"Special Agent Dana Scully."

I rubbed my face feeling nervous and scared. A feeling that haunts humans when they were alone in the dark or in some-where creepy. My fear that I have at the moment? Fear of telling someone that their friend is not there. Only a machine is. I have to own up to my fear. I can't let it hinder me in any kind of form. I was in Texas at a payphone in a darkened city on August third of 1992.

"Hold on, please." Came the reply.

The line was changed on me.

"Special Agent Scully here."

I close my eyes then open them leaning against the side.

"This is Qreg," I said. "Qreg of Arizona."

"Oh, that Qreg," Scully said. "We were just talking about you."

"We?" I repeated.

"Funny story," Scully said. "The day before Richardson was reassigned off the X-Files and then Mulder pops up. Mulder told me about the vacation you had with him in Paris along with a look-alike of Patrick Stewart."

"Is he with you?" I asked.

"No, he is not." Scully said.

"Scully, Mulder is dead and you are with a machine," I said. "Call me delusional if you will . . . But it is my fault. It is my fault. I should have stopped Hunter. But he . . . overpowered me." I put my hand on the glass. "Your friend died in 2110. He may look human. He may act like Mulder. He may call you 'Scully'. He may have the drive of Agent Mulder. BUT HE IS NOT Agent Fox Mulder!"

"I don't know what is wrong with you, but he is Mulder," Scully said. "And if he were dead; I need a body."

Scully put the phone down.

I dropped the phone letting it clash against the window. I had been wide awake in the ensuing fight that occurred to defend Mulder's life. I wanted to change his fate. Turns out even a machine cannot move the wheels of fate in the other direction. I went out the door with my head lowered. This is the week where John-Luc Picard and his friend Data leave Earth.

This is the week I die.