Currently reading: recently picked up Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi (coffee + time travel, what’s not to love)
Last song: Coming Up by Paul McCartney (just a really fun song, goofy music video)
Currently watching: not a TV series but I’ve been watching The Casual Criminalist on YouTube (not super in to true crime, so not sure why)
Next on my watchlist: the new season of What We Do In The Shadows, also kinda wanna see that new Agatha Christie movie with Tina Fey
Current fic: nothing current as of yet, but just recently finished In The Watchfires of a Hundred Circling Camps by @cthene (really love the writing and characterizations!) Also alien!Mulder is easily one of my favorite tags/topics/thing
Current obsession: hmmm TXF aside, nothing really sticks out - I do really enjoy music (who doesn’t) and games, but nothing specific comes to mind that occupies a huge chunk of my time (such a blah answer, I know!)
Soooo many people I’d like to know, I’m definitely more of a silent observer, but greatly enjoy and always look forward to meeting fellow Philes (and of course just people in general) ☺️
First fic of all time (barring dabbles in my younger years off the internet that don't count.)
All credit goes to @television-overload's intriguing idea-- Samantha adopts and raises William Mulder-Scully (post here)-- with a Prince of Egypt-esque twist~.
Will Van de Kamp couldn’t remember how old he was (and couldn’t begin to take a guess now) or even what he'd said when his mother’s wistful, yearning look stopped him in the middle of a protest. “Your father said that to me, too,” she’d murmured, before quickly walking them away from the conversation. It was then he understood: Samantha Van de Kamp was his mother, Carl Andrew Van de Kamp was his brother, but the man he called “dad” was not his father.
~~~~~
He had just turned twenty-two when Will was finally allowed to join the raids.
Their base's Consortium quarters had been quiet, eagerly quiet as the Van de Kamp men represented their request. Will may have felt aged in his soul-- a cobweb weighed down with dust and filth and dead parts-- but he was young in their eyes; and against this fading generation, who had seen wars and brokered peace before their species was extinguished, Will had to prove he could handle the great risk, the heavy responsibility, the implied future work this one task would set him up for. That was easily done as he parroted back their secrets-- a young boy with a quick mind and a listening ear could learn a lot, particularly when firmly transplanted from his childhood farm into the middle of a Syndicate compound. And a boy who could turn that threat of exposure into a boon for his lords and masters was a gift to be cultivated and groomed. He was approved. In passing, a few half-remarks (“Perhaps he should have been left on the farm. To know so much of our inner workings and with so much history--”, “It was necessary. There was no other way to keep Mulder from--”) snagged at his mind, vaguely recognizing a few names and situations mentioned before; but his attention was caught by Van de Kamp’s reassuring grip and a few curious members striding over to weigh him in the balance for themselves. Later. Later came sooner than expected.
The raid had been going smoothly. It wasn’t even a raid, Will discovered, but a routine drive-by meant to intimidate a specific helper or informant: a preening “you’re still in checkmate” boast. Elevated desperation reeked from their current victim, choking Will as thickly as Van de Kamp and Henderson’s ruthless satisfaction did. The interrogation ended badly: Henderson was knocked aside and Van de Kamp warned away from his charge by the muzzle of Henderson’s gun. Will Van de Kamp had his own weapon out and aimed at the man’s chest before he could become a hostage; but Will could not pull the trigger. The background noise faded out as both opponents faced each other, equal fear in their eyes. Then the man jerked the gun away, swiftly putting a bullet in his own skull.
Another half-remark haunted Will’s footsteps from the scene. “Can’t change a Mulder,” Henderson hissed under his breath, hand wrapped around his twisted fingers.
~~~~~
The Consortium appreciated the concept of genius but withdrew from his own. Bad blood on all sides, Will assumed; the dark, overcasting shadow of his late grandfather providing contrast to the spark of his intelligence. Eidetic memory was a negative in this den of bloated jackals, gluttoned as they were on easy power and declaring victories when they hadn't even fought wars (though against whom or what no one could point to.)
When Van de Kamp had told the family they were moving permanently on-base, everyone had assumed it was because Andrew had caught the Syndicate's attention. Cunning was prized by a group who had to lick their own wounds one too many times; and Will’s older brother had it in spades. It was ridiculously easy for him to spin anything to his advantage with everyone except Will-- the two brothers knew each other too well for those games to be ended between them in anything other than a fight, a good laugh, and another adventure. Andrew's harsher struggles trying to live up to his grandfather's legacy in the Consortium was harshly contrasted by Will's greater negligence in the name of freedom; and both brothers grew closer and further away as the group's requirements necessarily pushed and pulled at their relationship. There was love, Will knew; but suspicions this intense could only be dealt with alone.
“What’s eating at you? We all don’t take that first shot, it doesn’t mean--”
“Teach me to hack in, not get caught.”
Another tussle, another patch up, another bargain.
Will only gained fringes of information from slipping into those dangerous territories (most of the information having been kept offline since an incident in 1995, he gleaned); but two important pieces were worth the risk: former Special Agent Fox W. Mulder (recently exonerated) had continually entangled himself in Syndicate business while on a madcap search for his sister; and that sister was Samantha Mulder. Samantha Mulder, Samantha Van de Kamp.
