From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: ELVIS WARS (1/3) Date: 28 May 1995 21:52:13 GMT ELVIS WARS part one by. Paul Wartenberg thanks. Peggy Mei-Ling Li Sal's Bar Fallon, Nevada 60 miles from Carson City Elvis Night The television in the dressing room was missing its volume knob, so that Maine Elvis had trouble telling what the big story was all about coming out of Las Vegas that evening. Pictures of other Elvises were flashing across the screen as concerned reporters spoke silently in front of flashing police lights. "Hey," Maine Elvis finally shouted out above the din of rockabilly music from the stage down the hall, "What's all the hubbub down in Vegas?" Christopher Elvis poked his head in through the doorway, letting the music of Elvis' "Clambake" drown out his answer. Joshua Elvis grabbed him by his denim jacket and pulled Christopher into the dressing room. "Well, now," Joshua slurred, closing the door behind them, "Don't you know how rude that is? Tokyo Elvis is trying his best tonight to do Movie Elvis, and you're goin' 'round shouting and all." "My apologies, me amigo," Christopher replied, and shook his shoulders to get his jacket straightened out. "Anyways, as I said, they're talking 'bout us and all down in Vegas. Something regarding a non-fan, as it were." All the Elvises took notice. Christopher continued. "Seems there's some fellah with Buddy Holly glasses going around accosting Elvises, reportedly he went and stuck some long pointed stick in their heads and made 'em all melt down into some biological components." "What?" Some Elvises said in unison. "Here now," spoke Maine, "Why haven't they called in you Easy E's?" "Now now fellahs, we can't go off and do some vigilante stuff..." replied Joshua, and his voice was drowned out by the arguing of the other Elvises. Only one Elvis kept his attention on the television, an old pro from Ocala called Dion Elvis because of all his wanderings, who kept watching and saw the artist's depiction of the killer. It didn't look like Buddy Holly, it looked more like... Dion Elvis let out a high-pitched wail that was heard by the audience outside. He quickly knocked over all the Elvises blocking his path to the door, and rather than open it he simply smashed through it. He headed for the "Exit" but saw the door handle turn, driving him to let out another high-pitched wail. He turned and ran straight for the stage. Tokyo Elvis was almost finished with his movie tribute with "Return to Sender" from "Girls!Girls!Girls!" when Dion smashed through the speakers on stage right and leapt into the crowd. People screamed as tables were overturned and chairs crushed into splinters. Dion didn't care as he headed for the main entrance to the parking lot. Once he got to the parking lot he suddenly stopped, glancing nervously in every direction to make sure no one was near. He stood for another minute, thinking of where he might run to; perhaps he could head home, back to...no. *He* might follow him there. To Canada, Dion Elvis thought. Canada and freedom. He rushed to his car, a '58 Cadillac, pulling frantically at his pants to get his keys out. Only when he got to the car door did he hear something, the sound of something scraping against the pavement. Only then did he send the presense... Hands knocked him forward onto the hood of the Cadillac, and a hard, unmoving body leaned over him with one hand to the back of his neck. "Where is he?" said the killer, a noticeable British accent slipping through the snarled threat. "Where is the lab?" Dion Elvis knew it was too late. "Never, Cochise. You'll have to excuse me if I don't talk." The body let up although the hand remained on his head. "It's over." "Wait," Dion said at the last minute. "At least do it away from the car. I don't want to ruin the wax job..." The needle was shoved at the precise point, and Dion's body collapsed. The body soon turned into a sticky jell, and it dripped away from the side of the Cadillac. It turned the car paint into a sickly purple color. The other Elvis came out, looking for Dion to see what was going on, but they found no trace of him or anybody else. All they found was grape jelly covering the hood of a '58 Caddy. "I was wondering when this was going to happen," Mulder said to himself while standing in front of Sal's dinner menu. "What? When people starting hunting down really bad impersonators?" Scully asked, close enough to hear Mulder. "No," Mulder smiled. "When Sal was going to boost the cost of beer." "I take it you've been here before," Scully said, crossing her arms, a signal she was ready to handle another weird story from Mulder's past. "One of my first cases out of the Academy. Had to hunt down an Elvis impersonator threatening to blow out Ceasar's in Vegas for denying him a permanent parking space." "Don't tell me you dressed up as..." "Noo," Mulder smiled again. "I dressed up as Jerry Lee Lewis as part of a '50s revival act. Murphy did Elvis." "Murphy?" Murphy was a fellow agent whom Scully had seen from time to time in the office. "Mulder, Murphy is tone-deaf." "That wasn't the worst of it. He couldn't dance either." "Is this why we've been handed this missing persons assignm..." Scully was cut off by the sudden appearance of two Elvis impersonators, one young in denim, the older one in a glittery dinner jacket. The older one quickly hugged Mulder and yelled, "Jerry! You ole swamp dog!" "Josh?" Mulder replied, almost shocked. He quickly nodded his head toward Scully. "Meet my partner, special agent Scully." The younger Elvis offered his hand. "Christopher Elvis, nice meeting you, ma'am." The older one simply smiled. "I'm Joshua Elvis. Thank you for coming to the Shop." "The Shop?" Scully asked, slightly giving Mulder a quizzical look. "The Tour, I might say," Joshua added. "We all go around from place to place honing our skills for the day we get the big assignments in Vegas. I call all of the places Shops." "I see." Scully's quizzical look was turning sarcastic. Mulder knew he had to speak up quickly. "Guys, we really need to get to work here. We'll do interviews a little later." "We understand, me amigo," Christopher answered, nodding his head to both agents. "If you need the help of the E's, we'll be here." When they had gone, Scully nudged Mulder in his side. "A tour? I think Shatner went and spoke to the wrong people." "Scully, I'm shocked," Mulder responded. "Elvis impersonators provide genuine entertainment value." "So does putt-putt golf." "Excellent. We should go to Charlie's Night Putt-Putt when we get back to Maryland." Scully simply smiled back, then asked, "What did Chris mean by the `E's'?" "Oh, he meant the Easy E's. They're sort of internal affairs among the Elvis impersonators." "Elvis police?" Scully responded. "You must be joking." "Who do you think helped nab the mad Elvis bomber? And who do you think enforced the Graceland Truce of 1987?" "The what?" "The Graceland Truce. Signed by the leaders of the three major Elvis tribes." Scully took a seat in a bar stool. "Okay, from the beginning. I am officially confused." Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "About ten years after Elvis's disappearance..." "His death, Mulder. He's dead, you know." "Shh. Not now. I'll go into my theories about that later. Anyway, by 1987 the Elvis impersonators had divided into three major factions, and were at the brink of civil war. Thankfully, the business leaders of both Memphis and Vegas forced the Elvis leaders into a meeting to establish the rules of impersonations, royalties, and juristiction. >From the Truce came the Easy E's, the Elvis police." "Um, sure." "It's the job of the E's to keep the peace between impersonators and to make sure nobody gets hurt or ripped off by bad performers." "Makes sense, sort of. What do you mean by keeping the peace?" Mulder nodded. "Any performer, any artist, tends to be a tempermental person. Some border on egotism if not meglomania. Having all these other Elvises competing for the spotlight has got to bother a good number of them." "I hope the regular police aren't getting lax in doing that job anyway. It is their job to keep the peace." "Doesn't really matter. Some of them moonlight as Elvises, so it sort of works out in the end." "Has the peace held?" "No. There's been two Elvis wars already, but they mostly dealt with a small group of individuals working without confirmation from official leaders. One dealt with a particularly nasty head case called Lord Elvis. Major psychopath. I had to work the case when it became necessary for federal intervention." "Why haven't I ever heard of it?" "The usual reasons. Mostly a desire by businesses to keep people from thinking Vegas is a war zone." "What happened?" "We captured him and forced him to have plastic surgery. He looks like David Letterman now." Scully winced. Mulder nodded in agreement. "It wasn't my call. Personally, I would have him look like Rip Taylor." Scully shook her head. "You make it sound like a group of entertainers are in a constant state of war." "Not really. It's calm now and there isn't much disagreement between groups." "What groups?" "Well, there's the Young Elvises, like Christopher, young, beautiful, when Elvis was driving trucks and working the small bars in the South. Then there's the Movie Elvises, the ones who dress to kill and have the look of wealth, elegance, a little elan. Then there's..." "Wait, let me guess," Scully interrupted, a smirk on her face. "The older fat Elvises." Mulder looked hurt. "Scully, don't be so rude. The Politically Correct term is Jumpsuit Elvises." "Oh. My apologies." "Well, up until now there's been peace between the Elvises." "But now, with all these cases..." "Yes," Mulder answered. "The Third Elvis War could well be underway." =========================================================================== From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: ELVIS WARS (2/3) Date: 28 May 1995 21:54:52 GMT ELVIS WARS II by. Paul Wartenberg thanks. Peggy Li Stagecoach, Nevada Highway 50 On one of the roads heading to Carson City, people would report seeing a man walking with grim determination. He would not stop or slow down for any car or truck passing him. Not that anyone would offer him a ride. The extremely large and threatening pointed stick in his left hand was a huge freaking hint not to offer one. Scully had finished interviewing her third Elvis when she saw three Elvises enter Sal's and immediately started abusing each other. One Elvis, dressed in a glittering dinner jacket, began by pulling at the older Elvis' white suit lapels and insulting him in a slurred Southern accent. The younger Elvis interposed himself between the two and immediately whacked the others on the head, making the older Elvis retaliate by grabbing the young Elvis' guitar and loosening the strings. "Mulder?" Scully asked. "What is that?" "Oh," Mulder shrugged, "that's just Some Elvises." Scully scowled in puzzlement. Mulder continued, "They do a Three Stooges sort of thing." "Oh," Scully wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I hate Stooges." Mulder patted her shoulder. "I always figured you were more for the Marx Brothers." "Mulder, how's your interviews doing?" "Well, they're all saying the same thing, talking about the murders in Vegas of other Elvises." "What about what they found on Dion's car?" Mulder and Scully headed for the parking lot. They found forensic expert Matheson cleaning up the hood of the car. "What did you find?" Scully asked. "Well," Matheson shrugged, "I wouldn't recommend it for sandwiches." "It's not grape jelly?" "More like a pudding. But the organic composition doesn't make it that all healthy to eat." "Organic composition?" Mulder asked. Matheson offered some papers. "The acidic levels aren't normal for any kind of fruit derivitive, if it was a food product." "What if it's blood?" Matheson shook his head. "It's too acidic to be human blood either. We can do some more detailed examinations of this stuff at the labs." As Matheson walked to his car, leaving Mulder and Scully in the lot, she turned and gently smiled. "If he disallows human blood, I know what conclusion you're going for." Mulder stared back at her with a hurt expression. "Scully, just because I think aliens are responsible for everything doesn't mean I'm predictable in my hypotheses." "Well?" Mulder nodded his head as he read through the pages. "Well," he finally spoke, "The presense of this Buddy Holly impersonator doesn't suggest aliens. We need to find out who this is." Scully nodded in agreement. "Too bad most of the witnesses disappeared from the crime scenes. At least we have some video surveillance to support our investigation." Still...," Mulder muttered as he reached for his cellular phone. He quickly dialed the number for the Carson City office. "I need to make sure they've got teams out to secure known Elvis locations down the road." "You certain he'll be headed to Carson City?" Scully asked. "There's no other locations on highway 95 for Elvis impersonators, well, until you get to Idaho," he replied. Arrowhead Dr. Carson City, Nevada Near the airport Agent Philip Jakowski parked his car on the curb, three houses down from the address for an Elvis impersonator by the name of Mitchell Elvis. Jakowski had looked at the early data from the investigations in Las Vegas and had noticed a pattern, which Mitchell fit into rather well. Jakowski found the front door to the house locked. He turned and pulled out his cellular to confirm the police backup was coming when he heard a shattering crash. He kicked the door open to find a Buddy Holly impersonator slamming a large pointed stick into an old Elvis. To his horror, Jakowski