From: thefreakyone Date: 17 Jul 2004 06:51:20 -0700 Subject: NEW: Cicadas! Source: atxc TITLE: Cicadas! AUTHOR: thefreakyone E-MAIL ADDRESS: xthexfreakyxonex@sbcglobal.net DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere. Just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: None RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: X, H FEEDBACK: I'll give you a cookie if you give me an email. KEYWORDS: none SUMMARY: Some people are too obsessed with the Atkins diet. Amazingly, Scully isn't one of them. OR IS SHE?! DISCLAIMER: You're kidding, right? You seriously think there's the remote possibility that a 14-year-old girl who gets her kicks out of singing, "The F-Word Day," owns these characters? Yeah, right. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, FOX, and a bunch of other losers. I don't own the Atkins diet, either. A/N: At the end. Bob stood outside. He stared incomprehensively at the burgers grilling on his barbecue. His wife walked into the backyard, letting the dog out. "Here's the buns, honey," Anne said. "NO, GODDAMNIT! LOW CARB DIET! LOW! CARB! DO YOU HEAR ME?! LOW CARB! NO BUNS!" he screamed hysterically. He had to get rid of this extra fat before bathing suit season or he would never be able to show his face in the local sauna again! So he grabbed the package of hamburger buns from his wife and ran into the front yard, throwing the Fat in a Bag away, trying not to take in the seductive smell of real food. Bob went back to grilling his burgers, no buns included, thank you very much! The kids would probably have a fit, but anything was better than being fat! Even being Michael Jackson. Well, maybe. Sorta. Not really. Probably not. But still! Bob listened to the news playing inside the house. His wife and kids were watching it, intrigued. "The cicadas are coming out of their 17-year hibernation this year, and should be absolutely swarming all around you! Isn't it great to see all this nature in action, David?" the woman news reporter, Susan, said. "It sure is, Anne. Now, time for some breaking news with John here. John?" "Thank you, David. As I was saying earlier..." Bob stopped listening. He looked out into the distance. He was completely shocked. A swarm of cicadas, heading his way! What great low-carb snacks they would make! Bob licked his lips in anticipation, hardly able to contain his excitement in discovering such a healthy, environmentally friendly meal. He couldn't wait to tell his dieting partner, Frank! "Hey honey..." he began, but realized that his wife would be able to hear him, because the cicadas now swarming around him and clinging to his shirt were too loud. He thought vaguely that this might cause him some permanent hearing damage, but at least he wouldn't be fat! He ran to the garage and got a container to put all of the lovely, low-carb cicadas in, then hurried into the kitchen, getting out everything he would need to make his cicadas as tasty as possible: sauting was best, so he got out a skillet and some oil to cook them in. He dropped the cicadas into the hot skillet now sitting on the stove, then got out his favorite spices and added them in: coriander, ginger root, and a splash of soy sauce for good measure. And one could never forget the benefits of salt and pepper on food, could one? Anne and the kids were looking at him very strangely now, but he ignored them, because he was used to them looking at him strangely. They soon turned away and went back to watching the TV, because they were used to him being strange. It was a win-win situation. The cicadas were soon cooked and Bob took out his favorite bowl and fork and poured them in. Those tasty little critters were quick and easy to make, too! Bob was in heaven. He walked over to the table with his bowl of low-carb goodness and a fork and dug in. He counted each cicada as he ate: one, two, three, four, five, six... twenty-nine, thirty. They were so delicious! Bob wished he had more cicadas to eat, because they were just so darn tasty and so darn healthy! He would look great compared to all the other guys at the gym this summer if he kept this extra-healthy diet up! Bob was grinning like an idiot by now. But then he noticed something. What was this? Hives? =Goodness gracious me,= Bob thought, concerned, =it appears as though I've developed an allergic reaction to those cicadas!= Anne turned around and saw him, then screamed. She called the ambulance, which promptly came to pick him up, because everyone knows how fast and reliable emergency service is. Although the hives had hurt horribly while he was still conscious, the prospect of being the skinniest person at the swimming pool was still terrific. Bob grinned and then passed out. The ambulance came to take him away to the ICU section of the hospital. Anne and her kids were later informed that the allergic reaction to the cicadas had been too strong and the amount of cicadas consumed had been too high, and poor old Bob would never have the best body at the gym. Their lives were completely ruined forever and ever. ======================================================================= "In the past 3 days, 10 people