The characters, plotlines, quotes, etc. included here are owned by Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, all rights reserved. The following transcript is in no way a substitute for the show "The X Files" and is merely meant as a homage. This transcript is not authorized or endorsed by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, or Fox Entertainment. It was painstakingly typed out by Vic Vega and made available for your personal enjoyment by me, DrWeesh from my website, The X Files Transcripts Archive "For nothing can seem foul to those that win."
Henry IV, Pt. 1 Act 5, Sc. 1


(An abandoned building. The rats scurry along the floor as the door creaks open. One rat remains still until a cigarette falls next to him, in front of a large man's feet. The man, the Cigarette-Smoking Man, steps on the cigarette and stares at the broken windows across the dark room. He sets down a suitcase on a table, then pulls out his cigarettes and a lighter. The gold lighter has "Trust No One" engraved in it. He flicks up the top and lights the cigarette, then pops open the suitcase to reveal a switchboard. He flicks one of the switches, then raises a small antenna. A few small red lights flick on and a hum sounds. He plugs a pair of headphones in, sits, and adjusts the headphones on his ears. Scully can be heard in the headphones.)

LANGLY: ...elaborate and dark conspiracy.

SCULLY: Look at you, you're shaking.

MULDER: One at a time, boys. Now what's going on?

LANGLY: Frohike's close...

FROHIKE: Don't use my name! What the hell's wrong with you? Now I'll have to kill you!

BYERS: Langly and I performed three sweeps...

FROHIKE: He's everywhere. He's everywhere.

BYERS: ...with the CPM-seven-hundred and did not detect a single bug.

FROHIKE: The CPM-seven-hundred is a piece of crap!

BYERS: The acoustic correlator is reading only passive sounds.

MULDER: I've been here twenty minutes and I still don't know what the hell is wrong! No one would kill you, Frohike, you're just a little puppy-dog.

FROHIKE: I don't utter another syllable until the CSM-twenty-five countermeasure filter is activated.

(There is static and a warbling sound. The Cigarette-Smoking Man flips another switch marked "Countermeasure Filter" and the sound quickly returns.)

BYERS: No electronic surveillance known can cut through the CSM-twenty-five.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man smiles and starts to take out a tripod from a suitcase.)

SCULLY: Okay, okay. Now tell us what you're so close to.

FROHIKE: Not a "what." A "who." If you find the right starting point and follow it, not even secrets of the darkest of men are safe.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man locks the main part of a sniper rifle onto the tripod.)

MULDER: Cancer Man? What did you find?

FROHIKE: Possibly everything. Maybe his background.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man hooks the nozzle onto the gun and aims it at a door with a sign that reads:

Publishers of
"The Magic Bullet"

The scope is bright green, the crosshairs centered.)

Who he is, and who he wants to be.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man leans back uneasily, content to wait.)

August twentieth, 1940, Mexico City. A Stalinist agent assassinated Leon Trotsky with an icepick. At that same moment, a thousand miles north, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he appears. The father was an ardent Communist activist. During the Nazi-Soviet pact, he kept the N.K.V.D. informed about American plans to enter World War II. He was executed under the Espionage Act of 1917... before his boy could walk.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man takes another drag off his cigarette and looks down, his face in shadows.)

The mother, a cigarette smoker, died of lung cancer... before her son uttered his first word. With no surviving family, he became a ward of the state, sent to various orphanages in the Midwest. Didn't make friends, spent all his time reading... alone... and then... he appears to have vanished... until a year and a half after the Bay of Pigs.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man shows no emotion.)

"Things really did go well in Dealey Plaza."



(A number of troops run down a road, led by a drill sergeant. Jeeps drive by as well.)

TROOP LEADER: Premier Krhuschev, we want you!

TROOPS: Premier Khruschev, we want you!

TROOP LEADER: We're going to kick your rang-a-dang-doo.

TROOPS: We're going to kick your rang-a-dang-doo!

TROOP LEADER: Fidel Castro, we want you!

TROOPS: Fidel Castro, we want you!

TROOP LEADER: We're going to kick your rang-a-dang-doo.

TROOPS: We're going to kick your rang-a-dang-doo!

(One of the men, the louder men, is recognizable. He would later be the Cigarette-Smoking Man. Near a building, four men watch him with interest. Three of them are wearing suits, the other is wearing a colonel's uniform.)

TROOP LEADER: Mother Russia...

(In the barracks, the Cigarette-Smoking Man sits, reading "The Manchurian Candidate." His friend, William Mulder walks over, sorting through pictures, and sits in the bunk across from him.)

WILLIAM MULDER: Why don't you just go see the movie?

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I'd rather read the worst novel ever written than sit through the best movie ever made.

(A private walks over to the bunks.)

PRIVATE: Captain, sir. General Francis requests you report to his office ASAP, sir.

(He walks away. The Cigarette-Smoking Man stands, putting down his book.)

WILLIAM MULDER: My one-year old just said his first word.

(He hands the Cigarette-Smoking Man a picture of his wife holding a small boy.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: What was the word?


(They both smile. The Cigarette-Smoking Man hands it back and starts off.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I'll catch you later, Mulder.