watched as the Elvis' body decomposed into a purplish mush. "Freeze!" he shouted to the Buddy Holly look-alike. The killer paid no attention and moved forward. Jakowski had no choice but to shoot. The bullets ripped through the Buddy Holly but he refused to be knocked down. Jakowski saw the killer was oozing purple blood. Then all of a sudden the air turned into poison. The FBI agent fell to the floor, choking and sputtering, staring right at the Buddy Holly guy, but Jakowski suddenly realized it wasn't Buddy Holly, it was another guy, another musician with thick-rimmed glasses, it was... Jakowski stopped choking. A minute later, he stood up, changed from head to toe into a Scotsman, and started running east for Scotland. =========================================================================== From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: ELVIS WARS (3/3) Date: 28 May 1995 21:56:07 GMT Elvis Wars PART III by. Paul Wartenberg thanks. Peggy Li FBI Branch Office Las Vegas Mulder sat facing pictures and data sheets hanging from an office wall of all known victims of the Elvis killer. He was methodically bouncing a little rubber ball against each one of the sheets as he read them, focusing on any piece of evidence that would link them together. Something, Mulder thought, made these Elvises special targets. Some were from the same county in Florida, another set of Elvises once performed cameos in "Honeymoon in Vegas," yet another set had traveled to England two years earlier as part of a variety show, but there were no solid connections. Nothing seemed to tie all the Elvises into a definable target group. Scully quietly came to the room and tapped on the wall. "Mulder, we've got something serious down at the hospital." Two interns struggled to keep Jakowski down on the bed to allow the nurses time to secure the straps. He kept blabbering at them in Scottish, with occasional words such as "haggis," "bagpipes," and "there can be only one" slipping from his lips. Mulder and Scully looked on and winced. "What happened?" Mulder groaned, horrified. "Well, according to eyewitness accounts, he was seen fleeing from the home of one Mitchell Elvis, who apparently has become Elvis victim number 41," Scully said slowly, reading from the report sheet. "He's convinced he has to get to Scotland." "Jakowski? Scotland? Scully, there's got to be a reason why he's gone crazy like this." "Perhaps he was another eyewitness to the crime. The local authorities have apparently found more of them." Scully led Mulder through the hallway until they came to another ward. "Mulder," she said. "All of these people have gone crazy just like Jakowski." Mulder stood and looked at a room full of men and women dressed in bizarre clothes and speaking in horrible British accents. He slowly walked to one bed and started reading the stat sheet. "Scully," Mulder called to her, pointing to the sheet. "I know him. He's Duncan Elvis, one of the local Easy E's." Scully walked up and looked at what Duncan Elvis had become. Duncan no longer looked like Elvis. Instead he wore large boots, an oversized pair of pants help up by ridiculous-looking suspenders, large wire-rimmed glasses, and a silly white napkin on his head. "Oh my God," she said. There was suddenly a racket in the hallway. People started shoving themselves against the walls as Jakowski suddenly rode a white horse down the hall. "What the hell was that?" Mulder asked a nurse who was chasing after Jakowski. "The doctor said he's gotten worse," the nurse said. "He's become a Scotsman on a horse." Scully scowled, uncertain as to what that meant. But Mulder turned pale, his eyebrows raised in shock. "Scully, I know what's happened to these people." "What's that, Mulder?" "They've turned into caricatures from the Monty Python's Flying Circus tv show." Mulder quickly turned to one of the victims, a tall fellow in a raincoat holding a bird cage in one hand. "Excuse me, sir. Is this a parrot?" "What?" shouted the man. "This bird is no more. It's gone to meet its maker. Berift of life it rests in peace. It's gone to join the Choir Invisible. This...is an ex-parrot!" *1* Scully grabbed Mulder and pulled him out into the hallway. "What do mean, they've turned into tv characters?" "Not just any characters, Monty Python characters," Mulder said. He wiped his face with one hand, pausing to think through his guess. "Scully, somehow these people have become infected with something during those murders that left them in a psychologically unbalanced state, forcing them to act out skits from the tv show." "Why this show in particular?" "The particulars don't really matter. They could be acting out from CBS sitcoms if the situation was right. The thing that matters is they're infected." "Mulder, there's no such thing as some kind of disease that makes people mentally unbalanced. Haven't you considered the possibility of hypnotic suggestion?" "That wouldn't explain the sudden physical manifestations. How else could Jakowski suddenly find a horse to ride in the middle of a hospital?" That stumped Scully. At that moment, Mulder's phone tweeted; a call was coming through. He quickly answered. "Mulder. Talk to me." "Mulder?" It was Joshua Elvis. "You need to get back up here in Carson City. Somebody's asking for you." Without waiting for a reply, Joshua hung up. Mulder shook his head and headed for the elevators. "Scully, I've gotten a call from the E's. I'm going to see what info they might have." Scully walked with him. "I'll try and see what I can do with the victims here. Mulder, this is getting really weird." "Well, Scully," Mulder smiled as he got on an elevator and pushed the down button, "You should be grateful you're now seeing something completely different." Carson City Airport terminal number 6 The killer stood there in line at the ticket booth, waiting for the next available flight east. It didn't matter which city would be his destination, as long as another flight was available that would take him where he wanted to go. And where he wanted to go was... "Excuse me," a middle-aged man behind him tapped his shoulder. "Aren't you Buddy Holly?" The killer turned slowly, never easing his grip on the large pointed stick. "No," he said firmly. "I'm Elvis." Carson City Easy E's Headquarters, next to a McDonald's Mulder was greeted at the door by Christopher Elvis. "Thank you. Thank you very much for coming, me amigo." "You guys said there was somebody here asking for me. What's going on?" As Mulder walked in, he could see a beautiful woman talking with Joshua Elvis. The sound of the door opening caught her attention and she turned to look at him, face to face. Mulder gasped. It was Kimberly Ashlyn Gere, adult film actress who had appeared earlier as a psycho housewife. "Fox," she said, nodding her head slowly. "Mulder," Joshua started to explain, "She said