From: drsivana99@yahoo.com   
      
     LEGAL STUFF   
     Batman, the Justice League and all related characters are trademark and   
   copyright 2000 by DC Comics Inc. The X-Files, Millennium and all related   
   characters are ditto Fox broadcasting.   
     This story contains harsh language. In movie terms, this story would be   
   rated PG-17, and readers are requested to police themselves accordingly. Final   
   Curtain   
     Or: "OH, Mama, Can This Really Be the End?" ONE   
     "Dead Children and a Dead City: Happy New Year 2000" Chuck Miller   
     Special to the Comics Cave (Note: This story begins the day after the   
   "Millennium" episode of The X-Files, and proceeds to destroy the continuity of   
   every character involved. I am taking it upon myself to tie up all of Chris   
   Carter's dangling plot    
   threads, and at the same time lay waste to the DC Universe. This will conflict   
   with everything else that comes after it, so consider it an "alternate   
   reality" tale. Enjoy.) (Further Note: This story was started many years ago,   
   and for some reason never    
   finished. So why do it now? To which I answer, "Why not?" It is there. I never   
   finished it. I need to. I will. I am. In the process, I have made a few   
   revisions, and I think improvements. If George Lucas can do it, so can I. My   
   imagination is much better    
   now than it was then. I would have added the words you will find here if I had   
   been technically capable of it. Part Eleven is coming very soon. And I   
   sincerely want to thank everyone for the interest!)   
     LEXCORPTOWER   
     8:35 a.m.   
     January 1, 2000   
     "Would you mind not smoking in here," Lex Luthor said to the man in the   
   cheap suit and trenchcoat. wasn't a request, so there was no question mark at   
   the end. Luthor had a way of making the most offhand statement come across   
   like an imperial command,    
   and he had only a scant understanding, mostly theoretical, of the concept of   
   asking for something. The other man, however, ignored him and lit up a   
   cigarette. Luthor stared at him for a second, then let it drop. There were   
   more important things on his    
   mind today.   
     Not too many people would dare to behave in such a cavalier manner in   
   Luthor's presence. There was certainly more to this individual than met the   
   eye, which wasn't much. To describe him as "unprepossessing" would be a bit   
   too lavish. His bland face was    
   lined and weathered, his clothing clean but obviously inexpensive. He looked   
   like a minor civil servant, an older man nearing the end of a drab,   
   unspectacular career. could be further from the truth. Even Lex Luthor, with   
   all his formidable resources,    
   had been unable to uncover much information on the man who stood before his   
   huge mahogany deck, quietly smoking a cigarette. The man had at least a dozen   
   different names, none of which were very likely to be the one he had been born   
   with. stared coldly    
   at the man, who gazed through the window, his thoughts seemingly miles away.   
   Luthor shifted slightly in his leather chair, waited another moment, then   
   said, "Well?"   
     The man looked at Luthor. He took a drag from his cigarette   
     before he spoke. "I take it, Mister Luthor, that you are now more willing to   
   take me seriously? In light of this morning's events, perhaps?" "Let's not   
   dance around this," Luthor said sharply. "I have a feeling the time for   
   bullshit and obfuscation is    
   long past. You're talking about Seattle, yes? Do you know what happened? Are   
   you involved in it?" . That was all anyone had talked about since six o'clock   
   that morning, Eastern time. A cruel damper had been put on Millennium   
   celebrations all over the    
   world by the news from the West Coast.   
     Seattle was gone. man shook his head. "Not involved. But I have a good idea   
   who is responsible. And it won't stop with Seattle. That was just the opening   
   round." 's eyes narrowed. "If you want to someday walk out of this building   
   alive, I suggest you    
   tell me everything you know. Now." man shrugged. "I have no secrets to keep   
   from you. I need your help. You'll want to help me. You're an ambitious man,   
   Luthor. You want power, more power than you have now. But power won't mean   
   much to you if the world    
   is reduced to a charred husk, will it?" "No. Of course it won't. Now, the next   
   sentence you speak had better contain some concrete information, or my   
   patience with you will be exhausted. Do you understand?" man nodded. He   
   actually smiled a little as he    
   crushed out his cigarette in a small potted plant. "Tell me, Mister Luthor,   
   have you ever heard of the Millennium Group?" raised his eyebrows, sat up   
   straighter in his chair. "I'm listening," he said.   
     FBI HEADQUARTERS   
     11:37 a.m.   
     Mulder, weary and injured from the events of the previous night, took one   
   look at the folder on his desk and said a very vulgar word. Scully looked up   
   sharply. She hadn't fared as badly as Mulder the night before, but she still   
   had dark circles under    
   her eyes and looked tired and disheveled, in spite of a bath, a change of   
   clothes and four hours' sleep. "What?" she asked, not sure she really wanted   
   to know. sighed. "You're not gonna believe this. Skinner just sent this down.   
   Grave desecrations..." He    
   looked up at his partner, his eyes ever so slightly unfocused. "Exactly the   
   same as the others." 's eyebrows went up. "More FBI agents?" "No," Mulder   
   shook his head. "But that's the only thing that's different. The blood   
   circles, the damage inside the    
   caskets, that was the same. But the ... can we call them victims? They weren't   
   FBI at all. They were just kids." "Kids?" "Yeah. Three kids. Two of them were   
   brother and sister, the other one was a friend of theirs. They all died a few   
    days ago." "Suicides?" "No. That's another difference. They were all   
   murdered." Mulder thumbed through the folder. "Let's see ... We've got a Mary   
   Bromfield, a Billy Batson -- that's the brother and sister. They're orphans;   
   the girl was adopted when she    
   was a baby. And a Freddy Freeman. Seems they spent a lot of time together.   
   Says here they were poisoned, probably while they were at a local… hm, malt   
   shoppe, I didn't know there still were such things. No suspects, no leads…   
   Though the cops did find one    
   odd thing, in the kitchen at the malt shoppe. Says here 'a remarkable worm,   
   unknown to science…' Anyhow, the graves were discovered desecrated yesterday,   
   while we were investigating the others." "Where?" "Near Fawcett City. Halfway   
   across the country."    
   Mulder gave Scully one of his looks and she blew air through her pursed lips.   
   "So that means..." she began. "That we have another necromancer out there,"   
   Mulder continued for her. "But why kids? Why THESE kids?"   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)