From: "Judy Hsieh" Date: Sat, 25 Nov 2000 14:50:57 +1100 Subject: Submission of new story, titled: The Truth About (Cats and) Dogs, by JudyX Source: direct NEW: The Truth About (Cats and) Dogs Author: JudyX Feedback: judyhs@iprimus.com.au Spoilers: Probably everything up to Within/Without. Categories: Mytharc, Crossover (sort of), Humour/Parody. Keywords: Doggett-angst, Doggett abuse, Mulder cameo, MulderTorture, CC cameo, Send-up/Crossover with Terminator 2 (sort of) and Star Wars (sort of). Rating: Um. PG. (Some bad language). Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, CSM, Doggett all belong to CC, FOX and Co, unfortunately. T-2000 belongs to whoever owns the rights to the Terminator movies. Some characters have been modelled on characters from Star Wars which belongs to George Lucas. Author's notes: This is my take on the truth about John Doggett. BTW, there are NO cats in this story. That was my little red herring! Feedback will be greatly appreciated! Please be gentle, this is my first story ever posted! Archive: Yes! But let me know where! The Truth About (Cats and) Dogs John Doggett's apartment Year 1995 John Doggett stood with his hands on his hips as his blue eyes tracked the room coldly. His face was blank - even his closest friends would have been hard put to describe its expression, although they would have eventually worked out logically that he was, in fact, extremely pleased with himself. He had just hung up his framed FBI Academy Graduation Certificate in pride of place on the south wall of the study of his new apartment, exactly equidistant from his other awards and certificates from the NYPD and the Marines. Yes, sir! Yessiree! He was absolutely bursting with pride at managing the difficult feat of arranging all the frames so that they hung in a precise, symmetrical pattern on the wall. Now, THIS was ART! His art teachers (one of whom had actually accused him of having the creativity of a pea) should see him now! Taking two weeks off after graduation to settle into his new apartment was the best idea he'd had in ages! So rapt was he in admiration of his handiwork, that he did not react to the sudden flash of white light in the room. It was only when the gust of wind which followed the light blew some dust into his eyes, did he blink and look around in surprise. "What the CRAP??? ...." Doggett's apartment Year 2000 This was turning out to be another typically crappy Doggett day. First, he had that watery run-in with Special Agent Dana Scully at the Bureau. On hindsight, he supposed he could have handled that initial meeting better. But unfortunately, he had once again forgotten the human protocol of introducing one's self first before accusing the other person's partner of betrayal. Hence, the water in his face, then (shudder) that Scully Death Stare. Good one, Doggie my boy! Great way to gain someone's trust! Then, he had run into the red-headed woman AGAIN at Fox Mulder's apartment. She wasn't supposed to be there! Could his luck get any worse? Breaking into Mulder's apartment to do a little snooping around (and 'dressing the scene') should have been a piece of cake - in fact, that was the way it HAD started out. He had the fourth floor hallway of Hegal Place all to himself when he had picked the lock with his 'special key' before slipping inside, none the wiser. He had started by searching and canvassing the rooms, trying to decide the best place to plant his 'evidence', when a noise in the bedroom had alerted him to another presence on the premises. It had been Scully, of course. The moment she saw him, her blue eyes had turned so cold, it was almost as though he had been doused in liquid nitrogen. Doggett was still kicking himself at his inane explanation for being at Mulder's place. "I just came by to feed the fish." Feed the fish?? FEED THE FISH???? Jesus Christ, he was supposed to be tough AND smart - he could have been much more original than that! But noooo, he had to use Scully's line. And the problem was, the pet fish wasn't on any official personnel dossiers on Mulder, so Scully had rightly gotten suspicious the instant the words left his mouth... (The notion that Scully might have just thought of him as being an unoriginal, tactless, sarcastic bastard never occurred to him at all.) Dammit all to hell. In the end, he had to pull out his 'evidence' (which he hadn't had time to plant yet) from his official looking folder to try diverting her attention away from him. Thank God it had worked that time, but if he wasn't more careful, she was going to be onto him - soon. As it was, Scully had no idea just how close she had come to meeting her end at his hands. Or hand, rather. At this Doggett glanced down at his right arm. The fleshy tone slowly faded as his arm shimmered silver, then it flattened and changed - until from the elbow down, his limb became a stiletto dagger. He held it up and contemplated the sharp blade. If he wanted, he could have killed her today at