Date sent: Sun, 5 Apr 1998 17:46:03 -0500 (CDT) From: Amatia Subject: "1969" (V,A)(finished) by Amatia TITLE: 1969 AUTHOR: Amatia EMAIL ADDRESS: violinst@pitnet.net DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: anywhere - keep name and email attached SPOILER WARNING: Tunguska, Terma, Sleepless, Ascension, Anasazi thru Paper Clip. RATING: PG-13 CONTENT WARNING: strong language CLASSIFICATION: V, A SUMMARY: Krycek remembers the chain events that led him to his association with the Tunguska gulag. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1969 by Amatia It's funny how far I've come without going anywhere at all. I suppose I could blame it all on Tunguska. Hell, I could blame it all on Mulder. If he hadn't dragged me back to Russia I'd have two arms. Two hands. Ten fingers that all moved the way I wanted them to. Five I can live with, but ten is better. Does it surprise you when I say my name is really Alex Krycek? Of course, that doesn't mean my parents' name was really Krycek. It wasn't. My father, Leonid Nicolavich Ustolvskya, and my mother, Maria Denisova Ustolvskya, were Cold War immigrants who moved to the United States in 1959. Rather, the Politburo moved them to the United States. Devout Communists, my parents took their orders from Moscow - one of which included changing their names to Leonard and Marie Krycek. To them I was born in 1969, in Greenwich, Connecticut. My childhood was like any other. Except for the fact that Moscow paid for my education. Like the Spooky Agent Mulder, I attended Oxford, majored in Sociology. From Oxford, I went to Quantico. My first year at Quantico, I was approched by the Cigarette Smoking Man, who extended an invitation of sorts. I accepted. That was the year that Mulder opened the X-Files. Mulder, said CSM, was a problem that needed careful attention. Little did CSM know that I'd been groomed to carry on the family tradition. So I became a double agent. Moscow knew of the Syndicate, they were grateful for my connections. Lucky for me, the Syndicate didn't know of Moscow. Moscow was good at covering its tracks. Better than CSM and his cronies. The Syndicate finally got me near Mulder in 1994, after Skinner had shut down the X-Files. Poor Mulder had been reduced to transcribing wiretap that was more screeching bimbos than useful information. He hated it. I loved watching him squirm. And squirm he did when I opened the case on Dr. Grissom. "I work alone," he'd said. You work with me, buddy. And I work with people that you'd wish didn't exist if you knew of them. Poor unsuspecting Spooky. Then it all went to Hell when Duane Barry took Scully to Skyland Mountain and I had to kill the damn tram operator. But Mulder didn't catch that quick enough, he had to borrow the damn car and find CSM's fucking cigarettes. So I disappeared for awhile. Not really, but the FBI couldn't find me. I did odd jobs for the Syndicate, the occasional murder. Then in April, CSM decided it was time to get rid of Scully. He sent Luis and me, but the trigger got pulled on the wrong Scully, and once again everything went to Hell. And that damned digital tape we stole from Skinner. It seemed to be worth everyone's life. Scully, her sister, Mulder, me. The car bomb taught me that I wasn't as indespensable to the Syndicate as I thought I was. So much for working for CSM. And on top of that, Mulder was going to shoot me in revenge for his father's death. I refuse to say if it was my doing. Not like one more murder charge would matter anyway if I was ever put on trial... I drifted for awhile, Moscow not having much for me to do now that my connections were gone. Assasinations weren't really my preference, but I did them anyway. The closest I ever came to being caught was the night in Hong Kong when Mulder caught me anyway, not much later. If he'd gotten ahold of me in the office, I would have been a dead man. Those punches he threw at me in the airport didn't hurt much less, though. I don't remember what happened after Mulder made me go clean up in the bathroom. Until I came to puking up the oil in the missle silo. It even came out of my eyes. I'd never felt more dirty than that night. Unbeknownst to Mulder and CSM, I was rescued from that place of horror by a tall black man who I didn't know then was X, Mulder's mysterious and relucant informant. He simply unlocked the door, handed me a thick envelope of cash, nodded once, and disappeared. Literally. I've never seen anyone vanish that quickly. I bought some new clothes, went to a motel, washed up, and got sixteen hours of sleep. Then I bought a plane ticket to Russia. I was met in Moscow by a man who identified himself only as K., and he took me to what I assumed to be a government building. We were escorted to a woman's office. Her nameplate read only "A.", and she told me to sit down. The man K left. A. said that the powers that be had decided that I was to work in Russia for awhile, at a hidden gulag. My eyes must have showed terror, for she laughed and said I was to work as one of the managers of the camp. The prisoners were criminals, she said, and labored at mining a rock that was useful in biological weaponry. The weapon was also tested on them, she said, in hopes of finding a cure to accompany it. Then she told me the name. The name I will never forget, which sends a shiver through me whenever I hear it. To me, it means Hell. Tunguska. ---end---- violinst@pitnet.net http://personal.pitnet.net/london/default.html "Sometimes the only sane response to an insane world is insanity." - Fox Mulder, The X-Files "I don't trust them. I want to trust you." - Fox Mulder to Dana Scully, The X-Files