Aenima: Prologue by Te March/April 1998 Disclaimers/Spoilers: The characters you recognize are by no means mine. I use them without permission and sincerely hope that my cockroach-like insignificance will keep me from being sued. This is an A/U and contains only the vaguest of spoilers for Tunguska, as that is where the divergence occurs, but you can assume that everything up 'til that point remains the same. Summary: What if someone decided bombs weren't enough? Rating's note: Rated NC-17 for extreme violence, poor language, and sick humor among other things. Future works in this *as yet unfinished* series will contain more of the same, and, eventually, M/K. You've been warned. Author's Note: Lyrics to Tool's "Aenima," "Prison Sex," & "Forty Six and Two" and Tori Amos' "Muhammad, My Friend" blithely stolen without permission. Many thanks to Cici whose marvelous "The Revelation" inspired this *and* who betaed. Oodles of thanks to Alicia, who betaed, coaxed, cajoled, obsessed, compulsed and finally refused to spank me anymore until after I had finished. All mistakes are, of course, my own, and please feel free to call me on them at Daddy793@aol.com. C'mon, abuse me. You *know* you want to. Aenima: Prologue by Té Change is coming. Now is my time. Prologue Freedom First Headquarters Just outside of Terma, North Dakota 10/28/96 2:34 am One hundred and thirty-two true patriots filed into the converted barn and shuffled about to find comfortable spaces amidst a chorus of yawns and irritable mutters. ". . .this about. . ." ". . .beach with Pamela Anderson. . ." ". . .thresher blades. . ." ". . .hope he's quick. . ." First Brother James Whitfield stood at perfect parade rest with his back turned to the assemblage and waited patiently for the restless scrapings and whispers to settle. The one high window showed a sky roiling with clouds, alternately hiding and framing a gibbous moon. Finally, silence reigned. It was time. He began to speak without turning. "Brethren, I have received The Message." Another startled chorus of murmurs-- ". . .too soon. . ." ". . .need to set the. . ." ". . .Queens. . ." --broken abruptly when the leader turned. The front of Brother Whitfield's flak jacket had bloomed in color: a patchwork of stripes and medals pinned and stitched haphazardly, shreds of blue fabric winking against the olive in a last memory of a uniform long since burned in righteous fury. One hundred and thirty-one pairs of eyes looked a single question into the leader's own. The last was hidden behind the yanked-down bill of a baseball cap and had discreetly begun to scan for a way to make an exit. "A Good Man of the Lord said unto me that the time for waiting is done, brethren. Tempus, edax rerum omnum, has turned our way at last. Tonight, we strike a *true* blow for freedom. While Brother Jacob had his heart in the right place when he formed our original plan, the aftermath of the Oklahoma City rebellion has proven that a harsher blow is necessary if anything is to change. In my hands I hold our salvation..." The glass vial gleamed pinkly virulent in the intermittent shafts of moonlight. ". . .Jesus oh Jesus. . ." ". . ..what is that. . ." "We must be strong, brothers. . ." his hand closed on the vial. ". . .oh please no. . ." "Please, Brother James!! There've been no inoculations--" "Yea, though we will be sorely tested in the days to come. . ." The fist began to clench. ". . .Fffuuuck. . ." ". . .don't do this. . ." Brother James' feet tapped wildly on the rough platform as a flurry of gunshots sent him into a jittering, shuddering dance, but his soft smile never wavered. "--sorely tested. . ." A second stutter of pops, muted in the suddenly stifling air. His eyes closed as he fell, smile strangely beatific even with the blood flowing freely between his parted teeth. One hundred and thirty-one pairs of eyes watched helplessly as the vial began to wink and tumble its way to the floor. Alex Krycek, however, had decided to leave. Alex knew *exactly* what was in that vial. As he wove his way through the stunned freedom fighters he steadfastly refused to hear the soft tinkle of breaking glass--the abortive attempt to halt its progress ending in animalistic wails of recrimination and terror. //Pay no attention to the little rat, he means no harm. . .// He began to make his way across the grounds to the garage, cursing himself for giving them that helpful advice about clear sightlines. //This was *not* the plan.