Mulder's apartment, and no one would ever be able to find the murder weapon or trace anything back to him. Being able to shape change had three major advantages: the first was the ability to smooth out the fingerprints on his hands, second, there would be no murder weapon to dispose of, and lastly, he could assume any shape he wanted when he left the scene. Hell, he could take on Mulder's form to do that, (and it wouldn't have been the first time either), and frame him for murder as well. He shook his head disappointedly and let his arm change configuration again so that this time it resembled a small chisel. He picked up a slab from the floor and put it on his workbench. It was time to get creative. It was unfortunate, he thought as he started chipping away at the slab, that he had strict instructions NOT to touch Scully until such time as The Powers That Be saw fit for him to do so. It would never do for Scully to be killed so soon after the disappearance of her partner. The rumour mill would have a field day with that one, and someone somewhere would one day put two and two together, and realise that there might have been something to the X-files after all. Another important detail was she was carrying Mulder's child. Anything that carried Fox Mulder's DNA was valuable. Doggett had to keep her safe - or at least until the baby was safely delivered ... to his employers. So Scully got to live another day, and he, Doggett, had to make sure she continued to do so... at least for a while longer. CRAP! He was starting to think that he was in way over his head. He just didn't understand humans, and more especially, human emotions. He felt like Star Trek's Data, except that this was the real world. He envied Data. At least he had friends and crewmates to help him explore human emotions, and made efforts to understand any lapses he might make. But poor old Doggett? Not a chance! He had to muddle through life on his own because no one was allowed to know his true nature. (And if anyone did, he was programmed to eliminate them quickly.) Yep! He had no one to point the way. His only help was some (crappy!) programming which told him to shift the muscles of his face one way when he was (supposed to be) happy, and another when he was (supposed to be) sad. Crap! He couldn't even cry if he wanted to! The only good thing about all this was that he had a really cool macho image. Sort of being 'stoic in the face of danger' kind of way. He continued to carve into the tombstone in front of him. Now, THIS was going to be his masterpiece. Trying to make out that Mulder was dying from a brain tumour since the fiasco last year at the psychiatric hospital was a stroke of genius on his part. He finished, and leaned back to admire the result. The freshly added line to the stone read: 'FOX MULDER, 1961-2000' Let's see Scully and Skinner try to explain THAT away, Doggett thought to himself. That would show her for the water in his face! Thinking about that incident made him wonder at his problems in the human relations department. Sometimes Doggett wondered what the real, original John Doggett was like. Five years ago, his masters had abducted the man and replaced him with himself. His computer mind whirred as he recalled the events surrounding his birth.... Alien/Consortium lab Year 1995 "Hey, you," the voice hissed, "it's time to wake up!" He awoke slowly, aware of a cold, metal surface beneath his body. "Hey, you! Open your eyes!" He obeyed, blinking. "Wow! He's blinking! He's so - so *human*- like!" The voice was getting excited. "Hey, you - " "Why don't you give him a name or something? Can't keep calling him, 'hey, you' all the time!" a second voice interrupted. The first voice was annoyed. "He already has a name, you nincompoop! He's assuming Doggett's name, of course!" "Well, we can't call him 'John Doggett' all the time when we have the original here too. We need something to distinguish them apart!" 'Hey, you' looked around carefully, and saw the two figures standing by the side of his metal bed. One was a tall, thin, greying man, while the other was an attractive young woman with brown hair. Both were wearing lab coats over their persons. "Hmmm," mumbled the grey man whose voice was the first 'Hey, you' had heard in his life. His mind started accessing data... bed side scenario, a male and female hovering over him, arguing over a name.... Only one basic scenario fit: were they his parents? He tried to speak. "M... Mum?" The grey man started, then snorted back a laugh. "It thinks you're his 'mummy'!" The woman was not amused. "Can it!" She turned back to 'Hey, you' sternly. "Listen very carefully, I am NOT your mother!" 'Hey, you' looked hopefully at the man. "Da..dad?" The man let out another short bark of laughter. "No, son, I am not your father, either." 