Triple Agent (?)

If you can't reach me by another means, go ahead and comment here. (IC or OOC comments welcome.)

{All RP threads can be found in the memories section of this journal.}

WHO: Alex Krycek and Holland Manners
WHAT: An unexpected opportunity
WHEN: Evening
WHERE: Just outside of LAX
STATUS: Complete

Los Angeles, California. Not exactly where Krycek imagined he'd find himself. His own world had been upended; nearly blown apart by a car bomb. Mess up one little job and find yourself on the Smoking Bastard's hit list. It hadn't been the first time he'd made mistakes while on assignment, but those were the type of admissions you didn't make. Lie, manipulate, cover your tracks and yet the truth always came out - eventually. This hadn't been the sort of mistake one in his position would normally walk away from...

And now he had no one to answer to, although he knew that he was living on borrowed time. Constantly looking over his shoulder. It was doubtful that he'd survive another attempt on his life. Spender wouldn't allow it. But Krycek would not go quietly. The secrets he could spill. The lives he could tear apart... if he so desired. Maybe that was part of the reason why he'd fled to LA.

Motives unclear to even himself, Krycek waited on two more new arrivals - one of which had been his target not long ago and the reason why he'd had to run. Did Agent Scully know that he'd been partly responsible for her sister's death? (The wrong sister gunned down.) He didn't plan on getting close enough to find out the answer to that question, not yet anyway. The woman's partner, Fox Mulder, would be in tow and Krycek didn't want to push his luck. He doubted that particular gamble would be worth the risk.

His rental car sat parked, not far from the airport. A nondescript vehicle in a lot full of many others. He had no details on whatever case the agents were currently assigned; more out of the loop than usual. Krycek would find a way to profit at their expense, or at least stick it to the Smoking Man. A sigh escaped his lips, before gaze left the road as he reached for the cup of lukewarm coffee purchased while staking out the location.
[Continues here: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/_intotheabyss_/943.html]

Test subject Shawn Farrell's drop off; plans go awry

Status: In progress and continues here:
http://asylums.insanejournal.com/stop_the_world/1200.html

WHO: Alex Krycek and Shawn Farrell
WHERE: Campus library
WHEN: Early afternoon, a day or two after Krycek's run-in with Jaime
WHAT: Establishing contact
STATUS: Complete

Fingers drummed against the used car's steering wheel as he stared out at the campus of Emmanuel College. There weren't security guards milling about and he was confident that it'd be fairly easy to blend in without arousing suspicion. Eyes went down to the manila folder in his hands; scanning the contents for the second time that day. 4400 people abducted, possibly by extraterrestrial entities, and returned somehow altered. Most would find this unbelievable, but not Alex Krycek. Working for the Syndicate, he'd been exposed to alien life forms and technology. However, he knew for a fact that often times the government was behind these so-called abductions.

The personal file focused on currently was of one Shawn Farrell, who just happened to be attending college in Franklin Springs. Eying the photo provided, he shrugged his shoulders before a grin slid into place. "Not bad...." The plan didn't dictate spending all that much time with the subject, but he had a way of enjoying even the most routine of missions. Being someone else and the games you could play with another's mind. There was also the matter of how much information had been left out by his associates, although he couldn't really blame them for not trusting him. Orders were to deliver Shawn to the drop point for testing, to put it nicely - experimentation would be a more accurate description. There were not a set number of encounters the two would have before the delivery would go down. Rather, it depended on how quickly he could get Shawn to trust him enough, so that a random car ride wouldn't seem creepy or inappropriate.

The file was locked away in his briefcase, which he tucked under the seat before exiting the car and striding across campus. He'd been informed of the likeliest place to find Mr. Farrell, at this time of day, and proceeded to the library while smiling cheerily to anyone he passed on the way. Once inside the building and finding said room, he entered and glanced around. Eyes passed over each student in a non nonchalant manner, as if perhaps he were looking for a friend or acquaintance. It didn't take long for him to spot the face that matched the photo he'd studied just a few minutes earlier. Putting on a persona to fit this situation, Krycek made his way over to the man who seemed to be quite intrigued with the contents of the text book in front of him. Appearance wasn't as buttoned up as it'd been back in his FBI days, but just enough to make it seem like he belonged here. Sidling up to the table, he cleared his throat to announce his presence before speaking. "Shawn Farrell?"
[Continues here: http://asylums.insanejournal.com/tsoncampus/3903.html]

It was one of his many recurrent nightmares: Russian rebels were hacking his arm off in the middle of a forest and without any sort of anesthetic. The internal screams were soon external and he'd wake up in a cold sweat. His first action was always the same; his hand went to the arm he was missing. This time, however, his hand touched actual flesh instead of whatever surface he'd fallen asleep on or the prosthetic he was prone to wearing even to bed. Krycek's brow was furrowed at this revelation as he lifted himself off the bed. Was it possible that the entire incident in Russia had merely been a nightmare? Instinctively he'd reached under the mattress for his gun, but found nothing there.

Confusion continued after he reached out and flicked on a lamp he spotted on the bedside table. The blue glow of the alarm clock alerted him to the time: 1:30am. Eyes surveyed the unrecognizable room before he glanced down at the other side of the bed, wondering if he'd gotten drunk and wound up going home with another bar patron. On the floor, he spotted his usual white tee-shirt, pair of jeans (although they seemed to have actually been washed recently) and shoes, all of which he slipped on before venturing with caution into the next room. As he checked each room, he called out: "Hello? Anyone here?" The apartment had three bedrooms and was decorated in an upscale manner alluding to a financially comfortable owner. No one answered back and he found every room empty and aside from the nice furniture, the apartment seemed barely lived in; no personal photos or knick knacks. When he felt sure that the location was secure, he headed for the foyer and stopped at a closet. Rifling through it, he found his leather jacket and in one of the pockets were a set of keys, his wallet and in the other pocket (most importantly) his gun. An eyebrow was raised at the keys and he stalked to the door to see if they fit the lock. Surprisingly they did, which made him wonder what the hell was going on.

Did he rent or own this place? Where exactly was he? Krycek tried to recall the last place he'd been, but his head felt sort of fuzzy. Maybe he'd been pistol-whipped again or this was a set up. Further investigation was necessary, so he put on his jacket and headed out - locking the door behind him. There was a chill in the air as he walked the streets, eyes darting around for signs of anyone tailing him. One hand gripped the gun in his pocket as he made his way into an area full of shops. Suddenly a wave of dizziness hit and he was forced to take a seat on a nearby bench. He rested his head in his hands, unable to keep as keen an eye on his surroundings as he would have liked.

[This progressed into an amusing/fun/interesting thread with the character Betty, from "Dead Like Me" - but when GJ died, the post was lost. Have a back up somewhere and may transcribe at some point. To Betty's mun: had a blast writing with you and miss ya!]