X-Men with exactly nothing now.


#8
3.22.2000: The cancerman's bureau, location top secret


The morning reports due, CSM listened disinterested to
what went on in the world. Most issues were beneath his
notice, besides from Mulder and Scully being back in
business.
And on the Smithsonian case.
Couldn't hurt his interests.
Since they had, for once, nothing to do with it.

It was not even such a big news that the agent now had
chosen to learn some more martial arts and carry around
a sword. Some slightly odd notion after all these years.
Maybe basketball became boring this season.
Or Mulder finally gave up on the New York Knicks.
Whatever, it was no greater issue right now.

CSM yawned, ordered a coffee and let his subordinate go
on about the reinforced surveillance on the agent. He
was not that much surprised to hear that Mulder and
Scully barely needed two days to come up with a suspect
for the Smithsonian.

A mage, he thought. How odd.
Mulder always managed to surprise him.
Maybe one of these years the agent even might get to win
one of the important battles in his live. Probably not.
CSM absolutely hated loosing.

"Anyhting else?"

There was and his good mood vanished.

"I get that right?" the cancerman asked, his leathered
old face shifting from humored interest to real concern.
Mulder was ebing watched by TWO independent parties now.
One of them a group of unknowns, probably mutants.
And the other one their old chums from Section One.
One of their stars, the operative named Nikita, was out
and looking after Mulder.

"What the hell does this Operations asshole think he's
doing!" CSM barked, less than amused. "Get me George on
the phone, NOW!"

He'd see what the damn fool Operations was messing up
again. Better hope for his sake that it was a mistake,
or else CSM would have to make some threat reality.
And he'd had better things to do than to get some new
outfit running to replace the infamous Section One.

Better hope Mulder had not already learnt who she was.
For there would be nothing to stop him from taking the
whole Section One out of business, no way he'd let some
powermad asshole like Operations live on.

And if Operations became threatened he might try to kill
Mulder...which did not look like so bad an idea for a
duel. CSM had little doubts who would stand alive after
that fight, and it would not be Section.
Even with only half of his mutant powers Mulder was more
than a match for Section One.
But if that idiot Operations thought he could scare him
off bz threatening Scully, Mulder would stop to play
nice...and if Operations still didn't get it, and got
the female agent hurt, Mulder would go into overdrive.
With nothing to keep him back and so much rage.

The cancerman blinked and took some deep breaths. If
Mulder ever figured that he could vanish almost as
completely as Krycek could, and that his powers and
mind gave him one hell of an edge once he was ready to
start killing...then he would be a threat, an impossibly
dangerous threat.

But still only one man.

Cancerman wished he could have Mulder eliminated but
that was out of the question at this point. No, he
would have to step in and make Operations get lost. And
if the man didn't hear...he'd have to send a bounty
hunter over to Section HQ.

Mulder, he thought, how is it that I have you beaten
six ways to sunday through your own stubborn insistance
to play white knight...and you still manage to make me
more troubles than anything else around?

"Anything else I have to know?" CSM groaned.

His assisstan swallowed but shook his head. "Mulder is
still busy with the Smithsonian investigation. They have
a suspect and now they start tracking him down."

"Keep me informed about their next steps," CSM said, his
anger making him almost snarl at the assisstant. Time
was of the essence now. Maybe...no, certainly it was not
yet that time.
He'd have to prepare his moves, however.

"Yessir."

"And prepare some diversion for the agents," CSM also
ordered. When the next step in the project came they
would have to act quickly or all would be lost. CSM did
not doubt for a second that the coloniyers would betray
them, in the end. Nor could they rely on the rebels.
Humanity had to stand on it's own if they wanted to have
any chance. And the plan was going along nicely.

For a change it looked as if all the parts of the puzzle
finally would fall into place. Not even Mulder was worth
endangering the success of the project.

This simply was too good to be true.

"Something MUST be wrong," CSM whispered. There always
was. Some little important detail. Just what was it this
time? Mulder?

Hardly.

It got noon before he received a scrambled call from a
security officer. There he got his bad news.
Someone had broken into facility six, the storage center
for the special artifact from Africa. It was as yet
uncertain who it had been. But he had managed to
shortcircuit all their security systems and sensors. The
complement of guards and scientists were dead.

And even the consortium had so far not found a waz to
get dead people back for a short talk. Damn it! CSM
thought, sitting pale as well as without his trademark
cigarette behind his desk. His stock was depleted and
new ones had not yet arrived, it happened.
It made him feel doubly edgy and unhappy.

The curious artifact remains had vanished.
Without any idea who had done it.

CSM was ready to murder someone, something.
WHO, who had dared to defy him like that!
He wanted to know and yesterday.
If it only had been so easy...

