****

The man forced her into the alley and gagged her. The pain was always there and no-one could hear her screams. Maybe no-one wanted to.

****

Scully sat up. Was she in Washington DC? Was she near her apartment? There was no way she could tell for sure. At least she now felt that she knew who she was – or did she?

****

Swearing. Being told to either shut up or die. Hopelessness.

****

She suddenly stiffened and threw up next to her in the alley. Had it really happened? She was definitely not herself. This was not her – she was strong and this was not strong. This was weak, helpless and violated. Help.

****

Help! She needed help! People came over. Tough people. They would help. No... yes. They came to help, but not her; they came to help themselves. Help themselves to a helpless being.

****

With care, Scully tried to balance herself in order to move about. Standing up was not going to be a smart idea. She could tell that even in her current disoriented state. She needed to get help. It was dark, but what time was it? She no longer had her watch.

****

They took everything. All came and took what was wanted, not what was needed. They stripped her of everything but the outer clothes, which were too torn to be of any use.

****

Scully looked down at herself. Her clothes were torn but, thank God, intact enough to cover her. She could not stand the world being able to see her violated body. The body that she herself wanted to disown. It was dirty.

****

It smelt. She was numb and could not move with the atrocities being performed upon her. She could not hear or see but she could smell. And it was the smell of ugliness, urine and other human excretions. There was no cleanliness and she knew she would not leave until she too was like this alley. Filthy.

****

In her confused mind no thought was comprehensively coming to her mind. All scraps. Nothing that could be acted on. No possibility of action, not enough coherence to act.

****

There was action all around. She could feel the air currents created by movement and could sense those passing: coming closer, taking, and moving farther away. Or was it always the same person, committing the same act over and over?

****

Through the fog of incoherence that was her mind, a word came through to Scully. A word that provided an action. A word that could help. She forced herself to say it: "Mulder."

END OF PART I