'Hey, you' was confused. Why did the man call him 'son' when he wasn't? And why would they want to name him if they weren't his parents? Before he could frame another question, the two humans had resumed their argument. "If we call him other things, we're going to screw with his programming. Nothing must be left to chance! You should know that!" They bickered for a while longer. Just like real parents would, 'Hey, you' decided. "OK, how about this: we call him D2? For Doggett 2," the woman finally offered. "You know, like the 'T-800' and the 'T- 1000' in those Terminator movies." The grey man threw his nicotine-stained hands up in the air. "OK, fine. Whatever. D2 it is, then." So 'Hey, you' became D2. Later on he would grow to hate that name. But he would hate 'Doggett' even more. Two hours later They were still bickering over him. It had started with his name. Now they were bitching about his looks, his personality, and his qualifications. It wasn't even fair - they actually belonged to the REAL John Doggett, not him! This non-stop denigrations and put downs, D2 was sure, were all classical signs of child abuse. After all,(despite his adult body and despite having the real Doggett's memories being downloaded into him during this time), he WAS a new born. In fact, he was only two hours old. Meanwhile, the real John Doggett, or D1, as they had taken to referring to him, fumed in his bonds across the room as the grey man and dark haired woman discussed his traits (or lack thereof) in front of him as though he was a piece of dead meat. (In actuality, they had forgotten he was even in the room.) By all rights, this should have summarily stripped him of his pride and dignity - except that he knew better than to believe their comments. After all, he was the ultimate alpha male, a man's man - for heaven's sakes, he had been a marine and a cop in one of the toughest precincts in the country! How dared they treat him this way? "I still can't understand why you couldn't have chosen a candidate who is - how shall I say it - more asethetically pleasing?" the woman was complaining for the hundredth time. The other man impatiently waved his cigarette in the air. "Look, we didn't choose him for his looks -" "THAT much is obvious." He tried again. "We chose him for his personality-" "HA!" "As I was saying, he had the perfect personali-" "HA!" Silence. The woman spoke up again through gritted teeth. "I just KNEW that I should have been there when this... this specimen was chosen. Men! You lot can't be trusted to do anything right!" "Look, I was trying to say that he had the most suitable personality -" "HA!" He continued valiantly on, "... for a robot to learn and duplicate." The woman's eyes opened wide. "Huh? You mean...?" The grey man nodded. He launched into his explanation quickly, before she could interrupt again. "We searched a long time to find the man with the perfect personality and character for a machine to copy - which is someone who rarely shows his emotions, if at all. After all, the machine doesn't have real emotions of its own - it can only simulate it from our programming." He paused to take a puff of his cigarette. "By the way, it was also far easier to develop the actual personality/emotion parameters for Mr Doggett here than for anyone else we've tried to do that for - far less variables to work with. It leaves less room for error and discovery. It's much neater this way, trust me on this." The woman nodded in understanding. "OK, I get it now. But I still wish you could have found a more attractive person! Take Mulder, for example, now THAT is one gorgeous hunk of a man!" her eyes misted over dreamily. "He's got such beautiful, expressive eyes - I can get lost in them all day, you know? And those lips of his! Made to be kissed! Ab-so-lute-ly SINful! Yummy, yum, yum!" She started to play with her shoulder length brown hair. "Why can't we grab him instead of Doggett?" she asked in a plaintive voice. The cigarette smoking man looked at her with barely concealed disgust. "You KNOW why we can't take Mulder! You just said it yourself - he's too expressive and passionate. And he's got a strange sense of humour which we can't even BEGIN to quantify! A man like that can't be successfully duplicated. In fact, Mulder's too unpredictable and intense for our people to even attempt to write a suitable personality program for him, or believe you me, we would have taken him years ago! It certainly would have saved us a great deal of trouble. Besides, you can count on Agent Scully to notice a difference almost immediately!" The woman pouted. Women! he thought to himself as he mentally rolled his eyes. But it did his paternal pride a great deal of good to know that his son could reduce even the most intelligent and strongest of women (like this one) to a drooling idiot with the mere mention of his name. "Anyway, we can't take Mulder yet, remember? We still have years of groundwork ahead of us in preparation for the day that we can take Mulder with the least complications. Sending D2 here is one of the first of many steps we need to take to get us what we want." He stopped. "Er, hello? Hey, are