(In General Francis' office, he and three other men wait for the Cigarette-Smoking Man. They were the men watching before. The Cuban Man sits off to the side, smoking. The Mob Man looks over at the Agent Man, who stares at the door nervously. A buzzer sounds.)

MAN: He's here, sir.

(General Francis presses a button on his intercom.)

FRANCIS: Send him in.

(Another buzzer sounds, and the Cigarette-Smoking Man walks in.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: You wish to see me, sir?

(The Agent Man, holding a folder, stands.)

AGENT MAN: Have a seat, Captain.

(The Captain does so, facing the Agent Man. He looks a bit confused.)

Captain, have you ever seen these two men...

(He points to the Mob Man and the Cuban Man.)

...met the general, or myself?


(The Agent Man starts to walk slowly, reading from the folder.)

AGENT MAN: In January, 1961, did you aid Congo President Kasavuba in the arrest and assassination of Patrice Lamumbra?


AGENT MAN: Were you involved in the training of Cuban nationals during "Operation Zapata," also known as "The Bay of Pigs?"

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I'm sorry, sir, I'm unaware of any such operation.

AGENT MAN: On May thirty-first, 1961, did you aid Dominican locals in the assassination of Rafael Trujillo?


(The Agent Man sighs.)

AGENT MAN: Your father was a convicted spy for the Soviet Union, executed in a Louisiana electric chair, was he not?

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man's eyes aim down to the floor, thinking.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: My only regret, sir, is I was too young to throw the switch myself.

FRANCIS: At ease, Captain.

(He stands and walks around his desk.)

Your father's actions were totally out of your control. Each of us in this room stands a life eviscerated by the actions of another. Cigarette?

(He holds out a pack of Morley's.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: No, thank you, sir. I never touch them.

(Francis starts across the room.)

FRANCIS: You see, Captain, most people seek to control life's events in order to secure a more positive, productive and free existence. Often, however, the objectives of others conflict with our objectives.

CUBAN MAN: Viva la libertada.

FRANCIS: Now, most people, common people, really... can barely manage to control their own self-centered, myopic existence.

(He lights a cigarette, moving back across the room.)

They command armies of lawyers, armed with paper weapons, attacking with spiteful, vengeful... cowardly litigation. Others... operate within elephantine bureaucracies. And then, Captain...

(He takes another drag and stands in front of the lesser officer.)

There are extraordinary men... those who must identify... comprehend, and ultimately shoulder the responsibility for not only their own existence, but their country's, and the world's as well. Your father, Captain... believed his country should look to another form of government, and he took control of that belief. So, in that respect, we view him as an extraordinary man. And we believe... we know, Captain... that it runs in the family.

(He starts to walk around the confused soldier.)

Now, don't misunderstand. Your father should have been executed. Communism is, without a doubt, the most heinous personification of evil mankind has ever confronted...

(He sits at his desk.)

... and it is, in part, the reason that you are before us here today.

(The Agent Man steps out of the shadows and in front of the Cigarette-Smoking Man.)

AGENT MAN: You must understand, Captain, everything I'm about to say is classified "compartmentalized"... so intensely that if you accept this assignment and successfully execute it, you will no longer be an officer of the United States army, nor will any record of your service.

(He sighs.)

The assignment... is the assassination of an American civilian, age forty-six... former Naval PT-Boat Commander... married, father of two.

(The men stare at the Cigarette-Smoking Man for a reaction, who gives none. The Agent Man sits. The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks at General Francis.)

FRANCIS: Last week, Captain, this country was brought to the brink of nuclear annihilation, a situation which never would have arisen had the individual in question, as Commander-in-Chief, provided an umbrella of air support during the invasion of Bacha de Cochinos.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Is there a cover story?

MOB MAN: Tell them it was done by men from outer space.

(The statement makes the Agent Man grow even more nervous.)

AGENT MAN: We've found and are setting up a patsy.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks at General Francis through the cigarette smoke, then looks back at the Agent Man.)



(Lee Harvey Oswald walks down an empty street, smoking a cigarette. He coughs and walks into a garage. A disembodied voice comes from behind him.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: You shouldn't smoke those, Lee.

(He turns around to see the Cigarette-Smoking Man in a blue suit.)

I'm reading studies that say they can kill you.


(He takes another drag and coughs some more. The Cigarette-Smoking Man starts around him.)

Mister Hunt, sir. I, uh, I've heard about those reports and they are no doubt correct.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: You'll have a good view of the President today.

(Oswald nods as the Cigarette-Smoking Man comes full circle.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: Well, I, I like the President's family. They're interesting people. However, I have my own views on the President's national policy. I'll probably just eat lunch.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I'm going to the movies at the Texas Theater. It's only ninety cents. I love the movies.

(Oswald, having put out his cigarette, takes out the pack.)

I brought the curtain rods, Lee.

(Oswald pauses and puts the pack down on the bench, then picks up a long bundled package.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: I bought some curtain rods just like this from a mail order back in March.


LEE HARVEY OSWALD: Well, Mister Hunt... Fidel's defenders have to be careful.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Yes, we do. Speaking of which, Lee, I've informed our fellow defender that you will hide the curtain rods on the sixth floor of the book depository behind the curtains, against the back will.


CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Once I've been notified the curtain rods have been safely removed from the depository, the Visa and the money for your trip will be in your room. Take a bus.

