Nearby, there's a Navajo village. Many hogans have been built here. A hogan is a cone-shaped or dome-shaped home made of wood and/or stone. Rugs and silverware, too, are made here...as they'd be in a more common hogan village.
Tonight, a bonfire is on. It's been a dry season...and yet, the local government must stay away. American history is way too full of instances where a clash between the white law and the red natives ended in an atrocious massacre. Plus, Uncle Sam pours a lot of gold into these lands as things are.
Raising their arms, many Navajo chant and sway around it. Most of them are women. A few of them are gay men. Either way, they're all black shamans; skinwalkers, specifically. They can all shapeshift into beasts with black pelage, plumage, scales, skin, or an exterior otherwise.
Some of these Navajo women are amazons of Themyscira. Others, even, are new goddesses from space.
Sentient rugs fly in circles around the rising smoke. They're reminiscent of wights and ghosts, as they do so...
Among their many moving bare feet, a tarantula creeps. She's deep brown and hairy. She's undead; parts of her are tangled within long thin white streamers of cloth. She's also Kahndaqi. The local Navajo women wouldn't know this, though.
The bonfire blazes atop a totem. The totem is that of an otter. At times in this village's history, the otter cult of the Navajo has had facilities and shrines here. At present, though, no such shrines are active. Either way, there are still medical, childcare, elder care, educational, and workers' comp facilities here. New Mexico is a blue state, and the Navajo have done more than their fair share to help New Mexico transition into a welfare state. It may never get there. And if it ever does, it might or might not be a violation of the US Constitution. And if Joseph McCarthy was still alive, he'd surely love to burn some of these actual witches at stakes.
With all of the silver that's here, this hogan village is well-protected from werebeasts. If Lobo raided the place with his space-bike, though, it's unclear as to whether the cold silver-iron alloys that're here would help the locals fare well against his wrathful tactics; tactics that've been known to make Deathstroke and Red Hood look like diplomats.
In the shadows, Iota-Kappa creeps around. He means no harm; far from it. He's still too young and too doped-up to know he's supposed to...if he's supposed to. Either way, there are black shamans in this hogan village. He might not mean them harm...but they might mean him some.
In the outer ranks that circle the bonfire, Navajo girls raise their arms and dance, too. They chant in Navajo, too.
One slows, takes steps back, and lowers her arms. Slowly, she turns. She adjusts her long flowing brown hair, while doing so... She's got a bell-shaped flower in her hair...and many lanyards of beads around her neck... Her eyes, it seems, are like deep brown gems...
She senses a presence, from the shadows. She must; many of the women in her matriline were skinwalkers...if not black shamans. Hence, at present, she's pretty sure that whoever's in there, they're not from the Shadowlands. They're not from the Dying/Black, either. He's not a Black Lantern, either...likely though it seems that he's from outer space.
Around her, her sisters and mothers dance on. She takes this chance to sneak off. For the time being, she resists the urge to change into her animal form. It's just as well that she doesn't; at her stage in her own development as a skinwalker, her animal form would not yet fool anyone. As a matter of fact, it would frighten the wrong people.
Among her mothers' and sisters' feet, the creepy spider continues to creep. She's spotted one of their ankles. Her ankle's got a salmon fry tattooed on it...
She's just about to conjure a big black mantle for herself...moments before she sees the perp's peridot-like eyes.
Soon they stand, facing one another. He's in light green clothing; she's in black clothing. He's a mutated kryptonian alien; she's a skin-walking black shaman of the Navajo race of Earth.
With her psionic powers, she taps into his thoughts. Not yet knowing who or what to judge, he lets her.
From the ranks of the soon-to-not-be-chanting Navajo women, a shriek shatters the relative stability of the evening.
The other ladies panic and gather in a broadening circle around their afflicted sister. Powerful though they all are, most of them seem to have cold feet about combating the mummy-tarantula. Some of them would be lying, though, if they said this was their first exposure to such a zombie threat.
The tarantula-mummy has attacked one of them. She's attacked her ankle. She's one-legged, now. Not to worry, though; her other leg is still intact...for now.
On impulse, Iota-Kappa speeds into action. He takes the wounded skinwalker in his arms and rushes her to the county hospital. He leaves her near the front doors of the ER and rushes back into the wood.
Before long, the tarantula-mummy is in a cage. Iota-Kappa's got no memory of where he got the cage from, or what made him so sure that it'd contain the threat. Before letting the spider be, though, he uses his powers to adjust the spider's age, to where the spider is now just a nymph. With that, he smiles subtly, and vanishes back into the wood.