you listening?" The woman shook herself out of her pleasant reverie. "What?" she snapped. "I said we WILL take Mulder - eventually. But to do that, we need our own people in key places. Someone with the Bounty Hunter's special skills, but whose loyalty is to us - and that's where our boy here is coming in." The grey man stopped again. He waved his hands in front of her face. "Hello? Did you hear a word I just said? Hey, you!" D2 perked up. "Dad?" "Not you, you idiot! You're moniker is 'D2'. For heaven's sake, is it so hard for you to remember two lousy letters? You're supposed to be a computer!" "But '2' is a number, not a let -" "Enough!" "But -" "Shut up, you dog get!" D2 fell silent, and watched as the grey man spoke with menacing fury to the woman. "And you! Get your mind back on track on what we're doing here, for God's sake! You're supposed to help D2 get in character! Hey, are you listening? HELLO?" She only sighed, her eyes far away. The man threw both hands up in the air in defeat, and stalked out of the room. How was he ever going to get anything done with help like these? She would be useless if she kept zoning out every time Mulder was mentioned! Just before he exited the door, he threw back over his shoulder, "I'll be back. And when I do, I want your mind out of the gutter. And that *DROOL* WIPED OFF YOUR FACE!" With that, he slammed the door. D2 wondered about these erratic humans. What was going on? And who was Mulder? Whoever he was, D2 didn't think he would like him. He glanced at his 'mother' again. Yep, she was definitely drooling. D2 decided then and there that he just KNEW he wasn't going to like this Mulder person one bit, not at all... Consortium/Alien lab Year 1995 One and a half week later D2 wished he could drink himself into a stupor like the humans could when they were depressed. But, of course, he couldn't get drunk, even if it killed him. He wasn't even sure if he COULD get 'depressed', either. But his software was telling him that he should be - if he wasn't already. His first day of life had been hell. (As were all the days that followed). After the grey man (whose name he later discovered, was Spender) had called him 'dog get' that day, he had searched his extensive databanks, and realised that it meant something bad. REALLY bad. Ever since then, he had hated his name, even though 'Doggett' wasn't exactly pronounced that way. Unfortunately, 'dog get' became his nickname as much as 'D2' ever did. Then, on his last day at the lab, the woman had taken him to the AV room and plonked a tape into the video machine, and told him to watch. It was called 'Terminator 2'. The actor in that movie bore an uncanny resemblence to John Doggett, FBI agent, and (by default), D2. D2 watched in rapt attention at the exploits of the T-1000, and later, with (what his programming said should be) fascinated horror at the killer machine's demise. The woman came back when he finished the movie. She sat across from him with her long legs crossed and hands folded over her lap. She lifted an eyebrow expectantly. "Well?" D2 was confused. "Well, what?" he temporised. A flicker of annoyance swept past her face. "While it is a good technique outside in the field to answer a question with a question, please refrain from doing so with me. Now, answer my question: what do you think is the moral of the story?" D2 answered her carefully. "The hero always triumphs? The hero will sacrifice himself for the good of mankind?" She rolled her eyes at his hesistant tone. "Maybe that might have sounded better if you'd STOP making everything sound like a question! Now try again, and this time, lose the question mark!" "The hero always triumphs. The hero will sacrifice himself for the good of mankind." He spoke without much inflection, and definitely no hint of a 'question mark'. "Much better... I think. Well, you're right, of course, but there's more to this movie then that, and which have a personal relevance to you. Let's go through the list for you: 1. You can assume the form of anyone or anything you know. Although, unlike the T- 2000 in the movie, I think you might have some problems taking on other people's personality as well. Anyway, 2. Any part(s) of your body can be used as a weapon. 3. Never ever use your primary form to break the law. 4. You are well nigh invulnerable, but not indestructible. So, 5. Stay away from liquid nitrogen at all cost, and 6. NEVER ever go to a steelworks factory! 