He had to find those files.
~~~~~
It took longer than Will was willing to admit to recall where Van de Kamp stored his important documents, cds, and drives. Nocturnal adventures were not unusual for him, even with a mother who quaked with worry and a father who quietly guided him back to his room any time after 10 PM. With the tiniest flashlight he could find in one hand (being invisible was an essential skill to survive when surrounded by betrayals layered with suspicions) and a phone in the other, Will picked his way through the attic, recognizing various names or codes from his notes. Eyes growing strained in the darkness, he finally found a promising box: folder piles, papers filed together, pictures, notes… the X-Files. Or copies of them.
Will flipped around, brusquely set aside, and grabbed for stack after stack until he found his mother’s file. Although she was younger in this photo than any in the house, they still reassuringly shared the same nose (pinched at the bridge, widening out at the tip.) For a brief moment he wondered what his uncle’s nose looked like; but the word “Found” arrested his attention. Everything froze with him in shock, coming back to life only after he sputtered on a choked, belated gasp. Closed… found… 2000… died…starlight. Died.
He clutched as many files and cds as he could; then a box of them; then set everything aside, shaking, as he ruthlessly sorted between importance and paramount importance. Remaining undetected was the goal: it wouldn’t matter how much evidence he collected if he were caught.
~~~~~
Uncle Fox, Will discovered, was a fascinatingly transparent opponent to the Syndicate. He'd never hid his motives or intentions, often defying the shaved-down FBI report regulations to get "the Truth" out-- conferences, interviews, even an odd media appearance (Cops was one of the notes he underlined.) The smaller, more humanizing details of his life were gathered through safer searches, having been expunged from the Consortium record for their unimportance. Special Agent Fox Mulder (Uncle Mulder) was always accompanied by his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully. And, fittingly he assumed, when Will saw them both for the first time it was together: his uncle’s wide smile and her serious frown captured on-site of one of their cases.
Former Special Agent Dana Scully was still being monitored by her enemies (likely a more indirect way to monitor her former partner): now a doctor at an Our Lady’s Sorrow hospital, her hair was longer and her face relatively unchanged, if the newest articles about her work were to be believed. It was a short leap from those articles to the sensationalism rags about her past, and an even shorter distance from that to tumbling into revelation after revelation: exoneration in 2008, fleeing the law with her partner in 2002… and adopting-out her son, also in 2002. William Mulder-Scully.
The thought flitted and was brushed aside; then slammed back with ringing clarity. Will scrambled for baby Mulder-Scully’s birthday and breathed a sigh: he was born in 2001. Five years too young to be himself, but a cousin nonetheless. He hoped wherever the boy was that it was far from where he was.
But “Closed… found… 2000… died.” wouldn’t leave his mind. Samantha Mulder was buried in North Carolina with a Teena Mulder; and, to Will’s shock, was briefly joined by Uncle Mulder himself for three months. The files he had on hand confirmed the public report, which left him shaken and reeling.
Closed… found.. 2000… died…. Resurrected?
And if closed, found, 2000, died, resurrected was a possibility, then there was an equal chance that born, adopted, given a new identity could be true as well.
A frantic, thorough, and looping search confirmed it: the Will Van De Kamp born to Samantha Van de Kamp existed only after William Mulder-Scully was adopted out. Thinking back, Will couldn’t personally prove his existence after his alleged birth in 1996. The life they lived had never allowed for natural curiosity or too many questions with silence so easily bought and paid for. Until now, he assumed “the work” was dangerous and fearfully weighty, something to be talked of obliquely or not at all. Now he wondered what sort of kingdom he and Andrew were being raised for.
~~~~~
Clones and hybrids and tortured children and harvested women and broken men.
That was their empire.
His mother, a tool of the Project. Carted out against her knowledge and against her will for her father’s (her creator's) means and goals, paraded before a brother she thought she had and married to a man that may or may not know she was inhuman. A string of children lost and born and dead before Andrew survived to carry on her creator's legacy. Complicit in the lie of Will's birth and parentage.
His brother, a tool of the Project. Elevated as its prince, honed to a weapon, and all-but-in-writing handed the keys of the Conspiracy. Immune before immunity was no longer required. Cunningly grasping for that power and for Will, unable to keep both but refusing to lax his grip all the same.
The Project: fruitless lies upon lies that saved no one, having merely benefitted from two opposing alien factions’ war and stalemate. Bullies left with too much aimless power and ashes at their feet.
Will knew he needed to leave. Soon. Immediately.
~~~~~
Andrew was furious Will was leaving without warning and almost without a goodbye. Their ensuing fight was left unresolved-- perhaps forever-- with the punctuating slam and screech of an angry driver venting his pain on the road. Will wondered if his family was doomed to be continually torn apart; and if Andrew would ever start or never stop looking for him.
His mother, Samantha, simply stared, silent tears marking the many years she'd chosen ignorance over truth. A soft then more desperate hug said everything for her; and she quietly slipped into the backroom, giving him time to grab what he needed and leave.