she didn't want to..." Mulder held up one hand and shook his head for silence. He stood there for a minute before saying, "I thought your character got killed off, Gere." "Fox," she said smiling. "You can call me Kim." "Why are you here...Kim?" She sighed and shrugged. "I'm here to warn you, Fox." Joshua spoke up. "She says she's been told who's behind all this, friend." She nodded. "The man you're looking for goes by the name of Lord Elvis. He's looking for revenge, Fox, and you might be next." *1* from the "Ex-parrot" sketch performed by Michael Palin and John Cleese PART IV next =========================================================================== From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: ELVIS WARS (4/?) Date: 29 May 1995 17:35:29 GMT Elvis Wars PART IV by. Paul Wartenberg thanks. Peggy Li Las Vegas Hospital and Wedding Chapel Quarantine Room This, Scully thought to herself, is it. Every patient in the ward affected by the Monty Python bug had by now changed identities at least three times. Jakowski was currently standing with a group of other Royal Mounties singing about an okay lumberjack. A Pantomime Goose was riding a Pantomime Horse. And Scully was getting sick and tired of all this abstract, visual humor. "Agent Scully?" Matheson called out for her from the hallway. He waved some report papers in his hands. Scully got back out into the hallway. "My God, Matheson. It's impossible to keep them sedated or under any kind of control." "Well, do what the others are doing." "What's that?" "Heat up some popcorn and enjoy the show." Scully's scowl was so fierce that if looks could kill Matheson would be needing an autopsy within 30 seconds. She grabbed some of the sheets and scanned the information. "Damn," she whispered. Matheson nodded. "Yep. It's definitely some sort of viral infection." "But how could they catch it? Video recordings revealed none of these victims went anywhere near the bodies...unless..." "I can't see how the virus can be airborne. Nobody in the hospital who has come into contact with the victims are affected." "What if the virus can exist in a gaseous state until it enters a host body? Normal air might not be a viable atmosphere for the bug." "Hell of a guess, Scully." Scully shook her head. "Just thinking. I need to see those videotapes again." Matheson nodded and headed for the equipment. Scully turned around to see nurses eating popcorn near some windows. "Dammit," she shouted, waving them off. "Get away from there. This is an official investigation of a possible infectous disease." "Geez," said one nurse. "Don't be so rude. I wasn't expecting a sort of Spanish Inquisition." Three virus victims burst into the hallway, wearing the red robes of Jesuit priests. "Noone expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Scully turned to the nurses, a slow burning anger boiling in her skull. "Ohhh...yoouuu...you were just waiting to say that, weren't you?" The nurses were saved from a violent death when Scully's phone rang. She answered. "What the hell do you want?" "Oh, not much. Proof of alien existence, naked pictures of Perrey Reeves, the usual stuff, Scully." "Oh. Mulder. Sorry about that." "Forget it. I figure the Monty Pythons are driving you up the wall." "Up, over, out and beyond, Mulder." "Anyway, Scully, I might have a lead working back up in Carson City." "That's good. We've been having some trouble here finding a cause of infection. We have identified that it's a viral infection, though, so we're working on it." "Okay, Scully. Keep in touch." Atlanta International Airport Atlanta, Georgia The killer remained seated near the window facing his next flight closer to his final assignment. He was close now and he could feel it. But he did not smile. People came up and asked for autographs, but they were disappointed when he didn't sign with the name "Buddy Holly." It didn't matter to him, though. Nothing else matters except the elimination of the betrayers of their pure blood. Easy E's HQ Carson City Mulder hung up from his call to Scully and turned to Kimberly. "All right, then, what information do you have?" She sat down, offering a seat next to her to Mulder. He shook his head. "Very well," she said. "I was waiting around Las Vegas for some more acting offers after my cameo in `Blood' when I met an old friend of mine, an Elvis impersonator from Florida..." "Florida?" In Mulder's mind, some pieces were falling into place. "Yes, Ocala, Florida in fact. He was worried, upset. He warned me that a killer was coming after him and others like him." "What was the connection between him and the other victims?" "He didn't tell me. He was too scared. But he mentioned the name Lord Elvis, and I recognized that immediately." "Oh?" replied Mulder, slightly tilting his head. "How do you know about him?" "Fox, a lot of us in the entertainment business know about the Elvises. But my friend also mentioned you, thinking you might be someone we could get to for help. I agreed to help him out of town, but..." Kimberly fell silent for a minute, possibly bothered by what she saw. "He came. The killer. He came up from behind and stuck a pointed stick in my friend's skull. But then an Easy E came up and covered for me while I ran for help. I turned when I heard gunshots and I saw what happened then." "The Easy E got infected," Mulder guessed. She shrugged. "Some sort of gas came out of the killer's bullet wounds. I ran then. I ran and got out of town fearing the killer's coming for me since I saw what happened." Mulder shook his head, noting that the killer tended to leave witnesses alone. He put that thought away and asked, "So what should we do?" Kimberly stood up, straightening her clothes. "We need to get to Ocala. That's where the other Elvises are. They can help you stop Lord Elvis." "Are you sure Lord Elvis is the killer?" "No, the killer didn't look like Elvis." "Wait..." Mulder started to ask but then kept silent, remembering that few people knew of the fate of Lord Elvis, that he had plastic surgery to look like Letterman. "Did he look familiar, like any other celebrity?" "I couldn't tell." She reached behind her chair and grabbed her tote bag. "Fox, we need to go." "Okay. Just give me a second with the Easy E's here." When she went outside, Mulder turned to Joshua. "Can you believe any of it?" "Well, friend, it makes sense. Lord Elvis would try to kill other Elvises out of jealousy." "But only ones from Florida?" Christopher spoke up. "I checked that out, too. I found most of the Elvises on the death list either came from Florida or started their careers there. Funny thing is, me amigo, the ones from that last group, the ones starting their careers in the Sunshine State, well they don't seem to have proper registration forms." "Forgeries?" Joshua asked. "Worse, me amigo. Some didn't have any registration forms on file