"Get me Krycek!" he barked. It was time to call in the
bloodhound.



#9 
3.22.2000: Sunnydale


Buffy Summers thought that she was not doing so well for
plaining hooked instead of doyinginf her law course. But
she was to wired with problems to keep looking at the
books and ignoring her friend's problem.

She was not sure if it was Anya or if he just felt left
out, small wonder. He was. But him going hunting as if
he were a Slayer was crazy. Would get him killed.
Even if he found a way to get by for now, this streak
of luck just could not keep up. All it took was one
mistake...!

She had no idea how to talk him out of it. So she better
asked someone who could and that was Willow.
Buffy did not want to msis her, Willow would be with her
parents tongith and this was long overdue. So she came
back to her dorm room hours earlier.

She expected Willow to do homeworks and be alone.
She did not expect to hear Riley's voice in there.
This sort of talk was SO _not_ meant for his ears.

Much less what she found when she opened the door, it
made he stay silent and nearly stop breathing. Riley
was naked and on the bed, his hands tied to the posts
of HER bed and his eyes were blindfolded. He was very
excited.
Willow was also naked and sat on him, a candle in her
hands. She giggled happyly, lost to the world.

They had not even bothered to lock the door.
Buffy could only stare as the two of them did it on
her own bed. Her best friend and her boyfirend.
She closed the door behind herself, silent, and then
ran away.

She began to weep as she left the dorm building.
Xander became some psycho macho guy with thinking he
was Rambo, Willow was a two-timer and her boyfriend
was a cheat...great.
That was so great.
"My life relly doesn't leave anything to be desired,"
Buffy spat, near to loose herself to a bloody rage.
How, how only could they have done that?

Another spell gone wrong? No way. Not one.
Willow had done her long dreamed about seduction of
Xander when she and he were held captive by Spike in
the burned out ruins of the factory. Even if she was
with Oz and Xander was with Cordelia at the time.
It ended with Cordelia ran through on some steel
fragment and nearly dying.

How would this end?

Willow was her best friend, since high school. She
never had moved at Xander back then because of Willow's
interest in him. If he just had not been so dense about
it and...but would he? Would she have stopped at that?

Buffy wasn't sure about it anymore.
She was not even sure if this was a one time thing, an
affair of the moment. It was not important.

What counted was that Willow bedded Riley Finn.

Damn the guy for being unfaithful, Parker Abrahms had
been a lection to that. Using her uncertainty after she
had broken with Angel and was new to the UC. And the
wiles of college boys. Okay, Xander had gone there and
kicked his worthless ass around. Until he appologized.
But her heart still got broken.
Or was it just her pride?

And now this, the next mistake.

Buffy halfwards expected to find her mother gone when
she came home and looked around, spooked. Mom was in her
bedroom and not alone either. Maybe it hung in the air
that day.
For a change Buffy wished she had not had her Slayer
senses, so she could hear through the closed door as
a familiar voice cried out in another moment of lust.
And if she had an idea what her mother was just doing,
she got a real problem with her morality. It wasn't that
she was prude but...her mom doing that with GILES?
EEK, imagining overload.

"What the hell is going on?" Buffy said, tears running
down her cheeks as she silently left the house where her
mother and her Watcher did the wild thing. Or however
she should call it.

It was not so unimagineable to remember her mother had
an existing lovelife, even a sexual live. Or Willow.
Or Riley.
Well, Riley wasn't supposed to have one without her
while he and she were an issue. Technically at least.
And Willow...wasn't she with Tara or something?

"Technicalities!" she cursed unintelligiable.

She gave a rough laugh as she moved her steps away from
the populated area and to nowhere in partivular. She
needed to talk with someone.
She wanted to go in a bar and get drunk.
She wanted to go back to the dorm and kick Riley out of
her room, scowl at Willow or even punch the redheaded
witch out.

Willow certainly enjoyed her youth and time.
God, the little bitch!

Buffy wished some vampires would have sprung from behind
the next bush and gave her some objects to pummel until
they were nothing but pulp. But it was day. And hunting
was pretty poor these days.
There was nowhere she could go to, noone to talk.
Except Willie, whom she rather would have killed than to
speak about her lovelive...and she would rather have
killed herself than to get into Spike's crypt and talk
to the neutered badass. Just because he couldn't kill or
hurt humans anymore didn't mean he was a good guy now.

Anything but. He always found a way to work mischief.
But he was a useful source of help in exchange for some
little blood. Sometimes she needed the extra muscles.
She could have gone and battled him.

Maybe that would have helped her.
And maybe that might have ended with her doing what she
barely had avoided under Willow's last mistaken love
spell. Just out of spite. It was not as if the punk
vampire would have a soul to loose.