Van de Kamp barged in before Will left, breathless with pain. He, too, was silent; and he, too, allowed his son to leave.
Will knew all three wouldn’t betray him; but how much of that was motivated by love, loyalty, or a twisted sense of duty he couldn’t say.
~~~~~
Doctor Dana Scully was easy to locate but harder to follow, the Consortium’s search for him making it nearly impossible at first. Her frown was still serious and her hair was still long, but her spark was gone. He could only watch this new mother from afar, drifting in her wake-- hungry as she ate, parched as she drank, exhausted as she slept. He couldn’t approach her, the bereft ache in his last mother’s eyes always on his mind, foiling his best attempts to forget. Perhaps former Special Agent Dana Scully and he were not meant to be, or perhaps meeting her in person would turn her from a figment into flesh. Until he could be certain, he waited.
Former Special Agent Fox Mulder was nowhere to be found.
It was a week before Dana Scully led the way to her second home, a ramshackle abandoned house in the sticks. Will knew about this property, even came to scout it out once; but it looked dead from the road, and he’d hurried back to his previous task. By now, he should have learned that appearances are deceiving.
He left his car in the woods, slinking up the porch easily by crouching under the tall grass. The house was still dead-- no hum from the power, no creaking of the pipes, and no shuffling from the steps inside. Half remarks, easy to recognize from a lifetime of training, trickled outside; and Will inched closer to catch them.
Dana Scully’s voice-- harder to hear from where Will was positioned-- was softer than he’d imagined, especially when contrasted with the solemn expression that settled perpetually on her face. “...out here… this house… alone.”
“Well, you know me, Scully,” Special Agent Fox Mulder’s (Uncle Fox, Mulder, Father's) voice rang out, falsely cheerful. “You predicted how this’d go years ago.”
Will caught a mournful murmur.
“‘Catatonic schizophrenia’, I believe you called it.”
“Mulder.” He heard that loud and clear: no nonsense endearment. Amused and trying not to be.
“Though I think our story ended better than theirs. Though not by much.”
Although Dana Scully’s (Scully's) heels clicked close, Will could tell she was only drawing closer to Agent Mulder (Mulder.) There was a long, deep silence, a few deep reassuring breaths, and what sounded like affectionate ruffling.
“You’ll find your way back, Mulder. I believe that.”
Retreating from this intimate moment between two sad, broken people, Will felt fifteen years old for the first time in his false twenty-two.
~~~~~
Will didn’t leave Mulder’s house. He spent the next week or two losing track of time in the rhythm of Mulder’s world: quiet except for the wind moving through the trees, the grass, or slamming up against the lifeless windows. Food was easy to forget when he subsisted on various nonperishables; and the hours were whittled away plowing through various copies of unredacted files. Low profile didn’t seem to have existed in Mulder and Scully’s orbit, with more and more press and eyewitness accounts to corroborate or validate the various outlandish claims they’d both signed their names to.
It also gave him time to think. Losing his family was concrete and understandable even if it was gut-wrenching and grueling. But to have stripped him of his identity, of so large a factor as his age, was as baffling as it was appalling. Will had lived through each milestone, had graduated, had taken other secondary education classes and courses; and now he was left to second-guess everything he thought he knew. Tutelage tempered with lies under the Syndicate could mean anything: how effectively was he taught? Did he even graduate? Likely not, since a fifteen year old brain could not fit the knowledge required for a twenty-two year old collegiate. Had the Consortium fallen so far that they were sloughing off a piecemeal education on their next generation, not caring if they learned so much as they obeyed? If so, the whole structure would collapse within a generation; but then, what structure did they have left to uphold? The selfish men who bought and sold for power were dying out, and the next generation might be willing to take what they could from the scraps. But then why--
And underneath all of those thoughts was the one Will was trying to isolate from but kept finding over and over in the files, typed up plainly in Dana Scully’s neat sentences: “...if it’s only by knowing where he’s been that he can hope to understand where he’s going, then I fear Agent Mulder may lose his course; and the truths he’s seeking from his childhood will continue to evade him, driving him more dangerously forward in impossible pursuit.”
~~~~~
Mulder stepped out of the treeline, gun in hand.
Will realized, as he stared at this man chiseled by regrets and promises, that he had been disappointed in his father a week or more ago. He’d wanted to respect him, had even thought he loved him in a way; but had still withdrawn from the concreteness of his father's weakness, just as his father had. The Mulder standing before him was every inch the former Special Agent Fox Mulder he'd read about: danger in his stance, fire and fairness in his eyes. He’d never met Fox Mulder, but Will was glad to have him back.
Mulder stopped his string of succinct commands when his eyes fell on the files, breath catching as he looked erratically from one copy to the next before flying back up to Will’s face. There was fear in his eyes-- good fear, alive fear-- and his words caught a few times before he asked, “William?”
Fox Mulder, Mulder. Dana Scully, Scully. Will Van de Kamp, William Mulder-Scully. He could live with that.