Now, the Navajo women gather in a broadening circle around the tarantula-mummy. It seems they're in sweet adoration of it... Even black shamans, it seems, have hearts...
The girl, from before, turns back around, to address what just happened. Alas, Iota-Kappa has run off. Now, she's wary of him. She was before, but... This time, she's less sure what to think.
Before too long, though, the bonfire ceremony is back on. It's almost as if the atrocity never happened.
In the meantime, the mummy-tarantula skulks inside its cage, plotting a new plan. He might never get to apply it.
A highway runs through the wood. Few do. But then, the Navajo do live here. And the Navajo, like most red nations, have a history to reacting badly to the white nation's efforts to over-develop the land...as if Navajo vision for such things was truly so cheap.
Along it, a mid-size car drives. It's the same one that visited the Grey Zoo, not too long back. Its odometer, by now, would have a higher number on it...but not too much so. Its driver will soon be in the company of someone who'd know odometers that make the ones of Earth look petty.
It passes a yellow sign on the side of the road. It has a black shape on it, that looks like a man-in-black...as well as the letters "FBI" printed beneath it. "FBI crossing" is what it most likely means.
Before going too far up the road, the car pulls over, slows, and parks. The nearest rest stop is way too far ahead to matter. But at least, according to a sign that the car just passed, it exists in conjunction with a Big Belly Burger restaurant.
Not too far up ahead, some feral argalis graze on the hillside. As the car parks, they scatter. They know what's coming...and they'd hate to still be around in case whoever's in that car has brought a long-range rifle...or eleven.
The driver door opens. Once again, Dr. Scully's elegant legs emerge, and place their pumps-tipped ends on the roadside's asphalt. She takes a moment to trade her pumps for flats.
Up a weedy hill, she ascends. The wood is just beyond. Moths scatter, as she ascends the hill. At least they're not looking up her skirt. They'll soon be among few who'd want to.
Here and there on certain parts of the hill's slope, a yucca grows. Its base resembles the top of a pineapple. Atop a long stalk that rises from it, there's a huge inflorescence of big white/ivory/beige flowers. This is the state flower of New Mexico. Alas, if only Roswell greys stopped to smell them more often, each time they invaded Area 51.
Into its shadows, she vanishes. Soon, she'll be at the mercy of the hidebehinds, the cactusfolk, the mothfolk, the duende, and all of the other horrors this wood has to offer. Dr. Scully doesn't believe in any of it, of course. And she's spent much of her career working with an FBI agent who might as well be a new god, considering how much he believes in aliens.
With electromagnetic gadgets, Dr. Scully seeks out the crater's signals. Her medical assistants, back at the field office, have already forwarded to her the data she needs to get this gadgetry to work. Dr. Scully, then, probably shouldn't dismiss the possibility that her quarry is a coluan, and therefore capable of duping her into thinking the signals are coming from somewhere they're not. In such moments, Dr. Scully should give thanks that she's not the Red Son...or, the Red Daughter, as she would be. Her hair, in fact, would make her even more ideal for the role of Red Daughter than any clone of Kara Zor-El could be.
Spooked moths emerge from the weeds, as she passes them with her skirt. She swears a few times, as this happens. Good thing her skirt isn't moth-eaten by the time she gets out of this shadowy tangle that the local Navajo call home. She's not quite sure how they do it. But then, that's not to say she can't imagine... At times, of course, Dr. Scully would still prefer the girls' dormitories in Stanford...
She swears again, as she watches a desert toad cross the ground, between a pair of pines. He's a revolting sight; this, she won't deny. Hideous though he is, he's not her quarry. Her quarry would never go so slow. He wouldn't stray so far away from others of his race, either. At least this isn't the Amazon, and at least he's not a poison dart frog; a few native warriors might see him, and suddenly remember that their arrows need re-tipping.
Against nearby tree trunks, grey lizards brood. Every now and then, they inflate their gular skin, like huge balloons within their throats. Toads can do this too, of course. These male lizards might, in fact, be cat-calling the hot Doctor, as she mindlessly passes them. They're out of luck, though; as far as Dr. Scully is concerned, the alien-hunting FBI agent she's in love with is already way too lizard-like for an entire sorority's worth of women. (Scully's words, of course.)