"Great," Buffy barked at herself. Just so great.
And now she had not even managed to talk to anyone about
her problems. Or follow up her plan to shadow Xander
when he went to old town again.

* * * *

"I'm rather interested, Graham," Professor Joanna Walsh
said, lounging in the big swing chair in her office and
sat behind her great desk. "So, tell me. What do you
think of this man?"

In front stood Graham, one of the senior soldiers of the
Initiative. The special forces contingent keeping this
town in California save from the freak creatures that
ran around here, the hostiles. Who knew what they were,
these days it seemed everything was possible.

Graham had seen death up close and personal and he had
so far prevailed. He had lost friends and he did not
fear many things. Joanna Walsh, his big boss, was among
them. Walsh made scary experiments.
Frankenstein sorts of experiments with an edge.
He did not know for what end, he did not even ask.
All he had to know was that the higher echelons thought
she was doing what was in the interest of his nation.

Graham looked at the file on the desk and licked his
lips. Ever since they had noticed Xander Harris did
lone sweeps to old town after dark, the most dangerous
sector around Sunnydale, the soldiers at the Initiative
had placed bets on when he'd turn up dead.
So far Harris had surprised everyone.
He even managed to take out a great lot of hostiles.
Noone knew how, normally bullets hardly hurt hostiles.
There were other weapons...if one could call them that.
Summers and her friends knew a lot about these creatures
and their habits, their strenghts and weaknesses.
Damn, Harris had saved some of their men's lives.

He was one tough son of a bitch, as it seemed.
Graham would never have dared to get so close to any one
of the hostiles just in order to stake them. Not without
having some mutant powers like Summers or that Rosenberg
woman.
If Harris had them, he did not show any.
He just looked to be a really burned out psycho ready to
snap and go down in flames. And he seemed able to fight
far too good for someone without any official training.

He disliked pazing back an ally with treason.
And from the glint of Joanna Walsh's eyes the soldier
knew what would happen with Harris. Nothing good.
She had used several men for her experiments, mostly
captured civilians or wounded. Those could not tell any
complaints after Walsh and her helpers gave them new
limbs, which were somewhat better than their old ones.
They still got bothered by the artificial limbs.
At times there were nightmares.
Bad nightmares.
There were also pains. Phantom pains, they said.
Some of these men had committed suicide by now because
they couldn't stand that anymore, others got heavyly
addicted to drugs.
None was in any good shape.
And all Walsh did was to watch them go down.

Graham found he disliked Joanna Walsh immensely. Still,
she was his commanding officer now and she had asked.
A direct order.
So he answered.
Said what he thought.
And swallowed again.

Walsh nodded, grinned wryly and ordered him to get the
young man brought in here by tonight. Alive. As always
she didn't care for losses and injuries as long as the
job got done.
He hated this.
She treated him and his men like so much as machines,
parts of her laboratory, to be replaced as needed. And
the higher ups made that possible.

Graham really hoped this whole project was worth the
cost they paid for it, a cost in blood and in blackened
honor of those who survived. He wondered if he would
start to take up smoking and drinking and less friendly
habits as well. If this kept going...probably.

Or he'd start to boink his girlfriends best galfriend,
just for the kick of it. Everyone had his own way to
deal with the pressure.
On the other hand, Summers wasn't exactly human.
She might look nice and fine and decent. But she was
strong as the hostiles, faster and probably the most
dangerous fighting machine Graham had ever seen.
Not undefeatable, no, but dangerous.
If she had gone after humans she might have taken down
a squad or two. And for mutants that wasn't even that
powerful these days.


"May I ask a question?" Graham asked, astonished he
actually dared to speak the words.

"As long as I don't have to answer."

"What will you do with him?" Graham asked.

"That depends on the results of his examination," the
professor answered. "Anyway, it's none of your business,
soldier. Just get the man I want."

"Yessir," he snarled, saluted stiffly and marched out.
And afterwards he'd get plastered.

The job went more or less good. Good insofar that noone
was killed, bad insofar that he now had four injured
troopers to explain. Harris had reacted incredibly fast,
ducked the first stunshot and come back with weapons of
his own. He shot at two men, threw a knive into the thrid
and went for a wrestling match with the fourth. The kick
he devliered to the ribcage of the soldier sent the man
to recovery leave for some months.
And he might have gotten a fifth man if Graham had not
been there, a charged stungun in his hands and fired at
his own men in order to get Harris.
Not exactly standard tactics but it worked.