in Indiana have eaten cicadas, all cooked in various ways. 5 have died and the rest are still in ICU. There has been no explanation as to why these people ate them," Mulder explained, showing Scully the case file. "How are a bunch of people eating bugs an X-File?" Scully asked. "Because I say so!" Mulder answered, obviously exasperated. Scully shook her head, and they headed out to Indiana to investigate the strange phenomena the next day. ======================================================================= "Well, Bob was on a the Atkins, and he was a bit fanatic about it. He went to the extreme, even more extreme than Atkins requires. But there was nothing really wrong with him. But then these loud bugs come along and there goes everything! He ran into the kitchen and ate them all, and me and the kids didn't get it. But he's always been a bit off his rocker, so we didn't question him. But then he... he..." "Died," Mrs. Smith's extremely sympathetic child, Mary, said, a smile on her face. Mrs. Smith nodded tearfully and buried her face into a handkerchief. "Did he say anything about the bugs when he was cooking or eating them?"Scully asked. "Well... no, not really. I just figured it was part of his low-carb kick. When he was on a vegetable only diet, he tried to mow the lawn by eating it," Mary explained awkwardly. Scully and Mulder looked seriously on. "Did your father have any known allergies to cicadas?" Scully asked, now completely ignoring Mrs. Smith, who was hysterical. "How the hell should I know? I never saw them before! The news said they only come out every 17 years!" Mary answered. So Scully left to go take a blood test of the all 10 victims and find out if they had an allergy to cicadas. They did. Mulder, meanwhile, spent the rest of the day interrogating the victim's families. All he found out from them was that the victims all had obsessions about losing weight through the medium of a low-carb diet, and, while it was never actually said out loud, Mulder gathered that all of the victims had been a bit off their rockers. But the next day, the biggest breakthrough ever came about, and Mulder and Scully saw hope for the case after all! ======================================================================= The day Mulder and Scully had arrived in Indianapolis, Indiana, an Atkins fanatic had made a new cicada dish: cicada chowder. She had enjoyed it to no end while it lasted, thinking optimistically that the day would soon come she would wear Size 0 pants. But then, the unthinkable had happened. She had broken out in hives, and her roommate Sally had called an ambulance immediately. Despite the fact that all the other victims had died or been given 0 chance of surviving immediately after arriving at the hospital, Shulamith was a trooper, and, with the help of plenty of steroids, antibiotics, and antihistamines, made it through the night, and woke up the next day, alive and able to tell the tale. "You see, this great guy, Atkins, he made this great diet, for people like me, who need to lose weight," Shulamith explained to Mulder and Scully. Scully nodded in understanding, having been on the Atkins diet herself. "Well, in his book, he was always suggesting that we make new dishes, so when these cicadas came along, I figured I could get rid of the bugs =and= stick to my diet," she went on. Once again, Scully nodded in understanding, remembering some of the crazy meals she had cooked. "I never thought to check if I was allergic to them, you never expect something so tragic, so horrible to happen. But it did. I... I don't even know what I was thinking now, cooking them like that. I mean, I've never been one to eat bugs, no matter how many crazy things I've eaten. But it seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time! And they actually didn't taste that bad, because I was using whole milk, seeing as how it all has the same amount of carbs. 15, you know that? 15 grams of carbs. That's over half of what I'm supposed to be eating a day! But it sure was good..." Shulamith licked her lips. Scully knew exactly how Shulamith was feeling, it had been harder than hell to get off the Atkins diet, even though she hated it so much. But once she had, real food had been great. Mulder was also nodding in understanding. He had a few theories... he could test them out on Donovan, his very nice, very fat friend, who just so happened to live in Indianapolis. Scully was starting to wonder why so many, many people on low-carb diets were allergic to cicadas. Despite her encyclopedic knowledge of the world, Scully had no clue how common that allergy was, or if it was an allergy shared by all humans. She decided to go to the Indianapolis University and check it out, take a general consensus. It looked like the two FBI agents had their work cut out for them on this case! ======================================================================= Scully's tests at the University had proven her hypothesis correct: 9 out of every 10 people were terribly allergic to cicadas. And yet magazines like TIME continued to feature recipes for cooking them. Scully silently scoffed at the idiocy of