Scully walked the long hallway down to the lab where she was to work. There was no sound as she walked down the hall, the walls absorbing every trace of sound as though they were padded. The space that surrounded her was white, entirely devoid of sound, sight, and motion.
She couldn't even hear the sound of her own footsteps or the rapid beating of her own heart.
According to directions she received before she entered the hallway, labs for the Cassandra Project were down the hallway; "make a right across from the door that leads to the stairwell," she was told. But the homogeneous surroundings made it hard to tell beginning from end; start to finish...
...Real from unreal or lies from the truth.
Scully stopped as she heard a door open. She waited for someone to come out into the hall, unsure of what she should do, what direction she should take. No one came out, and she heard the door as it shut.
What Scully did not realize was that the door latch did not catch, and that the door was still open. She didn't realize it was open until walked past it.
It was the first sound she had heard since she'd entered the hallway. A whirring, machine-like sound. It reminded her of the sound made by life support machines. She slowly turned her head. and looked.
The room had the same white color as the outside hallway. It was large, and housed how's upon rows upon rows of tables. Three people stood around each table clad in white hazmat suits and face shields. At first, she thought they were in the middle of a surgical procedure. She saw the glint of light-on-steel as a scalpel was raised, or maybe it was the arch of light from a laser. She couldn't tell. It appeared as though each of the teams were working on a cadaver; a typical, time tested teaching techniques used in medicine for many years. She thought they were working on a cadaver until the cadaver turned its head, and looked directly at Scully. She stood there, transfixed as the surgeon looked up and looked directly at her as well.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Is there anything I can help you with, Dr. Anderson?"
Scully didn't hear the lab tech ask her if she needed assistance. She was fixated on the open door and what was behind it. The cadaver and the surgeon in the room stared at Scully through soulless and empty eyes. Just as she became locked in their gaze, the door closed slowly and locked.
"Dr. Anderson....?"
"The Cassandra Project," Scully said slowly. "I'm here to work on the Cassandra Project, and I can't find the lab." "Yes, I know," replied the young tech. "I'm your lab technician. They sent me here to find you, and set you up in your office. It's just through that door right there."
For one terrifying moment, Scully thought she had pointed to the door that had been open. She realized the tech was pointing to the door next to it. "Almost like the Lady and the Tiger," she thought as the technician opened the door.
Scully and the lab tech walked into a traditional lab filled with beakers and test tubes. In a glassed-in portion of the lab was her office. It had the look of being hastily built, right down to the name plate that had been affixed to the door.
"I'm sorry about the name plate, but we didn't know your first name," the tech began. "It's not important," Scully hastily replied. "I suppose not," said the lab tech, "it's something we can take care of later on." The technician opened the door to her office. "The most recent research for the project is on your desk. Files for recent and past liquidations are in the lateral files. Please let me know when you're ready for me."
The technician left, and Scully waited until she made her way through the lab, and out of the room. Instinct told her that she did not have much time to gather the information she needed. She began with the lateral files, opening a drawer marked "CP11211951 to CP11211961." The first file she came across was labeled "participants" and when she looked inside, she saw four columns of alpha-numeric listings. It was the first listing that caught her eye.
"AMA10131931302A" was the first listing in a column marked "A" on the neatly typed page. In the "B" column was a listing that read "RAM11211929508P". Column "C" had the entry "DOLB11211951" and Column "D" the listing "DOL11301951AR." Scully went through all the possibilities, examined all the permutations and calculations she could when she realized the answer was staring her in the face.
"Aaronson, Anne Marie," it read. Suddenly, it all became clear. Scully pulled the file out of the cabinet, and quickly scanned its contents. The more she read, the clearer it became. The more she read, the more terrified she was.
She quickly replaced the file, and moved down the rows of lateral filing cabinets. "CP10131962, CP11211973, CP10131999...." She moved down to the final drawer, which did not have a label on it. She took a chance, and opened the file drawer. It was not as full as the other drawers, but it had a participant list just like all the others. The difference was that it was clearly labeled, "Neonatology Conference." Scully scanned the list and the files in that drawer. Each entry on the list had a corresponding file in the drawer.
All except for two.
