You ARE alone, aren't you, Mulder? If that red-haired bitch or Big Baldy is
here, tell me now, and I'll just lock them up. No, really, Mulder. But if
they interrupt me later, I'm going to feed them in pieces to the sharks,
and you're going to watch.
So, how do you like Alcatraz? Cozy out here, isn't it? You ever been in
prison, Mulder?
I have.
No, don't bother expecting help. No tourists on the island tonight, and the
usual night crew all think someone else is on duty. They don't patrol this
derelict cell block anyway. We're alone here.
Stop that! Damn it, I told you not to move. Hope you don't need that
kidney, Mulder.
All right, let's get on with it. Take your gun out—carefully!—and set it
down. Now your backup; yes, I know you have one. And that stupid cell
phone. Now kick them over the edge. Do it!
Nice sound, isn't it, when they fall three stories onto concrete. Hope
you're not afraid of heights.
Imagine what this place must have been like when it was in use; rack above
rack of prisoners yelling and banging—No, not that kind of banging,
Mulder, though you can imagine that too if you want.
Now the handcuffs. You motherfucker, get them out. Now!
Yes, Mulder, I might not be able to handle you with one arm if I didn't
have the gun. But I do.
That's enough. You're going to cooperate, Mulder, or I'll have to disable
your arms the hard way. Pity your partner missed the main nerve cluster
when she shot you, or we'd be a matched set.
That's better.
Now, face me and back up until you're touching the gun rail. That's it. Now
lock your wrists around it. DO IT!
Good. And now for a little payback.
Unh! You like that, Mulder? You son of a bitch, you like being hit as much
as you like hitting me? Well, too fucking bad. And here's one I owe you for
Hong Kong, you bastard.
All...right... Let's just take a moment to catch our breaths, shall we?
You don't mind if I smoke, do you? Of course not. Always tastes good after
these special moments together.
That rail does creak nicely; think of all that open space behind you. Think
of the drop. You better hope that rail isn't rusted through—pretty damp
here, isn't it.
All right, Mulder, I think we're ready. See? I'm even putting the gun down.
Isn't that nice of me?
You like this? It's a British commando knife. Designed as a bayonet, but it
turns out to throw real well too. Versatile, like me. Isn't that blackened
blade lovely? Makes you think of black ops, and black oil, and all those
black secrets. But don't miss the lovely glitter on the edge. I wouldn't
want you to think it wasn't sharp.
You know, Mulder, I must be sentimental. No, really. This was my father's
knife.
Or at least that's what my mother said, as if she could know.
God, you're always the profiler, aren't you? I could see your eyelids
tighten when I said that. Don't worry, nobody's gonna hold a surprise quiz.
Let's take a look at you. No, don't move, boychik! Look at that. Such a
nice suit. And the way that shirt's snagging on the blade, it must be silk.
Asshole.
Aw, is the little punk messing up your pretty pretty clothes? Such nice
outfits, and all they cost is blood and death. And you call me a killer?
Where the hell did you think your father made that money, Fox-cub? Do you
like to think of that when you spend it? Here, let's get a little of your
blood on this shirt just to remind you.
Yeah. I like you with blood running down your arm. Reminds me of our happy
times together in the Old Country. No, hold still, or I'm going to nick
your wrist when I cut your sleeve away.
There. Let me take a look. Is this where she shot you to save me? Pissed
you off, didn't it. And these scars over here? No, I don't think I need to
know; nothing to do with me.
Belt next. What, you thought I was gonna stop? Oh, no, Mulder. You've been
pretty free with your fists on my body; now I'm going to get a good look at
yours. Nice shape you keep yourself in. Some people have time to hang
around the swimming pool; the rest of us have to get our exercise on the
job.
All right, you can kick your shoes away. Do it, Mulder, or I'll cut them
off too, and you know such expensive leather is tough enough I might slip
and take a toe. That's better.
Christ, silk boxers? Hell, you probably have them hand-woven by virgin
Armenian peasants or something. You always did have a knack with the serfs,
you high-handed bastard. Of COURSE you talked those Russian half-wits into
leaving your arm alone. They're still Czarists at heart, always willing to
be ruled.
Me? I'm just another peasant, so they did me like the rest of them. Oh,
yes, Mulder, I'm bitter. I remember you and your nose in the air every time
I have to fumble around one-handed to do some stupid little job any asshole
could do better.
God, you always were a sucker for guilt. Here, let me show you, that'll
make you happy. Give me a minute; it's hard to get this jacket off these
days. I suppose you don't like my ratty old T-shirt? Sorry I'm not in your
fucking Armani class.
