From: drsivana99@yahoo.com   
      
    DON'T FEAR THE PUSHER   
    (or: "Stuck Inside of Gotham With the X-Files Blues Again")   
    a sequel to "Gotham X" by Chuck Miller   
       
    RATING: PG-13 for cussing and sick violence.   
    SPOILERS: None that I can think of.   
       
       
    NOTE: Strict adherence to continuity would make this story extremely   
    difficult to tell, so I have decided to throw both Batman and X-Files   
    continuity out the window for the duration. Consider this an   
    "Elseworlds" story if that helps. However, events take place during   
    and after "Batman: Cataclysm," though I have taken several liberties   
    with established continuity. As far as X-Files continuity goes, this   
    story happens during a time when it won't conflict with anything    
   else.   
       
    DEDICATION: To my co-workers, Catherine and Jean, for comments,   
    assistance and encouragement. To Andrew "Captain Comics" Smith for    
   the   
    same. And, first and foremost, to Debi, for introducing me to Mulder   
    and Scully in the first place.   
       
       
    Legal stuff: This work is not for profit and is copyright 1999 Chuck   
    Miller. Batman, Cameron Chase and related characters are copyright   
    1999 DC Comics Inc. X-Files and related characters are copyright 1999   
    Fox Broadcasting Corp.    
       
    DEDICATIONS:    
       
       
    ONE YEAR AGO:   
       
    	Modell didn't die, not quite. His sister, his dear sister, had   
    told him to. She thought she was doing what was best. But he had   
    always been stronger. So he told himself NOT to. His body stopped   
    functioning, almost. The activity in his brain ceased, almost. But   
    Modell went deeper, into the 90 percent of the brain we humans never   
    use, and hid there. He knew what he could do. He would be taken to    
   the   
    morgue. No one would bother him for a few hours. He could wake up at   
    leisure, get out of here. He'd been shot, but the wound was very   
    minor. He'd given the paramedics and doctors a little "push" to make   
    them think it was worse than it actually was. But something would    
   have   
    to be done about the tumor. He couldn't have it removed. Without the   
    ability to "push," he really wouldn't want to live. There had to be a   
    way, and he would find it.    
    	Unfortunately for Modell's plans, his body went into a    
   cryogenic   
    storage unit just a half hour after his "death." Someone wanted a    
   look   
    inside that remarkable brain of his. Wanted to find out how he   
    "pushed" people.   
    	Modell slept. It was almost death, but not quite. He would be   
    back.   
       
       
       
    GOTHAM CITY   
    S.T.A.R. LABS FACILITY   
    SIX MONTHS AGO   
    7:33 p.m.   
       
    	"Bring him this way," said Agent Chase. She was tired, very   
    tired. She needed a vacation, and hauling a cryogenic unit containing   
    the body of a psychic psychopath to a lab in Gotham City did not   
    qualify. Three Army privates, temporarily attached to the DEO, were   
    handling the unit, pushing it smoothly along the polished white   
    corridors of the S.T.A.R. facility. Chase briefly checked the   
    indicators on the side of the unit. Robert Modell's body had been   
    thawing for the past hour. He ought to be ready for the autopsy by   
    now.   
    	Dr. Cassandra Anderson was flying in from Washington to do the   
    work. She would be accompanied by Dana Scully, and FBI agent who had   
    been involved in Modell's case. Anderson was a brain specialist. She   
    had worked at S.T.A.R. in Metropolis a few years ago when they had   
    Brainiac on ice there. Now she was director of the Gotham branch. She   
    had been in D.C. for a conference and was on her way back. Chase   
    looked at her watch. The plane should be coming into Gotham   
    International within the next hour. Please, she thought, let this one   
    go smoothly. I don't need another paranormal mess tonight. Not   
    tonight. Just let me get through this one, and you can throw anything   
    you like at me next week.   
    	"It should be right around this corner," Chase said to one of   
    the soldiers. As she spoke, a slim brunette woman in a lab coat   
    rounded the corner in question, approached them.   
    	"Agent Chase? I'm Dr. Wayne. Alice Wayne."   
    	"Wayne, huh?" Chase said, shaking the other woman's hand. "Any   
    relation to you-know-who?"   
    	Alice Wayne chuckled. "I get asked that all the time. We may    
   be   
    distant cousins, I don't know." She turned her attention to the   
    container. "This is Modell? Okay, the autopsy room is ready. We're   
    just waiting for Anderson and Scully to get here. In the meantime we   
    can..."   
    	Chase never found out what Dr. Wayne planned to do in the   
    meantime, because, at that moment, the lights went out and the floor   
    started to shake. Chase lost her footing and hit the floor. She heard   
    one of the soldiers curse and the sound of metal striking plaster.   
    Glass shattered. There was a hissing sound and the sharp aroma of   
    leaking coolant. Sirens started blaring. People started yelling. And,   
    above it all, a deep crackling rumble, coming up through the floor.   
    Thank you, Chase thought grimly, trying to get to her feet. Thank you   
    so much. I ask for ONE goddamn favor....   
    	The floor refused to stop moving, so Chase just sat down and   
    waited. The building groaned and shuddered. Dim emergency lighting   
    eventually came on. She crawled over to the tank. The two soldiers   
    were on their feet, trying to keep the thing steady. Coolant had   
    pooled up on the floor around it, making it extremely difficult for   
    the men to keep their footing. There was another violent lurch, the   
    corridor seemed to turn on its side for a moment, and the cryogenic   
    tank and its beleaguered custodians hit the floor. The heavy metal   
    container dug a shallow trench in the tiles where it hit. Chase   
    crawled the rest of the distance, got her hands on the thing, pulled   
    herself up so she could look inside.   
    	The glass cover had shattered. There was Modell, still a    
   little   
    blue from his long freeze. Ugly fucker, Chase thought. Or maybe it's   
    just because I know about the things he did. Sure, the actual number   
    of people he'd killed wasn't a third of what someone like the Joker   
    could manage before Sunday brunch, but he'd been a wicked bastard    
   just   
    the same.   
    	Chase clung to the container until the building stopped    
   shaking.   
    It seemed to happen rather abruptly. One moment everything was    
   shaking   
    and cracking and groaning, the next all was quiet, except for the   
    hooting sirens and confused voices. Those were loud enough, but    
   seemed   
    like tranquility itself compared to the holocaust of sound and motion   
    she'd just endured.   
    	"Okay," she said, a little shakily. "Okay." She stood up,    
   slowly   
    and carefully.    
    	Dr. Wayne, Chase saw, had gotten to her feet and was speaking   
    into a cellular telephone. Chase moved over to her side.   
    	"I see... Okay... Yes, I understand. Thank you for calling."   
    	"What?" Chase said. "What happened?"   
    	"Well," said Dr. Wayne, "that was Gotham International. We    
   just   
    had an earthquake, Agent Chase. About a 7 on the Richter scale."    
   Chase   
    let out a low whistle. "Obviously no more flights are going to be   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)