Later on he was surprised to learn that Harris WAS no
mutant, he was just a normal human. Who managed to boost
his adrenaline lavels into the danger zones. Sometimes
that happened, with people in live and death situations.
But noone had any idea how he controled it. 
Whatever, that sort of behavior was ruinous to his
health in the extreme. Without medical attention he was
going for heart attacks and such stuff. Nightmares,
horrible cramps, blackouts for sure.
Harris was a though son of a bitch to stand it.

They had come up with a drug to do the same and it was
one of the most evil crap they ever came uop with. It
was shown that the boost levels were a seduction, the
people felt like minor gods. Stronger, faster, meaner.
They also burned themselves out with this shit.
And got psychotic.
Paranoid.
Harris had not been so worse but very nearly got that
far. He must be incredibly apt at selfhypnosis if he
could stimulate his adrenalin glands to spill that high
levels. It was anything from healthy.

* * * *

"Buffy?" Willow asked as the door to their dorm room
opened. one look at the blonde Slayer and it was
obvious Buffy had been crying. She had left somewhen
in the afternoon and appearantly vanished until now.
"Are you well?"

"How well can I be?" Buffy said hollowly and came in
to fall on her bed. She looked ragged. "Sorry. I...I
discovered something today, Wills."

"What?" Willow asked, feeling a cold hand reaching for
her heart. If Buffy found out about her and Riley doing
the wild thing (and of lately even in her own bed), she
was in for some troubles. If Buffy decided to hurt them
physically...eek, scary thougth, never go there.

"Wills, Giles and my mom...have an affair," Buffy rasped
out and shook her head. Green eyes flashed with anger.
"Can you imagine!"

"Uh...well...is that so bad?" Willow uttered, after just
a second. Probably the two most important people of old
age in her live. "I mean, they surely..."

"Willow! I can get by without having my Watcher becoming
my new stepfather!" Buffy croaked, telling her mind. "I
got enough problems to keep the job out of my private
life."

Oh joy, that old line again! Willow thought. Buffy was
obviously unable to learn she had no sort of private
life whatsoever. "Would it be so bad...I mean, your mom
and Giles, they make for a nice couple."
She could get happy that way. And who said old people
did not get a live? Being beyond fourty Willow did not
picture herself as a woman without any live. So why not
with Giles and Joyce, too?

"Comeon, Wills. That's a major EEK! I'd sooner come to
terms with, say, you and Riley," Buffy laughed. Or the
sound should have been a lough. "Or Xander and Cordelia
doing a reunification without her killing him."

Willow felt dread in her entrails. Ouch, major, major
Ouch to that. "Couldn't she forgive him? I mean, Cordy's
not that bad...she could...!"
She knew herself hell would rather freeze over than have
Cordelia Chase do the forgiven and forgotten routine.

"You really have no idea, do you?" Buffy answered, jade
eyes shooting piercing glances. "If my boyfriend would
cheat me...okay, killing him would be overdoing it. But
what's about casteration?" She made a face. "Or whatever
they call it to cut away the...you know."

"Castration," Willow corrected flatly. Seeing an enraged
Buffy do unspeakable things to her loverboy in her mind.
Not good, really not good. "That is defenitely overdoing
it. You'll turn into Anya that way."

"Anya," Buffy said, lost in thought. "Yeessszzzz..."

"Something about her?"

"Not her, Xander. Looks like he doesn't take their split
so well. He's going to prove to himself he's some major
macho guy and tries to hunt vamps alone...you know how
stupid he gets," Buffy croaked out. "I wanted to talk to
you about it...you couldn't, well, keep him occupied a
bit or something? So that he gets better again. Sensible
at the least."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm gonna be in hell's own troubles preventing
my mom going for a new marriage with my Watcher," Buffy
told her in her typuical decision voice. She would not
even allow to argue the case. "So you'll have to...uh...
help Xand out of his depression or whatsover."

"Just like that?" Willow said. Couldn't be so bad. But
Buffy was probably occupied. "Okay, I'll talk him out of
it. Can't be so hard. When does he want to start that
madness agaion?"

"Didn't I mention it? He already has. Is running around
old town after dark and doing a real crazy job there. I
mean, how long can he be lucky? He really needs someone 
after him...," Buffy explained and sat up. "Cam't be so
dangerous there with him coming back alive, can it?"
She laughed. "Say, you don't have any WORKING potion to
stop an ongoing attraction...no, I didn't suppose so.
Thanks anyway."

Willow tried not to show how shell shocked she was, the
idea alone of going into old town alone or after Xander
was...uurgh. He really had to want to die. Couldn't he
do something more simple, like trying to shoot all his
meager bits of brains out? Like Jonathan had tried?
No, he had to fancy himself as hero boy now.