There wasn't anything to say, so William did what Samantha Mulder had taught him, letting his smile say everything for him. Mulder's face split into the exact same, wide-open beam: he, too, had taught William in his absence. And William knew-- he just knew-- that Scully had passed on her ability to read the layers of emotions dancing across his father's neutral expression. And he could live with that, too.
William watched his father's smile slip as he swallowed back crashing emotions. "I tried looking for you, years ago. When you were a baby. And later, when...." Mulder paused, miserable in his failures.
There was only one thing left to say. "You did."
~~~~~
Acknowledgements: Thank you to @television-overload for coming up with the original idea and for naming Will's older brother. ;)))
Thank you to @ghostbustermelanieking and @o6666666 for creating short, beautiful AU fics that ultimately helped me flesh out the format for this one.
Thank you (in no particular order) @baronessblixen, @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure, @suitablyaggrieved, @pianogirlxf, @samucabd, @herdingcats12, @cecilysass, @amplifyme, @slippinmickeys, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @annablume, @spidey-is-tired, @two-microscopes, @spidey-is-tired, @mariaann, @chavisory, @medicaldoctordana, @ibringyouasong89, @cyb3rpeach, @mindibindi, @two-birds-alone-together, @invidiosa, @jessahmewren, @living-in-unreality, @mollybecameanengineer, @tossingmyglossymane, @demon-fetal-harvest, @settle-down-frohike, @storybycorey, @thescullyphile, @scullys-scalpel, @perpetually-weirdening, @teenie-xf, @captainsugarcane, @frogsmulder, @paperheartsarts, @unremarkablehouse, @cutemothman, @my-spookybunnies, @lindz-dude, @sonictacocat, @freckleslikestars, @kiivitaja, @today-in-fic and more for always being willing to engage with my work (and enjoying when I engage in yours.)
Thank you to every single one of the fic writers out there. Your work nudged me gently along to this point; and without your leaps I wouldn't be making these steps.
And thank you to each and everyone of my mutuals and lurkers-- keep on keepin' on~!
last movie: lord of the rings - the return of the king
currently watching: trigun 98 but w/ dub this time instead of sub (rewatch)
currently reading: our wives under the sea by julia maxfield (and also trigun maximum)
currently craving: any kind of tea
last thing i researched: how to make an efficient relational database schema using orm (for school). rpi stuff, bugs in video games, and how to write a good story (for fun, i've been getting back into writing recently)
some tags:
@arsonistcryptid @bluescreening @wallf1ower @funnyunnie @annoyingbasementphantom @candidateofloyalty @asushunamir2051 @elu-xx @a-fox-studies + uhhh anyone who wants to join in ig?
Last song: Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae , because I was doing a quiz with my grandparents and one of the questions was about it
Last movie: Oppenheimer
Currently watching: The X-Files and The Fall
Currently reading: L’étranger and Der Vorleser for school (supposedly), otherwise I’m in a huge reading slump excluding fanfic (I’m about to start the Chili’s fanfic, iykyk)
Currently craving: a hug from @jodipwhittagill
Last thing I researched: how to change my ao3 username, because one of my online friends found my account!
Tags (no pressure): @xxsksxxx, @oliviasdehavillands, @ellivia, @badxwolf, @beccawho99, @barn-in-the-desert
Last song: Our Last Summer by ABBA because I’ve been in an ABBA mood recently.
Last movie: Barbie
Currently watching: The X-Files (I’m ALWAYS watching the x-files but I've rejoined the rewatch server again so it's going to be a full rewatch once more) and a Rizzoli & Isles rewatch. I have no explanation for that except I stumbled upon an old episode and was drawn in again.
Currently reading: No Mercy by Joanna Schaffhausen
Currently craving: some energy so I can do something productive.
Last thing I researched: How ice preserves evidence (I've been reading a story where that happens and I got really curious).
Tags (no pressure): @queerrocket @baronessblixen @wexleresque @chooselove727 @randomfoggytiger @sandymans-world + anyone who wants to join in
Currently watching: The Beauty and the Beast 1987 (loving it so much); X-Files (always); and.. I think that's it.
Currently reading: Chugging away at Nan Dibbles content, assorted new XF fic authors (avoiding large Gossamer projects), and a couple assorted various-stages-of-tbr books.
Last thing I researched: FET IVF and 90s/now pregnancy and flying restrictions (IVF meta post.)
Tags: All of them (no pressure "hello" if this isn't your thing or if you've already done this~) @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure, @welsharcher, @baronessblixen, @agent-troi, @suitablyaggrieved, @annablume, @spidey-is-tired, @cecilysass, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @cyb3rpeach, @frogsmulder, @tossingmyglossymane, @paperheartsarts, @freckleslikestars, @mollybecameanengineer, @living-in-unreality, @jessahmewren, @aloysiavirgata, @im-a-goddamn-cat, @imnotyogi, @marinas5099, @mariaann, @kiivitaja, @scullys-scalpel, @agentwhalesong, @akiplo, @frangipanidownunder, @opentheskies, @ghostbustermelanieking, @gaycrouton, @greycoupon, @greekowl87, @herdingcats12, @hamster-on-fire, @kateyes224, @kyouryokusenshi, @leiascully, @lokisgame, @mldrgrl, @lilydalexf, @lolcat76, @nostalgicphile, @o6666666, @perpetually-weirdening, @perplexistan, @peachlavalamp, @redteekal, @rae-noelle, @scullysflannel, @wexleresque
