Disclaimer: Alex Krycek, The Syndicate and CGB Spender do not belong to me; they are owned by Christ Carter and 1013 Productions. Any infringement on the cash they make is not intended. I make no money from this stuff (dammit).
Spoiler: Anything up to En Ami.
Keywords: Violence, Angst
Archive: Only by written consent via e-mail, TrekPhile47@hotmail.com
***
The Syndicate is a classic American answer to an atomic question: What do you do when the shit hits the fan?
If there were any simple answer to that. No, the answer lies in forty years worth of research and testing, in forty years of note-taking and field experiments. There is no logic, no organization. There is impunity, which is crucial to painstaking work for the survival of six billion---no, make that a certain few.
The answers to every life question lies among the stars. The answers to every X File created lies in the war of two alien nations, using Earth as one of many battle grounds. There are so many things to get done before the real threat arrives. There are so many jobs that need to be completed. There are so many gnats to swat at. The Syndicate created their own superficial government---a false hope to answer the Atomic Question.
Loyalty in factions is what links everything in The Syndicate together. Everyone needs loyalty.
Is there life after death? Life it too precious to let it be carried away be a demon of the heavens.
Is there life on other planets? What is life when we don't take it for a gift?
Is there madness besieging the Truth? The Truth is as mad as the moon.
What happens when the men on the inside fall to the outside? You recruit.
Who? Anyone stupid enough and disposable enough to take the job.
And if they fail or fall away?
That is not an option---no one walks away from The Syndicate.
***
Alex Krycek waited for the call he was waiting for. Supposedly, there was going to be a special shipment or something like that coming in: he didn't know.
He snorted, he was a Syndicate Soldier, but he was treated like some damn intern. Wonderful.
Things between The Syndicate and he had soured somewhat around the same time as Spender left him in that missile silo in North Dakota. Every member of The Syndicate who had doubts about him in the beginning was starting to shun him like a dog that stained the carpet. Spender started his string of abuse, and of course, lack of faith in his abilities.
The years of chasing Mulder were getting boring, mundane and predictable. Any thrill to be achieved lay in presenting himself to the Greys.
So now, five years after it all started, the floodwaters were slowing to a small trickle. It's been a long time since Krycek had done anything worthwhile for the Syndicate (but then again, what is worthwhile when Krycek helped destroyed human's existence in the name of The Project?). He was sure thought that Spender had the plans for him (good or bad, he didn't know) to renew whatever failed faith there had been. Krycek knew it was only a matter of time before Spender came back.
Krycek flexed his left arm---the arm that had once been cut off with the likes of a hot butter knife. True, he did have a prosthesis for a while, but he begged Spender to help him. At first, he refused, but Krycek had managed to get his way.
The Syndicate's doctors attached a new bone with sparse muscle and veins and kept it wrapped up in protective cloth. Krycek has to take shots and vitamins with nutrients to nurture the new appendage to grow as his own. It had finished its last growing stage only weeks before, and the cloths had come off of the appendage, which looked hauntingly like the Grays.
The gray skin was only from the nutrients, which had something to do with the Gray's technology, but it was assured that the skin would return to the pink color it once was. It now had a few red patches, but on the whole, he was pleased that he had his arm back.
The phone rang and his heart stopped. When he regained control, he picked up the phone, "Krycek."
"You know who this is," an old voice replied. "You have an assignment. There is someone that we want you to work with this time."
"Fine," Krycek lied. "When and where?"
"Washington, DC, the Starr Building, suite number 13. Seven o'clock."
"Fine," he said, but then, the line was dead. Krycek's breathing slowed to relief; he let his head hang in half relief, half-disappointment.
***
Krycek stepped out of the cab in Washington, DC. He pressed a twenty-dollar bill into the cabby's hand and didn't wait for change. He was going to be on time for once; his supervisors hated it when he was late. He liked being late; he enjoyed provoking squabbles with his superiors.
He rolled his eyes as he opened the front door. The secretary shot him a look, but he ignored her. The last thing he wanted was a nosy secretary to start asking him whom he was going to meet. Like it was any of her business. He boarded the elevator as Miss Congeniality was about to open her mouth.