At the least Buffy still was unaware of her and Riley.

Which was good for she clearly would have freaked if
she had known and a freak Buffy was...nightmare, another
nightmare and still more nightmares.
She really needed him to come over to Tara's this night.
Do another threesome to get over the nightmares.

Too bad Buffy was such a prude prick, not sharing that
great piece of meat she called her boy. Really bad.

Willow figured she better should have gone along with
Joyce's wishes. But could she tell those two...?
Not outright so, she could not betray Buffy's trust.
But maybe she could leave a hint here and there. Wasn't
forbbiden to force her friend to her luck, was it?

* * * *

"What do you want from me?" Xander croaked at the masked
scientists. He was bound to a bed and unable to free
himself. They had shot him with drugs, planted sensors
on his body and now they carried in some heavy lead
plated crate.

He got no answer.
No nothing of any reastion.

They left, the door got shut and the crate opened with a
mechanical hum. Inside was a white light, a faint glow.
No heat, no cold, no stench.

Somewhat of an anti-thrilling final.

He kept screaming bloody hell until his throat went raw.
Noone who noticed cared. 
Xander felt his temples start throbbing.
There was a headache building, a bad one.
The dreams had come frequently but he knew this one was
going to get worse than the usual thing. Much worse.

"I'm a friend of Buffy Summers. Talk to commandant Finn
you morons! Don't do that to me...don't...yeargh! What
is happening here?"

He began to cramp, to fight his restraints. No joy.
They were stronger than him, adrenaline rush or none.

Xander felt tears of pain, shame and boundless anger run
down his face as he screamed.

Whatever, they were doing, it made him go unconscious.
And it hurt. Damn Initiative bastards. He had known he
could not turst them.
He had known.
But he had done so nevertheless.

And now they paid the due prize for being trusting.

* * * *

Joanna Walsh looked at her instruments and nodded, dark
glee in her clear grey eyes. This was incredible, it
was absolutely incredible.

The data they collected was worth a fortune.

Or the dozen and a half of people who had so far died in
the chamber. After a few hours their cellular structures
just broke down, they vanished despite whatever else had
happened to them.
Their own genetic makeup was their doom.
The inability of said genetic makeup to function with
the inactive parts of the DNA gone active. Usually that
meant a slow and agonizing death, usually they dissolved
into water and the other basic components.

An interesting means, these cosmic radiation. Noone was
quite sure what the rays were, a bit more than light and
a bit less than the usual electrons. Nor knew anyone why
they affected the genome like this.
But one day they would find out.
Probably not her, but she would break grounds.

Walsh had only a guess that this man, with his inherent
will to survive - for how else could he come out of his
adventures alive -, could hold out longer. It was only a
guess. Not even an educated one.
So far she got different readings.
Unexpected readings.

Cellular mutation was all but done but yet there was no
sign of the usual degeneration process. Mutant cells
seemed not to react to the radiation at all, of course.
Either because they did not receive it correctly or
because their mutation was already done.

If she could find a way to stop cells from mutating she
also colud come up with a near perfect weapon...a weapon
that destroyed all the human enemies and left the land
untouched.

The last thing she expected was to learn that there were
human beings capable of stable mutation. Without being
born as a mutant already.
Now that was rather interesting.
And it would make the idea of a radiation bomb become as
dubious as the rest. If some of the enemy remained and
became superpowered they would create themselves a far
more dangerous enemy than before...or would they?

Still, Joanna Walsh thought, still...!
Now what was his ability?
Obviously no superstrenght or he would have torn free.
The overlarge amount of adrenaline in his system was not
enough to free him of the restraints and break out of a
security cell.
She would have to keep him under observation.
Maybe he would even become useful. She always wanted to
know if her implants worked on a mutant as well as on a
hostile. Technically they should.
Technically meant nothing until proven, of course.


#10
3.22.2000: Washington DC


"What a dump," Scully commented as Mulder lighted at
another dark corner of the address they were given.
"You really think we will find anything here?"

Not really, Mulder thought, not really.
The look he gave was enough for Scully to scowl and make
a great gesture of closing her nose to the rotten stench
captured in this place.
He didn't even want to know where that one came from.
There were sewers that stank less fiendishly.

But he had to check it out once the museum ascertained
him that their unsub had indded been working for them.
As a laborer. He'd been responsible for the painting
of several walls...among them the history exhibit room
he was interested in.

Mulder began to get a trail together. The unsub had come
to DC three months ago and started his work job at the
Smithsonian two months ago. This dump clearly was just a
fake address, as forged as his credentials.
He did not expect the man to have touched his registered
accounts or used the phone, or leave another trace. Not
even hairs or fingerprints.