Scully took the list out of the folder, folded it, and put it in her pocket. She scanned the office in an effort to collect her thoughts. There were two folders missing - but where were they?
Scully's eyes fell on a standing file on her desk with two files in it.
It seemed to her as though she were walking through gum as she crossed the short distance to the desk. She picked up the files.
The first one read, "Mulder, Melissa Wilhelmina"; the second, "Covington, Andrew Alexander."
The two men listened intently as the two truck drivers made small talk. The drivers found what they were looking for, and left the room. During their conversation, Mulder came to a conclusion in the long seconds that ticked by.
This was a fight he wasn't going to loose.
The stranger loosened his grip on Mulder's mouth as the drivers left the storage area, and Mulder made his move. He delivered a sharp elbow to the stranger's gut and in the next instant twisted his arm behind him and kneed him in the small of his back. While his assailant was on the ground, Mulder twisted his arm even higher after he placed his foot hard on his shoulder blade.
"Yank my chain one more time and see if I don't rip your arm off and beat you with it," Mulder growled. The stranger twisted his head in a futile effort to see his captor's face. "And waste a perfectly good specimen of modern bionics?" he asked. "Who are you?" demanded Mulder. "Why Mulder," taunted the stranger, "and after we were so close..."
With his free hand, Mulder shifted his position and grabbed the man by the collar. He pulled him up only as high as he needed to yank the baseball cap off of his head.
"Krycek," hissed Mulder.
"Speaking of chains," Krycek sneered, "how's the little woman?" Mulder punched him. "That was from her," Mulder replied. "She didn't miss you at the wedding."
In a swift move, Krycek caught Mulder off guard, rolling to one side and knocking Mulder to the ground. He drew his arm back to hit him, then stopped within inches of his face. "I'll forget the fact that right now I can very easily pile-drive your face to China; I'll even forget how hurt I was that I wasn't invited to the Scully-Mulder nuptials..."
"Why, Krycek," Mulder replied sarcastically, "how big of you? Or is that just the arm talking?" Krycek went through with the punch and Mulder avoided it by rolling out of harm's reach. He scrambled to his feet, pulling his service revolver from its ankle holster on the way up. He aimed his weapon at Krycek. "I'm sure the bionic arm or you for that matter aren't bullet-proof....."
"Cut the crap Mulder!" Krycek demanded. "Or do you want to waste the little time we have before they get back?" "Shut up Krycek," Mulder began. Krycek cut him off. "I'm the only one here who has any idea about what's going on here and who's behind it. You saw what was in those barrels. Do you want to find your daughter alive, or would you rather wait until she shows up here?"
Mulder cocked his gun. "Start talking."
"It's all the same thing," Krycek began. "The years pass, the faces change, but it's all the same. Everything old is new again. If you want answers for the present, find your solutions in the past..."
"If you want me to kill you," Mulder continued, "keep talking in clichés..."
"Then this one should be very familiar to you," Krycek replied. "Not everything dies, Mr. Mulder. Isn't that what Marita said once?"
The two men faced each other in a stalemate, each remembering the person who made that statement. Each remembering that the person who uttered those words was herself dead and long since buried.
"Explain, " said Mulder quietly.
"The conspiracy isn't over," Krycek replied. "It never was. Just dormant. And the person behind it is an old hand at the game..." "Cigarette Smoking Man is dead; you should know that," Mulder shot back "Not CSM," Krycek answered back. "His son. Oh yes, Mulder. Jeffery Spender is alive and well and proving that we all eventually turn into the worst images of our parents. The deeper the evil, the stronger the effect. Evil outlives us all, Mulder."
"And so does good," Mulder replied, "but when I want to talk philosophy, I'll channel Plato." Mulder adjusted his aim. "Still haven't heard what I want to hear, Krycek..."
"Spender is head of the syndicate," Krycek continued, " a syndicate that will stop at nothing. The syndicate is harvesting human DNA from select groups of people; specific pairings. They are working with existing DNA strands from two hosts or parents and the resulting new strand created via IVF - In Vitro Fertilization. Your daughter, my son. They're one of the pairs."
"So what do you think, Grandpa? Your daughter, my son, our grandchild. Who'd 'a thunk it...."