Chapter One
Raccoon City, PA September 4, 1998
The apartment was dark, save the one or two candles in each of the three rooms that cast comfortless shadows on the walls. Against one of these shadowy walls sat a man in his early thirties with short, blonde hair in a fetal position. He was trembling and whimpering quietly. If he had bothered to open the curtains covering any of the windows in his apartment he'd have seen the sun setting behind the cityscape. But, no.he was too busy sobbing into his own lap as he mindlessly scratched at the purple rash covering thirty percent of his body.
Always itchy, he thought to himself, his eyes unblinking, Always hungry.never sleep.trapped in hell.
Hell, indeed, would not have been an understatement for this man. For nearly three years he had gained notoriety in Raccoon City as Wally the Wacko, because he claimed to be a multiple alien abductee. Seven abductions in thirty-five months.it happened like clockwork. He lost his job at Umbrella, Inc. Distribution Center and failed at his marriage because of it. And if that wasn't enough hell.now he was stuck in a steaming necropolis.a city of zombies.
Always hungry.always scared.they're coming soon.they're.
In mid-thought, an extremely bright light shone through the closed curtains of his apartment. As bright as it was, looking at it wasn't painful or strenuous.in fact, on this rare occasion.it was calming. At least they'd be taking him away from here.
In for a surprise.itchy.always itchy.
He lay on his stomach and closed his eyes; motionless except for an occasional twitch in his shoulder. As he rose of the floor, the window and curtains across the room dematerialized and a silhouette of a seven-foot tall, gangly and sexless creature with only three fingers on each hand appeared. He didn't see it though.nor did he feel it when it touched his shoulder when he floated by. All he felt was the itchy irritation of that damned purple rash and his immutable hunger.
Itchy.tasty.
And then he was gone.
Washington, D.C. May 16, 2007
It was eleven o'clock at night, and Assistant Director Fox Mulder was the only X-Files team member left in the office. Yawning as he finished another case report, he saved the word document then turned off the computer. He stood and stretched his back and then reached for the desk lamp to turn it off.
And froze when he saw a trench coated figure standing in the operations room right outside his office. The figure stared right at Mulder, and said nothing. After thirty seconds of stunned silence, Mulder asked,
"Who are you and how'd you get in here?"
"I had someone open the door for me," he responded, holding his ground. His voice was old and gravely. Mulder stood up straight and furthered,
"Is there something I can help you with?"
"I thought you'd never ask," said the figure, finally stepping into the office. He was Caucasian, at least 60 years old, but still walked and spoke with authority and confidence. Sitting in an uncomfortable office chair, he asked, "Watch much of the news this morning?"
"Some," said Fox, hesitantly resuming his own seat, "Mind telling me your name?"
"In time, yes. Caught much on that airplane crash in northern New Hampshire, have you?"
"Some," repeated Mulder, "A small passenger plane crashed in the White Mountains late last night. State authorities aren't releasing any details yet, but."
"The state authorities haven't released any details," said the man, "Because they don't know the details. Simply put, AD Mulder.it was not a plane that crashed last night."
Mulder was now intrigued. Leaning forward, he asked, "A UFO?"
"Absolutely," said the man, nodding, "But, no ordinary UFO."
"Is there really such a thing as an ordinary UFO?"
"This particular alien spacecraft was carrying an abductee at the time of the crash. And abductee who was infected with something.monstrous."
"The Black Oil?" asked Mulder. (A/N: confused? Consult your local X- Files fanatic)
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder," said the man, raising an eyebrow, "I'm unfamiliar with that term. I'm referring to the very disease that caused the that cataclysmic events in Raccoon City nine years ago."
"Raccoon City's fate was the fault of industrial espionage gone horribly awry."
"Or so you've been lead to believe," interjected the man, also leaning forward, "Brace yourself, Assistant Director, because I'm about to invest you with knowledge that will make your most notorious X-File pale in comparison."
(A/N: Fear not! The next chapter is on the way! And a lot sooner than this one came, I assure you. Things to think about: Who's this informant? What's the state of Umbrella, Inc. now? Who does know the details of the plane crash?)