7. OK, I'll amend that last one a bit - never ever stray too close to something really, really hot! 8. And 'hot' also includes Fox Mulder. Stay. Away. From. Mulder. As Much As Possible!! The man has an uncanny sense for the paranormal, and if anyone is going to find out about you, it would be him. Now, did you understand all that?" D2 nodded. "Good." The woman steepled her fingers together. "That movie was actually produced and directed by one of our own people. We wanted a way for you to see for yourself what you're capable of, as well as your weaknesses. As you can no doubt tell, the concept of something like you had been floating around the Consortium for a while. We scrapped the first design, based on the T-1000 as too unworkable. Too much metal - it would never get past the metal detectors. You, on the other hand, can change the very composition of your body at will, thanks to a little help from our alien friends." "I thought the movie was directed by James Cameron?" The woman grimaced faintly. "He did. He's one of ours. Although I'll admit that he's hard to rein in - all those artistic types are. And he always gets so carried away! We tell him to make a small video to showcase our design to the other members, but he goes and makes a big production out of it! Both times! Jesus!" She shook her head with fond disbelief. "Cameron is a public figure. Aren't you afraid that someone might trace him back to us?" "'James Cameron' is an alias, no one knows his real name. To us, he was just 'Jim'." She giggled suddenly. "Do you wanna know how he came up with his alias?" she asked him in a conspiratoral whisper. She took his silence as acquiescence. "He started out as our camera man. He'd also do little projects here and there for us. He always used to say, 'Lights, camera, action!' or, 'The camera's on' all the time. That's how he got his first nickname from us: Jim 'Camera-on'." She started to stutter, trying to hold back her laughter. "'Camera-ON', 'CamerON', you get it?" She couldn't help herself any longer, and just howled, tears pouring out of her eyes. Not a muscle twitched on D2's face. He remained stony-faced throughout. He didn't laugh because: 1. he didn't get the joke. 2. he had yet to master the art of laughing. 3. the real John Doggett wasn't much on laughing, and it would have been out of character. So he sat still and waited stoically until she had finally calmed down. The woman wiped the tears from her eyes, and hiccupped. "Er... ahem." She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her expression suddenly intense, all traces of amusement gone. "Your first assignment is to take the place of John Doggett. All his personal history and details we could get, we have downloaded into your memory. Now, once you get this right, we will be feeding you with further instructions down the line on a need-to-know basis. Do you understand?" D2 nodded again. "Any questions?" "What are you going to do to him?" "That's for us to know, and for you not to worry about. Anything else?" "Why didn't you call me the T-1000?" "Huh?" "T-1000 sounds much better than D2." "What are you talking about? What difference does it make?" she asked incredulously. "Well, 'T-1000' sounds really cool and high-tech, while 'D2' makes me sound like a parking lot." All through the movie, that had been a desperately burning question in his mind. "I mean, you could have called us 'D-1000', or 'D-2000' instead, or something starting with 'T', you know?" "Are you telling me that you actually have an opinion? Good grief! Look, we could have decided to call you 'Tweedle-DEE' and 'Tweedle-DUM' and there would have been nothing you could have done about it! And guess which one you'd have been, eh, DUMmy?!" She was getting worked up. "Ooh, ooh! Another brainwave! How about DUMMY 1 and DUMMY 2? Hmmmm? Or DUMB and DUMBER? Aren't you lucky that we didn't do that? Now any more SERIOUS questions?" D2 could see she was getting impatient and ticked off at him. He hurriedly shook his head. "Good. Now get out of here." She made shooing motions with her hand. "Oh, by the way," she called out as he rose to go, "be a good doggie, dear, and try and do well at the FBI? That WOULD be part of our plans, OK?" J Edgar Hoover Building Year 2000 Oh, yeah. He'd had tried his best at the FBI, all right. He was so good that he got assigned to track down Spooky Mulder who had somehow gotten himself abducted by aliens - which had been Spender's plan all along. D2's orders were to take over the investigation, and do everything in his power to prevent them from finding Mulder until it was too late. It was his job to cover up everything. Christ, if he didn't handle this properly, it would look bad to both his employers - the FBI AND the Consortium. Oh, yeah, baby! He was really good, all right. So good that it was only AFTER he had unveiled his masterpiece that he realised that he had carved in the WRONG birth year onto the tombstone!! CRAP!! Double CRAP!!! He hoped everybody would forget they ever saw the tombstone ASAP. More fervently, he hoped Spender and that woman (whose name he never found out) will never EVER find out about his little lapse. J Edgar Hoover Building Outside the Office of DD Kersh Year 2000 A few days later This was definitely shaping up as the crappiest WEEK of the year! Together with his fellow shape-shifting alien counterpart, the Bounty Hunter, they had taken turns pretending to be Mulder and carrying out a basic sanitization of all useful