Summary: Here is a "missing" X-File. In the late 90's, Mulder investigates a case without Scully during one his rare weekends away from the office. Here is his write up on the case.
Disclaimer: The Chracter Fox Mulder belongs to 1030 productions
Note: This is my first X-files fanfic, I hope you like it =)
I stumbled onto the case after visiting my "local hometown Wal-mart". The strange old man at the door handed me a carriage and welcomed me. I took my carriage to the ladies department, and looked for some clothes. I was stunned to find that the place was bereft of any normal clothes. Cords, velour, bellbottoms and clogs confronted me. It took me an hour to find a normal pair of jeans for my mother. Why she sent me clothes shopping for her is a greater mystery I care not to investigate.
I thought it was only Wal-mart that had surcumed to this strange fashion faux pau. When I got to the mall I realized how wrong I was; seventies fashions abounded in every clothing store I went to. Young girls who looked like they had just stepped out of time machines ran around the stores, laughing, some actually buying this stuff. I shook my head in disbelief; the seventies had came once, I couldn't remember them well(except under hypnosis) and that was something I'd always been grateful for. Now it seems, they were back.
I had to find out why. I made it my mission to figure out why the seventies were threatening to take over the nineties. I had to know why people were actually wearing those horrid neon greens, pinks, and oranges, rather than more tasteful earth tones. I wanted to know who was behind this madness.
My first instinct led me to my mother's house. After I left the jeans on my mom's bed- she was out playing bridge- I climbed into the shadowy depth that is my parents' attic. Over in the corner, past the dresser's dummy and the rocking horse, behind the old record player, I found a box. In this box were authentic seventies fashions. After laughing at the thought of my parents actually wearing this stuff, I considered doing something worthwhile. I just laughed some more instead.
Then I looked at the names on the labels.
Armed with the names of those so-called fashion designers of the day, I had a starting point. I called the Lone Gunmen and got a message about them out having cheese steaks. Since I couldn't rely on their help, I booted up my trusty computer, and used the World Wide Web as an investigative tool. Well, after I checked out some message boards, adult video sites, and did e-mail I used it as an investigative tool. I found something that astonished me: all the designers were still alive.
I would have thought they had been lynched once people realized how outlandish they looked, but they hadn't been. How odd. In fact, these designers were fronting the fashion industry once again. But in a country where men like Clinton and Ted Kennedy can be re-elected I shouldn't be surprised. I took down the address of one of these designers, and formulated a plan.
The plan was to stalk the designer. It might not have been a good plan, but it was my plan, damn it, I was going to stick to it. I finally got to talk to the designer while we were in the holding cell together. There had been this little misunderstanding, and he'd been arrested after beating me up for stalking him. I'd of course been charged with the stalking… But as we stood there, and he beat his head on the bars screaming for me to shut up, I think we bonded. At least he was nicer to be in a cell with than the guys in the drunk tank had been. Eventually he promised me that if I didn't leave him alone he would strangle me. I pointed out that not too many fashion designers got to sell their lines from prison. He gave in and told me what I wanted to know.
Someone found a huge abandoned warehouse full of seventies fashions, out in Burlington, Vermont. It was then this fiendish plot was formulated. He was about to tell me what the plot was when he suddenly had a massive heart attack and died. I was shocked that he had the nerve to die in the middle of an important conversation, but so be it. I clamored to the police that I be released, as the person I was supposed to be stalking was now dead, and it was character defamation to suggest that I be so twisted as to stalk the dead. I think I confused them with this logical argument, in any case I was soon released.
As I got in my car and drove to the seven eleven for a map and some sunflower seeds, I pondered what the fashion designer had told me. Burlington Vermont? How did the seventies fashions end up in a place that was more known for comfy fleeces and flannels? It can only be thought that these fashions were so feared that they were exiled to Vermont at the beginning of the eighties. No one would ever think of going to Vermont to find bad polyester clothing, now would they?
My trusty car brought me up to Vermont, luckily New England is small so the drive wasn't too long. The cool sounds of The Foo Fighters coming from the car's CD player seemed to startle the cows as I drove along the highway near the green mountains. I remembered hearing once that cows liked classical music. Never trust an animal that doesn't like alternative music, I always say. Or I would say, if Scully didn't already think I was nuts enough as it is. The cows eyed me warily, almost as if they knew I was close to solving the mystery. But, perhaps it was really just all the coffee I'd drank in the past three hours that was making me nervous. I decided to watch out for the cows anyway.
A long, narrow, abandoned, dusty, dirt road led to the warehouse in questions. Faded yellow smilie faces were painted onto the building's walls. The admonishment "have a nice day" was written under each. I shuddered and looked for the door. The door swung open, guess they didn't believe in locks in VT. I walked in, looking about fearfully. What if I was caught and they made me wear that stuff? Black oil experiments I can handle, but the thought of wearing a leisure suit almost made me break out into hives. I made sure my gun was handy, but didn't pull it out, because the sound of inevitably dropping it would have attracted more attention than I wanted.
As I walked through the gloomy building, my ears were assaulted by a horrible sound: somewhere "The Hussle" was being played overly loud. I saw into a room at the end of a corridor. Flashes of silver light flooded an other wise dark room. People were engaged in a primitive sort of line dance, perhaps a predecessor of the Electric Slide. I ducked into the room before it; nothing would induce me to enter that disco.
As luck would have it, the room I had escaped into was the one I was looking for. It was a strange combination of laboratory and computer workspace. I didn't understand what the test tubes and other glassware were for- for the first time I wished Scully was here to give some help with her scientific background- but noted only that each was marked with the letters "JT". I turned my focus on the computer instead. After rifling through the disks, I found one entitled "the secret plan". I had a hunch that it might mean something, so I popped the disk in the drive.
That's when the whole story became crystal clear to me. The disk mentioned that "broken arrow" and "pulp fiction" were not advancing the cause as much as they should. It said that more drastic steps needed to be taken. It said that bringing back the seventies fashions would be a huge step up on the goal.
I read with growing horror. I knew that the reappearance of seventies fashions could not be a good thing, but I had no idea that they were part of such a sinister plot. I fled the building at that point; I couldn't stand being in such a twisted place any longer. I was also very afraid to meet the people who actually wanted to make John Travolta a huge media icon again.
Why Travolta? I never found out. All I could do was to burn my copies of "Saturday Night Fever" and "Grease", put on some jeans and a sweatshirt, and wait the madness out. I beseech you, don't vote for Tavolta in the next presidential election or accept him as a figurehead of a major religion. That would be playing right into their hands. Alas, I know that this two will be chalked up to another half-baked "Spooky Mulder" conspiracy, so I alone will know of yet another threat to the people of the world.
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