This is chapter 1 of a (hopefully) continuing story. Please read and review--I have no clue as to the quality of this work.

Title: Will to Find
Author: Brent Dax brentdax@cpan.org

Summary: William Scully finds himself in an FBI school-crime department, unaware of his powerful allies and even more powerful enemies.
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Files, Scully, Mulder, William, or anyone else you recognize. Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox do. Don't bother suing--I don't have any money. The people you don't recognize probably belong to me. You can use them, but please mention me and don't do anything age-inappropriate with them.
Archiving: Go for it--just send me a link.
Dedication: to Darci, as always.

1: Midnight Assault
April 20, 2012

They came in the middle of the night.

A black sedan pulled up to the dusty country house and four men in black suits stepped out. The attackers pulled out guns and walked to the door.

One of them--the leader--pointed his gun at the lock and pulled the trigger. He kicked the door in and stepped into the dim illumination inside. The others followed.

"Spread out. Find the boy."

The other three men nodded and started a methodical search. Two went upstairs. A shot rang out and a woman let out her final scream. Another shot--this time one of the attackers was down.

Another attacker opened the door to William's room. "Found him!" he yelled before being shot in the back. Score two for the father.

The two remaining attackers ran up the stairs. The father shot the first of them, but was killed by the second.

William had woken with the first shot at the door. Now he ran to his father, grabbed the gun, and pointed it at the last attacker.

The attacker halted. He had orders--don't harm the boy. He put his gun on the ground. "Don't shoot."

William's gun shook in his hands. He started to lower it.

Now's my chance. The attacker rushed at the boy.

William quickly raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The attacker's face registered surprise as he died; blood splattered on the wall, redder than the boy's hair.

Trembling, the ten-year-old ran to a phone and called the sheriff's department.


The flash of the photographer's camera lit up the bedroom as the sheriffs--there were no police in this rural area--tried to understand what had happened.

"Jesus, this is way too weird", the head sheriff said. "Okay, let's begin at the beginning. We see four assailants, all dead, and three victims, two dead. Assailants were all in black suits, carrying Desert Eagles. They apparently used the sedan outside--with government plates."

"What agency?" a deputy asked.

"Don't know--no ID, either on the sedan or the assailants. Plates aren't bogus, but they're allocated from the covert ops pool."

"Covert ops?"

"Yeah. CIA, NSA, some people in the DOD, a few divisions of the FBI." He frowned. "Only the FBI is authorized to do anything within the US, and their people always carry ID." The head sheriff had once been an FBI agent, but had quit when he started raising a family.

"Weapons serial numbers?" the deputy suggested.

"Weapons issued to people using covert ops plates don't have serial numbers," the head sheriff said, frowning.

"So we have no idea who they were."

"Exactly."

The deputy sighed. "Between that and the boy's statements, we can probably rule out resisting arrest. I think it's just self defense."

"Probably. There's no reason to believe otherwise, at least for the boy--and he's the only one left to prosecute."

Social Services came by that afternoon to pick up William. He knew that this was the second time in his life they had done so, although he didn't know the circumstances of the first time.


William spent two years in six foster homes. He hated every second of it.

That's why he listened when an agent asked him to work for the FBI's School Security Department.