// Alex knew he hadn't yet filtered enough information to Mulder about the group for him to make the logical conclusions and agree to help him with his personal war against the consortium. //Step 1. Alex helps Mulder stop the bad guys from setting off that *nasty* bomb. (neglect to mention my help in its design) Step 2. Mulder, loosened up just a *little* by Alex's act of beneficence, agrees to listen to Alex. Step 3. Alex calmly and logically explains his plan to take down the consortium, or at the very least Cancerman. Step 4. Everything goes beautifully well and Mulder's just so damn *pleased* he can't help but make a grab for his own lovely ankles.// //Step 5. The nice young men in their clean white coats come to take you *far* away--// //*Please* shut up.// Alex heard the unmistakable shift of sound that indicated the militiamen had finally noted his escape attempt. He gave up all attempts at stealth and started sprinting for the garage. The shouts were for him now. //Oh but *noooo*. A bomb designed to take out four fucking square blocks is suddenly not *good* enough for you. You people just *had* to start fucking around with the seven goddamn seals--// "Arntzen! Freeze!" //What, you want to be a fucking *cop* for Halloween, *Brother*?// He felt a bullet tear through the arm of his leather jacket and let the impact guide him slightly, gun already out and blazing even as he spun. Four quick shots, three men down. A brief pause as he realized that the man he'd missed was unarmed and had raised his hands in surrender. "Don't--" //Fuck it.// "You'll thank me for this later, Isaac." A body fell. "Or maybe not." Within 15 minutes, Alex Krycek was speeding eastward, furiously working on a way to make this latest turn of events work to his advantage. I. Only way to fix it is to flush it all away... Days Inn Bismarck, North Dakota 10/28/96 7:00 pm A crisp white sheet of paper, harsh words made sharper by the slices of sunlight through cheap venetian blinds: //tests universally positive// The smoking man picked up the phone as it rang. It was pleasant to have punctual employees. "Report." "Sir. The hounds have been scattered as per your orders, sir. But. . ." //lymphoma// "What?" "Sir, we were only able to chase off a dozen or so of the original 132. . ." The lackey heard nothing but the sensual drag of smoke through raddled lungs and continued, his voice trembling almost unnoticeably. "Sir. . .they had started. . ." (an audible swallow) ". . .killing each other. . ." //A woman with a knife to her (in her)child's ear. A man chewing his own fingers. Another with his face. . .his face. . .oh god oh god oh god...// The smoking man let the silence build painfully, ludicrously, longer, took another brief drag and coughed a little, red droplets spattering unnoticed on white paper... //metastasized throughout 70% of your// A smile made not noticeably more feral by the blood on his teeth. . .He'd never actually listened as a man went mad before. . .Perhaps this time? But no. . .a shuddering breath from the other end of the phone line as the man pulled himself back together. "What should be done with the b-bodies, Sir?" This one was strong. . .it was almost too bad. . . //terminal// Almost. Inhale. "Leave them lie. You have done well. Collect your associates and report back here. I will be waiting." Exhale. "Yes, Sir." The Smoking Man replaced the phone on the receiver. A dozen hounds released to the four winds. . .a touch here, a caress there. . .the Pale Rider triumphant in every germ- ridden contact . . .It would be enough. II. Some say the end is near. . . Delta Flight 457 Bismarck to Dulles Somewhere over West Virginia 10/29/96 4:12 am Onboard Hostess Kathleen Donnely stormed into the cockpit, not bothering to gentle the door's automatic slam. "What's shakin', Miss Kitty?" She didn't bother to answer her friend (and occasional fuckbuddy) the co-pilot, just jerked the first-aid kit off the wall, slipped out the bottle of vodka secreted inside, and silently began to inhale the contents. "Jesus, Kate, geese stepping on your last nerve?" "Just the one, Freddy. Just the one. . .and I think we need to get him off the plane. Now." "The drunk we took on in ND?" "That's him. . .only. . ." "Only what?" "I don't think too many shooters are this guy's problem, Freddy. At least, not the only one." She almost whispered this last, and lifted the rapidly emptying bottle to her lips again--only to have it snatched away by the navigator. "What *is* it, Kate? Spell it out." "He. . .Mr. Jethro T. Briggs in Seat 16C is feverish, raving and, to the best of my knowledge, stark staring mad. At present he is locked in the Coach bathroom screaming about the Apocalypse and, presumably, bleeding all over