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: I left all my money with my life.

(Oswald looks down, ashamed. The Cigarette-Smoking Man reaches into his pocket and pulls out some bills, then hands them to Oswald.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: That's all I've got. Thirteen and change. You better get going. Lee. You wouldn't want to miss your ride to work.

(Oswald nods, puts the pack of cigarettes in the Cigarette-Smoking Man's hand, and walks out. The Cigarette-Smoking Man stares at them.)


(A freight elevator leads Oswald up to a room filled with boxes. He looks around, then walks across the room and places the curtain rods behind a stack of boxes in the far corner of the room, a secluded spot surrounded with boxes. His supervisor notices some rumbling and walks in that direction. Lee suddenly pops out from around the corner of a row of boxes, startling the supervisor.)

SUPERVISOR: Good morning, Lee. Starting work right on time.


(He walks to a pile of boxes. The supervisor looks down, shakes his head a little, and walks over. Oswald watches him warily, wondering if he saw something.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man, dressed as a worker, steps out of the back of a blue van, then goes to the front and takes out a small white bag. The back of his shirt has a patch that reads "City of Dallas Public Works." His clothes are all dark blue. He walks into the small outlet.)


(A man walks up to his coworkers.)

MAN #1: The President should be driving past any minute! I think I hear everyone down on the fifth floor.

(All the men start walking toward the entrance.)

Where's Lee? Does he want to come?

MAN #2: Will, hurry up!


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man, flashlight in hand, trudges on. He gets to a small standing space in the pipes and looks out through a small opening. He sees a number of people waiting on the lawn. He reaches into the small bag and starts to build a sniper rifle.)

MAN #3: Mister President!

(The crowd cheers as the President drives by, waving. Jackie Onassis Kennedy is sitting next to him, wearing bright pink. The Cigarette-Smoking Man presses an earphone closer to his ear.)

MAN #4: The President's car is now turning onto Elm Street...

(He puts the earphones down.)


(Lee Harvey Oswald walks up to the soda machine. The choices are Lemon Lime, Cola, Orange, Rootbeer, Grape, and one more. He sighs.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man leans the tip of the gun out of the small window in the pipes.)

MAN #4: I was on the Stemmon's Freeway earlier, and even the Freeway was jam-packed with spectators waiting to see the President.

(The crowd starts to cheer, meaning the President is approaching. The Cigarette-Smoking Man slips his finger onto the trigger. A man on the lawn takes out an umbrella and opens it.)

People are really starting to crowd in now.


(Harvey puts a quarter in and chooses Rootbeer. A buzzer sounds and no bottle comes out.)


MAN #4: The motorcade is heading down Elm Street now, passing the Texas School Book Depository...

(A white car drives by. The Cigarette-Smoking Man's finger tenses. A black car starts to drive by, small flags mounted at the front. The President's car. The man with the umbrella, holding it over his head, raises it twice.)

It looks like all of Dallas has turned out...


(Lee stares at the soda machine. The crowd cheers in the back. He chooses Cola.)


(The trigger is pulled. A gunshot sounds.)


(The bottle drops into the opening.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man pulls the trigger again. Kennedy is slumped over in his seat. Jackie O. Starts to scramble over the trunk.)

MAN #5: Get over here! Get over here!


(Lee sips his soda.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man watches as the car drives by, Secret Security officers running behind it.)

MAN #4: I can't quite see from here. It, it appears something has happened on the motorcade route.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man starts to scramble down the pipes.)

Does anyone know what has happened? Is there any information?

(Men and women start to scream. Police sirens grow. The Cigarette-Smoking Man sits down under an opening in the ceiling, watching the mayhem.)


(A police officer runs up the stairs, followed by the supervisor. They look at Oswald.)

OFFICER: Do you know this man?

SUPERVISOR: Yes, he works for me.

(They scramble up the stairs. Oswald is confused. He looks down.)


MAN #4: The President of the United States is dead. It is official now. President Kennedy is dead.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man smiles slightly.)


(Oswald runs into the room and scours his desk, then looks through the small desk.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: No. No. No, sir. I won't be a patsy.

(He runs to his desk, pulls out the gun, and packs it into his jeans.)


(Oswald walks down the street, passing a woman in a yellow dress. A police APB wire can be heard approaching.)

MAN ON APB WIRE: ... weigh about a hundred-and-sixty-five pounds. He should be considered dangerous. Use caution approaching.

(The police car pulls up along side Oswald, who stops slowly.)

TIPPITT: Good afternoon.

(Oswald walks up to the car and looks inside.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: I wish to see some form of identification, sir.

TIPPITT: Now easy there, partner.

(He puts the car in park.)

I just want to talk a minute.

(He gets out and starts walking around.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: If I don't see valid credentials, I'm going to assume you're with them.

TIPPITT: Them? What do you mean, partner?

(He walks closer. Oswald pulls out his gun. Officer Tippitt does too, but he is shot in the chest, grunting as he falls. Oswald shoots him again on the ground three more times, then starts running.)


(An old black-and-white movie is playing. Three army buddies are sitting around, talking in a bunker.)

MAN IN MOVIE #1: How about a cigarette?

MAN IN MOVIE #2: Thank you.