But maybe he was sloppy.
One CSU could try investigating that part.

In a way he had been sloppy already, Mulder still had a
place to investigate. Maybe there were some false leads
left behind here.

At least the MRA agents reviewing his exit of the museum
managed to give him a bit more substance to the case.
There was the questioning warrant, which weighed a lot
less than the theft. 
Now he had three cases of violent assault and murder in
the first on a little child. He'd thrown that girl right
in the way of a stampeding crowd without turning to
watch her getting trampled.
But he had known it would happen. Among all these
thousands of panicked people he was the one calm, sane
one. The one able to call and wait for an elevator...

Mulder really would enjoy seeing that swine toasted on
the electrical chair. He'd get him there, he would. And
he would make this case as watertight as he could.

He had more and more proof. A visit to some experts and
a call to the internet's occult community showed there
was a history to the stone. Intersting what there was on
the net.
Maybe they used it for communication and teaching.
Didn't even have to encrypt anything up to now, with all
the wannabes out there. Mystics, witches, pagans. The
list went on and on. Who knew which was utter fiction
and which was not?

Certainly not him.

Most had not been able to come up with anything on the
jewelry collection found in England. But some hacker by
the name of Mephistopheles had replied with a link to
a special website. And there it was.
The title was rather scary, the encyclopedia for great
artifcats of evil nature. It was scary because the whole
site seemed made up by people with a factual mindset,
rather unimaginative and dour. Generally such made for
great methodical scientists.
There were a lot of pictures and stories.
His artifact was identified as being the Bloodstone, a
mythical artifact which was said to give special powers
to any vampires possessing the stone.

Oh goody, vampires again! Mulder thought.

But it made for a fascinating reading. Especially the
hint to the stone being in the possession of someone
named Vlad Terpes in the late seventeenth century.
Better known as Count Dracula.

Facinating, what the site did not contain. A whole set
of connecting mzthology on magic, demons and vampires.
Of some there even were pictures.

Mulder had not been that surprised to find an old
aquaintance in there...Sheriff Lucius Buck. Said to be
the leader of a special breed of vampires dating back
at least a millenia to the mediterranean area.
Quite a long list.
And these vampires were said not to drink human blood
for their live - the one guy they got doing it was a
real headcase.

He marked the site data and downloaded bits of it, then
the site crashed and was not able to be found again.
Did not wonder him that much, he used an official FBI
account for the download. Good he had made hardcopies
before.

"Now, Mr. Mage, what do you want to do next...," he said
while grimacing at the furniture. Junk was a better
expression. This place really did not make a suitable
place to stay more than a week in it, much less three
months. Not if the man could afford something else.
Maybe a place which showed roaches - whatever crawled
around here had long ago finished eating the roaches.

He most likely was not a vampire, he had been walking
the daylight. The bloodsucking fiends who would be after
that artifact would not hesitate to pay a mercenary,
however. Pay him really well.

Mulder shook his head, sure that they would not find
anything of real value in here. The papers on the floor
shwoing some flightplans to southern countries were just
a diversion. Their guy did not leave like that.
He could almost feel it.
He was pretty certain that the assumption he had had a
partner with a car waiting for him was bogus. The unsub
had simply used public transportation. If he'd been just
a less unidentified suspect.

"Found anything?" Scully asked as he turned to leave.

"Evidence for the CSU. Bad leads. Twenty he didn't leave
his prints on them," Mulder grinned wisely, seeing his
partner open her lips a little bit. A small shake of the
head. She didn't take that bet. "Now, can we go and get
something to eat?"

"Your idea of food hasn't bettered."

"Hey, you know it won't kill me," Mulder smiled. And
even if it did, he would revive. The notion of getting
some greasy burgers or even mall food made him act
almost anxious. He needed to eat something now before
he got absorbed by his profiling again.

He had a very cold son of a bitch here, not exactly your
run of the mill psychopath. Rather the sort of fellow
the intelligence agencies looked out for in their less
public special agents.
Some nasty son of a bitch they could use and noone would
care about the loss so much. Most would rejoice.

The man was smart, educated and could empathize. He had
a great amount of self control to deceive others about
his real nature. He also was utterly ruthless and very
much focused on his plans, yet also not captured in any
given methods.

A paradox of sorts.

Rather someone who enjoyed chaos and anarchy than any
sort of brutal control dictatorship. Not that much of a
sadist either though he had a strong streak of that.
Reaching his fourties or being in them already, spoke
with a british accent at times. When he was not all that
attentive. That could mean he was of british decendence.

He probably had a criminal history.
But rather in theft and fraud then in direct violence.
He was far more likely to stand in the back and watch
others get caught up in the brutal physical acts.