our nice clean head." "Bleeding? Wha--?" "Oh yes. Perhaps I didn't mention this before: Before locking himself away from those pesky demons--they were, of course, *watching* him--Mr. Briggs saw fit to pull out his own tongue and hand it to me." The seated men watched, paralyzed to inaction, as a small, trembling hand reached into a burgundy pocket. "Please God, don't--" "Here you go, Freddy. Captain, I'd suggest you put in a call to the authorities and get us a priority landing. And somebody give me back that bottle. Now." III. Some say we'll see Armageddon soon... Somewhere between North Dakota and D.C. I-76 10/29/96 4:57 pm Alex had been on the road for more than 36 hours. The floor of the truck was littered with half crushed styrofoam cups, cigarette butts, and grease soaked wrappers. The gash in his left arm had finally quit leaking some hours back, but continued to burn maddeningly under the hastily slapped on gauze. His eyes drifted closed. And immediately snapped open at the wail of a siren behind him. He slammed the wheel, making a conscious decision to let his terror at falling asleep behind the wheel shift to a cold rage. . .then swiftly mutate to shocked humor. //Did those militia psychos actually report the stolen truck to the *cops*?!// He shook his head ruefully as he pulled over to the shoulder. //Well, you *were* looking for an excuse to dump this rolling heap after it tried to die in. . .Indiana, was it?// //*Nothing* dies 'til I say so dammit.// //So we lost time for you to fix the damned thing--// //Shut up.// "Step out of the vehicle, sir." She was nearly as tall as he was and vaguely attractive in a businesslike way. He complied swiftly, almost grateful for the chance to stretch his abused limbs. The trooper took in the reddened eyes, unshaven cheeks, bloodstained shirt and let her hand slide to her already unsnapped holster. "Turn around, put your hands behind your head, and spread your legs." The trooper had her hand on the gun butt. One look at her cold grey eyes and he realized no amount of charm was going to get him out of this one. He sighed regretfully for a moment as he slowly moved to obey the orders. Green eyes narrowed as he used his peripheral vision to regard the Smokey carefully. . .There. She was going to use both hands to frisk him. //Tch. These kids today. . .// Right foot to right shin, a whipcrack twist at the waist to send an upraised elbow to the ear, the snakelike strike of a palm heel to the bridge of her nose *just* as her head snapped back in fury. . .It was an old dance, and one that Alex had long since mastered. "Sorry, beautiful. I've got places to go and people to see. . .Another time perhaps?" Grey eyed raged silently at the gunmetal sky as Alex giggled in mild hysteria. "I suppose not." Alex lifted the body gently and took a few moments to arrange it properly in the driver's seat of the squad car, smirking privately at his careful placement of the notebook in its lap. It would buy him some time. He briefly considered taking the hat--he'd always wanted one--but decided that it would invite too many uncomfortable questions. He had to keep moving. It was possible--just possible--that a timely warning to Mulder could avert the worst of this almighty cockup. . .and get the man friendly enough to return the favor. IV. Certainly hope we will... FBI Headquarters Basement Office 10/30/96 11:08 am KaaaaaaaAAHHH-CHOO!! "Ooohh. . .Scully, I think I saw your lungs this time." Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully was really not in the mood for Mulder's "humor." The steely blue eyes were clouded and swollen, the hair impossibly mussed from the force of her sneezes, the mood. . .glacial. "Scully? Are you sure you shouldn't just go home? Mrs. Scully would never forgive me if I--" She cut him off with a well-aimed eyebrow. "I'm *fine*, Mulder. The flu's just making the rounds as usual this year. Besides, we have a ton of paperwork to catch up on--and didn't you say something about recei--ah-- rece--*gasp*--CHOO!!!" Blue eyes squinted shut. Hair flew. Mood dipped perilously close to absolute zero. "Receipts, Scully. Really Dana, as pink and lovely as your lungs are--" The eyebrow twitched, failed to reach its usual altitude. Mulder, encouraged, barrelled on. "I really think you should take off early today. *I* feel fine--" The eyebrow appeared to be gathering strength and Mulder quickly changed tactics. "That is, you've been doing much more than your fair share of the paperwork lately; I don't mind finishing this stuff up." This last in a rush. Scully began to gird herself for