the human race. Mulder had given Donovan the Atkins diet book, and Donovan had promised to get started on his low-carb lifestyle as soon as possible. Mulder was satisfied. Meanwhile, the cicada craze had struck again, this time causing a massacre at a local church. "I ran out of chocolate chips when I was baking the cookies, and it was the last minute, so--I just--well, there were all those cicadas outside, and everyone's always talking about how annoying they are and... TIME Magazine said you could make cicada chowder, so I made cicada cookies. Everyone said they tasted fine before they died!" Mrs. Goklen said. "And you didn't eat any?" Scully asked. "N-No. I was too disgusted with the idea of eating bugs to even try one." "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Goklen. We'll get back to you," Mulder said, and Miranda Goklen left the room. ======================================================================= Donovan had dived eagerly into the low-carb diet Atkins demanded as soon as his good friend Mulder had given him the book, eager to lose his extra 100 pounds and be able to wear spandex without being embarrassed. The book opened his mind to new possibilities the way nothing else had ever been able to do. Everything from eating soup with no noodles to having 9 servings of meat every day fascinated him to no end. Eating only 25 carbs a day was a sure-fire way to lose weight! Completely fool-proof. So when a swarm of cicadas came into his yard, the obvious, sensible thing to do was boil them and put them in his applesauce! ======================================================================= "Your friend is in Room 14, Mr. Mulder. You'd better be glad he's so fat, or he would have died." Mulder didn't understand how being fat had saved Donovan's life, but Scully could explain it too him later. Besides, it was best not to ruin a good thing and just take it for granted that he was alive, and bouncing back quickly. "Donovan, you have to get off this diet," Mulder urged. "No! No! Nothing has ever made me feel this way before! I'm gonna be skinny!" Donovan shouted. "It's making you crazy!" "No it's not! It's opening my mind to new food choices that I've never even considered before! As far as I'm concerned, Atkins is Jesus Christ reincarnated!" Scully, standing in the doorway, gasped at the horrible blasphemy. "New food choices that almost kill you!" Mulder said. "I don't care what you say! I'm staying on the Atkins diet! I won't take discrimination like this! Leave me alone!" Mulder, completely offended and terribly worried, left the room, and he and Scully had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with the bread, pondering what to do about this cicada/low-carb craze Indianapolis had given into. ======================================================================= The next day, Mulder and Scully sat at Denny's, looking at the brand new low-carb menus. "I have a theory," Mulder announced proudly. He looked really, really, really, really, really, really, really happy, like a boy who just got his first Boy Scouts badge! "And what's that, Mulder?" Scully asked. "I think that people who go on the Atkins diet go crazy, and that there is a hypnotic noise in the buzzing of cicadas, which Atkins dieters are particularly susceptible to. Perhaps the lack of carbs in the Atkins diet causes them to be more allergic to cicadas than the average person." Scully thought it was a bunch of bullshit, so she just stared at him. "WHY DON'T YOU EVER BELIEVE ME?!" Mulder screamed, near tears. He looked rather upset. A waitress walked over to them. "Sir, if you would please step outside..." she said, intimidated. Mulder walked outside, his head hung low. Not only did Scully never believe him, but his mommy would have been ashamed to see his completely out of line, unacceptable behavior! He was a failure. In an hour, after Scully had eaten, Mulder was all better again. He decided to go prove his theory by going to the home of Mr. Atkins. No one would ever have to go through what Donovan was going through, what Scully had gone through, what had taken the lives of so many innocent human beings just trying to improve their lifestyles. It was a horrible, horrible thing. Scully spent all day doing autopsies on the bodies of the victims of the cicadas. Mulder tried not to look at the billboards on the way to Atkins's house, because they were all for the Atkins diet, and he didn't want the hypnotic rays being emitted by them to get into his brain and make him go on the Atkins diet, eat cicadas, and then die. If he did that, he would never find his sister! When he got to Mr. Atkins's house, Mulder was very frustrated. There was a quiz on the Atkins diet, and then a really, really long race track that was supposed to be easy for Atkins dieters. The whole thing was supposed to be nicely stimulating. Mulder found it annoyingly difficult and thought that this Atkins guy had no business making it so hard for people to get into his house, no matter how many stalkers he may have. When he stepped into the house, Mulder was absolutely shocked at what he saw. It was really, really hard to