1. The X-Files (even though I haven’t finished it yet!)
2. Doctor Who
3. Killing Eve
4. One Day at a Time
5. Sex Education
6. Anne with an E
7. The Haunting of Bly Manor
8. Brooklyn Nine Nine/The Good Place (they go together for me)
9. Call My Agent
10. Merlin
11 (because I’m indecisive). A League of Their Own
Honourable mentions to What We Do in the Shadows, Good Omens, Pose, and The Fall, which I’m not completely caught up on yet so I felt weird saying as my main choices.
At least when the experiments began, the pain diverted his attention away from the broken and fragmented memories he was attempting to resurrect in his mind. They were the parts of himself he did not want to lose. Moments that flashed into his mind and then vanished as quickly as they appeared.
Memories of her.
His partner.
His Scully.
***
The room was dark and cold, and while he couldn't see, he knew he wasn't alone. They were there. Most times, the pain was so intense that he would pass out, only to be jolted awake by his captors. When he was in the chair, they invaded his mind—what he had left of it. They would pull out memories only to return them in pieces, like shattered glass.
He tried hiding his thoughts; he would think about baseball box scores. Numbers and statistics about players—their names, their averages—worked most of the time. It was the only control he had left.
Mulder kissed her again before resting his forehead against hers. “I guess we should.”
tagging @tofuttim @mollybecameanengineer @katy-kt-katie @welsharcher @randomfoggytiger @incidental-ao3 and i can’t think of any more people lol so anyone else who wants to do this
Hey, thanks for the tag, fellow Fox Mulder Singleton Club member! :DDDD
(I don't do fanfic; but maybe my metas count? I'll look up the last one I did, brb.)
"It’s not until she’s given up completely in Redux II that Scully finally learns the lessons thrust upon her in the cancer arc (as All Things finally teaches her the lessons she’d stumbled over in Never Again and Milagro.)"
o.o Okay, then.
tagging @baronessblixen, (stealing your @welsharcher), @suitablyaggrieved, @paperheartsarts, @mollybecameanengineer, @amplifyme, @settle-down-frohike, @cyb3rpeach, @medicaldoctordana, @cecilysass, @starwalker42, @dreamingofscully, @thatfragilecapricorn30, @scullyeffect, (and I saw your fic temptation @waiting-for-the-day, consider this Michaelangelo's finger of God pointing upon you... what, was that Michaelangelo? *shrugs*) @aloysiavirgata, @smalldisbeliever, @piecesofscully, @freckleslikestars, @admiralty-xfd, @scully-loves-ruthie, @agentmulderrp, @monikafilefan, @ghostbustermelanieking, @contrivedcoincidences6, @postmodernpromartheus, @thescullyphile, @unremarkable-house, @darwin-xf, @greekowl87, @perpetually-weirdening, @perplexistan (if you want~), @sarie-fairy, @gabby-msr, (and @enigmaticdrblockhead if you still want to participate~)
If everyone tagged thinks "...nah", then consider this an enthusiastic hello~.
(I felt inspired to write a spooky XF mini-fic for Halloween. Apologies.) @xffictober2022
SUMMARY:
A case gone wrong.
——— x ———
She knew. She’d known for a while now, but it seemed she grew tired of waiting for him to prove her wrong and decided to take the initiative.
His former self would’ve probably found this amusing. To be honest, his current self did a bit as well: ‘a fox, a Maggie, and a priest walk into a bar…’
But to be honest, he was more annoyed than anything else. He never could stand religion, and yes he now acknowledged the hypocrisy that his faith in ‘the truth’ was without a doubt a warped sense of religion for him, and he surmised that it was that part of him that understood and at times appreciated Scully’s conflicted nature; both the scientist and the catholic. But still, this was different; a feeble attempt at an exorcism he would guess.
Sorry Mrs. Scully, I skipped on lunch today so no green vomit I’m afraid.
He was; however, not annoyed by their expressions. Similar to prey in the near clutches of a predator, perhaps they could see the error, the miscalculated step they had made.
His eyes, non-blinking since all three joined together in the room, held little glimmer of light, only shadows of a forgotten, ancient, abyss. While he couldn’t bring himself to smile at the absurdity, he could feels the edges of his lips curl back away from his teeth in a snarl. Then as quickly as what little emotion he felt enter his mind and body, it quickly evaporated.
“Do you know what hell is?” His voice soft, but with a textured quality to remove any pretext of sincerity. He watched their shocked faces become somewhat perplexed, but didn’t wait for a response.
“No you don’t. You think hell is fire and brimstone. A place where ‘bad people’ go and pay for their sins. Where horned figures wrapped in red flesh dance as the damned scream in agony.