the coming battle. A deep breath. A nearly imperceptible purse of the lips. A slight twitch at the corner of her eye. She was sick, but she was still armed. "Mul--" "Receipts, Scully. I was going to tell you about these strange receipts someone's been sending me. I've got a theory. . ." Mulder let the bait dangle. Scully struggled valiantly against the obvious ruse. "Mulder, I don't want to talk abo--" He slowly raised both index fingers behind his head in the universal symbol for antennae. She sighed. . .battle lost. "Let me guess, Mulder: Reticulan tax problems? Interstellar audits, perhaps?" Mulder smiled inwardly. Like holding shiny things in front of a hillbilly. "C'mon, Scully, I'll tell you all about it on our way to--" "I am *not* going home, Mulder." His lips twitched minutely as she shook her head. "--lunch, Scully. C'mon, I heard about this great new Thai place. . ." A suspicious scowl formed on her just-a-little-too-pale face, approached near-Skinneresque proportions, then turned to a wry smile as Mulder crooked his elbow in an endearingly courtly fashion. He wasn't playful nearly often enough. They left the office, both knowing full well that Scully wouldn't be coming back after lunch. Her grin turned wicked as she began to think of ways to make the inevitable denouement as painful as possible for Fox "Jewish Mother of Doom" Mulder. V. I sure could use a vacation from this... Somewhere in Southeast D.C. 10/30/96 6:35 p.m. Two dead troopers, three stolen cars and several quarts of coffee after leaving North Dakota, Alex Krycek arrived in the greater D.C. area. Exhaustion had kept him from making any efforts to conceal the second body, and it had caused him no small amount of worry--until he'd arrived in Washington. Having kept to the highways he hadn't been witness to the afteraffects of the Smoking Man's scattering attempts. However, after catching two far too brief hours of rest in a cheap motel, Alex's return to city streets was greeted by the absolute worst rush hour he had ever witnessed. Foul tempered motorists had given up horn- blowing for the simple expedient of ramming other cars. He'd narrowly avoided running over three bodies on the Beltway and a rather distressing squelch from the vicinity of his right rear tire suggested a fourth his attention had missed. It seemed that his own contributions to the day's carnage would probably go unnoticed. //How did it get here ahead of me?// //Planes, idiot, planes! *They're* not being hunted like animals, remember?// //Damn. Fine. You're right. Just shut up, though, ok? Now is not the time for a heart to heart.// //Fine, I'll just talk to myself.// Caught up in--and quickly losing--an argument with himself, he almost missed his target stepping out of the corner deli. Much to his irritation, Mulder did not immediately head back to his apartment, but instead got back in his Bucar. //Dammit, Mulder, stay *still*.// //Like he'll listen to you.// //Please shut up.// //Stop telling him to shut up, asshole.// Alex sighed tiredly and decided to follow him-- //Who knows? Maybe he'll park in a nice dark alley.// --only to stop abruptly when he realized where Mulder was leading him. //No *way* am I gonna pay a visit on Scully. As bitter as Mulder is, *he* at least can be made to listen to reason. . .// //Oh, is this before or after he beats the crap out of you?// //Christ, remember the bad stuff why don't you? Look, he's probably just making her work overtime on some damn case. . .// //On a Friday? Now I know why she shot him.// //And. He'll. Be. Done. Soon. We--Fuck!--*I'll* just sit here and catch him on his way out.// //Tch.// VI. I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied... Outside Dana Scully's Apartment 10/30/96 7:15 pm "Open up, Scully! I made you some chicken soup." Silence. "C'mon, Scully, I just had the *worst* drive out here and I already *said* I was sorry about the tickling. . ." Silence. "OK, I admit it. I *bought* the chicken soup." Silence. "It's got maaaaatzoh balls. . ." Silence. "Dana?" Mulder knocked a little harder this time, only to see the door swing open onto darkness. "Oh Jesus no--Dana--!" His planned rescue was cut short by a sharp blow to the back of his skull, followed swiftly by a well placed kick that flipped him onto his back. Fox Mulder looked up fuzzily to see his partner standing stark naked above him, gun pointed squarely between his eyes, face frozen in a blind-eyed snarl. "No matzoh for you..." He passed out. **** . . .Learn to swim. . . **** Mulder regained consciousness to a strange burning sensation on the right side of his chest. "Wha--?" "One great big festering neon distraction." Scully was still quite naked, save for a pink quilted oven mitt on her right hand. //Why is she holding those forceps?