information, and to plant evidence and doubts among Mulder's supporters. It didn't seem to be working all that well, however. There were several close calls - Scully had to be watched! She would have stumbled onto the cloaked spaceship where Mulder was held if he hadn't managed to divert her in time. Then his alien partner had gotten careless - it was just D2's luck that he had gotten one with a flair for the melodramatic. Jumping off cliffs in the vicinity of witnesses was NOT part of the plan, goddammit! Then he had pretended to be Scully when the real Scully was with D2 and other witnesses (again)! Was this a cover-up or a major fuck-up?? Then that idiot had gotten himself killed at the hospital. D2 was relieved that the Bounty Hunter had already dissolved into a green puddle before anyone ELSE saw that or someone would have a lot of explaining to do. Luckily he was in time to make sure Scully (and the baby) was OK. After all, she wasn't supposed to die just yet. To cap all that off, he found out that AD Skinner thought that DD Kersh had set him up for a fall. Because Kersh thought D2 might be a rival in his climb to the top! D2 brooded until he heard his name being called. He looked up. Kersh's blonde secretary was looking at him with a frown on her face. "The Deputy Director is ready to see you NOW, Agent Doggett," she said pointedly. Without missing a beat, D2 stood up. "Thank you." His outward demeanour did not betray his sudden inner disquiet. He had never lost track of his surroundings before! Was he actually...going through some form of angst? Oh god, had his emotion/personality chip finally started firing? He mentally shook his head, and went into Kersh's office. DD Kersh looked over the hospital images from the case. His condescending, 'no nonsense' tone would have grated D2's nerves if he had any nerves to speak of. Kersh was saying, "... But some of your ... facts... like 'a man falls from the cliff and disappears...,' 'an agent has his throat crushed by an assailant who vanishes into thin air...' This reads like a piece of pot-boiled science fiction." Even D2 couldn't help the sneer in his voice. (Kersh got to all his agents eventually, whether human or machine.) "You mean it reads like an X-File. But that's what you intended, wasn't it, Sir? When you assigned me to the case." Kersh sneered back. "I'll ask the questions, John. You just give me some damn answers." He handed the files back to D2. "Don't come back until you do." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * DD Kersh watched Doggett walk out the door as though there was a rod jammed up his ass. 'Good riddance', he thought. 'Let's see you solve this one without ruining your career, you smug, snot-nosed bastard!' He congratulated himself on this stroke of genius - it was killing two birds with one stone. It would get Doggett out of his hair and out of his way to the Directorship, as well as effectively putting a standstill to any real x-files being solved. Then the X-Files could finally be put to rest. It was simply brilliant! And if this turned out the way he hoped, he might never have to see John Doggett again. That couldn't happen soon enough to suit him. He wondered if that bland man would take him literally, and not show his face here again until he had the 'answers'. The black man chuckled softly to himself as he turned back to his computer. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Meanwhile, in a spaceship, far, far away... Mulder was struggling frantically in his bonds while spitting daggers out of his eyes at the cowled figure reclining lazily on the throne in front of him. Six identical alien Bounty Hunters stood around at attention in the throne room as guards of honour. The cowled figure winced in spite of himself. 'Ouch, if looks could kill...,' he thought ruefully to himself. He cleared his throat. "Welcome, young Mulder. I have been expecting you." Mulder started. The alien talked! "Listen, you alien son-of-a..." "Now, now, there's no need to be nasty," said a familiar voice. Cancerman stepped out of the shadows, trailed by smoke from his lit cigarette. He was dressed in a black full body metal armour. "Ah, Spender, so nice of you to join us," the man on the throne said. "Spender, you son-of-a-bitch! You sent Krycek to set me up!" Mulder screamed in fury. "Well, of course I did. Though I paid a heavy price for that," Cancerman huffed as he glanced down at his body. "What the hell happened to you?" Mulder couldn't help but ask. "Krycek was what happened. He pushed a sick and dying old man down a flight of steps. That man has no heart or nobility! I broke almost every bone in my body. If it wasn't for this body armour, I would still be laid up in bed." "I knew Krycek was incompetent if he couldn't even kill YOU properly!" Mulder ranted. "And while you're here, why did you have my father killed?" "I didn't have your father killed. You know better than that. YOUR father is NOT dead." "I refused to believe