(Oswald walks into the theater.)

MAN IN MOVIE #3: You know, Kiefer knocked out a bunker. All by himself, too.

MAN IN MOVIE #1: He'll have more guts than I've got.

(Oswald looks around nervously.)

All I did was pick up the spoil.

MAN IN MOVIE #3: But he's really got it. After Connors and Thurston ran, he knocked out the bunker with one grenade.

(A man walks in through the emergency exit at the front of the theater, near the screen. Oswald watches him carefully.)

That's really something, huh?

MAN IN MOVIE #1: Yeah.

(The lights come up and the movie turns off. Policemen are all over the theater. A woman groans. Oswald's eyes widen.)

POLICE OFFICER #1: Take this side.

POLICE OFFICER #2: All right. Get along.

MAN: Officer, what's going on?

(Oswald sits down, trying to look inconspicuous.)

POLICE OFFICER #2: Go ahead and settle down.

(He walks past Oswald, who looks down. Officer stops, then looks back at Oswald. He walks over to him.)

On your feet. Come on.

(Oswald raises his hands and stands.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: It's going to be all over.

(He punches the police officer hard. Other officers race towards Oswald as the officer punches him back. Oswald keels over but does not fall, taking out his gun.)

POLICE OFFICER #2: He's got a gun!

(The officers jump him, surrounding him. He is in the center of them as they swarm him like a mob. His gun is taken and he is placed in handcuffs, screaming. They start leading him out, beating him all the while.)

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: I'm not resisting arrest! I'm not resisting arrest! Stop hitting me, you sons of bitches! I'm not the one! I'm not the one!

(The officers start to file out. The voices grow dimmer with distance.)

This is police brutality! This is police brutality! I'm not resisting arrest! Let me go, I can walk!

POLICE OFFICER #1: Get him in the car!

LEE HARVEY OSWALD: Let me go! I can walk!

(The shouting continues illegibly, sirens growing. The Cigarette-Smoking Man, sitting in one of the back rows, takes out a cigarette from the pack Oswald gave him and lights it. He takes a long, savoring drag.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man takes a long, savoring drag. He puts out the cigarette and takes off his coat.)

"Just down the road aways from Graceland."


(An old radio plays a very exciting speech from a history-making man. Another history-making man in a different way sits at his old typewriter, smoking a cigarette and thinking. The Cigarette-Smoking Man types quickly.)

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: We must take positive action to seek to remove those conditions of poverty, insecurity and injustice, which are the fertile soil in which the seed of communism grows and develops. These are revolutionary times. All over the globe, men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and oppression, and out of the wombs of a frail world, new systems of justice and equality are being born.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man puts down his cigarette in his ashtray and reflects on a line in his writings.)

The shirtless and barefoot people of the land are rising up as never before.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: "I can kill you whenever I please..."

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.


(He continues to type.

"but withdrew it.
please... but not today."

He talks as he types the words.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: "I can kill you whenever I please...

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: We in the West must support these revolutions.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: "...but not today."

(He smiles.)

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: It is a sad fact that because of comfort, complacency...

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man finishes typing the page and takes it out.)

...a morbid fear of communism and our proneness to adjust to injustice...

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man stands, reading, smiling.)

...the Western nations that initiated so much of the revolutionary spirit of the modern world have now become the arch antirevolutionaries.



Written By
Raul Bloodworth
(Nom de Plume)")

This had driven many to feel that only Marxism has the revolutionary spirit.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks up at these words, in shock but also saddened in realization.)

Therefore, communism is a judgment against our failure to make democracy real and follow through with the revolutions that we initiate.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man closes his eyes.)

Our only hope today lies in our ability...

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: No, no, no... why'd you have to do that?

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: recapture the revolution...


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man picks up his cigarette out of the ashtray.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Why didn't you know this was coming... Edgar?

(The director coughs a few times, sitting at the end of a table of the Cigarette-Smoking Man's associates.)

AID: Last year, the house was not smiling on non-eye-to-eye surveillance.

DIRECTOR: So I stopped.

AID: We called Ramsey Clark to receive a go-ahead on tapping King's phone, but he refused.

MAJOR GENERAL: Our behind-the-fence operations on Willie believes that King's ally Stokley Carmichael is recruiting a Negro army to wage war on white America.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Wouldn't you if you were them? If this were only a civil rights issue, I'd vote for a King/Benjamin Spock presidential ticket. But after last night, it's not.

DIRECTOR: You actually sound sad about it.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I respect King. He's an extraordinary man. But now he's talking like a Maoist...

(The Major General looks at the director.)

And if he convinces Negroes not to fight in Vietnam, we'll lose... and the first domino will have fallen.

(The director leans to his aid.)

DIRECTOR: We must step up our efforts to discredit him.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Like your ridiculous suicide project? "There is but one way out for you." That dumb letter attempting to drive King into despair only alerted him to the level of our surveillance.

(The director leans towards the Cigarette-Smoking Man angrily, but the aid puts his hand on the director's arm.)

AID: We could create a film of him with a woman other than his wife. Using existing footage, we could insert him in a film we make of a woman... a white woman.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: The solution is more intense... than just dirty tricks.

(They all look at each other.)