Clever little straps, aren't they? And such an ugly plastic turd to drag
around. There you are. No, Mulder, look at it. Isn't it pretty, my little
stump? Here, feel it under your chin. Heads up. Doesn't it make you feel
even more superior to be whole?
You've always been superior, Mulder, without even trying. Prick.
I've hardly had your advantages, but I'm sure you don't care. Here, Mulder,
one more thing before we get on with it. Don't move!
No, looks like I can't give you a cheap haircut with only one hand. Pity; I
figured it'd be nice to see you in an uglier cut, something that didn't
cost as much as a third-world country. But no. I guess I'll just have to
pull a clump loose if I want a souvenir.
Are your eyes tearing up? Aw, that didn't even rip your scalp. Here, Foxy,
let me wipe your eyes with the remains of your boxers.
I'll have to make my mark on you some other way. Now, hold VERY still.
That's it. Feel the point against your carotid? Don't move, fucker, or I
might slip. Don't move. Oh, yeah. Tha'sh ih.
God, Mulder, I like hearing you scream. Don't worry, I didn't actually
break your collarbone; I just left a couple of toothmarks in it. Gonna scar
pretty nicely, though. See this on my tongue, Mulder? That's a piece of
you. You like it? Feels good in my mouth. Watch me swallow it now, Mulder.
I said WATCH ME! Yeah, you'd almost forgotten that knife, hadn't you. Don't
worry, I missed the carotid on purpose. But you are going to watch me.
There, that wasn't so hard, was it? I bet you like seeing me swallow. Close
your eyes now, Foxy, I'm going to leave you a nice bloody lip-print on your
eyelids.
Don't gag, now. If you throw up, I'll make you clean it up with your
tongue.
That's it, just breathe deep and keep it down. Hey, now I've got
aristocratic blood in me too. Isn't that something.
Now I want you to know a few things about me. Don't misunderstand me,
Mulder. I don't want your sympathy, or your bloody condescension. I just
want you to know how deep a shitpile you've let yourself fall into. You'll
never wash yourself clean of me again.
This knife? Mom said it was my father's, but I don't know how she could
know. He could have been anyone. Anyone with some money, or some secret she
was supposed to get. Hell, it could have been your father, Mulder. Or the
Morley-sucker. Wouldn't that be nice?
Did you know you saw my mother once, Mulder? Oh, not alive. But you must
have seen her autopsy photos when you profiled the whole case. Me, I was
sixteen. She'd sold me to a pimp and a spy years before, but I still saw
her sometimes. Don't remember her? Marya Sheshkov. Actually, she was Irina
Arntzen, but I don't think you ever knew her real name.
Yeah, that's the case. That serial killer who liked to stick nails through
their eyes. Were they pretty pictures, Mulder? She used to be pretty.
I hope you appreciate the irony, I really do. All those years working both
sides, KGB and the fucking Consortium, and guess who took her out? Just a
fucking murderer who liked to kill whores.
Did you even care about the victims, Mulder, or was it just a brain game
for you? Nobody cares about whores getting killed; the cunts are
disposable. Did you think that, Mulder? Or did it turn you on, looking at
the bodies and imagining what they'd been used for?
Don't give me that scowl, Mulder. You think I don't know you're kinked?
You're the sick fucker who got hard when you were going to shoot me in Hong
Kong.
Hell, of course I noticed. You were almost grinding against me, and I KNOW
you didn't have a gun in your pocket.
Look at that twitch. Oh, God, Mulder, what a blush. If you live through
tonight, you can hit me or shoot me, but you're always gonna know I saw you
get hard tonight.
But you're out of luck. You're never laying hands on me again. I've had
enough of that all my life. You think I didn't feel your eyes crawling over
me back when I was with the Bureau? Made me sick, feeling that slime trail.
Everybody thinks they own my body, nobody cares what I want, and I've had
enough.
See this, Mulder? In the hollow under my left arm, under my stump? That's
the signature of my pimp. The one my mother sold me to when I was twelve,
when she got tired of pimping me herself. Hell, he said he loved me; he
said that once I'd earned enough, we could run away together and leave all
the spy shit behind. Last fucking time I believed in love.
But lust? Sure, I believe in that. I've had it shoved down my throat and up
my ass and into a whole lot of places you don't even want to think about.
I've given it away, sold it, traded with it, lost it at gunpoint, and had
it beaten out of me. And I got caught for burglary once; rather than draw
attention to what I was supposed to be stealing, my bosses let me take the
rap.
