From iding.1@osu.edu Mon May 05 18:11:42 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: An X-file Brutalization: HOME 1/3 From: iding.1@osu.edu (Savage Brutality) -------- I originally posted this on atxf, so for those of you who have read this before, there is nothing new here. Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and the entire Peacock clan belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended. WARNING: I don't know what the rating system is for X-file fanfic, but I will tell you this: This story is EXTREMELY SAVAGE. My intention was to write a story with NOTHING to recommend it besides excessive, disturbing depictions of gore, agony, and general depravity. There is no humor, almost no dialogue, and M&S's relationship progresses only in a most hideous fashion. If you hate this story, tell me. If it bored you, tell me. If you like this story, tell me. I'll base my future fictions on your responses. Archive: If anyone wants to put this in one, by all means, do so. Part 1 of 3. The story begins as Mulder and Scully are preparing to defend themselves against the Peacock brothers, who are rushing back to the house... Scully watched as two burly figures smashed open the door adjacent to Mulder. Her adrenaline was pumping; what had been a standard, albeit unusual, murder investigation had abruptly turned into a life and death struggle. Things were happening very quickly, but, in her agitated state, Scully was able to process all available information effortlessly and instantaneously. In fact, Scully felt a certain sense of control; it was almost as if she was she was manipulating the events as they unfolded. The feeling was actually exhilarating. Scully assessed that both of the men bearing down on Mulder were stronger than him. However, she also knew Mulder was armed and trained in close-quarters combat. In what seemed like minutes she knew she didn't have, Scully assumed a strategic position behind Mulder and aimed her pistol at the larger brother's head. She fired. The brother staggered back, crashing into the wall behind him. Scully couldn't tell if the brother was dead. She had hit him in the left eye, but it had been more of a glancing blow than a direct hit. It was not important, however. He had been effectively stopped. Scully quickly turned her attention to the brother struggling with Mulder. Furthermore, there was a third brother, still unseen, who had to be considered. ****** What Scully didn't know was that the brother she had shot was not dead, nor even unconscious. While generations of inbreeding had rendered the Peacock brothers' minds capable of comprehending only the basest of instincts, it had also altered their physiology to the extent that conventional weaponry was largely useless against them. The Peacock brothers were truly inhuman; their collective deformities and abnormalities constructed a "genetic shield" which protected them from Mulder's and Scully's attacks. Scully had indeed shot the brother in the eye, but it did not have the effect Scully thought it had. The brother, who was the largest of the three and had a scraggly mass of long black hair, had been born without a left eye. What was truly remarkable, however, was that in his youth his empty socket had slowly ossified. What Scully had actually hit was not an eye, nor even soft tissue, but bone. And thick bone at that. In fact, the brother's whole body was slowly ossifying, which in the long term would naturally kill him, but in the short term, in concert with his other bodily mutations, actually made him larger and stronger beyond the extremes of humanity. He was merely dazed by the blow, and would soon be up again to attack the intruders. However, there was no need. ****** The other brother, who appeared to be the eldest, had overtaken Mulder. Scully tried to get in position for a clear shot on the brother, but she could not risk accidently shooting Mulder. Suddenly, Scully was shoved violently from behind, thrusting her forward. She felt her foot snag on something as she fell, but it was a mere triviality compared with the sensation she felt immediately after hitting the ground. Something large had crashed into her arm with tremendous force. Scully had never felt such pain. Her mind's former lucidity receded in a mist of delirium; the only remaining reality was the intense, throbbing pangs of agony shooting from her right arm, just below the shoulder. The last thought she had before unconsciousness was that her bone had been shattered. The last sound she heard was her body being dragged across the woodplanked floor. ****** Scully awoke to the same excruciating pain she had left. At first she couldn't move; it took every ounce of her strength just to keep her eyes open, her lungs breathing, and, seemingly, her heart beating. Yet, somehow, she knew she wasn't going to die, at least not immediately. Rather, the pain still racing from her arm so dominated her consciousness that her mind had no capacity left to cease functioning; the pain was actually keeping her alive. Scully was no longer a living organism. She *was* pain. Eternal, immortal, pain. At least, that was how her mind comprehended her condition. She again swooned. ****** Scully again regained consciousness. She could tell the pain