The Misadventures of Sam Lloyd
By
Drovar


Notes: Sam Lloyd is a character played by Chris Owens on a 
recent episode of 'The Net'. In this story he's on the run from 
his employers the 'Praetorian Guard'. See Leigh's page for pics 
of Chris Owens as Sam Lloyd. -- Go get 'em Sam! -

http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Studio/5348/thenet.htm

This is sort of a thought experiment in writing. Not sure where 
this is going, maybe nowhere <g>. Let me know if you want to 
see more drabbles from this story.

-----

Sam Lloyd had to disappear, those were his orders, disappear 
until he could be dealt with. Screw that. He was many things, 
hired gun, industrial spy, and assassin, but a fool he was not. 
Of course, he wasn't enough of an idiot to think the Praetorian 
Guard would just let him slip away, not them, not a chance, he 
knew things. 

Lloyd pulled the Taurus, as ubiquitous and nondescript as a car 
could be, to a stop at the light and carefully checked all 
avenues of attack. The Praetorian's were good, just about the 
best. If he were lucky, very lucky, this stolen car and the 
confusion following the accidental release of the praetorian's 
millennium virus might give him the time he needed. Luck was 
something he'd come to discount in his time as an agent for the 
guard, now he was depending on it to save his life. He needed a 
plan, a good one. That, at least, was something he had.

He picked up the large manila envelope from the passenger seat. 
It was marked simply, 'Sam Lloyd' in bold black marker across 
the front. Chemical and DNA analysis had revealed nothing and 
the package or it's creator. Someone had gone through a lot of 
trouble to send him the FBI Agent's photo and information over 
a year ago. Whoever was behind it was running a deep plan, deep 
enough to escape the Praetorian's sight, which went very deep 
indeed. A thorough hack of the FBI systems at the Hoover 
building in D.C, had revealed precious little that the file 
hadn't already told him.

He'd been initially startled and then curious. He had to admit 
the resemblance was uncanny, almost supernatural, and a little 
frightening. He slid the photo out of the envelope as he waited 
for the traffic light to change. A note was scrawled on the 
back in the same black pen as the envelope.

"Jeffrey Michael Spender, Special Agent, X-Files division," he 
read aloud, interesting, damn interesting. Thankfully his 
mysterious benefactor had been kind enough to include all the 
intriguing background details that the official reports left 
out. 

Spender was in a fucking tough position. Assailed from all 
sides without a real friend or ally in the world. The guy was 
being thrust into an increasingly perilous position, without a 
clue about the chasm that loomed ahead. Sam Lloyd was going to 
see that situation rectified, and maybe get a new lease on life 
in the process.

*	*	*

Jeffrey Spender hated his life sometimes. One noxious twit 
after another, parading in front of his desk, each with a more 
absurd tale than the last. He'd ended this day as he had so 
many others, in misery. It was enough to drive a man to drink, 
or smoke. He sighed as he let himself into his apartment 
without bothering with the lights. It was Friday at least, no 
more drooling space-cases or monster-chasers until Monday. 

He tossed his jacket on the couch, stretched, feeling and 
hearing his body stretch and pop. He kicked his shoes off and 
froze. He wasn't alone. 

"Hello Jeffrey." The voice was familiar, but oddly inflected. 
He couldn't place it exactly. The speaker sat in the darkness, 
not moving, as Spender reached for his gun.

"This is your lucky day, my friend." The voice said.

Spender's hand clutched his gun, gripping the stock tightly, 
letting its weight reassure him. The voice was hauntingly 
familiar and completely impossible to identify. He reached 
slowly for the lamp beside him and pulled his gun. The bright 
sudden light revealed an impossible sight, it was him, or 
rather another him, in a loud blue blazer.

The world spun for a moment, as Spender's dread suspicions of 
his father work suddenly became appallingly real and solid. The 
world suddenly snapped into stunning focus as things that 
Spender had not allowed himself to believe, or understand, 
abruptly made far too much sense. He could only stare numbly as 
the doppelganger stood and crossed the room, bringing the two 
of them close, face-to-face. Perfect, the resemblance was 
perfect.

"Who *are* you?" Spender demanded.

"I'm the answer to your prayers," his double answered as he 
gently pulled Spender's gun from his hand. "Sit," the clone 
ordered, we've got a lot to talk about.


[End part 1/?]