AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, everybody, sorry about the bit of violence in the last chapter, but it will have a certain importance in a few things to come . . . Anyway, here comes the next chapter!

Happy Reading!

Capt. Janeway

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CHAPTER 5 System #2

John Doggett glad nobody was there to see his stupidity.

He was certain he hadn't made a wrong turn, and he'd even followed the signs, but . . .

He'd gotten lost just driving to the office!

He let an angry sigh come hissing out as he parked the SUV in front of a moonlit diner. Maybe some coffee would help him think a little better.

He got out, slammed the car door shut, and walked to the diner door. He pushed the door open and found himself a booth to plop down in.

Except for a lone waitress and a couple gazing obsessively in each other's eyes, the place was empty, with a cry-over-yer-beer country ballad echoing from wall to wall.

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked.

"Just coffee. Thanks."

As the waitress left, Doggett wearily put his head in his hands--not unlike his late counterpart only minutes before at the kitchen table.

How? How could this happen? Ah, well, he'd better give Gibson a call so he wouldn't worry; Gibson would call Monica, and Monica would call Skinner and who knows how many other people.

John drew his cell phone out of his pocket, only to find that it was dead. He didn't even get a no-service message; the phone was just dead.

*Strange. I could've sworn I charged it the other night . . .*

Just as he tucked his phone back in his pocket, a sharp wave of nausea swept over him. The room was spinning, growing darker and lighter; something was wrong . . .

*I don't belong here, don't belong!*

"Are you all right?" a woman's concerned voice drifted to him.

*. . . I don't belong, don't belong, don't belong . . .*

"Why don't you belong?"

"I been sayin' all that?" John wondered aloud.

"Yes--What's wrong?"

Slowly, the spinning slowed, until it finally stopped. He found himself slumped to the side, being supported by the woman.

"I'm okay," he mumbled.

Looking up, he saw that the woman wasn't the waitress at all. She looked almost anorexic, with pale skin and enormous glasses shielding her face.

"You sure?" she checked again.

"Yeah. Thanks."

The woman slid into the seat opposite him in the booth--as if she *belonged* there.

"Do you have the files?" she asked in a low voice.

"Files? What files?"

"The files you promised me."

"Files I promised you? Look, I never met you before. Honest."

Horrified, she leaned back in her seat. "You're going to the hospital. Right now. I'll take you."

"No, I'm fine," John snapped. "I just don't know who in the heck you are . . ."

She grabbed his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "You know who I am. Special Agent Samantha Mulder--remember?"

"What in the--?!"

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