had dulled somewhat, but it still demanded all of her concentration for several minutes. Tolerating her agony to the best of her ability, Scully attempted to survey her environment. It was dark and moist. The ground beneath her was soft, and seemed to slide beneath her as she shifted her body. Faint shafts of light shone down on her from what she guessed was a ceiling above. Regaining more and more of her faculties, Scully was able to ascertain that she was in some kind of root cellar. Judging by the amount of light shining between the woodplanks above her, she guessed it was early dawn or twilight; her sense of time had completely left her. She was also cold. She used her uninjured arm to examine herself, and discovered that she was naked, though otherwise unhurt. She could not bring herself to touch her wounded arm, however. Still much too painful. This time, instead of fainting, Scully fell asleep. ****** Scully awoke to the sounds of footsteps above her. It was much lighter now; Scully knew it had to be midday. She listened to the footsteps above her creaking across the wooden floor and the sound of a door swinging open. Scully began to remember the events that had led her to her current situation. She guessed that the Peacock boys were going out to tend to their pigs. Scully realized in a flash of horror that she had no idea *what* the Peacock boys did with their time, but quickly rejected this thought in favor of more immediate concerns. She again examined her environment. She was indeed in some sort of cellar. There was a small set of stairs leading up in the far corner of the room; otherwise, the room was unfurnished. The floor and walls were made of dirt, and there was a small pool of water under the stairs. With trepidation, Scully turned her neck to look at her injury. What she saw nearly shocked her back into her previous state of delirium. The arm just below the shoulder had been completely shorn; the bloody stump, from which her broken humerus extended nearly an inch, was caked with dirt from the floor. The rest of her arm was nowhere in sight. Overcome with shock and disgust, Scully turned her head and vomited, splashing what was little more than stomach acid over her right arm and shoulder. ****** Regaining a semblance of composure, Scully began to wonder how she could possibly be alive. It had been a miracle that the shock of such a drastic injury had not killed her, but surely she could not have survived the subsequent blood loss. Summoning her courage, Scully again looked at her wound. Amazed that she had not noticed it before, Scully saw that a makeshift tourniquet had been applied to her arm. It looked horribly ragged, yet it seemed effective nonetheless. Scully began to attend to her wound more critically. It seemed that whatever had crashed into her arm had cut through the flesh and completely shattered the bone; her extended humerous evinced not a clean break but rather a fragmentation. However, Scully, amazed by her own lucidity, guessed that the crushing blow had not been totally responsible for the amputation. The flesh below the bone showed marks of serration, as if her arm had been sawed off after the initial breakage. Turning her attention back to the tourniquet, Scully, to her horror, realized that what she assumed was a stick holding the knot together was actually a bone, or a bone fragment at least, and actually had small chunks of flesh still attached to it. Could it be her bone? The question was too much for Scully to bear. She passed out. ****** Scully was not out for long. When she awoke it was still relatively bright in the room. However, her environment had changed. She was no longer alone. Mulder was there, in the corner adjacent to her. "My God!" she thought, "Mulder! I haven't thought him in days, weeks. Has it been weeks?" It actually had been only two days since Mulder and Scully had come to the Peacock house. Scully looked at Mulder. He was, like her, totally naked, but was fully intact. Also unlike her, his entire body was bruised and bleeding, his face swollen nearly beyond recognition. Blood caked his nose and jaw; Scully couldn't tell whether it was dry or freshly leaking. She couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, for that matter. Scully noticed something else, another figure, in the opposite corner. She recognized the body as that of the young officer who had assisted them, the officer whom she watched be brutally beaten by the Peacock brothers. Judging by his condition, which was comparatively much worse than Mulder's or Scully's, he was most surely dead. Like Mulder, his entire body was bruised and bloody, but he had no limbs, and there was a large opening running across his stomach. He was nothing more than a head and husk of a body, for Scully could see entrails hanging out of the gash in his torso. He had been dismembered and eviscerated, and the stench of his incipient putrefaction filled the room. Next to him was a pile of bones, each having varying amounts of tissue attached to them. Scully guessed that they were the remains of the young officer's limbs. She did not want to guess why they had been raggedly stripped of their flesh. Then Scully saw something which sent her reeling yet again. One of the bones in the pile was