The Cockroach That Ate Cincinnati

Typical Chemical Warehouse
Cincinnati, Ohio
10:13 P.M.

The catwalk squeaked and screamed for oil as the agents chased Krycek down it, Mulder screaming bloody murder, Scully lagging behind. Under the catwalk, a vat of blue goo bubbled cheerfully.

Mulder finally caught Krycek and slammed him against the railing, hissing triumphantly. "You murdering son of a bitch. I'm going to arrest you, then I'm going to see that you go on trial for treason and murder, then I will see that you go to the most Federal prison in America, and that you get the needle. But first I'm going to beat the living shit out of you!" He continued to slam Krycek against the railing. The catwalk did not sound like it approved of the abuse.

Scully limped to Mulder, her ankle sprained because of those damned new heels. "Mulder, stop it." She tried to yank Krycek out of Mulder's hands.

She pulled, Mulder pushed, and Krycek yanked back and fell unexpectedly over the railing right into the vat of blue goo, screaming all the way down.

Scully and Mulder stood on the catwalk staring down, horrified.

Motel 6
Cincinnati, Ohio
6:15 A.M.

Scully had finally fallen into a tissue-paper thin and troubled sleep when the tremors started. She fell out of bed and screamed Mulder's name.

Mulder ran in from the other room, and suddenly the tremors and loud shakes ceased. Slightly shaken, they went out to the parking lot.

"Look, Scully. The road's full of craters. Boot-shaped craters."

And a familiar voice boomed from above: "FEE FI FO FUM, I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN FBI AGENT!"

They turned and were faced with an eight-foot boot. Mulder and Scully looked up, and their eyes went wide with horror.

Mulder looked at Scully. "Can we file this one next to the Cockroach That Ate Cincinnati?"

The rental car speeded down the road at about sixty miles an hour, the road vibrating under it with every loud thud. Scully drove while Mulder yelled into his cell phone. "Danny? Yeah, thanks for tracking down those rubber bullets. Now could you track me down a pair of five foot handcuffs? No, It's not Bigfoot. It's worse than Bigfoot. Just hurry, all right?"

"Mulder......" Scully whispered about nine miles later, tapping the gas gauge. It was blinking on dead empty.

Five miles after that, the car stopped dead. They ran about seven feet before Scully's new heels caught in a crack and she fell on her nose.

"This can't happen to me! None of the writers ever have me fall on my nose! Mulder! MULLLDDEERRR!" The huge black boot grew closer as Mulder did a U-Turn and ran desperately toward the little redhead.

Suddenly Mulder was grasped by giant fingers, lifted off his feet, and placed in the palm of of Krycek's prosthetic hand.

"AWWW." said the Fifty-Foot Krycek. "WHAT A CUTE LITTLE G-MAN. AND HE IS ALL MINE. AND I WILL NAME HIM GEORGE. GEORGE HALE. AND I WILL PAT HIM AND SQUEEZE HIM AND LOVE HIM AND FEED HIM AND COMB HIS PRETTY HAIR AND WASH HIM....."

"Waaahhh!" screamed Mulder, totally terrified. He tried to bite Krycek through the leather glove, forgetting the hand was only plastic.

"NOW THAT IS NOT NICE, GEORGE. WE DO NOT BITE. I WILL JUST HAVE TO TURN YOU OVER MY PALM AND SPANK YOU." Mulder didn't seem to appreciate the discipline, although Krycek was only tapping his ass with one finger.

"Scuuuullllllyyyyy!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The police finally arrived, took one look at Krycek, got back in their cars, and speeded away like bats out of hell. But Scully managed to score a bullhorn.

"Krycek," she screamed into the device, "please put him down!"

The fifty-foot traitor looked down at the tiny redhead, amused. "WHY SHOULD I?"

"Because, because, um.....because the Weekly World News will be here in fifteen minutes to buy the story, and you know he's got connections."

Krycek rolled his giant eyes, but he set his pet on the ground.

Mulder sank to his knees and wailed.

"YOU KNOW," boomed Krycek, "MAYBE I'D RATHER HAVE A LITTLE REDHEADED PET INSTEAD." He reached down and picked up Scully and her little bullhorn.

Mulder screamed at the top of his lungs and tried to reach for her as he lifted her up, but she neither cried nor screamed, being a calm and rational little person

He put her in the palm of his hand and she sat, demurely crossing her legs and awaiting her fate. He instanly admired her bravery. He looked down at Mulder, who ran around his feet squeaking and jumping up and down.

"WELL, WHO'S THE RODENT NOW?" He raised his foot to crush the annoying little bastard, but Scully's soft voice stopped him.

"Krycek, no."