AID: If you'll excuse us, gentlemen, the director has a meeting at the White House.

(The aid starts to stand.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Sit down. You've enough plausible deniability to last the rest of your nine lives.

(The aid sits.)

MAJOR GENERAL: A SIG force can execute a wet-insert operation. One day, he and his immediate circle are just found dead.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Too many questions. Americans believe the South is still fighting the Civil War. We find ourselves a cracker patsy and the motives become very black and white.

DIRECTOR: Another patsy.

AID: Should we... advise the President?

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I work very hard to keep any President from knowing I even exist.

AID: Who will you order to do it?

(There is an uneasy silence. The Cigarette-Smoking Man leans back in his chair, staring at the cigarette smoke coming from the ashtray.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I'll do it myself. I have too much respect for the man.


(A busy street. People walk on the sidewalks, cars drive by. King talks over the scene.)

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land. Confusion all around. That's a strange statement. But I know somehow that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man walks slowly down the sidewalk, his trenchcoat blending in with the night.)

And I see God working in this period of the twentieth century...

(An elderly black woman smiles warmly to him and walks into a building. The sign on the side advertises King being there. The Cigarette-Smoking Man takes out a cigarette, looking downtrodden.)

In a way... that men in some strange way are responding. Something is happening in our world. The masses of people are rising up...

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man lights his cigarette.)

And wherever they are assembled today, whether they are in Johannesburg South Africa, Nairobi, Kenya, Accra, Ghana, New York City, Atlanta Georgia...

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man pulls out the same picture of William Mulder's wife and one-year old boy.)

Jackson Mississippi or Memphis Tennessee, the cry is always the same, "We want to be free."

(A crowd cheers loudly. The Cigarette-Smoking Man stares sadly at the picture.)

ROOMING HOUSE; 418 S. MAIN; APRIL 4, 1968; 5:15 PM

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man stares out the window when the door opens behind him. The Cigarette-Smoking Man sits in a chair. James Earl Ray walks in.)


(He closes the door.)

Got the binoculars you sent me out for.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Just put them down by your clothes.

(He points to them. Ray does so.)

JAMES EARL RAY: I heard, uh, Doctor King is staying at the Lorraine Motel right behind here.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man stands.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Our gun buyer's coming by to look at the rifle.

JAMES EARL RAY: Well... I gave it to you this morning.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I have it. Look, uh, three's a crowd.

(He smiles and pulls out a roll of bills.)

Here's a couple of hundred. Go to the movies or something. Come back in two or three hours. Leave the Mustang, I'll need it.

(Ray takes the bills and walks out, shaking his head slightly. The Cigarette-Smoking Man stares at the door, then reaches under the bed and pulls out the rifle on a carpet. King talks over the scene, slightly garbled.)

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: Well, I don't know what will happen now.


(King continues to talk over the scene.)

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop...

(The crowd listening to him cheers loudly.)

I don't mind.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man walks through some bushes, then stands in a very small opening, holding his sniper rifle.)

Like anybody, I would like to live... a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And he's allowed me to go up to the mountain... and I've looked over. And I've seen... the promised land.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man walks a little more and stops, then puts on some black gloves, concealed by the underbrush.)

I may not get there with you...

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man locks the bullets into the chamber.)

But I want you to know tonight... that we as a people will get to the promised land!

(The crowd listening cheers again. The Cigarette-Smoking Man takes aim at room three-oh-six, marked on the door. A young black man walks to the door, directly in the crosshairs. He talks to a young black woman.)

So I'm happy tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I don't fear any man.

(The door opens behind the young man and he moves to the side. Two black men walk out. The first is Doctor Martin Luther King Jr.)

My eyes have seen the coming of the glory of the Lord!

(A gunshot sounds, the barrel shaking as the bullet flies out. A still picture of a number of African-American men saluting a la the Black Panthers. The gunshot echoes. A still picture of the funeral, the coffin being pulled down the street in the funeral procession.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man listens to the television, a sadness tracing his face, reading.)

MAN: Memphis police found a rifle wrapped in a blanket, as well as some personal belongings believed to be that of the assassin, in the doorway of the Canipe Amusement Company.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man reads a letter from Montgomery & Glick Publishing.

"Mr. Raul Bloodworth
555 Brookabank Ave., Apt. 24
Washington, D.C.

Dear Mr. Bloodworth,

I have recently had the unhappy and
reading your manuscript: Take A Chan

My advice? Burn it! It stunk like
floor. That, Mr. Bloodworth, is ca
do well not to litter your next man
of them.

In addition, I felt the plot of TAKE A CHANCE to be preposterous,
the characters unbelievable, the ending lame and the writing,
frankly, crap. Needless to say, Montgomery & Glick Publishing
declines your manuscript.

Please, DO NOT send this piece of trash to another publishing

Very Sincerely,

Albert Godwinkle")

Word of Doctor King's death at seven-oh-five P.M. has touched off states declarations of states of emergency in several states, including Washington, D.C., Chicago and Detroit.

(He tosses the letter away.)

Tonight in Indianapolis, New York State Senator Robert F. Kennedy made an appeal for calm.

ROBERT KENNEDY: I can also say that I feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man opens the drawer and looks at the picture of the Mulder family again.)

I had a member of my family killed...