Raccoon City, PA September 4, 1998
The apartment was dark, save the one or two candles in each of the three rooms that cast comfortless shadows on the walls. Against one of these shadowy walls sat a man in his early thirties with short, blonde hair in a fetal position. He was trembling and whimpering quietly. If he had bothered to open the curtains covering any of the windows in his apartment he'd have seen the sun setting behind the cityscape. But, no.he was too busy sobbing into his own lap as he mindlessly scratched at the purple rash covering thirty percent of his body.
Always itchy, he thought to himself, his eyes unblinking, Always hungry.never sleep.trapped in hell.
Hell, indeed, would not have been an understatement for this man. For nearly three years he had gained notoriety in Raccoon City as Wally the Wacko, because he claimed to be a multiple alien abductee. Seven abductions in thirty-five months.it happened like clockwork. He lost his job at Umbrella, Inc. Distribution Center and failed at his marriage because of it. And if that wasn't enough hell.now he was stuck in a steaming necropolis.a city of zombies.
Always hungry.always scared.they're coming soon.they're.
In mid-thought, an extremely bright light shone through the closed curtains of his apartment. As bright as it was, looking at it wasn't painful or strenuous.in fact, on this rare occasion.it was calming. At least they'd be taking him away from here.
In for a surprise.itchy.always itchy.
He lay on his stomach and closed his eyes; motionless except for an occasional twitch in his shoulder. As he rose of the floor, the window and curtains across the room dematerialized and a silhouette of a seven-foot tall, gangly and sexless creature with only three fingers on each hand appeared. He didn't see it though.nor did he feel it when it touched his shoulder when he floated by. All he felt was the itchy irritation of that damned purple rash and his immutable hunger.
Itchy.tasty.
And then he was gone.
Washington, D.C. May 16, 2007
It was eleven o'clock at night, and Assistant Director Fox Mulder was the only X-Files team member left in the office. Yawning as he finished another case report, he saved the word document then turned off the computer. He stood and stretched his back and then reached for the desk lamp to turn it off.
And froze when he saw a trench coated figure standing in the operations room right outside his office. The figure stared right at Mulder, and said nothing. After thirty seconds of stunned silence, Mulder asked,
"Who are you and how'd you get in here?"
"I had someone open the door for me," he responded, holding his ground. His voice was old and gravely. Mulder stood up straight and furthered,
"Is there something I can help you with?"
"I thought you'd never ask," said the figure, finally stepping into the office. He was Caucasian, at least 60 years old, but still walked and spoke with authority and confidence. Sitting in an uncomfortable office chair, he asked, "Watch much of the news this morning?"
"Some," said Fox, hesitantly resuming his own seat, "Mind telling me your name?"
"In time, yes. Caught much on that airplane crash in northern New Hampshire, have you?"
"Some," repeated Mulder, "A small passenger plane crashed in the White Mountains late last night. State authorities aren't releasing any details yet, but."
"The state authorities haven't released any details," said the man, "Because they don't know the details. Simply put, AD Mulder.it was not a plane that crashed last night."
Mulder was now intrigued. Leaning forward, he asked, "A UFO?"
"Absolutely," said the man, nodding, "But, no ordinary UFO."
"Is there really such a thing as an ordinary UFO?"
"This particular alien spacecraft was carrying an abductee at the time of the crash. And abductee who was infected with something.monstrous."
"The Black Oil?" asked Mulder. (A/N: confused? Consult your local X- Files fanatic)
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder," said the man, raising an eyebrow, "I'm unfamiliar with that term. I'm referring to the very disease that caused the that cataclysmic events in Raccoon City nine years ago."
"Raccoon City's fate was the fault of industrial espionage gone horribly awry."
"Or so you've been lead to believe," interjected the man, also leaning forward, "Brace yourself, Assistant Director, because I'm about to invest you with knowledge that will make your most notorious X-File pale in comparison."
(A/N: Fear not! The next chapter is on the way! And a lot sooner than this one came, I assure you. Things to think about: Who's this informant? What's the state of Umbrella, Inc. now? Who does know the details of the plane crash?)