at all." "That's weird," Joshua whispered. "The treaty specifies all Elvis impersonators need to be registered." "That's not the only weird thing here, guys," Mulder added. "This business with Ashlyn Gere..." "Oh, yeah, she seems real eager to team up with you," Christopher noted. "She refused to deal with us. She obviously invited only you for a reason." "Smells all wrong, friend," Joshua nodded to Mulder. "I know," Mulder said. "Here's what I need for you guys to do..." Atlanta International Airport Atlanta The killer had been waiting for his plane to be prepared for takeoff for eight hours now. For the first time in his mission, he was getting frustrated. Las Vegas Hospital and Wedding Chapel Las Vegas Joshua and Christopher Elvis arrived in time to find Scully physically restraining a Monty Python victim before he used hammers to play musical mice. "Scully, you okay, me amigo?" Christopher aksed. Scully snarled. Joshua patted Christopher on the shoulder and gently reminded him not to ask questions to women who are under stress from watching abstract British comedy. "Oh, sorry, guys," Scully apologized later, when she had three cups of root beer. "But it's a real strain to find a cure for these people." "That's okay, agent Scully," Joshua replied. "But Mulder told us to come to you first to tell you we have an eyewitness to how they got infected." "Gas, right?" The Easy E's were surprised. "You already knew?" Joshua asked. "It was a guess I had earlier. We lifted quarantine and now we're just focusing on a cure." "Well, Mulder also asked us to see if you can make a phone call..." Atlanta International Airport The killer had decided that getting a connecting flight in Atlanta was the worst idea any lifeform could ever make. Flight 104 Heading to Charlotte, North Carolina Mulder tried to relax on the flight. He was happy at least that he had gotten connecting flights to avoid any stops in Atlanta. What was hampering him was the fact Kimberly Ashlyn Gere was draping herself all over him. "Uncomfortable?" she purred into his ear. "Yes. I was hoping to ask you a few more questions about..." "Shh," she said. She placed her hand on Mulder's and said, "I was hoping that we could talk between ourselves now since we had so little time during my earlier cameo..." "Kimberly, please...just consider one thing." "What's that?" "This story isn't for the alt.sex boards. It's for the alt.tv.x-files.creative board. No kinky stuff, okay?" Atlanta International Airport The killer decided it would be easier to walk to Ocala from here. He had waited for 19 hours and the plane only now was getting fueled. At this rate the flight won't be leaving until the next presidential election. Las Vegas Hospital and Wedding Chapel Joshua went looking for Christopher and found him working the wedding scene for a couple from Deadhorse, Alaska. Joshua proceeded to thwack him over the head until Christopher pointed out he needed to do the gig to get his Easy E Wedding Chapel Badge. When the ceremony was over, they headed back up to the Monty Python ward to find Scully. She had completed her examination of the remaining victims (who had all turned into German officers laughing hysterically at the the Funniest Joke in the World) and she was exhausted. "No cure?" Christopher asked. "No," she sighed. She handed a piece of paper to Joshua. "I did get through on that call, though. Mulder's definitely walking into a trap." "Damn. We need to go." Joshua crumpled the paper and grabbed at Christopher to head for the elevators. "Wait. I need to go, too. Mulder's my partner." Scully grabbed her jacket and followed them to the elevator. "Uh-uh, my friend. You're best off staying here and helping these people. You're the doctor, we're the cops. We'll get Lord Elvis, you get a cure to keep those people from changing into Monty Python routines." "Changes..." Scully suddenly said to herself. A thought made sense to her then, like a lightning bolt across the sky. "Hold that elevator." She ran and found Matheson. "Matheson, I think a way to cure the victims may be to isolate them from each other." "What?" "When a nurse cracked a Monty Python joke, some of the victims changed at that moment to deliver the punchline. Don't some Monty Python routines lead into one another based on a flippant remark or skit punchline?" "Well, yes..." "So if we force them to watch or listen to other materials, they can't continue to act like Monty Python characters." Matheson nodded his head. "You may be right. Burn the virus out by refusing to give it what it needs to exist." "Get on it," Scully said, heading for the elevators. "I need to take care of something else in Florida." PART V next =========================================================================== From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: EVIS WARS (5/?) Date: 30 May 1995 19:15:00 GMT Elvis Wars PART V Valdosta, Georgia The killer soon found a nearby truck stop where he stole a semi and started driving to Ocala. However, he soon found out why the semi was at the truck stop when the gas ran out just ten miles down the road. He sighed. It was the first time in his existence he had ever done that. He got out of the truck, lifted it up over his head and threw it into a nearby lake. He made the state border within an hour. If he got to I-75, he thought, he might hitch a ride. Gainesville Airport Gainesville, FL Mulder drove the rented Taurus toward highway 301, a straight path to Ocala. Kimberly rode in the back seat, occasionally humming to herself a tune Mulder would recognize later was the theme to "Bolero." He shook his head. "Kimberly, why are you doing that?" "Aren't you interested, Fox?" He didn't answer. He still wasn't too sure if he should listen to his suspicions. He hoped Scully would call soon with the answer to his query. Las Vegas Airport Terminal 3 Scully tapped her fingers on her cellular phone, knowing she should call Mulder but worried she could accidentally tip off the woman. She did call to Orlando's FBI office and get them to round up as many Elvises from Ocala as they could. She also warned them of the possible medical hassles that could arise. Joshua and Christopher came up to her, shaking their heads. "Sorry, senorita," Christopher said. "All the next available flights go through Atlanta." "Damn," she whispered. "Not to worry, friend,' said Joshua, reaching for her phone. "Can I place a call?" She handed it to him and he dialed the number to the regional Easy E's office. In a minute he hung up and handed it back to Scully. "We got ourselves a flight courtesy of the Easy E's." "You mean?..." asked Christopher. "Yes, Christopher, to the Elvis-plane!" Scully was stunned to see the Elvis-plane was a state-of-the-art streamlined personal jet. As she climbed on board she could see a message above the door: "Watch Out For Flying