He was going to get a partner. That was exactly what he needed, a lead weight. Probably, he'd get someone who'd ask him questions relentlessly, hinder his abilities and most likely: drive him insane.
He knocked on the door like an idiot, feeling half a grudge that he didn't get the company key. Oh well, some things jut weren't exactly meant to be.
The door swung open and Krycek made his grand entrance.
"Alex Krycek," the baritone voice came from the dark desk that occupied the room. He was startled, but not surprised: The Syndicate had a thing about sneaking up on him.
He turned on the light to look into the face of CGB Spender. A smoking cigarette dangled from his scrawny lips. There was a gleam in his eye that disturbed Krycek. Spender didn't seem to be too enthralled with the situations unfolding around him: but then again, Spender had that unnerving quality about him.
"You have a new assignment," Spender blew smoke into Krycek's face. He moved away in disgust, inhaling the smoke, and working on not coughing.
"I know, I was told," he replied with a surly tone.
"There is a microchip being shipped in from Eurasia tomorrow. You must retrieve it for us."
"What's on it?"
"Launch codes for a secret military aircraft: I think you know the one. If that chip gets into the hands of the government, specifically the X Files, the results could be disastrous." Spender replied. His cool voice spilled from his lips like ice water from a crystal pitcher, though not as refreshing.
"I have a partner this time," Krycek pointed out with indignation: did he really want to meet him?
"Ah, yes," Spender tapped his forehead as if he suddenly remembered. "Alex Krycek, meet Demona O. Launce."
An overstuffed leather chair swiveled around and Krycek found himself face to face with a woman who stared at him with mute eyes. She was pretty: her face was drawn into a steel gaze, her green eyes blank, her hair pulled back into hair combs, but spilling recklessly over her sleek shoulders and her lips were drawn down into a sultry pout. Her long legs were crossed, her long arms folded over her lap. Krycek's body sprang to attention. Down, boy, Krycek warned himself. He forced himself to move over to her chair and extend his hand.
"Pleasure," Demona took his gesture and Krycek could feel her strength in the handshake. Her eyes told him it wasn't a pleasure at all, she had no intentions of making partnership easy. Krycek nodded cordially, her feelings mirrored in him.
"Miss Launce has proved herself perfect for out job, and we look forward to her...accomplishments," Spender ground out his cigarette. Krycek thought he could detect a smile crawling across Spender's face.
Krycek leaned across the desk to speak to Spender. Demona didn't follow his movements, she instead picked up a folder and leafed through it, but Krycek was sure he was listening. "Did you give her this job because she was sleeping with you," he snapped.
"I don't think that if she slept with me is any of your concern. She has been chosen for the job, and I don't think that you should get upset about it seeing as you have no choice," Spender said. He lit another cigarette and let the smoke slither out his nostrils.
Krycek stared angrily at him and then decided to let it go. "So, were is this grand mission you have set out for me...I mean, us?"
"There is a small warehouse down by the docks, on Conover. The chip is in a large box with some ammunition to conceal it somewhat. The code for the door is...98324. You and Demona go: failure is not an option."
"How comforting," Krycek muttered. He ground his teeth with force. He looked down at Demona, "Shall we?"
"I suppose," she replied with even measure. She seemed to have taken lessons from Spender.
"Oh, Krycek," Spender said before he could leave. Krycek whirled to face him. "...Please take care of this one," Spender asked, raising a skilled eyebrow.
Krycek smiled: he knew exactly what Spender wanted. He could smell the money that was in it for him. He turned on his heel and left the office, Demona followed close behind him.
So far, she hadn't said five words and Krycek already hated her. Well, not hate; just resented. If Demona Launce could get the job by sleeping with Spender, who could he himself sleep with to get a promotion?
Now, she just looked at him with her quiet eyes. She seemed to be reading into his head, decided whether or not she really wanted to work with him. Her mouth had drawn itself from the sexy put into a frown. She narrowed her eyes and struck like a cobra, "I know you want to believe that I slept with Spender to get this job. You couldn't be more wrong."
He chortled sourly, "Oh really? So tell me...Demona: how did you get this job?"
