Fox Mulder awoke to someone slapping him and he was not happy. Startled, he reached for where his gun usually was but found himself not on a couch, but in a random bed, in a random house he had never been in before, and realized he wasn't wearing any clothes but some underwear as he looked under the covers. He looked right into the eyes of a blonde woman who looked greatly displeased in him.
Mulder quickly rose embarrassed, and couldn't think one of good reason why he was there. Last night, they had finished up a normal case and he went home to his apartment. Was this all a bad dream? He looked around before looking back at the woman.
"Don't even try to talk to me. Get out of my house."
"What did I do?" Mulder asked. He went to the closet and noticed none of the clothes were his, but seemed to be his right size.
"Oh my god, what the fuck! I hate you," she said. "If Becca finds out..."
"I'm sorry. This must be a misunderstanding," Mulder said as he rapidly put on the random clothes he assumed were his, and headed out the door. That's only as he opened the door, he realized he was not in D.C. He was definitely not on the East Coast. "Why am I in California?"
"You live here! How much did you have to drink? Go stay with Charlie for a while."
"Can I use the phone?" Mulder asked sheepishly.
"You have your own!" She handed him keys, and gave him a final shove outside. He realized there was a Porsche in front, and assumed the keys were for that. He was so confused, and also looked into the mirror reflection. He looked hungover, and wondered why his hair was long enough to touch his collar, and looked unkept.
He pulled a phone he had out of his pocket, and dialed Scully's number but she didn't answer after a few times, so he reasonable called the FBI headquarters themselves.
"This is the D.C. FBI. You're speaking to AD Brown."
"Brown? May I speak to Skinner?"
"Sir, there's no one here with that name. Maybe you have the wrong office."
"It's me, Fox Mulder!"
"Fox Mulder? Look, I don't have the time for that. It's a federal crime tom impersonate an officer. I'm going to hang up." He heard a click and was genuinely confused. Was he losing his mind? He had to get to the airport and fly to D.C. He didn't assume anyone would prank him like that, but it could be some weird work of the Syndicate.
He did marvel at the car, as he started to drive. Looking in the glovebox, he found identification. A standard California license but his name was Henry James Moody. Some sick joke, unless he had a long lost twin.
He got a phone call from someone named Charlie and he answered, remembering what the blode lady said.
"Hey, can you meet me at my office? I have a company that wants the rights to your book. They want to turn it into a mini-series. It's the opportunity of a lifetime! I'm counting on you!"
"What office?" Mulder asked. As he looked at the street signs, he definitely was in California. "I need to go to the airport."
"Why? Fleeing from what? Come to UTK."
He hung up, and Mulder looked up directions to some place called UTK. Shoving random papers in the glovebox, he couldn't help but notice lots of cigarettes and alcohol. This was definitely work of the Syndicate, but why try to erase his life and put him in California?
He made it to the office building and walked in. He noticed a shorter bald man looking all happy. he ran up to him and hugged him.
"Hurry! The clients are waiting," he said excitedly.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?"
The man's face fell for a minute but then he started laughing. "You sounded like you actually forgot me for a second. How could anyone forget Charlie Runkle!" He pointed to his face and slapped Mulder's shoulder.
"Charlie, I'm sorry. Can this wait. I'm trying to go to Washington D.C."
"Why? What's there besides the government?"
"I uh- have something to take care of."
"Let me in! You always do. What are you hiding. Oh, Karen kicked you out again, huh?"
Mulder nodded, assuming the blonde lady who woke him up was Karen.
"That's alright. Marcy kicked me out too. You're acting a bit funny. You're not your usually moody self." He laughed. "Want some cocaine?"
Mulder was losing his mind. What was wrong with everyone around him. Apparently he hadn't been in California long enough to know this is how people act. "Make the meeting quick."
He followed Charlie into the elevator and they made their way to a conference room with a few officials sitting there with laptops and notepads.
Mulder sat down in an empty seat, and smiled. He should introduce himself, so he awkwardly extended his hand. "Henry James Moody."
"Since when did you go by Henry?" a bigger woman across the table asked.
"It's my name..."
"Hank, stop this stupid act," Charlie whispered in his ear.
"So, we wanted to adapt Lew Ashby's biography into a biopic mini-series, and we want to know if we can have those rights."
"Ok. I'm sorry, I have to go. Can we cut this act out? I'm not Hank Moody. I'm not a writer, I don't live in California. Sure, do whatever you want." Mulder got up, and quickly walked as fast as he could before that annoying Charlie could follow him.
"It's a method acting thing," Charlie said breaking the awkward silence.
Mulder got in the car, and found directions to LAX airport. He made sure he had a credit card, and felt ridiculous, but he got a ticket for a flight that leaves in hour so he took that. He realized he didn't have any luggage of sorts, but that didn't matter, because he would go back to his apartment and stop this whole stupid operation.
Browsing Hudson news, his own photo caught his eye. He looked at rack, and found a book called Lew Ashby, A biography. He picked up the book, and found his picture on the back reading the short bio.
"Some life they gave me," he muttered. He ended up buying a copy anyway because he needed to show Scully how ridiculous that was. He checked out the book, and then sat in an empty seat, for boarding any minute.
He noticed a young woman probably only around twenty was staring at him. "Are you Hank Moody?"
"No. I'm sorry. There's a misunderstanding. I'm not." Mulder would've definitely loved this sexy young lady hitting on him, but under these circumstances, he didn't feel like accepting that.
When it was time to board, he realized he had bought a nice ticket and was riding first class. Hopefully he could just sleep until he got to Washington. Maybe this was all a terrible dream and when he woke up, none of that would've happened.