// "Scully. . .what's happening?" He moved to go to his partner. Tried to move. A painful examination of his state found him to be just as naked. . .and tied securely to the bed in 4-point restraints. With a shiny new 14-gauge gold ring in his right nipple. He began to worry. "Dana?" "You're breathing so I guess you're still alive. . ." This last in a parody of sultriness as she knelt on the bed and began a slide up his body. "Dana. . .I'm flattered. . .really, but--" He lost his thread as Scully gripped his rapidly hardening cock and began a slow stroke. "Even though signs seem to tell me otherwise. . ." she chuckled throatily and began to squeeze rhythmically along with the strokes. "Scully! Please, you've got a fever, you're del--" Soft lips, sharp little teeth at his throat and that hand-- "Scully, I don't--oh god--want you to do anything you'll re--" A tongue in his ear. Nails scraping his nipples. "Ow! Scu--" She began a full out assault on his mouth. . .teeth pulled his lower lip, a tongue slipped teasingly under his own and almost in self defense (he told himself) he thrust it into her willing mouth. Black flowers had begun to bloom behind his eyelids before she pulled back and sat on her heels with a frighteningly blank grin. Jesus. One last try. "Dana..." She licked her palm. He swallowed with a click and continued. "You don't really want to--" The slicked hand found its destination and worked him a little faster. She bent at the knees and moved back up his trembling form, trailing her nipples along his abdomen and chest as she went, to finally stop with her lips against his ear again. "Don't..." His eyes were closed tightly against the sensations and his struggles grew more perfunctory. A quick move and she was straddling him; her tongue frigged his ear lewdly and her hand never stopped pumping. Some dim part of her fevered brain recognized the need to comfort now and she carefully schooled her tone to normality. "Mulder. . ." His eyes flew open again. Was she coming back to herself? "Mulder, I know. . ." Teeth found his lobe and tugged gently. "I know you've seen fire, Mulder. . .But you've never seen fire. . ." A sudden lift and twist of her hips and she impaled herself on him. "Aaahhh--" His hands instinctively tried to move to her hips. "Until you've seen Pele blow. . ." He resisted no more. She bit off the scream of her orgasm in the flesh of his shoulder and immediately dropped into unconsciousness, her forehead seeming to burn a brand into his own flushed and tortured chest. Mulder's own orgasm was finished in a body as still as a corpse and he cried a little before falling asleep himself, still helpless in his bonds. **** Some say a comet will fall from the sky Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves Followed by fault lines, cannot sit still Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits... Some say the end is near... **** It was the cold that finally woke him this time. All throbbing skull and strained muscles. He groaned. "Rise and shine, *loverboy*." He opened his eyes to see that Scully had somehow found the presence of mind to put on some ragged sweats. He could see her shiver in the moonlight streaming from the window, face alternately flushed and livid with fever, but her hand--her *gun* holding hand--never wavered. //Ohshitohshitohshit--// "Did you enjoy yourself, Fox?" The voice was ice cold but she had been. . .weeping. . . //ohshit// "You couldn't get me in the sack while I was well and whole so you got your buddies in the Consortium to whip up a little virus, didn't you?" //What the fuck?!// "Scully--" "Shut! Up!" The growling scream bought his teeth together hard. Looking at her was like watching a car accident. . .he couldn't pull his eyes away even as his balls tried to crawl back into his body. "I was such a fool for you, Mulder. You and your precious truth. You took me apart a piece at a time you sonofabitch, and I think it's about time I returned the favor." A knife blade smile. The gun shifting to his shriveling groin. Krycek with an upraised blackjack. The safety clicked off. //*Krycek*????// Mulder's jaw worked silently as he watched his partner slide bonelessly to the floor. "Jesus, Mulder, what *is* it with you and your partners?" Alex asked, putting a tone of blatantly false sympathy in his voice. At the sound of Krycek's voice Mulder was able to muster a little self-control and he managed to slap a mask of outraged contempt on his face. "You fucking rat bastard! If she's hurt--" "C'mon *Fox*, let's at least *try* to remember which one of us is bare ass naked, covered in come, and chained to a bed here." Mulder let his lips curl in a sneer. "Jealous?" //What is *with* that hair?