“It’s not that. I know, I’ve been there. Many times in fact. Hell…is everywhere. Hell is an abyss, devoid of light, heat, cold, love…of anything really. Hell is your darkest fears made into reality, where your nightmares are your only source of comfort, and where your mind is warped and shredded to the point where there is no hope of regaining your sanity.
“People think when you die, you go to heaven or hell. But people never think about what happens if you come back.
“Well, Mrs. Scully…I do. Because I did die, on a case. They killed me, and they foolishly thought to bring me back. They were religious too…although…”
He couldn’t help but smile now. It was a joke and he knew the punchline. How could he not smile.
“They worshipped a different entity, I’m sure you can guess who based on our meeting. But when they brought me back, I was different, that’s how they wanted it. You see,”
His voice had taken on an odd and out-of-place jovial quality now. His affect seemed to lift and brighten; it really was a good story after all.
“I think, they were trying to summon a demon, but…they actually brought ‘me’ back. Not that they knew. I was different. At first I didn’t know who, or what I was. A monstrosity, they hid beneath the floors in the basement. When they could they’d bring in someone, maybe two. With each person I consumed, I gained a larger understanding as to who I was.
“As I feasted on their corpses my body and my mind shaped back into something more familiar. But it only made it worse, I wanted to be myself again, but it came at the cost of devouring another. With a Joe, I could walk again. A Susan, speak. A Dana…”
He paused and his face fell. This was the hardest part of the story, even if it did have a happy ending.
“I was so close, so close to being me again. But they brought her. I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t!!!! But the darkness inside me could. I begged to God to kill me and to save her, I begged to my captors to let her go and that I would take double, no triple, the lives if they would just let her go. But their response was silence.
“Except for her. She didn’t believe it at first, of course not. But she saw the scrawled markings and warnings laid by my previous victims: to hide before sundown. Before I changed. Before I slaughtered them.
But there was nothing she could do. Initially she tried to find an opening, some way for us to escape. And in that process found a video recorder, apparently one of my former victims was on vacation and was recording their trip. And in their desperation, must’ve recorded their final moments… She saw it… I saw it…
“Despair. That’s what I think hell is. And that’s where we were. I didn’t know what else to do, but she did, she always knew. She sat me down and held me in her arms. Sobbing and stroking my hair, she said she loved me. And I loved her. That’s why, I did what I did.
“Yes Mrs. Scully, I killed your daughter. I tore into her flesh and consumed her mind, body, and soul.”
He saw their faces twist and contort into confused horror, but again he refused to wait for their response.
“But unlike the others, when I was done and I came back and those fools released me… I prayed… one last time… This time, my prayer was answered. He brought her back, all I had to do was sacrifice my captors in His name, which I was all to happy to do. And I have to say, their flesh was incredible.”
He couldn’t help but lick his lips.
“And as promised, she was back. But even better, she had no memories of what happened and no hint illness or disease in sight. I can’t count how many people I killed that night, or since then, if I’m being perfectly honest. And I don’t regret it…not one bit.
“But by all means Mrs. Scully and Father…I’m sorry I didn’t get your name; by all means sing your hymns, say your prays, perform your exorcisms…it won’t work. I’m not a demon, I’m Fox Mulder.”
It’s getting harder now, but I’m amazed I made it this far. The tests, so many tests. This last one has proven to be too much, I think even they sense that now, as they’ve stopped their tests and their cold observations. I’ve been here before; not here, but here: on the cusp of death. This time though, this time is different. In the beginning I though otherwise, but I understand now that there will be no savior or miracle to save me.
Savior. Save me. But I’m too far gone for any of that, not that I really would believe in that sort of thing. Maybe believe isn’t the right word //you say you want to believe, but in what?// No, no I do believe in many things. I believe in hope and resilience, in determination, and in love. I didn’t always believe in these things, but you showed me //you were my friend and you showed me the truth.//
I can feel the pools of regret drowning my eyes, blurring my vision, not that it will last, none of this will But still, thank you. Thank you for allowing me to believe in these things again, but more importantly believe in you. My faith is in you, I suppose that’s why I’m doing this: praying, to you, for you. Anything for you, because I wasn’t able to before.
Regret. I have so much. I should’ve memorized every curve, every line, everything, but it’s hard, it’s so damn hard to remember these things now. It’s hard to breath and even harder to focus. Is this what it feels like to die? I’ve been here before- no wait, you already know that. God, I’m scared.
God?
//God is a spectator-//
Ah, right, I remember. Is He watching, are You watching, is anyone watching? //He just reads the box scores.// Baseball, I loved- no love, baseball; I’m not dead yet.
But I can’t remember and it hurts. I can’t remember what your voice sounds like, it hurts so much. I can’t remember what anything sounds like. All I can hear, is pounding in my head. Loud and slow, once methodical but now erratic.
What will happen to me after this?
I want to believe that, that… I can’t remember…
//Maybe they are souls-// I remember now //traveling through time as starlight, looking for homes.//
I know you thought I was crazy then, but really as a scientist, I’d think this would be one idea you would believe too. Well, at least the principle. We as humans, made from the stars, and once dead return to them, return home. It…sounds nice.