From the shadows, more minor horrors peer at the great Doctor, as she passes. Some are zână/pixie/fairy-like. Some are redcap/goblin/demon/gnome-like. Some are popobawa/bat-like. Some are moon rabbit-like. Some are jinni-like. There are hoop snakes here, too; some are nāga-like... Some are henge/boggart/changeling-like. Some are dingbat/imp/poltergeist/gremlin-like. A few, even, are goatfellow-like. Some are cat-sìth/come-at-a-body/duck-footed dum-dum/splintercat/jaguarondi/cat-like. Some are nachtkrapp/corvine-like. Some are bogeyfellow/rodent-like. Some are babay/horned lizard-like. Some are ahuizotl/water opossum-like. From here, they all pine for the ginger Doctor. Alas, they'd all be better off betting on an alien-hunting FBI agent with Lovecraftian vision. But then, one would think that some of them would look in a mirror more often...or a lake surface, in the very least.
This is the clearing where Iota-Kappa left his pod. Somehow, it's ferried itself away from the crater. Unclear as to why it'd want to... But then, if an L-Corp team came out here looking for it, the crater would surely be the first place they'd look.
Here, his pod still sits. It's been abandoned and unattended. It's just as well; Iota-Kappa's use for it has passed. But then, he'd better hope that an L-Corp facility is nowhere nearby.
Beneath its hull, the "dwarfstar remora" still clings. He doesn't seem to miss the dwarfstar asteroid, from which he originated, at all. If he does, he doesn't show it. But then, he wouldn't. He's a fish; his emotions, if he has any, couldn't be more stable.
Before long, the pod has re-sized itself. It's now the size of a toy aircraft. Good thing Toyman isn't anywhere nearby.
Here, the dwarfstar remora detaches itself. Before it can hit the ground, it starts shrinking uncontrollably. Soon, it's vanished from sight completely. It's probably going to check the Anti-Monitor's prison, or something... Unclear as to why he'd want to, if Mobius couldn't become a shark...
Someone approaches. It's a human, alright. A mule deer would make more noise. A hidebehind wouldn't make any noise at all.
Dr. Scully arrives. To the pod, she's like a giant. To her, the pod is now like a toy spaceship. She has no clue that it would've been more life-size, less than an hour ago...
With it in her hands, she slowly stands. To her, it's an enigma. Good thing, then, that Edward Nygma doesn't find out about it too soon; as far as Dr. Scully would be concerned, after all, now would not be a good time to start telling riddles about this...device.
Nonetheless, she slides the strange spacecraft into her purse, and keeps wandering about the wood. Her flats make noise, each time she walks through straw. And these pines shed no shortage of it.
With her cell phone, she attempts to contact the field office. Alas, even now, the wild is not known for its premium cell service reception. New Mexico has never been known for its high rank on the latest US census.
Not too far away, though, there's a hilltop. Dr. Scully acknowledges it. Looking around, she makes her way over there.
Standing atop the hilltop, and overlooking the wood in the process, she makes the cell calls she needs to. Naturally, this is where cell service is best performed.
From here, Dr. Scully can see the highway...but not her car. She can't see the crater...but she can see the heat and smoke it's still generating. She'd hate to think it can be seen from space... Not that she'd be concerned, of course, if it could...
She can also see the Navajo village from here. They're performing a ritual again. They've got one of their own on an altar.
At this, Dr. Scully scoffs. She pushes herself to finish her business up here ASAP, for she'd hate to still be here when they set that altar ablaze, and sacrifice the poor woman who's atop it...
Alas, they raise a flag, while doing so. The flag's got a Red Cross painted on it. They also raise several poles; each one has a bronze serpent coiled around its top...
Now, Dr. Scully understands. They're not trying to sacrifice that woman; they're trying to heal her. And there's only one reason they'd try to do anything like that to anyone, if they were civil at all; and that's if they were sick. Scully, of course, is an MD; much though she loves running around after an alien-hunting FBI agent, she's also a servant to the sick. Hence, her services are needed within that village.
So, the Doctor purses her cell phone, and makes slow and cautious steps towards the village. She hopes they don't try to kill her...although they probably will. The Navajos aren't the Apache...but that's not to say that their warriors aren't too much less ferocious. It took ferocity, of course, to defend their turf from so many expanding white settlers, back when Manifest Destiny was still on white America's bucket list.
Soon, though, Dr. Scully will know more about what's going on than she does. Good thing she doesn't learn the deep dark secret of the skinwalker, while doing so. But then, as lucky as she's been, she probably won't. Either lucky, that is to say, or chronically pessimistic... And to think that she was raised Catholic...