Like he had demonstrated at the museum with the small
girl. The worst son of a bitch! Mulder was digusted.
He found he almost hated this unknown man.

"Looking at it would get ME killed," Scully said with
fervor and sucked in the outside air. Almost exhilarated
at the absence of the stench. "So we will go for a NICE
restaurant. One with real food."

"Okay," Mulder said. He didn't mind eating vetegables
along to a steak as long as he got a steak. Then he
could spend the next hours giving himself a headeache
about what tiny little detail he had overlooked. There
had to be some trace the unsub left behind, something
noone had realized as important yet.

Nothing as usual as fingerprints for he had been wearing
transparent plastic gloves.
The phone company?
The bank account?
Some place he had worked at?

Make that a no, Mulder thought. He wouldn't even wonder
if the forger getting this guy his ID had turned up as
another boy. Making another unsolved murder or accident.

The guy was playing upper league stuff and knew it. If
that Bloodstone was as bad as it sounded, it was worth
as much as some nuclear warhead to one of the outlawed
nations.
But could he expect the mage would go for nothing more
than money? Anyone able to do this kind of magic would
not have any problems to make money. 
No, he was going for a different compensation.
Power, knowledge. Revenge even. Something like that.

It gave him no hint to work with.
Mulder spent half the day getting a major headache while
ever new updates came in. The CSU found this, they had
that on the videos, those was discovered while looking
at his earlier jobs. Some even said they tried to look
at the paint used if it wasn't containing some special
substances.
Nothing really useful happened.
And he still was under observation.
Business as usual.

He didn't hesitate to stop working and do some practice
in the late afternoon. Just went into one of the many
empty conference rooms and began to loose himself to the
almost mindless performance of kata and swordplay.

What didn't it look like as agent Tom Colton and some
of his crownies came into the room and found him in
there. Covered in a thin film of sweat, down to his
shirt and blade in hand. So much for getting that door
locked.

"What the heck is that, spooky? Want to run me through
now or what?" Colton gawked and took a step back.

"What for?" Mulder sweetly answered and grinned as he
resheated the weapon. "Got to look out for my weight,
Colton. Can only say it's a soothing experience."

"Bladework?" Colton groaned. "What do you want to do,
apply for a part in CONAN III!"

"Why, you can pull any strings?" Mulder laughed. He was
that pissed by Colton and his constant attempts to get
some dirt on the X-Files. Ever since the Tooms case when
Colton fell into the shit face first, eagerly, he had
almost killed his own career. Of course, it wasn't the
fault of Tom Colton but a sinister orchestration of the
special agent spooky.
That was especially ridiculous in the light of how many
attempts there were to debunk him or ruin his career by
the conspiracy types. Mulder didn't have the time or the
clout to pull of something for Colton.
"I can only recommend that for a fitness exercise. Goes
great indoors, too. Now, have a good day."

He returned the sheat to the trenchcoat and went to
leave the place before Colton managed a return. Probably
would make another interesting rumour.
In reality Mulder was that pissed that they even got to
see his blade, much less the other weapons he carried
around today.

And as he left he almsot would have missed a step. There
was a buyy coming for him and then he found another
agent moving through the door.
Agent Hernandez, a little bit late.
And a little bit older than he looked like with his
complacent thirties, the rounded belly and that thick
moustache.
Wow. Hernandey was an Immortal. He knew the guy back
from when he left VICAP...and he had mostly looked like
right now.

"Agent Hernandez," Mulder nodded, noticing the eye the
other gave him - and the broadsword. He displayed a few
emotions, not fear but regret. "Good day to you, too."

"You want anything from me, agent Mulder?"

"No, I was just practicing...my doctor said I wasn't
getting any younger. Don't you think fencing makes for
a great indoors exercise?" Mulder answered, really not
interested in any fights. "I didn't want to intrude."

"Better not," Hernandez said, his eyes closing. A hint
of warning in his voice. "You an upstart at fencing?"

"I did a bit in college," Mulder said before he vanished
and Colton began to explode. Maybe he got a stroke and
keeled over. That would have made this day something
beyond a great waste of time.

Mulder chuckled as he hurried down the corridor.
Maybe he could pull a few practicals more on Colton and
get the guy to go for therapy. He would enjoy it and
most bureau personnel who had to do work with Colton
would be greatly relieved as well.
Just didn't go over so well with the regulations.

And it wasn't going to get his case moving forward.
Except for the APB there was nothing going for them
right now, and it would be a marvel if that APB would
turn up results.
APB...of course.
Mulder groaned as he changed directions and went for
the database section of the FBI. He'd need to get some
new favors for the boys there soon.

