From: shl10@cornell.edu (Simon H. Lee) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Run, Ratboy, Run Date: Mon, 09 Oct 95 08:26:09 GMT The usual copyright disclaimer: Copyright notice: Characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement intended. I will derive no financial gain from this story, yatta yatta yatta. .. Just a short speculative piece on our favorite Ratboy's origins and what was going through his mind after CM tried to cook him. Nothing spectacular, but pondering this might actually help me to get my other story moving again. Thanks to Rosario for a sadistic thought. ..................................................................... RUN, RATBOY, RUN SOUTHEAST WASHINGTON, D.C. "I could use a beer. You want anything?" Hispanic Man asked Krycek. Krycek shook his head. "No." *What do you think this is, Reservoir Dogs?* "You sure?" Krycek shook his head again. His two traveling companions left the car and headed for the convenience store at a sedate pace. Krycek leaned back a bit and fumed. 12:00 12:00 12:00 The clock was seriously wrong. A sudden sense of recognition and dread filled his mind. *Oh, shit!* "Yahhh!" Krycek grabbed the door handle and flung the door open, then hit the ground running. BOOM! The blue sedan exploded in a golden ball of flame behind him, an instant before the massive shockwave flattened Krycek to the ground. Krycek barely noticed the sheer magnitude of the bomb meant to kill him; he pushed himself back off the pavement and kept running. About three minutes, a couple of turns, and half a mile later, Krycek slowed down enough to do some decent breathing and get a better view of his surroundings. It didn't take him long to decide to get out of the area quickly, and not just because of the other two agents that had tried to incinerate him. Looking back to check for pursuit, he headed for a Metro stop nearby. Waves of fear and doubt lashed at his mind. He had good reason to fear the others, but they rarely worked in teams of more than two or three, and Krycek came to the conclusion that they fully expected the car bomb to kill him right there without any other help. Still, it stung to know that someone didn't consider him important enough to use more than two people and a bomb. But that reminded him of the screw-ups he had been experiencing lately. There was getting beaten up by Mulder, the failed attempt to kill Dana Scully, and the general lack of success he had been having since he had been assigned to the job. Then again, *what* screw-ups? I got the-- Tape! Krycek reached into his jacket pocket and reassured himself with the reassuring plastic shell of the device. *Hmm. . . Maybe.* Krycek did not enjoy himself for a few hours, which he spent working his way out of southeast D.C., then D.C. proper, until he was in Arlington, using a few cabs, the Washington Metro, and plain old foot power. He was seriously on edge, anticipating a car or bullet to reach out an touch him any second. However, while most of his mind was focused on getting himself out of the mess he was in, part of him could not resist mulling over how he had gotten into it in the first place. Alex Krycek had actually started out an FBI agent. There were not too many spectacular things about him, he just did his job adequately. His only major problem was greed. He wanted more than the petty surveillance jobs he was getting, he knew that he could do more and that his superiors knew that as well. So he pushed hard. Perhaps a bit too hard, and he ended up blowing a fairly important industrial espionage case on his one great shot at glory. Krycek's superiors would have found out, if. . . he hadn't shown up. That double-crossing son of a bitch. Simply put, though, it was an offer that Krycek could not refuse. He would get off the hook and everything would be fine, in exchange for the performance of certain "jobs" for the man and his shadowy organization. Krycek had not been entirely comfortable with the arrangement or some of the things that he was asked to do, but the words were coated with just the right amounts of patriotism, duty, and the promise of power. Krycek was reeled in like a fish, and not entirely unwilling at that. The smoker even seemed to have praise for him, calling him one of the "professionals." Krycek liked that. *So much for words,* Alex thought as he paid cash for a bus ticket to Philadelphia. *Well, I should have known.* It all had started to unravel when he was assigned to report on the actions of Agent Fox Mulder. Krycek had not been entirely misleading in telling Mulder that he had some admiration for the man; whatever he was doing with his and the Bureau's time, he was getting results, and had an incredible focus on his work. Still, orders were orders, and he was capable of killing. *No orders are worth that,* he thought as the bus pulled up to its spot in the New York bus terminal. Within a few months, he found himself killing relatively "innocent" people, trying to kill FBI agents, and in way over his head. Krycek didn't really mind; his targets were threatening the control the little consortium purported to have on the planet and as such deserved what was coming to them. It was just that his orders put him completely outside the system forever, and he would have to rely on them to keep him away from any prying eyes, such as Fox Mulder's. *At least I can put what they taught me to good use,* Krycek thought, getting on another bus, this one to New York. Just before the MJ-12 incident, he had received a fairly good briefing on ways to get out of Dodge fast if the situation demanded it. From this, he had a few ideas about where he was going to hide out for a while. Hiding certainly seemed like a good idea. It had not been a good week, first getting identified and beaten up by a drugged-up Mulder, then botching the assassination of Dana Scully. But hadn't he been told that the end justified the means? He had been able to get the data tape that his boss had craved so deeply. What was the problem with that? The job was wrapping up nicely. Why kill him? Krycek decided that question was the main reason he was so angry. He didn't see any real reason for the SOB to want him dead. Not after all he had managed to accomplish--after all, the guy had requested that Krycek himself personally handle the Skinner situation. And he had done so, right? Why try to kill him now? It certainly wasn't an act of gratitude on the man's part. Somehow the concept of eliminating all of the people who knew of the file's existence did not seem to apply to his own agents. Of course, that question was pretty much moot. He had the tape. Granted, the bastard was so keyed up about getting the thing off Skinner that allowing him to have it was probably a relief, but Krycek didn't fool himself into believing that that meant he was off the hook. Someone would come after him, in the near future if they were not already doing so. But they would have to find him first. And he still had a very high card in his hand, if he chose to play it, which would keep them off his trail for a short time, at least. All it would take would be a few simple phone calls, and no one would be using him anymore. Krycek took a deep breath of clear Canadian air and looked around the Vancouver airport terminal. *Almost clear,* he congratulated himself. *But first, a little clerical duty. . .* He dialed the number. "Yes?" spoke the voice on the other end. "Jordan." "Yes, he's just arrived. One moment please." The phone muted for a moment, then a familiar voice issued from the earpiece. "Hello?" *Deal with this, sucker. . .* "I'm alive." A pause. *Maybe he had a coronary,* Krycek thought sadistically. "Isn't that a surprise," he added for effect. "Yes. Good, good, good. Uh, where are you?" *Oh, trying to cover this as business as usual for your big friends, eh?* "Somewhere that you will never find me, you double-crossing son of a bitch." That felt good. "Are you sure?" Krycek felt the weight of the tape. "I'm sure of this. If I so much as feel your presence, I'm going to make you a very, very famous man. You understand?" "Yes. Thank you, I'm going to report that to the group." Krycek tried to beat the other's hand to hanging up the phone, slamming it down hard against its cradle. *Too bad it's not your head,* Krycek thought. A flight announcement blared over the P.A. Alex adjusted his jacket and headed off for the gate. *I'll be back,* Krycek though to himself. -- ___________________________ALL DONE! BYE BYE!___________________________ | __ | | / \* | | \__ _ _ _ _ "Lots of files." | | \|| | |/ \| \ "Lots and lots of files." | | \__/|| | |\_/| | | |_________________________________________________________________________|