Date: 11 Jul 1999 22:42:44 GMT From: ArdenK42 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative TITLE: The Most Dangerous Game AUTHORS: Arden and JBP RATING: PG-13, at most CLASSIFICATION: P/K Slash (implied), Humor DISCLAIMER: Clickomania belongs to Matthias Schssler. The title belongs to Richard Connell, who used it for a short story. Krycek and CSM belong to 1013. Pendrell belongs to CiCi by now, says us. Oh, and we're not responsible for what happens to you if you decide to download Clickomania. (available free at www.hotfiles.com) ARCHIVE: Sure, just let us know so we can feel special. SUMMARY: Fun with computer games. DEDICATION: For the AOL Fanfic Junkies. It's all their fault. So is the name Wendell, suggested by Mara. This answers CiCi's Clickomania challenge on that board. FEEDBACK: Of course. Send it to ArdenK42@aol.com and LtJBP@aol.com. *Hm... this is fun. I got a new high score!* Wendell Pendrell smiled gleefully at his computer screen. He liked this new game. He wasn't addicted, of course. Not at all. Never mind that there were forensics samples to analyze... He just had to beat his high score one more time, then he'd get it done. "Wendell? Could you..." One of his co-workers had come in. She couldn't see him playing a game, he had to preserve his dedicated labmouse image! Certainly no one could find out that he was not nearly as innocent as he seemed... He quickly hit the escape key, making the game minimize onto the desktop: cleverly disguised as a Word document. He was safe. Wendell, eager to return to the game, hurried his co-worker through the conversation and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally left. He was about to start playing again when his cell phone rang. Wendell wanted to ignore it, but the only person who ever called his cell while he was at work was Alex. "Hello?" "Hey... You sound distracted. What are you doing? I know your *work* isn't that riveting..." Alex commented. Wendell could almost hear him smirking over the phone. "Um... I was just playing a game." It was useless to lie to Alex, he always knew when Wendell was being any less than 100% truthful. It was one of the many ways their relationship wasn't quite fair-Wendell could never tell when anyone, much less Alex, was playing with his mind. "Oooh. What game?" Alex was using that annoying voice again. It was almost more distracting than the game. *Almost*. "It's called Clickomania. Kind of like Tetris but... different." "I remember Tetris. I couldn't stop playing it for five hours straight the last time I played. I had to delete the game." "Oh, but this isn't addictive at all, Alex," Wendell rushed to explain. *I mean, I've only had it for one day and have only played....hm, a few hours?* "How long have you been playing?" Alex said, his voice switching from seductive to suspicious. Wendell gulped inwardly. "Uh..." "What did you say?" "Not-not that long." "Okay. Sure. That's what they *all* say. But I guess you want me to try the game, don't you?" "Yeah. You'll have fun, I promise." Wendell couldn't believe this was actually working. "I'll send it to you." "Okay. See you later." "Wait, why did you call?" "I wanted to hear the melodious sound of your voice." Alex blew him a kiss over the phone. He never said goodbye. Wendell wasted no time uploading the game to his lover, glad that the FBI had a T-1 line. His attempted pranks on Alex hadn't worked too well in the past, but he was sure *this* would be entertaining... *** Alex hung up the phone and went to his computer. Sure enough, the computer announced "You've got mail!" in Wendell's voice. Alex had had a lot of fun messing with the sounds on his computer several weeks ago. It wasn't like there was much else to do when you were waiting for a member of a world-domination conspiracy to ask you for a ride. Alex downloaded Clickomania. Before he started playing, he changed the background picture directory to his Naked Wendell folder. Then he quickly reviewed the rules. *Sounds simple enough. And how addictive can this little thing possibly be? I'll play a few games and Wendell'll be happy. Then I have to go pick up that damned smoking bastard and take him to his stupid meeting. Oh, how I hate this job. "Alex, get me a latte. Alex, drive me to the country club. Alex, drive my inept son to kill an alien in disguise and then save his ass when he completely fails to do so." I can't stand it. I just can't stand it. At least I have Wendell.