"Spender came to me, asking me if I wanted to. I said yes," she replied.
"That simple? Did you get a rundown of everything," he asked. She knew what he meant: was she just Spender's plaything?
"Listen, Krycek: I don't know what stick was shoved up your ass and for that matter, I don't care. If you want to act like a child about this, feel free: but don't make this my fault," she snapped angrily. "I also don't care what you think of me, but I agreed to work for The Syndicate, I'm in this for what its worth."
Krycek cocked his head. He wasn't so sure he would have expected that to come out of her mouth; but then again, some of his best consorts were woman...and just as bitchy as that. "How...quaint."
They stepped out of the building and into the parking lot. The night had descended fairly quickly on DC. It was only a matter of minutes before the nightlife came out from the shadows: the drug dealers, the pimps and the whores. Too bad Krycek was on work detail.
The company sedan was parked in an empty slot out far from all the other cars. Demona pulled the keys out of her pocket and slid into the driver's seat. Krycek frowned: how sure was he that he wanted her to drive? Maybe it was some big macho-man sexual thing, but he liked to drive. He slid begrudgingly into the passenger's seat and felt the engine purring like a cat in its master's lap. Demona pulled out and drove down the street.
God, if there was one thing (and only one thing) he liked about Launce, it was the fact that she had a lead foot. She was well over twenty miles over the speed limit on the roads. She didn't seem to care that she was going fast, either. She rolled down he window and let the wind blow through her silky mane. Krycek was sullen as he stared at the road ahead.
He was willing to try again, to perhaps recoil whatever he had let slip from his mouth first. "Can I ask you a question?"
"I guess," she replied, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Are you going to use me as your verbal dart board?"
"No," he replied flatly, "I just wondered why you wanted in on The Syndicate in the first place."
Silence filled the car as they drove along the dark streets. She seemed to be formulation what wouldn't come out sounding like a lie. Finally she spoke, "I was approached by Spender before I graduated military school. ...He made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
"You really don't know what you got yourself into," he replied honestly, and she scowled at him in return. She obviously didn't want anyone to confirm whatever doubts she might have had.
They pulled up to the docks and each stepped out of the car. Demona let the door hang open, as she smelled the air. "Things haven't been moved lately. That's good. We get in, we get the chip, and we leave as quietly as possible. Easy enough?"
Krycek stared at her: there was something totally ardent at the premise of a woman who was in control. Not even as if the sex in and of itself was the case---it was the fact that she knew she could take control of him in any moment. If she told him to fetch-and-carry, he'd go running in a heartbeat. Krycek decided not to even ask; Launce would probably lay him open without batting an eye.
Launce didn't wait for him to follow as she pulled a pistol out of the small satchel in the back of the car and she put the gun in a shoulder holster. They were both dressed in dark clothes, although Demona's definite femininity poked out in all the right places; enough to turn him on. Krycek allowed his eyes to meander over her body, making sure her eyes didn't see him doing it.
They reached the warehouse door and Krycek tapped at the panel. Krycek tapped the code in; hoping it would work and not make him look like an imbecile, that was his luck with most locks. The heavy lock thundered open in the still night Demona slithered through the small crack, with Krycek in pursuit.
Surprisingly enough, the guards who were on duty were not alarmed when they had opened the lock. They were both busy with their own things to notice. Krycek and Demona ducked behind a crate and waited in silence, listening to bits of information.
"Come on," Alex said. Together, they moved closer to the men using the huge warehouse boxes as cover. The two were only twenty feet from them.
"Where is that chip anyway?" the one asked, sipping a mug of something steaming.
"In the box over there, along with a couple of weapons," the fat man grabbed the cup from the other and took a swig. The thin one grabbed it back.
"Over there," Demona pointed to the box by the two, "that's where it is." Well disguised for what it was holding, it was a simple wooden crate with the words "This End Up" in bold-painted letters.
"We have to kill then, you know," Krycek pointed out, with sly anticipation.
"I know." She leveled the gun at the one's chest and pulled the trigger. He reeled backwards with the force of the blast and the thin one didn't have time to even turn and run before Demona shot him, too. She winced with the gun's kickback as she finished him off, too.