Working with just a picture from a corny black and white 
security cam was not going to get him so far, but the
photograph on his ID at the Smithsonian turned out to
be salvation.
All he had to do was to get the guys take a look at the
british database of known criminal citizens. A not so
routine request but possible.
Took an hour until they got back an old file and name.
Ethan Rayne. Presumed to have emigrated to the US of A
ten years ago.
He really had a file.
And a criminal account.
He was wanted in six to sicteen states, just for minor
things though. Unpaid debts, questionings, fraud. One
woman claimed he had left her with child.
No nice man, but no murderous black mage either.
At least to the public accounting of his sins.
His british file showed a lote more crimes, up to armed
robbery. No murders, though. And he never got convicted.

"Gotcha!" was all Mulder said before he thanked the guys
and promised to get them baseball cards. He sent a copy
of the files to the MRA, inspector Turpin could refine
his APB now.

And Mulder was going to get a 302 signed by Skinner.
Reading through Rayne's spotty history showed he had
only appeared in one place more than once.
A little town in California where he was wanted for, oh
wonder, unpaid debts. Twice. Seemed he liked to pay with
the credit cards of another person.

Sunnydale, CA also had a word on the X-Files.
So many accidents and a high percentage of odd cadavers
found in the vincinity of the town. He'd always wanted
to go there and look at why this one town had such a
high mortality rate. People got older in the worst parts
of east end LA or the slums of DC.
And then there was the legend of Boucca del Inferno, the
entrenceway to hell. A legend of course, or was it?
If he was hunting a mage, ha dmet demons and vampires
and a witch, so why not...?
Mulder found it rather cool.

The MRA accused Ethan Rayne of being a mutant terrorist
by the time he and Scully went to their plane to the
sunny California.

* * * *

"Sunnydale," Nikita whispered bleakly as she poundered
on their destination. A little town in California where
there might be a trace to the now identified terrorist
from the Smithsonian.

Operations sent a whole team there just to get the guy.
If possible alive, if not...the orders were to kill him.
And leave Mulder and Scully to come up with a suitable
explanation.

Didn't sound so dangerous. Or complicated.
But with the latest experiences Nikita rather would
settle for 'better save than sorry!' and treat it as a
hot combat zone.

* * * *

"Sunnydale," Scott Summers muttered, strapping in behind
the controls of the Blackbird. This was going to be so
great. He even had family there, some distant aunt.
Joyce Summers and her daughter Buffy, the family's black
sheep. 
He did not even want to go there.
But at least they now had a suspect. And there was no
need to get any closer to Fox Mulder than they already
were.
Yet he had a feeling.
Why of all towns did it have to be Sunnydale?
What made Mulder think they would find anything there?
Especially that Rayne person, who was about to become
one of the most wanted now. Someone had leaked to the
media that he was a mad mutant who figured himself a
mage...and responsible for the Smithsonian massacre.

All the bad press they could only hope for.


#11
3.23.2000: The cancerman's bureau, location top secret


"What did I do to earn this?" CGB Spender whispered as
he looked at the reports. Still hot from the fax
machine the papers contained a few updates on reports.

He got a number of ideas, way to many, and gave a sigh.
Not that it mattered, though. There was no well meaning
god guiding their actions, only human designs and such
a lot of chaos.

Krycek had managed to get a trace on their mysterious
thieves and came up with a timeframe. Looked like they
were dealing with a black ops group from the consortium,
rather the fringes of it.
Called the Initiative it was set up to study the many
abnormal creatures stalking the town of Sunnydale, CA.
And make use of the results. They were in the process
of developing and testing weapons as so many others.

Krycek had taken a full squad team of blue berets and
was moving into this town to secure the artifacts, he
was not yet ready to strike at the Initiative.

The second reports said that Mulder and Scully were
following their identified suspect of the Smithsonian
massacre to the little town of Sunnydale, CA.
In their wake as well the still unidentified mutants
as a full team of Section One...great.

Just great.

With his luck running true like this, the CSM said to
himself aloud, it was a wonder they were still alive.
George, the man doing Oversight on all the Sections,
had gotten a stroke and was down for the count.
No way to reach Operations and call back his black ops
in time. Nor would they be prepared to fight mutants.

And this Sunnydale just looked like half of the X-Files
could have happened there. Just wonder WHY...and what a
man like Mulder would dig up.

Looked like there would be a major catastrophe ahead.
And with all the events taking up speed, Mulder probably
would even get the artifact. 
Which meant he needed something to trade in for it.

CSM decided to send Krycek a message - the best thing to
keep their renegade agent in line was his partner. They
would do everything to keep each other save.
One of their biggest weaknesses.
A card he had played often enough.