what you're insinuating!" "Well, that's too bad." A dramatic pause, as he took another puff of his cigarette. "Fox, *I* am your father." Mulder's answer was a long howl of agony and denial. "Noooooooooooooooooooo!" The man on the throne watched the two with growing anger at being ignored. "SILENCE!" he roared at the top of his voice. Cancerman and Mulder both whipped their heads around to face him. "Now that I have your attention," he continued, "I believe I was going to say that I look forward to completing your training, young Mul... er... young Spender. In time, you will call me, Master." "In your dreams, loser! I'll never call you Master!" "Well, until then, Your Majesty or Emperor CC will do!" The man said, grinding his teeth. This was harder than he thought! "Yeah, right." "Nobody says no to CC's (tm)!! Nobody ever says no to Me!" Mulder only looked back blankly. "Huh? Is that supposed to mean something?" "Don't you know what CC's are? And here I thought you liked junk food!" The Emperor shook his head. "What was I saying? Oh yes. I was saying that I am going to finish the training that will turn you to the Dark Side, just as I turned your father!" "Never, you jackass! You will never convert me as you did my father! And I'll never call you Master!" A horrible thought struck him. "And what the hell do you mean by 'your training'? What training? I never had any training from you, so how can you finish it, whatever the hell it is?" Mulder's head was spinning. He desperately wanted to wake up from this nightmare. He wanted Scully. He wondered if she was all right. If these assholes had even thought of TOUCHING her, they were dead! "Ah... your whole life have been a training ground for your destiny... You are strong in the Gift, Fox. Empathy, telepathy, telekinesis... even the ability to see the many paths of the future - precognition..." He trailed off as he levelled a thoughtful gaze on Mulder. "Haven't you ever wondered at your ability to profile so brilliantly? To identify so strongly with the killers and their victims, hmmm? And didn't your experiences last year tip you off as to your potential?" Mulder suddenly swallowed in a dry throat as he recalled the terrible events he had suffered after coming across that rubbing of the alien artefact. The cowled man smiled as if he had sensed his thoughts. "Yes... You do remember! It was no accident that you, and only you, had such a strong reaction to it and no one else! You are the Saviour prophesized by those Navejo Indians. But you could also be a Servant of the Dark Side. We wanted to test your potential, and your reaction was more than we could ever have hoped! If so much power was unlocked by a mere rubbing, how much more by the real thing?" Mulder finally found his voice. "Listen, you no good piece of scum! Your cigarette smoking friend here did some kind of BRAIN SURGERY on me, did you know that? I've lost whatever ability I might have had!" Emperor CC only smiled. "That's what YOU think, Fox, my boy. But all your battery of tests at the hospital afterwards didn't pick up anything significantly different, did they? We only removed a small portion of your genetic material - just enough for insurance purposes in case you did not survive the shock of your awakening powers - and another itty bitty procedure to help you regain some control over your life." His Majesty spread open his arms in a friendly gesture. "You've survived with no ill effects since the operation, now, haven't you? We wouldn't have you hurt, much less killed, you know. We've got too much invested in you!" Mulder was starting to get another headache. Hell, was it that THING again? Shit! "OK, if what you say is true, how come this spaceship isn't effecting me at all? I mean that rubbing was actually of part of an alien ship wasn't it?" "Because we have you shielded from the effects - for now. Later, we will begin your training in earnest, and you will be subjected to the full force of your awakening." "Why me, why now? Why didn't you grab me instead of Samantha all those years ago? You would have had a better chance at 'training' me then!" Cancerman smiled indulgently. "I wondered when her name was going to come up." He blew out a smoke ring. "Oh, she was strong in the Gift as well, but not as strong as you. It was YOU that we needed. But we discovered early on that you had a strong moral center. And your empathatic skills were stifling any killer instincts in you. "We couldn't have that, Mulder - Fox. We needed you to be hard. We needed you to lose that part of you that was good and gentle and pure. Once you've lost any moral inhibitions, you'd be turned forever to the Dark Side and under our control forever! And then, and only then, will you use your Gift as they were meant to be used! For us! "So you see, we had to train and condition you until even your empathic abilities would not stop you from doing what needs to be done. "So we gave you an abusive father to bring out the worst