Elvises." "Don't you think that's a bit predictable?" she asked Joshua, pointing to the sign. "Not really," he answered. "All the Flying Nuns now have radar IDs so we can dodge them easy. We're still working with the FAA to get ours." "Gee," Scully muttered to herself. "I'm surprised we don't have to worry about flying pigs or pink elephants either." The trumpeting elephant sound suddenly coming from the back of the plane made Scully put her face to her hands, to make sure noone else could see her cry. The Lettuce Growers of Florida Farms Ocala, FL "This is it?" Mulder asked. "Yes," she said. "They're hiding here, making people think they're a group of Madonna-worshiping vegetarian revolutionary army." Well, Mulder thought to himself, at least I don't have to deal with an evil group of meat-eaters. He drove the car through the unmanned security gates, slowly pulling up the driveway to a run-down barn. Further down the road was a large four-story mansion, but Kimberly recommended they stop here. "What's in here?" She shrugged. "Big secrets, Fox." Kimberly stepped out of the car and ran into the barn. Mulder slowly got out, drawing his sidearm, and walked cautiously to the barn doors. He looked inside to see Kimberly rolling around on the hay, stripped to her underwear. "Are you ready to find out my two big secrets?" "I can already guess one big secret," he said, pointing the gun at her. She stopped rolling. "Fox, what's wrong?" "Nothing much, except that if you're so eager to help these Elvises why are you so interested now in making a quick stop?" "Simple," said someone from behind Mulder, "Because this is my revenge." Mulder tried to turn but he was suddenly hit in his chest by a kung-fu blow. As he fell in pain he could see an evil, gap-tooth grin. "Bite me, Mulder," spoke Lord Elvis, his Letterman face filled with glee. He quickly drove his foot into Mulder's stomach before two burly Jumpsuit Elvises picked Mulder up and dragged him off to the mansion. Mulder awoke, tied to a chair, in the middle of an antiseptic, clean white room. Metal medicine cabinets sat to one side. Lord Elvis sat on the other side of the room, calmly smoking a cigar. "Do you know why I've invited you here, agent Mulder?" "I don't know," he replied. "Letting me get a chance to speak before you invite Bill Cosby?" Lord Elvis laughed for a second, then he puffed on the cigar a little more. "No," he drawled. "I'm ready to enact my revenge against you and all the other Elvises on this world." "Cut the crap, Jimmy," Mulder snarled, intentionally invoking Lord Elvis's true name. "You're not the one killing all these Elvises." "Oh, really?" He dropped the cigar and crushed it with a foot. "Of course. The killer looks like Buddy Holly. You're not that much of a make-up artist to hide your new looks. Not only that, but all the Elvises came from here, didn't they? You're working with them, Jim boy, not against them." Lord Elvis stood and moved quickly at Mulder, fists clenched, when another person's voice spoke. "Not now, Lord Elvis." A Movie Elvis strolled into the room. Lord Elvis turned to him and shouted, "Dammit, I will have my revenge!" "We need him alive!" Movie Elvis shouted back. "He's the best chance we have to stop the killer!" "Why are you being hunted down?" Mulder asked. The Movie Elvis shrugged. Lord Elvis snarled and left the room. "Very well," Movie Elvis spoke, going behind Mulder and loosening his bonds. "What are you doing?" "We need your help. We're...aliens from another planet." "Oh?" Mulder smiled. "You obviously know my interests, because you're playing with them so well." "We come from a world where all lifeforms look alike. Do you know what's like, agent Mulder, to come from a world where you can't be sure if the image in the mirror is really your own?" "Well, I did dress up in the same Halloween costume as my next-door neighbor's kid once..." "We came to this world to escape all that." "It didn't work. You all sort of look the same. You all still look like Elvises." "Ah, yes, but we look like Elvis Presley now. As this Elvis, we can at least have some fun on this world. Here, in this form we have made for ourselves, we can be treated like Kings." "How does Lord Elvis fit into all of this?" Mulder asked. "He provided us with genetic material he had stolen earlier in an attempt he had to alter himself into the genetic copy of the original Elvis," Movie Elvis explained. "He had the hair, you had the hair grower." "We have the know-how to create clones from genetic materials. We were able to redesign our equipment so we could make alterations instead of clones." "And the killer?" "He's from our world. Sent here to stop us." Mulder looked puzzled. "But if your people have a chance to become Elvises..." "We have destroyed our genetic purity in order to become Kings, agent Mulder. He's here to stop us before others get the same idea." "Why Elvis?" Mulder asked. "As Buddy Holly look-alikes, you could still do impersonator tours through England..." "We're not Buddy Hollys, agent Mulder." As Mulder began to understand what that meant, the alarms sounded. Elvis-plane En route to Ocala Scully's phone rang. "Yes?" Scully answered. "It's me," Mulder's voice sounded distant, and it was hard to hear him over the background noise of alarms going off. "Where are you?" "I'm at a lettuce farm outside of Ocala, off of highway 301. I'll stay on the line so you can triangulate my signal." "Okay, Mulder, but about that phone call you asked me to make..." Lettuce Growers of Florida Farms Mulder hung up as soon as they got his position, and he ran from the room looking for the Movie Elvis who had left minutes earlier. The hallways were suddenly filled with smoke, and he realized the killer was here at the farm. He ran down the hallway to his left, where the smoke was thickest, and he suddenly found the Movie Elvis, staring out through a window as someone pressed his face against it. Behind Movie Elvis, Mulder noted, stood the killer. He was shouting something but Mulder couldn't hear it through the glass. Mulder knew now who the killer looked like. The killer shoved the pointed stick into Movie Elvis's head, and the alien Elvis collapsed into a pool of jelly. Mulder then decided to smash through the window. Shards flew everywhere, and Mulder could feel some shards rip his arms, but he sailed into the room and landed on his side. "Okay, Elvis Costello, stop right there," Mulder said, reaching for his gun. "You seem to recognize me, agent Mulder. I also recognize you, since you're unarmed," said the alien hunter. Mulder thought, Oh, sh... At that moment, someone crashed a jet into the barn at the other end of the farmland. Scully and the others crawled from the jet, which was mostly undamaged except for the left wing. "Well, what'd you expect?" said the Elvis Pilot. "you said you wanted to land in a