Chapter 3: Manifesto
Summary:
AD Skinner takes a stand.
This is chapter 3 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory. I guess its 4th season…
Disclaimer:
My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.
A/N: Please read and review. I am a real person (I think). Oh, and by the way, for the guy's voice, don't you think he sounds like Hugo Weaving? I don't know. I just think he sounds perfect for it. How would you take it if someone told you that you were the perfect villain? I wonder how William B. Davis feels. (For the uninitiated, Hugo Weaving played Agent Smith/s in the Matrix trilogy and V in V for Vendetta (and incredible movie) and if you're reading this you should know who Davis is).
XXX
"Hello, you've reached Special Agent Fox Mulder of the X-Files division. Please leave your name and number and I will return your call as soon as possible."
A Beep. Static. Then…
"There is no need for preliminary introductions—you know my identity. Although, I don't doubt you considered our particular nexus to have been severed by times current.
"Undoubtedly, when you hear this you will have noticed something of value has gone adrift. I have launched my career again, and you should feel honored that you should be my first subject. Although my trade does not take stock in personal assertion of revenge I was elated to discover business may sometimes be pleasurable.
"I know that FBI tracers are state of the art, so I'll be quick. Let me plot it out for you.
"There will be no ransom. No demands will be made. This is a test. No one will be harmed if you comply. Participation is a choice; however, our security package can be considered creative persuasion.
"So jump on in, Mulder. You profiled me once, are you sure you can navigate this time? Will you float in your success or drown in your shame?
"Enter the arena and I'll show you how the game is played. I hope you know how to swim."
As the tape stopped, Skinner looked into the din of the conference room. The pen lights of the task force lit the surface of the circular array of desks. Scattered papers and stale coffee seemed to be the elected décor. As a younger agent, he had been informed by his predecessor that the set up of the seventh floor executive meeting rooms had been constructed to perpetuate an atmosphere of organized tranquility. Dim lights and the particular geometric layout that afforded all attendants a position of power helped the agents center themselves and focus on the task at hand. He hoped that it was true.
With a well-practiced authoritarian grace, Skinner stood and addressed the 28 members. All pairs of eyes, save one, followed. Skinner was intimate friends with inner turmoil and was certain the pair that remained unafflicted by his call for attention were undividedly focused inward—eiditically categorizing all the causes of the owner's pain.
Clearing his throat and straightening his tie in a last ditch effort to secure his well constructed façade of infallibility he began:
"Special Agent Dana Scully was reported missing by her Mother at precisely 6:48 this morning…"