resist the urge to pick up his cell phone and call Scully. Mulder averted his eyes, partially to keep himself from being hypnotized by Atkins, and partially to shield himself from the horrors he was being shown. Mr. Atkins didn't seem to have any other rooms than the kitchen. In and of itself, that would have been awesome, but there was something wrong... gone were the loafs of bread and cookie jars. The kitchen was barren of all read food; were bananas should have sat was beef jerky. Mulder noticed an open cupboard. Where most people kept crackers and the such in their cupboards, this man's, if you could call him a man, had diet bar after diet bar, all lined up in a row. When he looked at the refrigerator, Mulder's eyes were greeted not with the familiar site of food, but with shelf of vegetable after shelf of vegetable and row of diet shake after row of diet shake. And worst of all, on the counter lay a package of low-carb bread. Oh, the horrors! In the middle of all this sat a bone-thin man, huddled up in blankets for warmth despite the fact that it was at least 90 degrees. He chewed nervously on an Atkins Diet bar, muttering insanely to himself about how skinny he was going to be and how much all the ladies were going to want him. He was shaking madly, and it took Mulder a moment to figure out why: people on low-carb diets weren't allowed to drink milk, and this man had clearly been on it so long that he had developed a severe case of osteoporosis. "Um... sir? Mr. Atkins?" Mulder said awkwardly. "Uh... what are you doing?" "Well hello," Atkins said weakly. "Nice to meet you. Would you like a signed copy of my book, or perhaps some Atkins Diet ice cream bars?" "Um... no. What I would like to know is how you get off killing innocent people with your diet," Mulder answered. "What do you mean, killing innocent people? I save their lives, I help them take control of their bodies!" Atkins protested. "You murder them!" "I save them!" "You take control of their minds and you murder them!" "How can I help what the government does?!" That certainly caught Mulder's attention. "Is that a confession?" "I have nothing to confess." Atkins took a nervous bite of his diet bar. He seemed to be growing weaker. "Then who does?" "George... W... Bush," Atkins whispered, then died. He had sold his last diet book. Now Mulder had a lead. ======================================================================= "C'mon, Scully. We're going to Washington, D.C. I think I know who's making these people die," Mulder said into his cell phone. "And who would that be?" Scully asked. "You'll see," Mulder answered, knowing that she would never come if he said it was the president. As she drove back to the airport to go back to D.C., Scully wondered absentmindedly if the president was putting mind control in the Atkins diet book, but quickly refuted her theory. She knew that she was only looking for things that would prevent his next election. Although she normally wouldn't even =consider= something so far-fetched as mind control by the president, Scully had been on the Atkins diet herself, of course, and knew that there was something... odd about it. And she was determined to find out why, as determined as Mulder was to find his sister, as determined as Frohike was to steal Mulder's porno collection, as determined as Linkin Park was to take over the world by brainwashing the next generation into believing that everyone is against them and therefore causing great paranoia in the minds of young Americans and non-Americans alike. Personally, Scully thought Frohike's ambition was much more honorable. But one thing she knew was this: no more people were going to be killed or controlled by the Atkins diet if she could help it. On the airplane, the effects of the low-carb phase America was going through was even more evident. There were not only the normal disgusting, airplane meals, but there were also low-carb airplane meals. And not only did they give out peanuts between meals, but they also had low-carb peanuts, something Scully had only =dreamed= about during her days as an Atkins dieter. The fact that even American Airlines was encouraging things like... things like the Atkins diet was so disgusting that Scully had to resist the urge to puke all over her low-carb orange juice. Mulder sat on the airplane, completely concentrated on getting the ketchup to stay on the food. Normally this wasn't a problem: squeeze the packet and you're ready to go, but this was no ordinary ketchup. It was =low carb= ketchup, and Mulder was hoping desperately that he wouldn't be hypnotized by this low-carb thing. He had made sure to write down all his observations and theories so that if he was taken to The Dark Side, there was the possibility that he or someone else would read them and come back to The Light. Finally, Mulder had gotten the ketchup onto his cooked carrots correctly, and he took a bite. But it wasn't right. Mulder was used to airplane food being disgusting, but this... this was just unacceptable. The ketchup didn't taste like ketchup, but like some foreign substance, perhaps water mixed with a small quantity of tomato