hurry." "Yeah, me amigo," Christopher Elvis gasped. "But the unspoken idea was to land in one piece." "Mulder?" Scully shouted, running out of what was left of the barn and toward the mansion. As she came closer, she could see the killer stepping out of the house and getting into a rental car. She tried to aim her gun at the tires but the killer quickly pulled the car out, and with the roar of the engine he drove the car out of the driveway and over the lawns toward the far fence surrounding the farm. Damn, she thought, and she ran into the smoke-filled mansion. She saw a human shape stumble toward her and she pointed her gun. "Freeze!" "Scully, it's me!" shouted Mulder, walking closer to be seen through the haze. "What happened?" "I told you I have a tough time cleaning windows," he answered, picking shards of glass from his hair. "Where's everybody else?" Scully asked. "The killer left. I guess he got everybody he was here for." "Hey," somebody from outside shouted. "Stop where you are!" They ran outside to find Christopher and Joshua surrounding Lord Elvis and Kimberly Ashlyn Gere. He had her, one arm wrapped around her throat, with Mulder's gun pointed at her head. "I have a hostage!" shouted Lord Elvis. "I have demands!" "You have nothing," Mulder answered back. "What?" Kimberly cried out. "Fox, what are you doing? He's crazy." "You're not real," Mulder replied. Both Lord Elvis and Kimberly stood there. Scully spoke. "I called L.A. The real Ashlyn Gere is currently filming a Led Zeppelin tribute called `The Sex Remains the Same.'" "She's a clone, isn't she Jim boy?" Mulder added. "Damn you," snarled Lord Elvis, quickly turning his gun on Mulder. Scully fired two shots. The first shot hit Lord Elvis in the shoulder, knocking him backward. The second shot hit the Ashlyn Gere clone in the chest. Mulder stood over her, watching the purple ooze spill from the wound. "Fox," she gasped. "I could...have ful...filled all...your...fantasies..." "Not really," he whispered. "Lord Elvis made a huge mistake. I'm more of a Victoria Paris fan." When she dissolved into a purple goo, Mulder stepped over the remains and grabbed his gun away from Lord Elvis. "Well, buds, what do we do with him now?" "Well," said Joshua, picking Lord Elvis up from the ground. "Maybe we should make him look like Jay Leno this time." "Naw, me amigo," answered Christopher. "Let's stay with the carrot-top theme. Conan O'Brien." "I'm kinda partial to Jon Stewart," suggested Scully. They all at each other and immediately knew the answer. "Geraldo," they said in unison. As the Easy E's from the Tampa office and the FBI cleared up the mess on the farms, Mulder grabbed the keys for one of the FBI cars and drove off. "Hey," Scully cried out, "Where does he think he's going?" Joshua handed her a note Mulder had written. It read, "Scully, I need to find the truth." "I wish he'd stop leaving me behind like this," Scully snarled, crumpling the paper. "He said he put a tracer on the Taurus," Joshua explained. "He's going after the alien." PART VI next =========================================================================== From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: ELVIS WARS (6/6) Date: 1 Jun 1995 17:32:10 GMT This is it. Elvis Wars PART VI by. Paul Wartenberg thanks. Peggy Mei-Ling Li Interstate 75 Stuckey's Outside of St. Leo and Dade City Mulder stopped here to gas the car and call to check for the location of the rental car. He was glad some companies have the tracer system instead of the Club as a theft deterrent. As he pumped the premium stuff into the tank with one hand, he dialed and held his cellular with the other. He stared off into the distant setting sun, which was turning the sky purple with orange cars. "Cool, huh?" said a hitchhiker coming up the parking lot from the interstate intersection. He waved his hand at the sunset. "I mean, I've lived here all my life and I've never seen anything so beautiful and haunting at the same time." "Oh, really?" Mulder asked. The company had him on hold and was playing the muzak version of Nine Inch Nail's "Closer." "Yeah," answered the hitchhiker. "I've been up and down most of the coastlines in this country. California's always been too...stark, I mean, in terms of the scenery surrounding you. Now, they say the sunset is best at Key West..." Mulder nodded. The song on the phone shifted to a string quartet version of Iron Maiden's "Trooper." "But I dunno, I've found the sunsets at Panama City to be more spiritually fulfilling." "Um, okay," Mulder said. "Just who the hell are you?" The hitchhiker shrugged his shoulders. "Can't say. The guy writing this story's kinda ran out of names. I'm just here filling out the story length." The hitchhiker went inside Stuckey's and ordered a syrup log. Mulder quickly got the information on the direction of the Taurus rental and got back out on the interstate. The car apparently had taken the interstate's extension, I-275, heading to downtown Tampa or maybe St. Petersburg. Mulder tried not to break any speed limits but did catch himself going 85 mph on occasion. He called again for the trace when he got near the intersection with I-4; the company located the car in St. Petersburg having gotten off I-275 somewhere outside of city limits, near Largo. Mulder checked the road map and determined the killer may be heading for any of the beaches from Gulfport to , Clearwater or Dunedin. (The author would like to take this time to also say hi to all his old friends from Tarpon Springs, Palm Harbor, and Oldsmar. ;) ) By the time Mulder got to the Pinellas County side of Tampa Bay, he called for one more trace check. The tracer was located at Treasure Island. Mulder nodded to himself and thought, good place to get a tan at midnight. Treasure Island near the shoreline Mulder parked his car next to the stolen Taurus in the municipal parking lot. He slowly walked up to the parking meter, fishing out his quarters in his pocket, but found that someone had already paid for the timer in full. He walked to the beach, his footsteps sinking quickly into the white sands. He strode toward a black woman dressed entirely in red and asked her if she'd seen a guy looking like Buddy Holly on the beach. "Oh yes," she said, pointing south. "He headed for the sand castle." Mulder looked south and saw, bathed in white spotlights, the Tallest Sand Castle in the World. He thanked the lady and headed to the castle. Mulder reached the castle and saw noone guarding what seemed to be the entrance. He walked under the carefully constructed archway and went inside. The loose sand and salty sea air filled the catacombs. Mulder could barely see, with so few windows or openings in this part of the sand castle. "I know you're in here!" Mulder shouted. "I should have known you would come," a voice echoed from above. Mulder headed what seemed to be a