in you, but you had Samantha to keep you soft! So we took Samantha. Then we made sure your life was a living hell. Did you think you met Phoebe Green by accident? It was all arranged by us, I assure you. "When you were assigned to the VCU, we made sure you got the worst cases. And as many in as short a time as possible! You see, we knew you. It was only a matter of time before you snapped and lost yourself in a sick killer's head, and you'd have been ours! But somehow you instinctively knew something was wrong, and got yourself transferred to the X-Files. That was no good. It put you in direct opposition to us. "So we partnered you with Scully in the hopes that her skeptism would hamper you until you gave up. But that didn't happen. Instead, you got all soft again. So we took her, like we took Samantha." "You son of a bitch!" "Now, now, that's not a nice thing to call your grandmother. Besides, there's no need for this anger now, is there? We gave her back to you, didn't we? We watched you flounder without her, and we couldn't let that happen. We needed you too much." "When I get out of here, the first thing I'm going to do is to kill you!" Mulder screamed out his frustration. His hazel- green eyes started to take on an unnatural feral glow. Cancerman bowed. "Looks like our years of conditioning and training is finally starting to pay off," he told the emperor. "All that negative energy!" Emperor CC smiled evilly. He closed his eyes as he felt the dark emotions emanating from Fox. "Good, good. I can feel your anger, Fox. The hate is filling you now. Let your rage flow through you." He cocked his head. "Ah, you want to kill me, too, don't you? Then why don't you? I am unarmed. Use your powers. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment you make yourself more my servant." His evil laughter echoed through the throne room. Mulder breathed in deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. "No, never," he whispered. (Scully, I need you, Scully!) "You'll never turn me to the Dark Side." "It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now...mine." * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A dark haired woman (not D2's dark haired woman) looked at the screen with disgust. She had hidden a spy camera inside the throne room, and watched as Emperor CC and his henchman mentally tortured her brother. She had to do something. Her small telepathic talent allowed her to glean a few important things about him. Scully. If she could help Mulder forge a mental link to Scully, it would help him maintain his sanity and his life. Then he could escape and save their world from the likes of the crazed emperor, their father, and the alien invaders. Samantha started concentrating. Scully was asleep! Perfect. Scully's unconscious mind would be more receptive to contact than her more scientific and logical conscious one. It was still hard going. Samantha had so far managed to send images of Mulder in restraints to Scully, but the other woman's sleeping mind was twisting everything out of all proportion! Scully, it seemed, had serious issues against the dental profession. After a few more minutes, Samantha gave up. Despite the existence of a deep, unspoken bond between Mulder and Scully, more was needed to bridge the gap. Scully had to be prepped to open her mind a little more. Then, and only then, will she be able to mentally support Mulder through his coming ordeal. Samantha chewed her lower lip carefully as she pondered her next course of action. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Scully wearily walked down the hallway to her apartment. Another day without Mulder. She rested a hand gently on her stomach as she walked, her face sad and her eyes red. 'Oh, Mulder', she thought with longing, 'I have to find you. I need you. WE need you! Please God, give me some sign!' She stopped when she reached her door. She noticed a package on the floor addressed to her. Scully picked it up and went inside. It was a videotape. Scully inserted it into her machine, hoping against hope that it was some clue about Mulder's current whereabout. The TV flickered through some static before the image of a familiar looking brown haired woman dressed in white stared back at her from the screen. Her hair was parted in the middle and coiled into two buns on either side of her head. What the hell? Was this some kind of a sick joke? She was about to eject the video when she realised why the woman had looked so familiar. It was Samantha Mulder. Scully froze with her finger on the eject button, and listened. Samantha was saying, "Help him, Agent Dana Scully, you're his only hope..." The End (or is it?) I'm sure you all know who Emperor CC is. (Chris Carter for those who came in late.) For those who's wondering what CC's are - they are a brand of crisps which sells in Australia. (I'm not sure about other countries.) Its advertising slogan is: 'You can't say no to CC's!' Feedback will be greatly appreciated!