noticeably shorter than the others. To her horror, Scully recognized it as her own arm, ripped of its flesh, left to rot in a pool of her own displaced blood. Scully was about to pass out, but a new, tingling sensation in her arm caught her attention. She looked over at her wound and was repulsed to see a rat gnawing at the bloody stump. In a sudden fit of strength, she wrenched the rat from her wound and flung it against the wall. It slid down to the floor, recovered, and proceeded to crawl over Mulder. Scully then fainted. End of part 1. This was relatively tame compared with what's to come. Look for part 2 soon. A preview of what is going to happen: really bad shit. Jeff (Savage Brutality) From iding.1@osu.edu Mon May 05 18:13:47 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: An X-file Brutalization: HOME 2/3 From: iding.1@osu.edu (Savage Brutality) -------- Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and the entire Peacock clan belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended. WARNING: I don't know what the rating system is for X-file fanfic, but I will tell you this: This story is EXTREMELY SAVAGE. My intention was to write a story with NOTHING to recommend it besides excessive, disturbing depictions of gore, agony, and general depravity. There is no humor, almost no dialogue, and M&S's relationship progresses only in a most hideous fashion. If you hate this story, tell me. If it bored you, tell me. If you like this story, tell me. I'll base my future fictions on your responses. Archive: Yes, please. Part 2 of 3. If you've read part 1, this is much worse. Scully was jolted back into consciousness by a renewal of her original searing pain. Her environment had changed. She was still in the cellar room, but instead of lying on the floor she found herself in the grip of one of the Peacock brothers. She recognized the man as the same one she had shot days before. Between the pangs shooting from her wound, which had been aggravated by the violent manner in which she had been hoisted on the brother's shoulder, Scully wondered how the man could still be alive. Even though she didn't have a direct view of his face, she could see a ragged, gaping wound stretching from just inside his temple to just behind is ear, but the brother seemed in no way affected by it. Scully, still retaining a modicum of her wits, a luxury that would soon leave her, was astounded by the man's brute physique; had she been only looking at the man she would have called him a bear, but, being in such close physical contact with him, she gathered he was more of a boulder than any fleshly creature. Her pain mixed with her predicament equated nothing less than a waking nightmare; in a reversion to childlike helplessness,Scully closed her eyes, trying to escape the horror. They reached the groundfloor of the home. Scully heard the creaking of the floorboards beneath her, and, for a moment, she smelled, she felt, the blossoming of the wildflowers, their fragrances blown about by the warm summer breeze. And, for a moment, Scully felt the same warmth within her, the same gentle life, and thought, for just a moment, that she never wanted to leave this place. With her eyes still closed, Scully felt herself lowered onto a wooden chair. Hands carressed her, gently, and she felt other odd sensations which she couldn't identify. A feeble voice deep within the receding well of her rationality warned Scully that she was being tied to the chair, but a much stronger, much more appealing feeling (instinct) assured her that if she kept her eyes closed the pain in her shoulder and the horror of her situation would be carried away with the wind which warmed her soul. Suddenly, a loud, discordant grunt woke her from her reverie. Her eyes opened, and the sight which filled her vision was more horrible than any abomination her mind had ever imagined. ****** Scully didn't notice that the Peacock brothers had assembled around the table at she was seated. Scully had been bound to the chair; her legs were tied to the legs of the chair and her uninjured arm and torso were strapped to the back. She was seated at the head of the table. Next to her on the right was the large brother whom she had shot and who had carried her from the cellar. On her left was the brother who had grappled with Mulder. He was the eldest of the three, totally hairless, and suffered from an "abundance of skin," rendering him nearly featureless. He was the most intelligent of the brothers, and was generally regarded as their leader, outside of their mother's authority, of course. While the other brothers communicated with a nearly random series of grunts and whistles, he had been able to master a few rudimentary syllables, and could understand his mother's speech to a limited degree. He also could operate simple machinery, and, in what amounted to a Peacock family miracle, had learned to drive by mimicking his late father. The third brother, seated one seat down from the eldest, looked reasonably human, and actually rather slightly built. "He" was sexless, however, blind, and less intelligent than the chickens he tended. There was an empty seat at the end of the table opposite to Scully, and, in a flash of comprehension, Scully guessed that the chair probably hadn't been disturbed in decades. The mother was nowhere in sight. ****** Again, at first Scully took no notice of who was seated around her. Instead, she was transfixed by what was lying on the table. It was Mulder, splayed face-up across the table, his hands and feet tied to the corners. Besides his new supine position, his condition hadn't changed from when she saw him in the cellar. It was Scully's premonition of what was about to unfold that terrified her the most. The largest Peacock brother got up from his seat and reached to the wall behind him. He came back to the table with a relatively small saw in his hand. It was rusty and caked with blood. Scully was overcome with horror. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't scream. Yet she was compelled to look; her eyes were frozen open. Unfathomed images of what she knew was imminent, of the evidence of mutilation lying in the cellar, and of her own amputated limb raced in a vicious cycle in her mind. She knew they were linked by the horrible tool before her, but her will to survive prevented her completing the connection. Her instincts knew she couldn't survive it. Her mind suddenly changed directions. Was Mulder still alive? She still could not tell. He was completely still, she saw no signs of breathing, but the blood on his face looked relatively fresh. The large Peacock lowered the saw to just below Mulder's knee. Before Scully could begin to wonder why the Peacock boys brought her to their table, a piercing scream shattered the silence of the room. Mulder WAS still alive, and his leg was being sawed off. Blood gushed up from the jagged laceration, splashing the saw-wielding brother's face. He continued, undaunted. The saw was halfway through his leg; the sounds of denticulating bone and Mulder's wails coalesced into a horrid symphony, sickeningly stifled by the heat of the summer day. The Peacock butcher tore the remaining connective tissue with a brutal twist and held Mulder's lower leg aloft, letting what blood it still retained drain out. Mulder, whose head lay directly in front of Scully, had ceased screaming; he was utterly delirious, no longer feeling the pain of his cropped leg as one would expect him to. He, in a final moment of reflection, whispered the name of his angel, the one whom he had thought would save him, the one whom he had led to this hidden hell: "...Scully..." It was his last breath. The shock of his mutilation killed him long before all of his lifeblood left him. Scully heard her name, but she no longer recognized the figure before her. She no longer knew herself. She knew only horror. In a way, she was thankful. ****** Meanwhile, the large Peacock brother had set about cleaning the bone, a process which consisted of sawing the flesh lengthwise along the bone and ripping off by hand whatever remained. It was a messy process, to say the least. The brother divided the meat into three roughly equal portions, with a little in a small pile off to the side. Scully watched, not seeing, as the brothers gorged themselves on their bloody meal. Still the mother was nowhere to be seen. One viewing the grisly scene wouldn't think it possible that any more atrocities could be heaped upon poor Scully's now empty soul, but what happened next surpassed all that had yet happened. The eldest brother, sinew and entrails caught between his teeth, picked up the small pile of Mulderflesh and proceeded to stuff it down Scully's throat. Scully's humanity snapped back into sentience. She choked on her dead partner's flesh, spitting him out in a gory mess which dribbled down her body. Scully considered herself dead, paying for unknown sins by desecrating the body of her only real love in the most hideous of fashions. The brothers stepped up their efforts, pulling her mouth open and literally forcing the meat it into her stomach. Satisfied she had consumed a reasonable portion, they watched her, waiting. Then, abruptly, the largest and eldest brothers began to beat her stomach while the other, who was also the youngest, stuck his fingers down her throat, gagging her. Scully vomited all she had swallowed, leaving a pool of partly digested Mulder in a circle around her chair. What was once Scully fainted. The brothers were again still, again waiting. A soft scraping sound was heard on the floor, and Mrs. Peacock, strapped to her rolling board, emerged from underneath the table. The eldest Peacock directed her to her dinner, which was dripping through the cracks in the floor. Jeff (Savage Brutality) Savage Brutality Lead Screamer: Scream Moldy Bore X-Ville's first and only death metal band Son of Paddock, (A) Husband of Peacock We'll kick your ass and eat the rest From iding.1@osu.edu Mon May 05 18:15:32 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: An X-file Brutalization: HOME 3/3 From: iding.1@osu.edu (Savage Brutality) -------- Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and the entire Peacock clan belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement is intended. WARNING: I don't know what the rating system is for X-file fanfic, but I will tell you this: This story is EXTREMELY SAVAGE. My intention was to write a story with NOTHING to recommend it besides excessive, disturbing depictions of gore, agony, and