The day had finally arrived, and Mulder walked into the facility in disguise as a newly hired orderly, his posture and demeanor meticulously controlled. His face was hidden behind a pair of thick glasses, and he wore the plain scrubs of the staff, blending in seamlessly as he joined the handover at the nurses' station. Around him, the other staff seemed relaxed, nonchalant, chatting quietly as they handed off information from the previous shift.
One of the senior nurses, clipboard in hand, was briskly summarizing each patient's "progress."
"All patients are responding well to their therapies," she said, her tone almost robotic. "No disruptions overnight."
Mulder's stomach twisted at the emptiness of the words. Responding well? He thought bitterly, knowing full well that "responding" might mean nothing more than subdued compliance, coerced by the mysterious sedatives coursing through their veins. He stayed quiet, catching every detail, his mind racing as he formulated his next steps.
When the handover was complete, he leaned slightly toward the nurse next to him, keeping his voice casual. "I'll go check on the patients down the hall. Just getting a feel for the place."
The nurse shot him a bemused look, barely glancing up. "A round? Trust me, that won't be necessary. Everyone on this floor is restrained—cooperation's never been an issue."
Mulder forced a small, acknowledging smile, even as her words lit a spark of anger within him. *Restrained.* Just hearing it made his blood boil, but he kept his composure.
"Still, it helps me learn the layout," he replied, his voice steady.
The nurse shrugged, indifferent. "Suit yourself. Don't spend too long, though—rounds are supposed to be efficient." She turned away, dismissing him.
Mulder wasted no time, slipping down the hall. Each door he passed had a small window set into it, and he felt a pang each time he saw a patient inside, strapped to their beds or staring blankly at the walls. He kept going, his steps precise and steady, until he reached the door he knew was hers.
Through the small, reinforced window, he saw her lying there, restrained at the wrists, eyes closed. For a split second, his resolve nearly faltered. She looked pale, thinner, as though every day in this place had taken something from her. But he knew Scully—knew her strength. She'd been pretending to cooperate; he only hoped she could hold on a little longer.
Checking over his shoulder to make sure the hall was clear, Mulder took out the master key card the Gunmen had hacked for him. Sliding it smoothly into the lock, he turned the handle, then stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.
He approached her bed, whispering, "Scully? It's me, Mulder."
Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze focusing as she recognized him, and a flicker of strength returned to her expression.
Scully's eyes were heavy, her gaze slightly unfocused from the sedatives still circulating in her system, but there was a spark of recognition when she saw him. "Mulder," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but she pressed on. "There's… someone else here. From the MUFON group. A few doors down."
Mulder nodded, his face set in quiet determination. "I know," he murmured, leaning in closer. "We've been digging. I just need to figure out a way to get you out of here safely—and make sure we have enough to bring these people down for good." His voice was soft but intense, each word charged with unspoken promises.
He reached down, his fingers gently brushing along her arms, feeling the cold, stiff restraints holding her wrists. His thumb traced small, soothing circles against her skin, his touch light and cautious. "I wish I could take these off right now," he whispered, his voice laced with barely contained frustration. "They have no right to do this to you."
Her hand flexed slightly in response to his touch, a silent acknowledgment, but her eyes grew a shade darker, the weight of everything pressing down on her. "They're… they're watching us all the time, Mulder," she murmured. "They come in the middle of the night, the doctors… they inject something. They said… they said it's for my own good." Her voice was thick with bitterness and exhaustion.
Mulder's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with anger. "Not for much longer, Scully," he vowed. "I'm getting you out of here. And these people—every single one of them—they're going to pay."
She gave him the slightest nod, her breathing calming as she held his gaze, some semblance of trust rekindling in the face of the nightmare around her.
Before his shift ended, Mulder slipped into the facility's supply room, his movements quick and deliberate. He spotted a vial of the medication they'd been administering to Scully and the other patients—a clear, viscous liquid with no label other than a generic barcode. Carefully pocketing the vial, he scanned the shelves for patient files, selecting a few at random and tucking them inside his scrubs.