(He stuffs the picture into an envelope in the drawer.)

And he was killed by a white man.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks up at the television, closing the drawer.)

My favorite poet was Aeschylus, and he once wrote... "Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget..."

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man starts to recite along with Kennedy, from memory.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN AND ROBERT KENNEDY: "Falls drop by drop upon the heart, until in our own despair and against our will comes wisdom through the awful grace..."

ROBERT KENNEDY: "...of God."


(He stares at Kennedy.)


(Frohike can be heard talking illegibly, overshadowed by a siren. The Cigarette-Smoking Man struggles to light his cigarette, the lighter failing.)

"The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!"


(A much older, grayer Cigarette-Smoking Man dumps an empty nicotine patch wrapper into the ashtray, standing in front of a table of fellow board executives.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: All right, gentlemen. Let's make this short and sweet so we can all go home for Christmas.

(He takes a folder out of his briefcase, closes it and sits.)

Domestic unrest operations?

LYDON: Yeah, the Anita Hill thing has lost steam since October.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Well, let it go. We played it right. Unfounded allegations will be flying around in no time. L.A.?

MATLOCK: The Rodney King trial has been moved to Simi Valley, just as you instructed.

(A machine beeps. The read-out reads:

"TUE DEC 24, 1991 3-15 PM"




JONES: Internationally, Bosnia-Herzegovina is set for a February vote on independence from Yugoslavia.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: America couldn't care less.

(He starts to write something down.)

LYDON: I'm working on next month's Oscar nominations. Any preference?

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I couldn't care less. What I don't want to see is the Bills winning the Super Bowl. As long as I'm alive, that doesn't happen.

JONES: That'll be tough, sir. Buffalo wants it bad.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: So did the Soviets in '80.

JONES: What're you saying? You rigged the Olympic hockey game?

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: What's the matter? Don't you believe in miracles?

LYDON: The boss gave the Russian goaltender a pre-game good luck pat on the back... unseen novocaine needle on a bogus wedding ring. Goalie's a little slow on the stick side... four-three, home team.

(Jones looks at the Cigarette-Smoking Man with respect and a bit of awe.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Payback's a bitch, Ivan.

(He stands.)

Well, gentlemen, if that'll be all...

MATLOCK: One thing internally, sir. That "Spooky" kid who talked his way into opening X-Files... it feels like trouble.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: He's mine to keep an eye on.

(The machine beeps again twice. The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks at it.


He looks back at his coworkers with a hint of shock.)

Gorbachev has just resigned.

MATLOCK: There's no more enemies.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man tugs on the nicotine patch on his neck slightly, then packs up his briefcase.)


(He places boxes down in front of Matlock and Lydon.)

Merry Christmas.

(He places two more down in front of Jones and his coworker. He closes his briefcase and starts for the door. Jones stands.)

JONES: If you don't have any plans, sir... we're all getting together with our families out in Virginia. You're more than welcome to...

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man smiles widely, but quickly regains his normal cold composure.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Oh... well... um... I have to, uh, see some, uh... family.

(Jones nods. The Cigarette-Smoking Man walks out. The four men open their boxes to reveal identical bland neckties. Downstairs, the Cigarette-Smoking Man walks down a dark hallway, then hesitates in front of a door, thinking. He looks down, then walks past the door of "Fox Mulder Special Agent.")


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man sits in front of his typewriter, sighing, holding another letter. "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" plays. The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks at the phone, then puts the letter in his desk and stares at his typewriter. He quickly opens the drawer and opens the letter. He unfolds the letter and starts to read. He crumples it up and quickly shoves it in his drawer angrily and starts to type.

"Jack Colquitt at alone in his apartment at Christmas. He believed
in sacrifice."

(He types quickly, the thoughts racing in his mind.)

"Yet, some nights, he longed for a
second chance..."

He leans back in his chair. The phone rings. He quickly picks it up.)


DEEP THROAT: You'll never believe what we just got for Christmas.


(A number of troops run around, closing off a warehouse. Inside, Deep Throat watches the mayhem, looking calm. He turns back to the Cigarette-Smoking Man, who walks down the stairs. The two of them start to walk.)

DEEP THROAT: The craft matches the dimensions of the vehicle spotted over Hanoi when I was in Vietnam with the Company that the Marines couldn't shoot down.


DEEP THROAT: Critical.

(They turn down a hallway of plastic, like a quarantine area.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Timing couldn't be worse.

(They walk past an armed guard.)

The Roswell story we concocted was gathering momentum. Had them all looking in the wrong direction. With luck, we'll get away with it.

DEEP THROAT: Yeah, no luck tonight.

(He stops. The Cigarette-Smoking Man does as well, looking back at him.)

Our Aurora spy planes confirmed the Russians tracked entry and have pinpointed touchdown.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Haven't you heard? There are no Russians anymore.

(They start to walk again.)

DEEP THROAT: I don't care if they're in the midst of ruin. The K.G.B. is not going to ignore an event of this magnitude, nor are the Chinese, nor the Germans, nor the British, nor anyone with the capability of discovering what happened here tonight.

(They walk into a large open space inside the warehouse.)

I'm certain each of them has operatives advancing on us right now.