Krycek held his breath as he walked to the dead men: he never did well around dead bodies. Demona was beside him. She dropped to her knees and took a deep breath in, Krycek thought it a fetish, but realized what it was as she recoiled as she got a good whiff. "Sweet Jesus, this guy was a drinker."
"Well, you just helped along the process," Krycek kicked the body once with the toe of his boot.
"Don't," she took his arm, she looked thoughtfully at her handiwork.
"A double-agent with a conscience. Isn't that an oxymoron," Krycek said.
"I'm surprised you even know what that word means," she replied. Krycek returned her nasty look.
They moved to the bodies and Demona searched through the pockets. Only coins, wrappers, notes, wallets and keys. None of them seemed to have and relevancy. Her eye caught an unusual-shaped key. She picked it up and slid it into a pocket.
She and Krycek went to the box and looked at it, both quiet for a few moments, like there was something behind it going to jump out and scare the shit out of both of them. There was a heavy padlock on the box that held the computer chip. Krycek leveled his gun at it and fired. The padlock fell off the crate.
Demona kicked the lid up. Spender had been right, inside there were guns and ammunition. Krycek moved away all of the firearms and inside was a small, lead box. Demona picked up the box and fiddled with it cluelessly, looking for any mechanism that might open it. She remembered the key she pulled off the fat man and slipped it into the tiny hole in the box. The lid popped off the box easily.
The computer chip was very small; Alex picked it up and turned it over in the faint light. "This chip has all the military codes for flying one of those alien aircraft."
"Alien craft or smutty novels, it better be damn worth what we went to get it," Demona replied snidely, examining the green plastic and lead soldering on it.
"I'm sure it will be," Krycek said as he turned to the door. Demona took the chip, slipping it into another one of her pockets secure in her belt at her right side.
Together, they walked swiftly to the door. Krycek eyed a blue tarp on the floor with a dip in it. He knew that there was a hole in the floor and if the information was correct, the warehouse had been built over the harbor.
As Demona passed it, Krycek kicked the bottom of her foot cautiously and she fell in. A cry echoed in the warehouse as she fell. She grabbed the floor with both hands as she passed it hanging precariously by her fingertips.
"Krycek! Help me!" her voice called to him. The shock of the fall had left her without strength; she could not pull herself back up. Krycek moved to the hole and dropped to his knees. He grabbed her left wrist and her eyes stared up at him, scared and unsure.
"It's okay, I've got you." His hand went to her waist, grabbing onto her belt and deftly. His fingers opened up the pocket with the computer chip. He felt around for it with his forefinger and thumb and he picked it out of her pocket. He then released his secure hold on her belt.
"What are you doing," whispered acrimoniously.
"I'm taking the chip," he told her. He dropped her wrist and for a moment, she flailed wildly but she grabbed the ledge once again.
"Krycek! What are you doing?" No answer. She began to struggle for a handhold.
He stood up slowly and Demona's face grew pale, "Krycek! You can't leave me here!"
"You're right," he bent down and let his face float close to her. He kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them to her cheek, "But I have to." He stood up and stepped backs, watching the horror on Demona's face unfold.
"You can't leave me here: you need me! Krycek...you bastard! I'll kill you, I swear to God; I'll kill you! KRYCEK!" Her curses were useless. Her body shook in horror and in anger as she heard his footsteps stop and the heavy warehouse door slide shut. She growled and angrily and focused herself. She hung for a few moments, letting her muscles uncramp and she pulled together all of her strength to pull herself up and out of the hole.
She looked at the cadavers on the floor and then turned away. She swore to God that she would use her last strength to kill Krycek. Debts repaid.
***
Spender looked at Krycek as he walked into the office. So did everyone else in The Syndicate who'd decided to finally join the party. "Do you have the chip?" Smoke floated away from Spender's talking lips, a smile twisted across the ominously.
"I have the chip. ...Where's my money?"
"Patience, Krycek. Did you do the other half of our deal? Is Demona disposed of?"
"Yes, I did exactly as you said. She should have frozen in that water by now," he felt a bit of guilt push into his subconscious.