general depravity. There is no humor, almost no dialogue, and M&S's relationship progresses only in a most hideous fashion. If you hate this story, tell me. If it bored you, tell me. If you like this story, tell me. I'll base my future fictions on your responses. Archive: sure Part 3 of 3. For the next few days, the Peacock family repeated this grisly ritual, consuming Mulder limb by limb, eventually disemboweling him to eat his organs when no more large muscle mass remained. It was a rather quick process; the Peacocks had learned through generations that meat spoiled quickly in the heat and humidity of the summer, and while rotten flesh was palatable (especially to the later generations of Peacocks, who had completely lost their sense of taste), it could lead to debilitating, even lethal, sickness. Mulder had been killed and eaten because the remains of the young officer Scully had seen in the basement were beginning to decompose. The brothers knew that their present meal would soon spoil, too, and looked at the young woman seated next to them with deadly anticipation. They understood they had to keep her alive, at least for a few days more, if they were to eat. If their mother was to eat. It was the only thing that kept them from killing her. ****** Scully, meanwhile, spent the next few days floating between insanity and hell. However, it only would be appropriate to deem Scully insane in terms of her objective situation, for, in Scully's tortured mind, those periods in which she didn't comprehend what was happening around her were actually the times in which she felt the greatest lucidity, control, and, in a sense, identity. During these times, Scully escaped the mortification of her body and soul, her entrapment within this foul den of abject slaughter, even her memories and knowledge of herself, and entered a new union with her surroundings. This is not to say she somehow psychologically ingratiated herself with the horrid family that had enslaved her, but rather became enraptured with the same tender, tranquil sense of security she had felt while being carried up from the basement days before. It was in the air itself. Scully likened the warm, moist air to the breathing of a mothering Earth, fecund and kind. The scents of fresh blossoms and gentle caresses of midday breezes invited Scully to enter an embryonic sleep, a second gestation which would reshape her into her natural form, physical and mental, uncorrupted by the weight of her own history. Again, it was in these moments Scully knew that this place, this land, was meant to be her eternal sanctuary, her hidden Eden. She never wanted to leave. And, in moments even more fleeting than these, she knew why the Peacocks never had. ****** Yet, at the same time, there was a very brutal reality which Scully could not, of course, escape. The brothers left her strapped to the chair between meals, time in which Scully would drift off to the fantasies described above. The ripping of flesh and sawing of bone always brought her back. Scully dreamt of reuniting with nature, of becoming the "noble savage." These men were an example of the reality behind that whimsy. Animalistic, predatory, cannibals. Day after day, Scully's brain refused to accept (understand) what her eyes transmitted: the progressive dismemberment and evisceration of her (life) partner, who was left to rot before her in the afternoon heat as a gruesome memorial to his fanciful enterprises. The enterprises she had shared. But even this did not compare to the ultimate horror of her forced consumption. Her body had been conditioned to convulse and vomit what flesh had been forced down her throat after several minutes; she had literally become a surrogate digestive system for Mrs. Peacock, whose own gastric juices had long ago reduced the walls of her stomach to scarred, ulcer-ridden films, incapable of proper storage and digestion. Mrs. Peacock had, in fact, taken up residence under Scully's chair, constantly craving the arrival of her next meal. She had also taken to biting Scully's ankles at any perceived threat to her position as matriarch, a position in the Peacock family which also entailed sexual eminency. It was a twisted struggle for female dominance, the participants being a raving, retarded, aging invalid and a tortured, broken soul, completely oblivious to the timeless battle she was engaged in. This mockery of humanity continued until nothing edible remained on Mulder's body; his mangled, spoiling corpse was then hacked into a pulp and fed to the pigs. ****** Scully was able to conceive that Mulder's disposal meant her situation would likely change. The change, in fact, came very quickly. The Peacocks cut Scully's bounds and layed her on the table. They sensed their new prey was already greatly weakened; they would have to act quickly if she was to provide them with precious meat. Scully felt her wrists and ankles being tied to the corners of the table. What was left of her mind raced as she filled the space Mulder had occupied, but it was not memories that flashed before her, nor had she any epiphanies or transcendent comprehensions. Rather, her mind filled with the horror of her fate. She witnessed the procession of her imminent mutilation. Waves of pure fear washed