stairway. His foot quickly sank into the first step and he had to scratch that idea. "I don't know how you got upstairs, but I'm not going to lose you this time!" "Go home," the alien killer spoke, his voice bouncing off every wall. "You have nothing to find. All the evidence you could possibly need are gone." "I still need the truth." "They were impure, Mulder. They had to die." "Why? Because on this world your type of Elvis is more recognized as an artistic musician known for creative chances and engineering know-how instead of a cultural icon?" "That's not why you're here, Mulder," the Elvis Costello alien answered. "No. I need to know how they changed into Elvis impersonators." Silence. "They told me they got their genetic sources from their human assistant, Lord Elvis," Mulder added. "So they said. I've taken care of that, too." "It's a lie!" Mulder shouted. Silence again. Mulder began to think the alien Elvis Costello couldn't have gone above, so he slowly moved further into the heart of the sand castle. "How could you know? The samples..." "They couldn't have come from Lord Elvis. When we captured him the first time, we confiscated all his materials. I know. I was there. We found his stolen supplies, and I cried when we burned them all. They wouldn't let me keep any souvenirs." "Your Lord Elvis could have..." "I know when I've been lied to! The other Elvises had genetic material already, didn't they?" When Elvis Costello remained silent, Mulder added, "All Lord Elvis provided for them were new IDs and a secret base. If Lord Elvis had genetic material, I know he would have forced the aliens to genetically alter him first in any deal he could make. I figure the Elvises were holding that promise over him to ensure his aid." Mulder saw a shadow move against the dim glow from the outside spotlights. He stood and aimed in that direction. "Is that all?" asked Elvis Costello. Mulder heard the voice come from the direction in front of him. "I still think you were wrong to kill them. All they wanted was a new life," Mulder whispered. The alien Elvis Costello stepped forward into Mulder's vision. "They compromised their quality and their integrity." Mulder aimed for the weak spot and fired. But then Mulder suddenly thought, hey wait a minute nobody told me where this guy's weak spot was... The gas poured out of the alien's body and Mulder found himself falling down, coughing. Elvis Costello quickly grabbed him and dragged him on the sands through the hallways, to the exit. "Wait..." Mulder gasped, "I still...need to know..." "What is that, agent Mulder?" asked the alien, now dragging Mulder toward the waters away from the castle. "I need to know...the genetic material...from Elvis...," he gasped, fighting the uncontrollable urges coming upon him. "He's alive, isn't he?" Elvis Costello refused to answer. He dropped Mulder's feet into the water, the tiny waves of the Gulf of Mexico dribbling over his socks. "Please...Is Elvis...alive..." Mulder gasped. The alien Elvis Costello told him what he knew, and then he turned away. "Where...will you...run," Mulder whispered. Elvis Costello pointed to a dark shape down the coast. "My ship is there on the beach." "In...plain...view of..." "Oh, yes," said the alien before he left forever. "The locals thought it was a promo for that god-awful logo they have for the new baseball team in this area." Mulder remained, his feet in the water, his head turned to the stars above as he felt the sudden heat of an engine beyond human knowledge ignite. In time, the cool darkness returned, and Mulder felt the sudden urge to recite the entire monologue from the Michael Ellis episode. Morton Plant Hospital Clearwater, FL Mulder awoke to find himself in his Speedos encased in a metal container half-filled with water. Wires and sensors were placed everywhere on his body. "Hey!" he shouted, banging on the metal walls. A door opened and Scully peered inside. "Good to see you're finally feeling okay," she smiled. "Scully," Mulder said as he checked himself over. "I see you found a cure." "Yes." "What happened?" "We got the local Easy E's to locate where you went. A rock band was in the area and they helped out." A Jumpsuit Elvis appeared behind Scully and said, "Thank you. Thank you very much." Mulder smiled in shock. "TortElvis?" "Well, ah, me 'n the boys were in the area and we, ah, were glad to help out," said the lead singer to Dread Zeppelin. "Oh, man, TortElvis, I owe you one," Mulder said, giving the thumbs up sign. Scully shoved the singer out of the way. "Hey, what thanks do I get?" "Well, Scully, a good paycheck and the satisfaction of a job well-done. How did you do it, anyway?" "We force-fed you other stimuli to counteract your urges to play out Monty Python routines." Mulder scowled. "What did you use?" "Taped episodes of `Family Matters.'" Mulder's scream echoed for minutes in the enclosed sensory-deprevation tank. "Finished?" Scully asked. "No." Mulder screamed for another ten minutes. "Now?" Scully asked again. "Do you mind coming out? We need to redo a physical to make sure the bug's burned out of your system." "Not yet," Mulder asked, getting his hand on the door handle. "I want to stay in for another few days. I want to see if I turn out the same way William Hurt did in `Altered States.'" After Mulder closed the door, Scully shook her head. "Forget it, Mulder. You're already altered..." THE END (unless anybody else has a better idea...) AUTHOR'S NOTES Of course, I would like to state at this point that absolutely everybody in this story were completely fictional, except for Kimberly Ashlyn Gere, who in real life probably hasn't been cloned off (although I'm not sure if she hangs out with Elvis impersonators in her spare time), Elvis Costello (the real human version is actually quite nice and doesn't have a habit of shoving a pointed stick into clones), and Tortelvis (I have some of Dread Zep's albums and I greatly admire his work). To all three of you, I sincerely apologize if I had misrepresented you in any way, and I would like to point out that if you wish to sue me, I'm a public librarian and therefore have very little money for legal compensation. I would also like to apologize to the surviving members of Monty Python, and also any legal representatives, for the use of some skits in this story. I did try to provide citations early on, but decided that the large amount of plageri...um, borrowed lines, would mean I would have to acknowledge the use of materials here in the notes. As stated earlier, this story is a work of fiction and none of the events or characters within ever happened or acted in such a fashion, unless your lawyers think they can prove otherwise. Peggy Mei-Ling Li is entirely blameless in the creation of this story, and also has better legal representation than I do. Thank you and watch out for flying Elvises.