// "In all honesty, tempted would be a better word. . .nice ring by the way. . .but that's neither here nor there. We have a serious problem, Fox." Mulder felt his jaw working again and closed it abruptly. There was so much wrong with that sentence that he honestly had no clue where to begin. Keep it simple. "We? There is no 'we', Krycek--" "Not yet, to my *immense* regret, Foxy. . ." Alex let his voice drop to a husky whisper that somehow lost none of its overall seriousness for all its mocking overtones as he ran a tickling finger up the sole of Mulder's foot. The agent squirmed despite himself. //Damn, wrong choice.// "But I already said that *that* wasn't the issue at hand here." Alex pulled his finger back and gripped the footboard as he stared at the older man. "Shut up and let me explain a few things to you. Two days ago Brother James, the head of the Freedom First militia group, called a meeting of the entire compound and announced a change in plans. They *had* been working at an Oklahoma City style act of *rebellion*--" he let the full force of his contempt coat the word. "You sent the receipts--" Alex cut him off with a curt nod. "Apparently a certain smoking gentleman of our mutual acquaintance gave Brother James a better plan. And a vial of genetically engineered plague to go along with it." He let his glance fall meaningfully on Scully's body. "The good ol' boys didn't react very well at all to the change and I was able to slip out when the shooting started. I've been on the road the past two days to warn you about it, but I can see that I'm at least a *little* too late." //Scully// "A *little*?!" Alex rapped him casually on the knee with his blackjack before Mulder could gear himself up for one of his patented rages. "I said shut up and listen, Mulder. Even with the contaminated militiamen scattered to god knows where, there's still a chance. When I was with the Consortium there was talk of a Doctor Goralev--one of the assholes who *made* this thing in the first place. Two years ago he was in an unmapped village called Tunguska, in Russia, and had been there for at least two decades. It's probable that he still is and it's *possible* that he has a cure. Or at least a vaccine. Take me to Tunguska and I'll help you find him." "I can go by myself--" "Oh, so within the past two years you've become fluent in Russian *and* gained contacts in the KGB?" Mulder began to feel like he was drowning in information, and his current state of undress was doing nothing for his concentration. He filtered through the mass of data to find something concrete to pounce on. "KGB? What do they have to do with it?" "I said unmapped, Mulder. Tunguska is on government owned land; Goralev worked for the KGB's science division under Kruschev . . .among other jobs. You need me, Mulder. Use me." Mulder blinked a few times while the truth of Alex's last statement sank in. Finally he seized on the one question his mind could come up with; really, the most important one. "Why?" Alex stood up and grinned cheekily. "Maybe it's that *fascinating* mole. . ." "Krycek--" He took a deep breath and continued. "I've already booked a flight overseas in your name, Mulder. We can talk on the plane. I promise to answer all of your questions that I can, then. Detente?" Mulder looked at him in amazement for a moment, and his eyes darkened in anger. Alex had been prepared for the inevitable mood swing and gave another pointed glance at Scully's still form. //I can't fail her again.// Mulder sighed tiredly and set his jaw in grim resolve. "Detente." Alex gave him a wry salute, pulled a knife seemingly out of nowhere, and efficiently cut the straps. As Mulder sat up and began to rub some life back into his tired muscles Krycek spoke. "When the ambulance comes have them put her in isolation. . .it probably won't do any good at this point, but. . ." he trailed off at the look on Mulder's face. "Right. The plane leaves at 6:15 a.m. from Dulles. . ." He turned and walked to the door. As Mulder reached for his cell phone Alex couldn't resist a parting shot. "Oh, and Mulder? Could you try to avoid starring in any more snuff films before then? See you soon." The door closed behind him--not entirely muffling his quiet laughter. "Smartass," said Mulder, and dialed. To be continued in Chapter 1.