* On that last thought, Alex started his first game of Clickomania... *** The smoking man was quickly losing patience. He had a very important smoking-and-drinking-and-conspiring meeting to get to. Where oh where was his chauffeur? Alex had made a decent thug, but as a driver, he was thoroughly dismal. He didn't open doors for people, he flat out refused to wear a uniform, and just wouldn't break the speed limit no matter how late they were. Plus, he was always "accidentally" jabbing the man with his prosthetic arm. But he usually wasn't an hour late. If this ever happened again... The man stopped *that* train of thought before it started. It was fun to think about, but would get him nowhere. He wondered if he should call Alex. But no, he'd bugged the phone today and didn't want his own voice to show up on the tape. The other Consortium members (not that there were many left) he'd have to play the tape for couldn't see any weakness in him, even an unreliable chauffeur. Which meant he'd have to cover for Alex, when he finally decided to show up. Oh, the problems of being in charge of this conspiracy... He drummed his fingers on the elegant coffee table, getting more and more impatient. That stupid Russian son-of-a-bitch! Russians were so unreliable. He'd think twice before starting talks with the Russian Consortium again. *** Meanwhile, Alex was cursing loudly as he struggled to beat his high score of three blocks left. In some other part of his mind, he knew he had somewhere to be. But he dismissed any thoughts unrelated to the present problem, which was *much* more important than his "job." As he lost again, Alex wondered how good Wendell was (at the *game*), and if he'd beat him yet. He started another game. Surely Wendell wasn't *this* good. Alex always had been the better strategist. He was so absorbed in his continuing effort to beat himself that he didn't notice Wendell until he was standing right behind him. When Alex finally noticed and turned around, he burst out laughing. Wendell was trying not to laugh, and his expression looked so... comic. Then Alex realized that Wendell was trying not to laugh at *him.* "Hey, what's so funny?" he demanded. "You have to have been playing for *hours* to get that score! Didn't you have something to do?" "SHIT!" Alex jumped up, grabbed his black leather jacket, and tore out the door, leaving behind a befuddled Wendell. He collapsed into his car and ran several red lights on his way to the Smoking Man's house. *How to explain this one...* he mused as he drove, hoping desperately not to get caught by a cop. Someone might decide to be a boy scout and run his description, and it wouldn't do for them to find out what was on his record. It wasn't speeding tickets. He pulled into the drive of the smoking man's abode and honked twice. Moments later, the door opened. Even out in the car, Alex could clearly see the man's expression. He nearly ran the car into the bushes in his anxiety to get the hell out of there, but that would only make things worse. Concentrating, he pulled his foot from the accelerator and gritted his teeth as he opened the car door for his boss. This seemed to placate the man slightly. But not enough. "Alex, why are you late?" said the man in a tone that was far too calm for the dangerous look in his eyes. "I was just leaving the house, when Mulder showed up outside. I couldn't let him see me, because every time he does he beats me up. When Mulder *finally* gave up and left--you know what an annoyingly determined little investigator he is--I realized how late I was. But I had to drive slowly because *you* won't get my police record cleared." It couldn't hurt to share a little blame... and the smoking man was likely to be understanding about Mulder. "All right. But don't be late again. I'll see what I can do about your record..." the smoking man sighed, lit up a Morley, and began to formulate *his* excuse for lateness. All Alex could think about on the long drive were two things: Clickomania and Wendell. He wasn't sure what order they came in. When the smoking bastard was finally out of his car, Alex couldn't help speeding a little as he drove home. *** Back in the apartment they shared, Wendell was playing Clickomania on Alex's computer as he awaited his lover's return. He'd beaten Alex's high score enough times to put him in last place on the board when he heard the door open. "Hey..." Alex greeted him. "Wait a minute! What did you do to my high score? You bastard..." "Hah!" "And thanks to this damned game, the smoking man was practically frothing at the mouth because I was over an hour late picking him up." "It's not *my* fault you have no self-control..." Wendell giggled seductively. "I'll show you self-control!" *** Several hours later, Alex and Wendell, lying in bed, were happily playing Clickomania on Wendell's laptop. They were amiably arguing over who was better (at the *game*), neither had to work the next day, and they'd not a care in the world. Although it was 2 am, neither felt the least bit tired. Finis \