I wonder where you are right now? I wonder if you wonder where I am. I wonder…wonder…won…
I can’t remember what I was thinking. I’m terrible at this, but I know you’ll understand, you always did. Even when I couldn’t. You always put me above you. But why? Am I worth such mercy? And what now? All those times, all those sacrifices, for me a dead man.
I think my prayer is working, the pain isn’t bothering me as much. What initially felt like suffocation now feels like slumber. But I can’t sleep, not yet- I’ll be a good boy and finish my prayers mommy.
Mommy?
Nope she’s gone. Daddy too. Little sis…she left along time ago. Now it’s just me, all alone.
I don’t feel cold anymore, but not warm either.
I hope you know…how much I loved you then, how much I love you now. It was so brief, our time together now we’re apart. Now I’m alone. I think it would be nice to not be alone. Are you alone? It would be nice, to be with you. If I had something I could give I’d be with you, but I don’t have anything left to give.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you’re alone. I’m sorry I never told you, told you…I can’t remember, I can’t think. I can’t, I can’t I cant cantcantcant
im sorry…i love you…
my mind…my world…is fading…into darkness
But if I think of you, then you’re here. If I speak to you then I’m not alone.
Mountains crumble to the sea,
There would still be you and me.
On the third day Christ rose; I came back on the fifth, semi-lucid and somehow feeling more fucked than before I had lapsed into the medication-induced coma.
I’m like a damn switched on lightbulb that’s flickering about to burn out. Burning hotter and hotter, until it dies or blows a fuse.
I’ve heard the we’re made from the stars, but fuck. I feel like I’m falling down to earth and floating up to the heavens at the same time.
I’m tempted to blame someone but I can’t. My training exposed me to this, but like most things I chose to ignore it. I remember her saying something to me long ago, when we first met, when she was a spy and not a companion, that I’m often blinded by what I want to see and not with what’s actually there.
There are 3 classes in this world, this new world. Class H, Class H-, and of course Class A. In this society only two classes matter. In any system there’s a hierarchy, I’m told it’s just the nature of man. Not that I’d know, or at least not fully. I suppose I should explain.
Class H stands for ‘humans.’ Class H- technically means ‘human-less,’ although a long time ago we were referred to as ‘hybrids.’ Yes, I said ‘we’ because that’s what I am. I am ‘human-less’ or as some would say ‘less than human.’ As you can probably guess, Class H is the top of the hierarchy. And the bottom? Class A, ‘alien.’ As I said, in this society only Class H and Class H- have any real value, Class A is more or less an identification warranting capture and elimination: a death sentence. They are also our fathers.
Of course, if you really want to get down to the nitty gritty of it there are numbers attached to the two classes. I’ve never paid much mind to the numbers associated to those of Class H, mostly because it doesn’t matter to me. Regardless of the number they are of a higher status. For us, Class H-, there are only two numbers: 0 and 1.
Those who are 0, ‘zeros,’ are just that. They are nothing; however, as some members of Class H say, we are a vast mine of potential waiting to be filled. We all are ‘zeros,’ until we reach the moment when we become 1, ‘ones.’ It is when our ascension comes that we are honored as ‘ones.’
From an outsider looking in, our ascension may be viewed as rather morbid. But we’re taught to rejoice at the moment when we reach this moment in our lives. The moment when we can cast aside that which has made us ‘less than human,’ and embrace our rebirth into humanity. In reality, it is when we murder our fathers.
-x-
When I was 4-years-old I saw my first ascension. It was a nine-year-old boy, I watched his hands shaking as he debated his choice. He chose a handgun. Slowly, his feet dragged on past the weapon room and into the ascension room. Some were grinning in anticipation for his moment, I saw others eyes widen to the point I thought they’d burst out of their skulls. We all held our breath as he stopped in from of the creature.
Being my first viewing, I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. We were taught the moment we could listen that Class A, aliens, were monsters responsible for humanity’s decimation. And that it was those chosen few remaining who were given the duty to rectify the destruction brought down on the human race.
They would pound it in to our heads, whisper it in our dreams: monsters, demons, murderers.
And we were taught to hate that part of ourselves, but also that we were capable of redemption, by destroying them. Our ascension.
His hand raised the gun at the being. I was surprised at how human it looked. Clad in all black, with its hands bound behind its back, and a white mask with small slits for eyes. I watched it struggle in his restraints, but taken aback by the silence. While the mask hid its face, it likely also hid a gag that stifled his screams. Or deception, as we were taught to belief.
BANG!
I’d never heard anything so loud in my entire life. I thought my heart had stopped. Some of the younger children began to sniffle and sob, terrified of the sound. The older ones sneered and even laughed at ‘the enemy’s’ defeat. The adults in the back, the Class H, were quiet only for a moment then they all began to clap. Then one stepped up to congratulate the boy on his departure from his alien legacy, he was now a ‘one.’ A citizen worthy of being a part of the human society.
-x-
I was eight when I first met my mother. Well actually, the first time I remember meeting my mother. She was kind and loved me despite of my alien weakness. At night, when I grew fearful of the factitious monsters lurking in the dark, she would welcome me in her arms and hum some nameless tune while stroking my hair.