juice. It was as if the whole packet was made up of the watery stuff at the top of the bottle of ketchup when you first squeeze it out! Killings and gangs were one thing, suicide and divorce rates were another, but the moment Mulder tasted the ketchup, he knew for certain that America had gone to the dogs. He said a little prayer for the dying country as he asked the flight attendant to please take away his food. Finally, they arrived in Washington DC, both a little more wise and a little more tired from their... discoveries on the plane. ======================================================================= Mulder pulled the car up in front of the White House, and he and Scully got out of the car, in complete and total awe. They had never expected it to be this big, this grand, this HUMONGOUS. It was like thousands and thousands of really nice, white, clean trailers molded together to be one gigantic, non-moving structure. "Wow... it really is big, isn't it?" Scully said, slightly gazed. Mulder nodded absently. He had the insane urge to go rock climbing on the pillars at the front of the building, and he really, really, really wanted to sit on Abe Lincoln's lap. It was an odd sensation, but Mulder embraced it, because it was somehow fulfilling. Snapping to her senses, Scully reopened her car door and pulled out her camera, snapping pictures. She made sure the flash was off and it was set for the right lighting, and she snapped away, taking 5 whole films of the pretty, pretty, pretty White House. It was nice. Finally, they walked up to the security camera/intercom next to the gate and spoke into it. "Special Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI, here to see the President," Mulder said. "Can I see some identification?" The camera moved down a bit. Mulder and Scully pulled out their badges, and the camera moved around more, presumably zooming in and scanning and the such, so as not to let any terrorists in the White House and kill the president before he needed to die. Finally, the voice over the intercom spoke again. "Do you have an appointment?" it asked. Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. Scully KNEW she had forgotten something, she just hadn't been able to put her finger on what! Well, hopefully George W. was nicer than he was made out to be and would still see them. Probably not, he was most likely busy playing golf or having tea with UN Ambassadors or something of that sort, but then again, he might be free. The possibilities were endless! "Um... not exactly. But it's very urgent, Ma'am. It could cost lives if we don't see him," Mulder answered. After a moment, the voice spoke again. "Fine," it said, and the gate slowly opened. Mulder and Scully walked up to the staircase, then embarked on the long and torturous journey up the stairs. It had never looked this big on the back of the pennies! Scully went on snapping photos; she thought the staircase was really grand! As they waited for the doors at the front of the White House to be unlocked, Scully took a few more pictures, admiring the great architecture of the place. They walked in, and after snapping pictures of the draperies and floor, Scully put her camera away, and they walked up to the receptionists' desk. "Agents Mulder, Scully," the woman sitting behind it said. "Come here, follow me, I'll take you two to see President Bush. He's very eager to see you, his intelligence agents can't seem to get any information on why you're here." "That's odd," Scully said, after she and Mulder exchanged a Look. "Very, usually they're right on the money with their reports and investigations," the woman answered. Mulder and Scully knew this to be absolutely true, of course. They stopped at an elevator. After the woman pressed the button, they had to wait a full 20 seconds for the elevator to come down. It was extremely long and extremely hard, but somehow they managed. As they walked into the elevator, which somehow seemed better, more =special= than normal elevators, Mulder caught a glimpse of the woman's nametag. Betty. That could come in handy someday! Though how, he had no clue. But in his world, everything was connected to something else, and everything, EVERYTHING happened for a reason. So he made a note of it, then put it in an envelope and placed it in the mailbox in the front of his brain, remembering to put the little red thing up. Soon, the mailman in his head came and picked it up and put it in the back of his brain with the rest of his notes. ======================================================================= In Tampa, Florida, someone on the Atkins diet died from eating poisonous spiders. ======================================================================= The elevator stopped. The threesome walked out, and Betty led them down the hall, then stopped in front of a door. "Mr. President, Agents Mulder and Scully here to see you," she said, rapping her knuckles on the door. "What's the secret password?" came a voice from behind the door. Mulder and Scully recognized it as the President's, because they had heard it so many times on television. Although Scully was a bit puzzled by the "secret password" thing, it made perfect sense to Mulder: he had to have SOME way of knowing whether the people coming to visit him were nice, American citizens or terrorists from Canada, didn't he? Sensing Scully's confusion, Mulder sent her telepathic brainwaves explaining this. Scully gave him a mental nod of thanks and understanding, and they went back to their own minds. "Christina Aguilera," Betty answered. The President opened the door, and beckoned Mulder and Scully in. They walked in, closing the door behind them. Betty hurried down the hall, presumably to tell her receptionist friends about the hot FBI Agents in the building! ======================================================================= In Los Angeles, California, an Atkins dieter died of a heart attack from lack of fat and too few carbohydrates to put meat on his bones and help him grow big and strong. ====================================================================== "So, uh, what brings you two here?" Bush asked, obviously checking Mulder out. Scully tried not to do the same. "Dr. Robert Atkins died yesterday afternoon," Mulder said. Scully was slightly surprised that much time had passed already, but she ignored it, because there were more pressing matters at hand. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is the thing that killed him going to kill other people? Is that why you're here?" Bush inquired. "Mr. President, what killed him was the diet he created. He became unnaturally skinny and had osteoporosis, along with heart problems and other diseases not determined during the preliminary examination. As he was on his deathbed, he gave Agent Mulder some information which may or may not be true, stating that you are responsible for the deaths which have occurred all too commonly among those on the Atkins diet," Scully said. Georgie made a visible effort to repress his anger, then asked, "What deaths?" "Recently and in the past, an unusual amount of people have died from being on this diet. They seem to be... forced, in a way, to stay on it, but eventually it kills them," Scully said, trying to keep a professional detachment from something that struck so close to home. "In fact, I myself was on this diet for a while, and stopping was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." Mulder shot a worried glance at Scully, which she ignored. "How does this affect me?" The President asked. "Dr. Atkins informed me that you are responsible for the hypnotic effect that his diet has on people, that you are responsible for these deaths," Mulder said. "I don't have time for these mindless accusations! Get out of my office! Mr. President said angrily, opening the door. Scully felt slightly jealous when she realized that Georgie was probably checking Mulder out as he walked out the door. That might have been the end of it, if it weren't for the face of secretism and guiltiness that had crossed over Georgie's face before he kicked them out of the office. They still had a lead, but they were going to have to take a different approach. Mulder and Scully walked out of the White House, taking one last wistful look at it as they drove out of the parking lot. What on earth were they going to do? ================================================================= Scully stepped into her apartment, pocketing her keys. She reached for the light switch, but then she noticed a tall, dark figure standing in the corner. He was lighting a cigarette, and the scarce light from his match lit up his face for a few scarce moments. The Cigarette Smoking Man. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?" Scully demanded, turning on the light. "I'm here to help you, Agent Scully. God knows you and your partner need it, with the luck you've been having on this case." ================================================================= An Iraqi woman picked up an Atkins diet book, and was instantly transfixed by the message it shared. ================================================================= "I don't need help from you, you bastard," Scully hissed. She sounded suspiciously like a cat. Only not. Interesting... "I think you do. I can stop what's been happening. I can make it all go away. All these deaths..." Scully was starting to get curious. Despite the fact that her instincts told her that CSM was nothing but trouble, she was very curious as to how he could help her. "How?" she asked. "That's more like it. Please, sit down. Let me explain." Scully looked grudgingly at the couch, not wanting to sit down. But it became clear to her that he would not explain until she complied, so she sat down, avoiding the cigarette burn CSM had left during his last visit to her apartment. Superstitious though it was, she could not sit on it without thinking of the horrid consequences that could follow. "The Consortium's... allies have been dissatisfied with the rate of obesity in their... test subjects. My colleagues and I devised a plan to fix this, so that the colonization would be postponed until we were prepared: a diet book that hypnotizes all who see it." Scully nodded. "The Atkins diet." ================================================================= A