viscerally through her body as she saw her limbs and entrails torn away. She cursed her protracted awareness, envying, perhaps not the peace, but the seeming finality of Mulder's death. Yet even death was not an escape, for, in a still viler infestation of her fear, Scully realized her flesh, in a sense, would live on inside her demented captors, permanently transfused with their septic evil. Suddenly, pain was her only reality, a pain even greater than the one she had felt days before in the initial struggle. She swooned, fading into blessed blackness, as a faint undercurrent from the darkest recess of her mind came wafting into her slipping consciousness, a thought so horrible her mind (instincts) had kept her from considering before. Was it possible? Could they force her to eat her own flesh? Could such an act be committed?... The large Peacock brother had broken Scully's knee with a crushing blow. The brothers heard her scream, which they were accustomed to, and watched as she quickly slipped out of consciousness. Yet they did not go further. Mrs. Peacock was absent. The brothers knew something was amiss; it was unlike their mother to move more than a few feet without their help. Besides, she had no purpose other than eating and breeding, and had no reason to leave the room in which her meal was served. Something had happened, something which was to drastically alter the course of future events. Mrs. Peacock had died. ****** Mrs. Peacock had sensed that the end of her life was near. She was fifty-six years old, which was quite incredible in light of her genetic abnormalities and profound medical ailments. She knew her body was failing, and, beyond that, sensed the presence of a new dominant female presence in her home. It was of no consequence that the boys intended Scully to be nothing more than a meal, and in fact Mrs. Peacock knew this, on a limited level. However, Mrs. Peacock did not have the mental capacity to reconcile her instinctual knowledge that Scully was food and her instinctual warning that Scully was a sexual threat, nor could she understand that Scully's pure genetic code rendered her largely incapable of mating with such chromosomal cesspools as her sons, to say nothing of her willingness to participate in such acts. She had dragged herself outside and under the backporch to the dark, cool place where she had always known she would die. This is where the boys found her. They loved their mother, and they cried for her. Scully was still unconscious. When she awoke, several hours later, the brothers were sitting down, looking at her on the table. Unlike before, they were quite passive, hardly stirring. A mournful look hung upon their faces, as well as a grim uncertainty. Scully smelled wildflowers in the wind. ****** Seven years later. Scully watched her son as he played in the grassy fields behind their home. She would have called out to him, wishing him a happy fifth birthday, but the child had been born without ears, and she doubted he could have understood speech, anyway. It did not matter. The boy was hers, and he was beautiful. She rolled herself over to the other side of the porch so she could gaze on the rest of the family. There was the eldest, still diligently toiling in the pens, along with his younger brother. The largest brother had died three years ago; his stiffened body laid beneath her, under the porch next to his original mother. Scully did not really remember the woman; she had seen her only fleetingly in a time clouded by a deep sense of dread, though Scully could not remember what exactly had happened. It did not matter now, though. She knew who she was. She was Mother, head of her household and proud carrier of the Peacock lineage. The air was thick and sweet that day; it was days like these she could feel her arm and leg anew, could feel her soul warmed by the graceful rhythm of family whispered in nature and resounded by her own. She was so proud, so happy, so glad she was there. Scully was under the spell of the house and the earth it stood on. It had seeped into her long ago, gradually erasing the memory of her previous life and providing her with a timeless sense of existence as fertile care-giver. The spell had given her a family, given her a son, and at the same time protected her, hid her, from the encroachment of her history. No search party had ever found her or even the home she resided in. Her mother and siblings eventually forgot about her. The Peacock brothers had strapped her to the rolling board with a loving care unlike Scully had ever known, and carefully dressed her wounds and soothed her pains. They knew she had become Mother; their instincts (the land) told them so. Scully's board slipped on the edge of the porch and fell, snapping her neck. So she died, forgotten by the world but loved by her family, her home, her land. Eventually all the Peacocks died away, returning to the earth from which the came. They were survived by their home, proud, and in loving memory. Fox William Mulder: 1961-1996 Dana Katherine Scully: 1964-1996 Mrs. D. Peacock: 1996-2003 End. Jeff (Savage Brutality) Savage Brutality Lead Screamer: Scream Moldy Bore X-Ville's first and only death metal band Son of Paddock, (A) Husband of Peacock We'll kick your ass and eat the rest