"ALL RIGHT THEN, MY LITTLE DEAR, HE CAN LIVE. LET'S GO SOMEWHERE ELSE, SHALL WE?"

He lumbered off, cupping his hand to make sure that Scully wasn't going anywhere.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
12:45 P.M.

A.D. Skinner sat at his desk, munching on the steak sandwich he had gotten from the cute little deli on the corner and reviewing the latest reports from the Islamic terrorist wiretap when the phone rang.

"Yes?" he answered gruffly. "What? Agent Mulder, usually you save these fantastic stories for your report.... you want me to call out the National Guard...why should I do this again...Krycek has grown fifty feet tall and is holding Scully hostage?...Did you rent "Godzilla" last night by any chance?...Yes, I'm sure you're perfectly serious... Agent Mulder, why don't you just take a cold shower and have a nice little nap. When you wake up, I'm sure Scully will be there, all right? And I'll send a team over to check your water again for hallucinogens. Bye."

He slammed down the phone. Mulder came up with a lot of weird theories, but that one took the cake. Five more years till retirement.

Agent Mulder listened in desperation to the dial tone for a minute before he dropped in another quarter and dialed another number.

"Yeah, Frohike. Oh, hell, don't bother. Listen, do you know anyone who can track me down a tank , a fifty-foot ladder, and a rocket launcher, do you? Why? Scully in trouble, that's why....you'll get right on it, thanks, bye."

The Fifty-Foot Krycek stormed on the J. Edgar Hoover Building like an ancient Roman God, Scully clinging to his collar, terrified as he calmly picked up Skinner, Fowley, Tom Colton, and several other agents and gulped them down like Fibbie McNuggets. He picked his teeth with an assualt rifle and burped.

Scully awoke with a jerk. She thought it all must have been a dream, but she saw Krycek and gave a little whimper of fear.

The Smoking Man stormed furiously down the road smoking his twenty-fourth cigarette of the day. First that useless one-armed idiot had disappeared. He had come personally to investigate. When that pain in the ass finally gave up and died, he meant to be the first person to see the bloody remains.

And then the Syndicate limo had broken down. And he was stuck walking. Through the mud. Fuck fuck fuck. The rat bastard had probably sabotaged the custom-made piece of junk before he disappeared. The only living American conspirator and world dominator did not wade through Kentucky mud. Not even Chris Carter would dare do this to him.

So he left the MiB's to see what they could do with it and went to see if he could find a mechanic. God. He could kill every man, woman, and child in this country with a maximum of two phone calls and he had to pay one of them to fix his car. Of course he'd have to kill him and stuff him in the trunk once he was done. Maybe he'd torture him first.

Absorbed in this wonderfully distracting thought, he did not notice that he had walked off the muddy road and into a grassy meadow until he ran smack into, yes indeed, the very same eight-foot boot. He looked up and the cigarette fell out of his mouth to the grass below.

Budget Inn
11:45 P.M.

The Lone Gunmen marched into the tiny motel room, and fifteen minutes later, it looked like an exact replica of their apartment, albeit a replica tastefully decorated in beige and cocoa.

Mulder brought coffee and donuts, and together they pored over the battle plans on Langly's laptop.

"The main problem will be getting Scully to safety." said Byers. "We've documented several plans for you to distract him while we grab her."

"Me? Why me?" snapped Mulder.

"Hey, we may be paranoid, but we aren't stupid." said Langly. "This dude is your problem."

"So where is that friend of yours with our tank?"

Sunny Acres Asylum
Washington, D.C.
5:30 P.M.

When he got the anonymous phone call, Skinner couldn't believe it. It was just too good to be true.

He sat on the floor of the padded room, drooling. When Skinner walked in, he ran over and desperatly went through his pockets.

"Sorry, I don't smoke." Skinner gloated.

The man started to wail.

Krycek rose his eyebrows as a Sherman tank rolled over the meadow toward him.

The gun leveled at his head, and the top opened as Mulder popped out, packing a bullhorn.

"Let her go, Krycek. Or we spoil those pretty looks."

"WHY, MULDER. I DIDN'T KNOW YOU CARED."

Krycek got up and picked up the tank and turned it upside down, pitching Mulder, his bullhorn, the Gunmen, and $5000 worth of computer equipment onto the spring grass.

He threw the tank like a Matchbox toy. But suddenly he began to shudder. The ground shook and he began to shrink until he fell on his ass in the middle of a very pissed group.

"Uh oh....." he said as they closed in on him.

All right. Krycek plays the big man until it wears off. Why did it take 934 words?

I am currently working on, by private e-mail only, a very different ADULT version.

I'd like to know if you would want to see this.