I'd love to see you in a real prison someday, Fox. I don't think you can
begin to imagine what those boys could do with a rich little snot like you.
Hell, you ever end up behind bars, I'll do what I can to get there too.
Something to look forward to.
This ruined old prison, it's nothing. But you can imagine it if you want
to.
And now, Mulder, I'm going to touch you. Yes, there. Pretty little handful.
You Jewish, or did your parents just believe in the hygiene theory?
Oh, you don't like the touch of my hand? Good. I'm sick of taking it up the
ass and watching you sweep on by like your feet didn't have to touch
ground. You can damned well feel me touching you. I want you to know what
it's like to have another man's hands on you, especially when you hate him.
Don't bother getting hard, Mulder. I'm never going to turn a trick again.
God, you make me sick. Maybe you'll settle back down if I squeeze these
just a little harder...
Oh, yeah. I like that strangled scream. You get hard on me again, and I'm
gonna let you play nice with Mister Knife.
I'm sick of all of it. Men's eyes, men's hands, men's dicks, and that
godawful taste of cum. Makes me retch. So don't get your hopes up, Mulder,
I'm not here to seduce you.
I'm here to fuck you. Just for me. Fuck your mind, fuck your body, fuck
your soul. And you're never going to feel clean again. You shoot me, and
you can damned well imagine my dead rotting dick up you for the rest of
your life.
I don't know why you're such a snotty prick anyway. I mean, either your
father is William Mulder, the scum behind Project Paperclip and some worse
things I may tell you about someday, or else you've got cancer in your
genes. You like that idea, Mulder? I can just see it, that black-lunged
bastard sticking it up your mother. You like that? No, I didn't think you
would.
Fascinating vocabulary you've got there, Mulder. Guess I hit you where it
hurts. But you know, English obscenities just don't have the force of a
nice guttural Russian curse.
So you don't like the idea of his stinking dick up your mama's wet hairy
little high-class cunt? Too fucking bad. Hell, maybe I've got pictures.
Maybe I'll send them to you someday. His hands digging into her tits, and
his tarry black tongue in her mouth, thrusting—-
Oh, Mulder, what a nerve I've hit. Here, let me help you imagine it
further. You know what a smoker's mouth tastes like? I'll show you.
No, I'm not going to let you bite me. Thumb and finger at the back of your
jaw, and you're going to open up for me like a horse taking a bit. But this
is just for me. If I feel your tongue move, I'm going to cut it off.
Oh, yeah. Yeah. Such a sweet little mouth, Mulder. Taste the smoke on my
tongue. Bitter, isn't it. Here, I'll wipe it around your mouth, give you
all the flavor. That's what the old fucker must have tasted like.
Hold it in, Mulder. You really don't want to throw up on me right now.
Besides, could be worse. Could be diesel oil. Christ, I wish I had that
fucking alien back in me just for the pleasure of vomiting it all out into
your mouth and watching it fuck you in the eyes.
But let's get on with it. I don't have all night. Some of us actually have
to work for a living.
God, I love it when you flinch. Regretting all those times you laid hands
on me, Mulder? Well, now it's my turn. Christ, such soft little baby skin.
Bet your buttcheeks bruise real well; let me give you some fingerprints
there you can take back to your partner's lab, shall I? Oh look, my nails
are actually drawing blood. Shoulda stopped on the way for a nice manicure,
and maybe some expensive aftershave so you wouldn't have to smell real
sweat. Sorry about that.
But we have a little problem now. I don't want you face-to-face like this;
too close to old times for me. And I'm not fucking stupid enough to unlock
you now; I know you'd tackle me even if I killed you for it. So I guess
you'll have to sleep a little while. Oh yeah, Mulder, there we go. I always
wanted to get my fingers into your throat. Remember when you half strangled
me in Hong Kong? But you didn't bite me like this while you were doing it.
I like this, your jaw and cheekbones and eyebrow ridges—no, I'm not even
going to tear a chunk off again, I just like to gnaw on these—hey, you're
the one who called me a rat, Mulder—and taste your sweat while you
struggle so hard against me. I could get to like this. There you go. Just a
few more seconds...
...
...heavy son of a bitch, aren't you, Mulder? Took a lot of trouble to get
you like this. Don't hurt your pretty face on that chainlink now. Hey, I
bet that brings back nice memories of Tunguska, doesn't it? And now you can
get a better view of that three-story drop.
Yes, you did piss yourself, Foxy. How gauche. I'm shocked.
