It was dark except for the small circle of light on the floor cast by one worklight suspended from the ceiling. He didn't know if it was night or day outside, or for that matter, exactly what day it was. He didn't know where he was, and he couldn't see where he was. He couldn't look left or right, up or down. The thick, steel band that held his head to the chair restricted all head movement. Other similar steel bands held him tight to the coarse, wooden chair, and had held him that way for... How long? He didn't know.
A man with curly, black, salt-and-pepper hair came out of the shadows. He stopped at the edge of the circle of light to light a cigarette. The thin plume of smoke violated the circle of light and the air around them. "You know," said the man, "I am absolutely amazed by how much my son looks like you did when you were younger, Krycek."
Krycek blinked as he tried to see the speaker. "That's because he's not your son, you sick son of a...."
The pain kept him from finishing his statement. Electricity pulsed through his veins as though someone was driving sharp metal spikes through them; it locked his jaw shut so that he couldn't scream. And oh, how he wanted to scream - in anger, in fear, in frustration.
For help.
His torturer stood completely in the light now. He held a PDA in his hand, stylus poised in mid-air. "I see now why you had so much fun with this when you used it on Skinner," he said. "Of course, technology has made great leaps and bounds since then, and there's no end to the kind of torture I can meet out." Kyrcek gritted his teeth. "Why don't you come over here, Spender," replied Krycek, "I have an overwhelming desire to kick your..." The stylus made contact again with the PDA. "I really can't believe," the torturer said when it was over, "that you still haven't grasped the concept of conditioned response." Spender launched into a macabre rendition of a childhood tune. "There was a scientist had a dog, and Pavlov was his name-o...." He stopped suddenly. "Oh, and by the way, I'm going to give you some news that should cheer you up. I found it out a scant few hours ago from a very reliable source. Of course, she didn't know whom she'd run into, but I did. I did as soon as she told me."
"Ooo! I'm all a-tingle," Krycek replied.
He was punished for his sarcasm with two more sharp jolts.
"I guess you never thought when you stowed away on my jet in an oh-so-futile attempt to save a son you never acknowledged and rescue the daughter of your sworn enemy that the Agents Mulder would follow." Jeffrey Spender took a long drag off his cigarette. "Of course, I could say the same thing. I never would have guess you would have been stupid enough to try and stop me six months ago. Fate is a strange thing, isn't it? Who would have known fate would bring all of us here, together? But if there is one lesson that finally took from my father is that fate is what you make of it. It is malleable; controllable. And control it is precisely what I plan to do, with your help."
"Like hell," Krycek replied.
His defiance was almost worth the pain he knew would follow.
"Let me make this very simple for you," Spender replied. "Mulder's progeny, your bastard son and the fruit of their loins have given us in one orchestrated `chance' meeting what nature refused to provide all these years - the continuation of the alien-human legacy that began with Mulder. It was his legacy just as it was yours and Marita's. If I hadn't seen them draw blood from that offspring, I would have sworn the black oil coursed through his veins."
"You crazy-ass son of a..." Krycek cried, but the pain silenced him again. Spender crouched down and brought his face within inches of Krycek's ear.
"Understand this. I control fate, and that fate is that the only memories Mulder and Scully's daughter and your son will have by the end of this week will be those I told them to have. They will live in this world of my making, raising their lovely, bouncing baby boy to adulthood, when he will take his rightful place in the syndicate, by my side as the savior of us all. You will agree to help make certain that will take place without argument or resistance. Or I will leave here right now, and kill them all before the evening news."
Spender stood up. He took out the PDA, raised the stylus, and brought it down. Just before he touched the screen, he stopped. "I must say, Krycek; you're one tough old man. The kind of torture you've been through would have killed lesser men than you."
Spender brought the stylus down, and the point made contact with the screen.