Canadian working at a tree-shredder died as he fell into his tree- shredding machine, weak from lack of real food. ================================================================= "Yes," CSM said. Scully had the sudden feeling that he was suddenly feeling very stupid for telling her so much. But she didn't care. "So how can you stop it?" "By killing George W. Bush. It was he who devised this plan, and if he dies, the Atkins diet dies along with him. People will see it for the trash it really is, and will no longer feel the need to starve themselves of all real food, to force themselves to deny themselves of the nutrients essential to their well-being. Without Bush, there is no Atkins diet." "But... that man... Dr. Atkins. Did he really create it?" "Robert Atkins was a member of the consortium. He created the diet knowing he would be doomed to follow it to the death, but knowing he had no choice. His loss, our gain, or so we thought." "So why are you telling me this?" "You need to know, Agent Scully. I know there are questions that you need answered, have needed answered since that dark and desolate time when you were on the Atkins diet." "And..." "I need a box of bullets. I ran out and can't risk going to the store and being tagged." "Right... you're only going to use them on Georgie, right? Not me or Mulder or anyone else?" "Probably." Scully sighed in defeat as a Florida resident died, courtesy of the Atkins diet. She hoped to God CSM wasn't lying. "Tomorrow, Agent Scully. One more day 'till it's all over." He pulled another cigarette out of the box, which Scully noticed was labeled "Morley: Low Carb." ================================================================= Mulder and Scully sat inside their car outside of the White House, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Waiting for their temporary friend, CSM, to come out. Waiting for George Bush to die. Waiting for Scully to run out of film. Waiting for the pizza they ordered to arrive. When would all the dreadful, horrendous waiting just =stop=, so that they could finally live normal lives? Then, a lot of stuff happened in a very short amount of time. First, the pizza guy came and delivered their pizza. He was trying not to smell it or look at it, and he wore a "Low-Carb 4 Life" pin on the front of his shirt. All tell-tale signs of an Atkins dieter. Next, Scully ran out of film. She had been snapping pictures of the White House from behind, and when she had reached for more film, there had been one. It had been slightly devastating. She ate some pizza and felt slightly better, though still on edge. Finally, suddenly, a loud banging noise came from the White House. Two seconds later, CSM came flying out of the window, attached to a rope. He rushed over to the car without a second's hesitation, wheezing slightly. "Hurry!" He gasped. "We have to get out before Bush dies!" So they drove. They drove like no one had ever drove before. They drove like... like the wind! Though it was hard to do because of the extreme air resistance from all their fast!driving, CSM was able to FORCE his hand into his coat pocket, and DRAG out a half-full box of bullets. He PULLED himself up to the front seat, and handed the bullets to Scully. Scully grabbed them and yelled, "thanks!" She hoped he would be able to hear her, because it was very loud. Suddenly, they were in the middle of thousands and thousands of cars, bikers, and pedestrians, all of whom seemed to be heading to the same place: the grocery store. Low-Carb diet bars, drinks, and sandwiches were thrown out of car windows, backpacks, and pocket, and it seemed to be raining what the world had, until a couple seconds ago, viewed as "healthy." They drove to the park, and dropped CSM off there. "Thanks for the bullets, Agent Scully. You're a real life-saver," CSM said. And at that, he walked out of the car, tossing his low-carb cigarettes out as he went. "Well, Scully, it looks like we've done our job," Mulder said, satisfied. "That we have, Mulder, that we have... hey, you wanna go to that bread party they're setting up over there? I think they're doing an Atkins book burning, too." "Sounds terrific, Scully... it was really nice of you to let CSM borrow your bullets," Mulder answered. They got out of the car and joined the celebration of a country now free after living in the oppression of low- carb diets for so long. That day was made a national holiday, and although everyone felt that they should be investigating George W. Bush's assassination, it was decided that the country was better off without him anyway. The American troops were withdrawn from all other countries, and world peace was finally a chieved. THE END A/N: This fic was inspired by an article that ran in the paper awhile ago written by David Grimes. While most of the stuff about cicadas in this fic is false, a guy in Indiana really did go to the hospital after having an alergic reaction to the cicadas he ate. However, being allergic to them is =not= average. TIME Magazine really did run an article awhile back with a recipe for cicada chowder. Feedback is greatly appreciated!