(They walk over two a double door with a guard on each side. One of the guards opens the door and they walk into a large room. In the middle of the room is a large glass casing, taking up most of the room. Inside is a extraterrestrial biological entity, a brown and wrinkled one, laying on a cot, hooked up to life support machines. The respirator hisses eerily.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: How many historic events have only the two of us witnessed together, Ronald? How often did we make or change history? And our names can never grace any pages of record. No monument will ever bear our image. And yet once again, tonight, the course of human history will be set by two unknown men... standing in the shadows.

(Deep Throat turns to the Cigarette-Smoking Man and pulls out a gun, then turns it around and holds it out to his partner, handle first. The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks at it, then stares at Deep Throat.)

A living E.B.E. could advance Bill Mulder's project by decades.

DEEP THROAT: Security resolution council ten-thirteen states, "Any country capturing such an entity is responsible for its immediate extermination."

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks down at the gun again, then slowly looks up at Deep Throat.)

I'm the liar. You're the killer.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Your lies have killed more in a day than I have in a lifetime. I've never killed anybody.

DEEP THROAT: Maybe I'm not the liar.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I have a chance to go an entire lifetime without killing anybody... or any thing.

DEEP THROAT: With all of our work in the past thirty years, all of our victories, if the world were to see this... it would destroy all we've gained in a few hours. Tonight... we have a new... enemy.

(Deep Throat looks over to the dying alien. The Cigarette-Smoking Man merely stares at Deep Throat, then digs into his pocket and pulls out a quarter. They both look down at it. The Cigarette-Smoking Man shows both sides to Deep Throat, then flips it up in the air.)


(It lands on heads. The two look at each other.)

Go ahead. Make history.

(Deep Throat looks at the alien solemnly, then walks into the outer part of the glass casing. He puts his gun in it's holster, then puts on the air tank as the Cigarette-Smoking Man slowly pulls the nicotine patch off his neck. Deep Throat puts on the gas mask and walks into the main compartment, the lifeline monitor beeping steadily. He takes out his gun. The Cigarette-Smoking Man pulls out a pack of Morley's. Deep Throat cocks the gun and aims. The Cigarette-Smoking Man slowly pulls out a cigarette and raises it to his mouth, watching his friend's every movement. He takes out his lighter and flicks it on with one motion as the gun sounds. Deep Throat has pulled the trigger. He does it again as the Cigarette-Smoking Man lights his cigarette. Deep Throat whimpers slightly as the monitor flatlines. He and the Cigarette-Smoking Man lower the gun and lighter respectively at the same time. The Cigarette-Smoking Man takes a long drag, thinking.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks out the window, a flashing red light illuminating the door to the Lone Gunmen's hide-out. He flicks the radio on again.)

FROHIKE: ...might have been desperate.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man puts on his headphones again.)

At that point, your work in the basement was getting attention on the top floor. That's why you were brought in.


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man leans against a filing cabinet, closing up a document. The first page reads:


Dana Scully - Senior Thesis

University of Maryland
May 15, 1986"

He puts a cigarette in his mouth and turns to Scully and Blevins, sitting across from one another at Blevins desk. The Senior Agent is sitting close-by. This is obviously Scully's first day, or what is to be her first day, at the X-Files.)

SCOTT BLEVINS: Agent Scully, thank you for coming on such short notice. Please...

SENIOR AGENT: Are you familiar with an agent named Fox Mulder?

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man lights his cigarette.)

SCULLY: Yes, I am.


SCULLY: By reputation. Um, he's an Oxford educated Psychologist, who wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult, that helped to catch Monty Props in 1988. Generally thought of as the best analyst in the violent crimes section. He had a nickname at the academy... Spooky Mulder.

(She smiles at the Cigarette-Smoking Man, who gives no response.)

SCOTT BLEVINS: What I'll also tell you is that Agent Mulder has developed a consuming devotion to an unassigned project outside the bureau mainstream. Are you familiar with the so-called "X-Files?"

(Later, the Cigarette-Smoking Man sits in the board room where the meetings are held between himself and his cohorts. He is smoking a cigarette. His briefcase with the listening device is open and on. There's a knocking. Mulder can be heard over the speakers.)

MULDER: Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted.

SCULLY: Agent Mulder. I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you.

MULDER: Oh, isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded? So, who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?

SCULLY: Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you. I've heard a lot about you.

MULDER: Oh, really? I was under the impression... that you were sent to spy on me.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man smiles proudly.)


(The crosshairs haven't moved, the gun still trained on the door to the informants' office in the present day.)

FROHIKE: Henry David Thoreau wrote, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man is holding the gun, aiming it, getting the feel for it.)

His life has been anything but quiet, yet I believe nothing but desperate. He's the most dangerous man alive, not so much because he believes in his actions, but because he believes his actions are all which life allows him.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man looks up, still showing no emotion.)

And yet... the only person that can never escape him... is himself.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man takes his headphones off.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man opens another letter half-heartedly, this one from Pivotal Publications. He obviously believes this to be another rejection letter. He unfolds the letter and reads.

"Mr. Raul Bloodworth
555 Brookabank Ave., Apt. 24
Washington, D.C.

