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Fandom: THE X-FILES
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
Length: Part 1: 36,000 words; series: 272,000 words
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence for series; rape/non-con in Part 2

Author on LJ: mustangsally78 and rivkat
Author Website: rivkat's page on An Archive of Our Own

Why this must be read: This epic series is epic, and a classic in the fandom. It's also highly controversial for its explicit violence, its uncompromising characterization of Scully, and its dark depiction of the Mulder/Scully relationship. So it's perfect for crack_van - so much so that I could not believe it hadn't been recommended here already. What's it about? Briefly, it was conceived in feminist rage over the violations of Scully's reproductive rights in the series, it's about Scully and Mulder's investigations into genetic experiments performed over decades by the Consortium, and the first part is named for an island mentioned in the Greek tragedy Medea... which should probably serve as a warning in itself.


Merchandise?

I heard Mulder gulp air as Abrams said it.

The word crackled through my earpiece and my brain as I followed the quartet of Rangers up the stairwell. Why choose that word? Was it at all possible that Abrams knew?

I had been merchandise.

They (the ubiquitous, invisible them) had stacked me and stored me and returned me to sender.

Postage due.

The Rangers all frowned at each other, none of them liking the idea of sending a tiny little thing like me in to do a man's job. Fuck them all, I thought, and took the rifle that one of them handed to me. They were damn lucky I hadn't turned my gun on the one who had held the door to the roof open for me. I checked the rifle, looked along the sights and saw that it was aimed well and stocked with ammunition. I wasn't planning on getting in a firefight with Abrams, but I wanted more than one shot.

"Can you handle that? Looks a little big for you," Zippy asked.

One of the Rangers snorted and a patch of color brightened Zippy's olive cheekbones.

"What I meant was, would you rather have a pistol?"

"I learned to shoot with a shotgun."

"You blow this motherfucker's head off and we'll stand you for as many rounds as you can drink at Parrothead's in town," a blonde crewcut in FBI Tac pret a porter offered.

"If this young woman wastes Abrams, we'll pick up the bar tab," the oldest ranger grumbled.

And then they would see who has the worst hangover in the morning and continue the male posturing. Zippy started helping me into the kevlar vest which was designed for a man, and painfully flattened my breasts against my ribcage.

Under my high tech armor, I started to roast in the chimney air on the roof. A helicopter chattered overhead and sent up waves of sand the color of crushed cork. An access panel was unhooked and a section of roof peeled off. A black rectangle plunged into the interior of the building. A small black rectangle. A very small black rectangle.

I started unfastening the bulletproof vest.

"Put that back on! Do you want to get shot?"

"Look, I won't fit in the shaft with this on. I won't be able to maneuver, and there's a good possibility I'll get heat stroke. Can we just get the harness, please?"

The harness in question was a standard mountaineering one, a man's harness and even with the buckles pulled tight by Zippy's capable if friendly hands, it barely fit me. By that time I had discarded my shoes and trouser-socks as well as my jacket. The hot air dried the sweat on my body. Finally, with the harness in place, the headset over my head, and the rifle gripped in both hands, I let them lower me into the hole.

The air vent was metal and hot on my bare feet. Without a light, my eyes quickly accustomed to the dark as I was lowered foot by foot into the stomach of the building.



The Iolokus Series

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