I was twelve when I first disappointed my mother. As time went by, I noticed the others reach their ascension, and I began to realize that there were only a handful of ‘zeros’ remaining, and I was one of them. After a very long lesson regarding our impurity and the futility of living a fulfilling life lest we remove our imperfections, I was hopeful that my mother would share in my frustration and my desire to become like her. I watched her smile fade and her eyes grow cold.
I couldn’t speak, I thought of leaving to return to my room, but she stopped me and held me. My mother was a strong woman, I never saw her integrity waver or her honor compromised, but in that moment I saw a frail woman. I saw her weakness and vulnerability: my father.
-x-
I never thought the day would come. At seventeen I have almost resigned my fate to forever being a ‘zero.’ To be honest, a part of me has been dreading this day. After seeing so many ascensions I’ve grown weary. I’m not sure what I find more disturbing; seeing a child murder their father, or living in a society that welcomes such an act. I find it almost humorous that in order for us ‘zeros,’ us nothings to surmount to human-status, we must murder.
It’s true, I live in a fucked up world, and now my day has come. I looked for my mother all morning, but she was surprisingly absent. Despite my pleading, she never spoke of my father, despite the looks I always saw in her eyes, she not once uttered his name. I know it pained her, just as much as I’m sure this day must. But it’s too late now, my moment has come and she is nowhere to be found.
They lead me into the weapon room and wait for me to choose. Guns. No I hate guns. I never want to hear that sound again. Swords. Antiquated. Who am I King fucking Arthur? Daggers. Saws. Hooks. What the fuck?! A spear. Provides the intimacy of a direct blow with your target, but the fortunate aspect of allowing distance between your prey. Does one consider the farther the distance the less the sin?
I grab it. Looking at it more closely, it’s more similar to a halberd than a spear, how medieval. I guess I am King Arthur.
It’s heavier than I thought. Due to its cumbersome shape, it drags on the floor shrieking a horrible cry. I stop in the middle of the room. There are no children or older youths to watch. Was I the last?
The lights are dimmed, and there are multiple Class H observers watching in the shadows. I’m alone in the poorly lit center, but not for long.
They bring him in. To be honest I’m not sure what I was expecting. As a boy I dreamt about this day, but as I grew in my mother’s always watchful eyes, I began to fear this moment.
He must be weak, either that or they drugged him. His feet drag towards me and his masked face hangs low. He trips on a bump in the carpet and tumbles at my feet. The father kneeling before the son. The two men forcefully sit him up, but keep him on his knees, then they step back. His head spins for a second or two then it stops, and he looks up at me.
The way his body lunges forward every second or two, tells me that he’s out of breath or perhaps he’s in pain. The blanche, plastic mask with small slits fixates on me. It doesn’t stop and he doesn’t struggle. He isn’t shaking or attempting to break free like all the others. He just breaths and watches me.
Stop it. Stop watching me. Look down. Look away. Don’t watch me in this moment. The moment where I kill you.
We were taught young that they can hear us, that they are capable of knowing our thoughts. And that if their mouths aren’t bound, they can deceive us, using our own minds against ourselves. Of course we were all capable of such things and more, but as infants we were ‘altered’ to prevent this.
Can you hear me? Do you know what I have to do? I have to do this! I’m sorry. I don’t know if you deserve this. I don’t know you. I don’t know if you’re a monster that we’re all taught to think that you are. But I have to do this, to break free of this servitude. To become something, to become human. Can you hear me? If you can then please, please, forgive me. Forgive me for what I have to do.
My mind is racing; my thoughts aren’t making sense. But I have to do this. I have to!
It’s a disgusting sound; metal piercing flesh. It’s pushed deep into his chest, and he falls to his side. His body is lunging forward, likely in a desperate attempt to salvage what little life he can salvage.
I kneel down. No one has ever done this. I know, I’ve seen them all. No one ever looks, no one ever cares, to see their victim, their father.
But I have to, I have to know. I have to see this ‘monster.’
I slowly pull off the mask. I’m taken aback at how human he looks. Strong features, brown hair that’s a shade or two darker than mine. There’s a black cloth tied, gagging his mouth. I untie it, expecting him to curse my name or condemn my existence. But he says nothing, only gasping for air.
His eyes though, through all this, his eyes never leave me. They’re quite lovely actually, I’m almost disappointed that I hadn’t inherited them instead of my mother’s. I’d expected them to be black pits embodying the darkness that these ‘monsters’ originate from. But they aren’t. Imbued with strands of starlight buried in a brown hue. They are human eyes, bearing not hatred, but love.
In his eyes, I see him and his love for me.
His lips curve into a smile and he says my name in a soft, nearly unintelligible, whisper.
William.
For a moment there is only silence. Then he dies and suddenly I hear the thunderous clapping of those watching, waiting to commemorate my ascension. The sounds of joy are so loud and overbearing that I can barely hear the sobs of my mother, who unbeknownst to me has been watching. But it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, I can only think of one thing.
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