Dear Mr. Bloodworth,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for
Take A Chance: A Jack Colquitt Adv

Wow! I loved it. It's perfect for
adventure angle. Such characters
death! You are definitely on the

Please call me as soon as you
reached at (212) 555-0127."

He gasps in a bit of excitement and quickly picks up the phone, then starts dialing. It rings once. He talks giddily.)

WOMAN: Pivotal Publishing.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Um, uh, Walden Roth, please.

WOMAN: One moment.

WALDEN ROTH: Walden Roth.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Oh, Mister Roth, hello. Um, this is Raul Bloodworth, uh, author of "Second Chance: A Jack Colquitt Adventure."

(He sits.)

WALDEN ROTH: Yes, of course, Mister Bloodworth. What an active imagination you have... alien assassinations!

(He laughs.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Is it too much? Uh, I mean, is my imagination too active?

WALDEN ROTH: No, no, I love it. Now, as I've expressed in the letter, I wish to serialize your novel in my publication "Roman a Clef."

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man smiles widely.)

Many outstanding authors received their first printing in our publication.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man laughs for the first time, a good laugh, as if his dreams were coming true.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: That's great. Um, I had an idea about the artwork. Uh, um, I thought it could have a sort of Tom Clancy-ish kind of look, and, and that...

WALDEN ROTH: Great, great, that's, that's why we work with young writers, but I'll be honest, however. You'll have to relinquish some control.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Of course. Of course.

(He doesn't sound happy about that.)

WALDEN ROTH: After all, it is our publication and I can assure you we'll handle it with the utmost respect.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: No, no, no. I, I, I, I, I, I'm sure you will.

(He sighs.)

I'm just excited.

WALDEN ROTH: Understandable. Uh, do you have an agent or attorney?


WALDEN ROTH: That's fine. It's a minimum agreement of twenty-five hundred dollars, and you'll save yourself ten percent.

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Well, that's fine, that's fine. Any, anything. When do you plan to publish the story.

WALDEN ROTH: "Roman a Clef." It'll be on newsstands the morning of November twelfth.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man sighs contentedly. Sometime later, he types a letter.

"November 12, 1996

Please accept this"

A ring sound. He slides the chamber back to the beginning of the line.

"of my resignation,"

Another ring. It slides back to the beginning of the next line. He pulls out the paper, places it down on the desk, and signs it. He then checks his watch and picks up his pack of cigarettes. He starts to put it in his coat pocket, but stops and stares at it. His hand slowly closes, crushing the pack.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man walks down the street, excited. The owner of the newsstand picks up a pack of new magazines as the Cigarette-Smoking Man purveys the many magazines. One of them is called End Credits, and has an article that says "Where in the Hell is Darin Morgan?" He turns to the elderly owner, a wide smile on his face.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: Sir. Do you have this week's issue of "Roman a Clef?"

(The man cuts the ropes to a few packages, then pulls out a copy and hands him it. On the cover is a beautiful, busty woman sitting on the top of a small mountain, scantily clad.)


MAN: There you are.

(The cover clearly highlights in the right corner in bold, white letters, the Cigarette-Smoking Man's article. He flips open the magazine, the smile having disappeared.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: This isn't the ending that I wrote. It's all wrong.

MAN: Look, if you're going to stand there and read it, I got to have to ask you to buy it. Of course, I don't know why anybody in their right mind would want to buy that sort of crap.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man slowly turns to him, looking a bit menacing, and hands him five dollars.)

That be it?

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man stares blankly at him, looking crushed.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: A pack of Morley's.

(Down the street a bit, he sits, smoking a cigarette slowly, obviously distraught, but hiding it. A shopping cart approaches, and an old bum reaches into the garbage can nearby and pulls out a box of chocolates. The bum shakes it, then sits down next to the Cigarette-Smoking Man and starts to eat. The Cigarette-Smoking Man doesn't mind, taking a drag off his cigarette then sighing.)

Life... is like a box of chocolates. A cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable, because all you get back is another box of chocolates. You're stuck with this undefinable whipped-mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there's nothing else left to eat. Sure, once in a while, there's a peanut butter cup, or an English toffee. But they're gone too fast, the taste is fleeting. So you end up with nothing but broken bits, filled with hardened jelly and teeth-crunching nuts, and if you're desperate enough to eat those, all you've got left is a... is an empty box... filled with useless, brown paper wrappers.

(The bum continues to eat, oblivious. The Cigarette-Smoking Man pulls the resignation letter out of his coat pocket, tears it up, and stands. He deposits it in the trash as he continues to walk away, tying his trenchcoat up.)


(The Cigarette-Smoking Man loads a bullet into the chamber of the sniper rifle, ready.)

FROHIKE: So far, this is based only on a story I read in one of my weekly subscriptions that rang a bell. I'm going out to check on the private hacker source that has been working on tracking a few leads that can produce definitive proof, and then we'll have him nailed.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man pulls back the hammer as Frohike walks out of the building, then looks around. The crosshairs are directly on his head.)

CIGARETTE-SMOKING MAN: I can kill you whenever I please...

(He squeezes on the trigger, then lets the hammer rock back, releasing the trigger. Frohike walks down the street, dimly lit in the red lights.)

But not today.

(The Cigarette-Smoking Man starts to pack up his belongings, content in his position of power over his enemies.)


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