"Very good, Krycek," Spender replied.
"If you had any doubts about disposing of Demona, then you needn't worry. She was not one of us," the Well-Manicured Man said. "Your money, by the way, is on the desk."
Krycek looked at Spender and hesitated for a moment. Then, he snatched the money and exited the building. The money was cold and weighty; it was blood money---Demona Launce's blood.
***
Demona stood in the alleyway of the shabby apartment buildings. She looked up to the only darkened window on this side of the building. She crouched low; breaking through the window, knowing Krycek wouldn't be back yet. Within moments, she was inside the dark apartment and she sat on a chair...waiting for the inevitable.
She knew that Krycek and the group had sold her out on purpose, and then ousting her as if she was a broken toy; she hadn't known that then, but she knew now. She kicked herself for letting it all be so obvious: all of the signs pointed at it. She gritted her teeth in anger when she felt those fingers of Krycek's on her cheek. It would take weeks of washing....
She would get her revenge. She waited patiently---good things come to those who wait.
***
Krycek opened his tenement door, throwing the money onto the table next to him. He leaned heavily against the door and rubbed his face. He allowed a twinge of remorse to pass over his body, but it was dried up the heat of the money that he'd received. Espionage was a definite bitchy mistress.
After shaky moments, he flipped the light switch on and saw a specter. He gasped and the figure jumped on him. Its arm was in his neck, strangling him.
"Demona," he choked. Her angry eyes burned into his face; he now knew what pure hatred looked like.
"If you leave me for dead, you better make sure that I'm dead before you leave," she hissed in his face. She pushed harder on his neck and he coughed once, gasping for breath.
"I...had to do it," he wheezed. He looked about him like a crazed maniac: perhaps he was buying time for his life, bargaining with the devil, not intentions to actually win, convincing himself that he wasn't wrong in doing so.
"You tried to kill me!"
"Spender wanted me to do it," he said. She had lightly released the pressure in his throat.
"I'll kill him, too," she said. With her right hand, she pulled out a boot knife, and allowed him to look over it once, letting him know she had every intention of using it. "But, you're going to be the first."
"You don't kill Spender, and I'll be damned if you kill me," Krycek brought his knee into her stomach and she dropped her arm down. He kicked her away.
She slashed at him wildly with the knife. It connected once with his stomach and he could feel the stinging pain as he moved his torso.
He swung down and across on her face and she fell to the ground. He was about to leap on her when she rolled away. He smashed his head to the floor, missing his target entirely. He felt his eyes well with tears of pain felt and something warm and thick slide down his upper lip.
Demona brought her booted foot into his gut twice. She went to go get her knife that had fallen from her hand and stepped over Krycek as he watched her pass over him, he grabbed her ankle and pulled it out from under her. She cried out in an animal howls and it was her turn to head for the floor. Krycek listened with morbid satisfaction as he heard her skull smack the floor. She paused long enough as if in some temporal flux to cradle the back of her head.
As soon as she regained control of her pain, she grabbed the knife and flipped over. Krycek pulled her closer to him. He stared into her eyes and this time he saw hate and fear. Hate for him, and fear that she might fail what she had intended when she came.
He slugged her once in the eye and she stabbed him in the arm in quick reflection. White flashed over Krycek's eyes and he clutched his arm. Demona took the opportunity and hit him in the chin with the handle of the knife and he sprawled backwards and Demona was on top of him in nanoseconds.
"Just ask for mercy and I won't make it hurt," she held the knife to his throat and he didn't say a word. She pressed the knife into the skin to tempt him to beg. Blood trickled from his neck; he was not going to be stoically silent, waiting to see if she had the balls to do it to him.
With a howl of his own, he kicked her over his head with amazing strength. He watched as she went end-over-end above him and then heard her back connect with the floor. When she was on the ground he kicked her once swiftly in the temple. She curled into a fetal ball, trying to gasp for breath and grip onto consciousness. Krycek loomed over her, looking down at the feral mass. He knew better than
to tempt the tranquilized proverbial tiger. He glared angrily, unmoving at the woman who had failed an attempt on his life.Demona tried to get up, but unconsciousness tugged her brain. She groaned in agony. She listened to the hammer of a pistol being cocked.