But I'm not done playing rat yet. Let's see if I can leave some nice
bitemarks on your back and shoulders here. Oh, yeah. Sweet. Sweet... Ribs,
too, and I didn't even bring my barbecue sauce. Don't struggle like that,
Mulder, or you're going to dislocate your shoulder, and I'd need two hands
to re-seat the bone.
You ever been marked like this before, Mulder? Ever had a man leave bruises
on you that made you want to throw up every time you saw them? Well, it's
time you learned what it feels like. I mean, you're the great profiler;
think of it as research.
And I'm gonna leave a nice clear handprint on your hip here, boychik.
Something else to remember me by.
Now let's see. I could really use some slick for my own comfort. But
blood's a good lubricant, isn't it? Quit struggling. I think it's time you
met Mister Knife again, just so he doesn't feel left out. I'll just sign my
name on your shoulderblade. AK will do nicely. Did you know the letters are
the same in both Russian and English?
Pretty. Oh, very pretty. Let me taste this—mm, blue blood. Sure looks red
to me. You like my tongue on it? But the bleeding's slowing; I'll have to
cut it a little deeper to slick myself up.
Oh, no, Mulder. I'm gonna ride you bare. Assault with a deadly weapon,
maybe. Anything I've got, you're gonna get, 'cause I'm gonna come up your
torn ass so hard... I don't know which would be better, your finding out
that I gave you the skinnies, or your having to keep checking. No, I'm not
gonna tell you which, Mulder. Let's keep it our little surprise, shall we?
Hey, I bet 50-weight diesel would make good slick. Aliens up your ass,
wham! But this blood'll do to get started, and you're gonna give me more
when I split your pretty hole.
Oh, yeah, feels so good when you fight me like that. Do it again. Like the
feel of me between your cheeks? And now I want you to bellow for me,
Mulder. Let it all out, or you're going to die from the pain of it when
I...do...this!
Oh, yeah. Fuck, yeah. You're so tight, and when you struggle you clamp down
on me so good... You screaming or swearing, Mulder? I like it.
You want the Truth, little fox? This is the truth. My cock up your ass, and
how much it hurts. This is the real world, Mulder. Uhn—Yeah. Oh, God.
This is the real fucking world I've been living in all my fucking life. You
like it? God—
I want you to remember this, boychik. I hear you got an eidetic memory.
Uhn—I want you to remember all of this, every thrust and scream and how
fucking helpless you are, Mulder. Welcome to the real world. God, yes——
Yes, oh yes—Oh fuck, yes—I'm gonna come in your ass, Mulder, right
now—God! Oh, God! Yesss—-!
Ahh...
Oh, God...
Yesss. Yesss.
God, you feel so good. ...Let me just finish here, give you the rest of
it... Oh, yeah... There.
There.
Oh, yeah...
Feel my come in you? Come and blood together, so hot. I'm slipping out now,
Mulder. Yeah, I hear you grunt. I bet that hurts a lot. Well, it feels
pretty damn good to me.
Oh, God, yeah. Give me a minute to catch my breath. I'm sure you won't mind
if I rest against you; not like that could make it worse, could it. Oh,
yeah.
Sweating on you too—I like feeling your back move when you heave like
this. Yeah... So sweet, Mulder, just for me? You shouldn't have.
And now, Mulder, listen to me. I've got a couple of presents for you too.
Here's the handcuff key; let me tuck it between your fingers so you can use
it in a minute. But don't drop it, okay? You'd have a lot more explaining
to do. Hell, there's probably some coats over in Lost and Found, so you
won't have to shock the tourists in the morning.
And here's my other present, Mulder. This envelope contains evidence that's
gonna let you save some lives in the Miller case. Yeah, I know you, Mulder.
If I just walked out of here, you'd do something stupid like kill yourself.
But I'm not kind enough to let you do that, Mulder. You're the only one who
can make sense of this evidence, and it's probably gonna take a week or
more to solve the case. And by then, you coward shit, you'll have gotten
used to living again.
Feel free to prove me wrong, of course. But if you pull that trigger or
tighten that noose, you'll feel me inside you in hell. I'll read about it
in the paper and laugh, and wipe my ass with your obituary, Mulder. You've
lost.
You know, when I set this up, I was thinking about taking some souvenirs
with Mister Knife. But I don't need to do that, do I, Mulder?
I've got your balls and your guts and your brains now.
And you're always gonna know they're mine.
Lockdown
by Nonie Rider
Hold it right there, Mulder. No, don't move or I'll blow your fucking head
off. God, I can't believe you were stupid enough to come here alone just to
meet some mysterious informer.
