Fade up on Fairmont Elementary School, Cheverly Maryland. But it's so not; it's actually my little sister's school. She told me over Thanksgiving that The X-Files sent the entire student body to the zoo so they could film. She wasn't very impressed, though, because the rest of the week, the crew was in her classroom, and the fifth graders had to set up their desks in the gym, like some kind of one-room schoolhouse, and the sun was in her eyes the entire time, because her desk was poorly situated, and one of the nuns yelled at her for squinting. My sister is very sensitive to the elements. Also, unimpressed by the trappings of Hollywood. She did enjoy the zoo, however. Anyway. The principal of Fairmont Elementary School interviews a very bland-looking man for a "maintenance engineering" job. He's creepy and blank, but she loves his enthusiasm for maintenance engineering! She waxes poetic about the beauty of maintenance engineering, and turns away from him for a moment. When she whips back, Morty's sitting in his place. But she doesn't see Morty. She sees the other guy. Only we can see Morty. Morty sure has a lot of supernatural abilities. No motivation, or anything, but lots of talent! He ought to take this act on the road!
Take a drink, it's autopsy time. Sadly, hot autopsy guy is nowhere to be seen. I think that would make a riveting new television series, by the way: Scott Speedman is....Hot Autopsy Guy! Schedule it in a one-two punch with Vigilante Elvis and watch those Nielsens skyrocket! Call me anytime, FOX. Day or night. Seriously. Bliddly blah, Scully, like, has her head up Fred's ass. That can't be good for Mysterious Alien Baby or, frankly, for her self-esteem. She picks at something with some tweezers, as Doggett, Master of the Obvious, comments that Fred is kinda chunky. And not in that Russell Crowe chunky is hunky kind of way. Scully murmurs that Fred is, indeed, a bit overweight at 402 lbs. We play another scintillating game of Exposition Ball (like, whatever happened to showing rather than telling? Isn't that Screenwriting 101?), as Doggett yammers that Fred was remarkably well-liked by all and sundry, and hence, there exists no one with a motive to climb up his ass and rip out his guts. Or something like that. Scully comments dryly that she's found "massive damage to [Fred's] lower intestine and rectal wall." Doggett glides over to the other side of the examination table and looks up Fred's butt. He wonders if the damage was done going in or...er, coming out. Insert poo joke here. Scully eyebrows that there's too much damage to say, but that she's also found tissue trauma in Fred's abdomen and stomach. Doggett comes up with a pretty good theory, actually, about Fred being a drug smuggler, one of those ones that swallows the heroin, and that maybe someone knew about it, and, er "forcibly extricated" the baggie of crank from his body. Scully agrees that Doggett's theory is solid -- except for the fact that no heroin was found in Fred's system whatsoever. She also mentions, off-handedly, that according to her tests, Fred's time of death was at least twenty-four hours ago. In other words, before he even got on the plane. Doggett looks gobsmacked -- or as gobsmacked as Doggett can look, which is to say, not at all. "Well, that's just wrong," he drawls. "I told you to keep an open mind," Scully snarks.