"Kill me you bastard," she whispered fiercely. "Do it! You know you want to!"
Krycek stood over her, unmoving, taking aim at her temple. She herself was oddly impassive as she stared down the barrel of his gun. He flared his nostrils, and allowed a murderous grin cross his lips. He uncocked the gun and put it in his hip-holster. "You're not worth it."
"You lousy coward," she spat. She made no attempt to thank him for sparing her life.
"I've been told," he replied with equal vehemence. "Stand up."
She obliged him. She didn't know if he was going to take here right there or strangle her to death with his bare hands. She would have preferred the latter. She allowed him to place a hand behind her head and gently touch the bruise on her forehead. She winced when he moved his hand on her head. He parted her blonde hair and saw a hideous bruise on it.
"It'll look nasty, I'll tell you that," Alex said, in a surge of odd temptation, he gently moved the hair back in from her face, finding himself drawn into her eyes. "Not so tough now, are you."
"Pain is only weakness leaving the body," she quipped, pulling from his gaze.
Piss and vinegar, Krycek thought dourly, "I should have killed you. I had the means and God knows the intentions to do it."
"Then why did you stop?"
"I don't know...call it 'temporary insanity.' ...After all Spender wanted you dead."
"I know," Demona replied. "He'll pay."
Krycek turned for scant moments to look at his pile of money. "Like I almost did?" He smirked and turned back to her. Demona was gone, but one of the windows was open. He moved to it and looked out. "I have to admit, you're very good, Demona Launce. Better than I once thought," he whispered. "Perhaps I judged you too quickly."
***
Demona kicked in the door of Spender's temporary residence. He looked startled, and Demona leveled her pistol at his throat. "You better not move for that gun. I can make you a woman before you can reach it."
"Demona; I wasn't expecting you," he said politely.
"Don't you dare lie to me; you sold me out and then had Krycek kill me," she still held her gun at groin-level.
"I had to. You may know too much already, The Syndicate needs blind eyes."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Demona replied.
"Please, Demona, I want to speak civilly to you, not over the barrel of a gun."
"You liar; you really think I can trust you?"
"No, I don't think you can. But perhaps you may want to take a leap of faith?"
Demona was quiet for a moment. She sized up her intentions and realized what was in her best interests. Perhaps she needed to hear him out. She may get into understanding what the Syndicate was all about. She dropped her hand to her waist; relief passed visibly over Spender.
"I though you trusted me. I thought you wanted me to be part of the group. Then again, you didn't exactly show me too much of everything. I want you to explain everything about The Syndicate to me," she ordered.
"I can't just tell you in one sitting. You have to understand that you mission is to steal vital things of great importance to us. You know that, you accepted it," Spender replied.
"Why kill me?"
"Like I said before, 'blind eyes.' I'm not the only one who distrusts. It is part of our standings. The people I work with are never interested in the people, only the means. One or two dead bodies adds up to little or nothing to them," he said. He offered her a cigarette: when she declined, he lit it for himself. "We're not used to someone who does the job so thoroughly."
"A little tough to find help these days," she quipped.
"Don't be impudent. I can make you or break you."
"Then please; get to the point."
"The long and short of it is, is that we honestly were a little scared."
"Tell me what I am doing to contribute."
Spender sighed; ready to give the soliloquy that never satisfied Fox Mulder. "There is a battle waging between two worlds: too aliens and ours. The battlefield: Earth. We have to fight both or else we'll get blown to hell. There are hybridizations going on, there is technology being developed to combat these two threats. So far, only little bits of our mission---The Project---have been completed."
Demona looked at him, "How am I supposed to believe this? It's not exactly textbook."
Spender handed her a folder about eight inches thick. It was enough to make Fox Mulder make a mess of his expensive suits, but couldn't be shown to him. "It's all in there."
"All of it? Will there be a final exam?" Demona took the weighty folder.
"Don't be impudent," he retorted again. "What you want to see is in those files. Read them carefully. ...They are what you are loyal to."
-End-