Three very exceptional individuals have been briefed on everything that just happened in this small town in the middle of nowhere in central Missouri. They are members of an agency within the United States federal government that is entirely secret to everyone else on planet Earth, that being the Bureau of Fortean Affairs. This is the first actual case of possession they've ever had to confront. It's kind of exciting. The B.F.A. typically deals with incidents of no observable causation whatsoever—things that simply cannot be categorized, compartmentalized, and sent off to anyone else. Giant man-sized talking crustaceans, mid-air disappearances of airplanes observed by hundreds, which you'd typically think would be the Air Force's business, but they've got their own saucer-shaped cans of worms to deal with, entire islands moving hundreds of miles from where they should be over the span of weeks, verifiably real photographs from medieval (or earlier) time periods, technology that is demonstrably and undeniably not of alien or human origin but equally if not moreso advanced and inexplicable, faces appearing in stone tiles, immaculate conceptions, poltergeists, jack-rabbits with antlers—things that simply don't make sense. Possession is one of those things. The entire premise is ridiculous. The traditional ideas and solutions (obviously) are complete bogus. There just isn't any precedent for it. But despite its seeming impossibility, much like the rest of everything this agency deals with, it's clearly happening anyways.
The man in the high-backed chair behind the desk speaks with great authority. Unlike the exorcist or the ridiculous book that the exorcist loves to recite, his authority (obviously) is not complete bogus. This man has been with the B.F.A. for most of his adult life. "This seems to be something unlike anything we've ever seen before in the entirety of human history," is, paraphrasing a little, what he says to his three subordinates, those very exceptional individuals mentioned prior who are field agents for the B.F.A. and who will be interfacing with this insane predicament. They suffocate the ear-to-ear grins of excitement that they wish they could be expressing if not for professional decorum and instead continue to gaze forward stoically. Life is interesting, and it's going to get even more interesting.
They are given a location and are told, really, only to figure out what exactly is going on, because, as stated prior, this is the first documented case of a possession in the entirety of human history. Each of these very exceptional individuals is of some Fortean nature themselves. A virgin birth, an alien hybrid, and an esper. One of these is quite obviously more useful than the other two, and he is well aware of this. They arrive in Hopeland roughly eight months after the boy stumbled home with someone put in him, roughly three months after the "exorcism" suffocated the town, and roughly one month after Alan Merrick swallowed everyone whole. Hopeland, Missouri, is still a ghost town. This has not changed. It is still infested with a ludicrous quantity of flies. This also has not changed. A horrible miasma completely suffocates the place. This has not changed either. Alan Merrick might hypothetically have already left for greener pastures. We don't yet know if this has changed, and that's one of the reasons why we're here. And so we begin our sweep of this shit-hole.
The virgin (we call her that for obvious reasons, it's unclear to me if we're even allowed to know eachother's names, personally I wouldn't share mine with these people, I've vaguely felt the sort of shit that goes on in their heads and they're all fucking looney to some degree, not my kind of people whatsoever) and the hybrid (case in point total freak who I like to keep as far away from me as possible) are basically useless, if not actually completely useless. Our guy is sucking them up like a vacuum cleaner the moment he sees them. That's fine by me. Especially the fucking alien. He gets to be on the vanguard. Oh, please, suck that fucker up. Make my life a little easier. Virgin can stay, that's my eye candy.
The smell is fucking horrible. The whole place. Like the air itself hates our guts. Alien is a lucky fucker, he doesn't smell shit. But me and Virgin have to actually make use of those shitty gas masks they give us and oh man—I feel like I'm suffocating in this stupid thing. Genuinely just an awful experience all around. So we look for the world's most powerful and first-ever living shopvac, Alien on the frontline as my sacrificial lamb, Virgin in front of me for obvious reasons, it's a pretty nice view. I'm in the back like a human fucking giger counter, just waiting for any peep of psychic activity taht isn't from my meat-shields, and we scour the place for at least a couple hours. Nothing at all. It's dead. Finally we get to this one house and, come the fuck on man, how the fuck did you not think to give us the kid's address?
This place is the only thing on Earth that could get me to stop staring at Virgin's ass. It's insane. The shapes don't make sense. The walls have a depth to them, like you could fucking drown in that shit, all pitch fucking black. I've seen some weird shit, quite a lot of weird shit, even, but this is some weird shit I haven't seen. Still no psychic activity whatsoever, of course, kid's gotta be long gone by now, but fuck me if this isn't worthwhile regardless. Alien doesn't seem to care. Typical. Virgin is freaking out so I comfort her. By that I mean I let her push her tits up against me as she babbles and cries in a language I don't speak. It's the little things in life. After the melodrama is over, we walk inside the house, if you could even call it that. Alien goes in first, of course. Please let that fucker be inside there, please eat my co-worker alive.
The interior is spotless. Picked clean with an electron microscope and a pair of tweezers. It's sterile. More sterile than the labs bake at base, and that's fucking saying something, buddy. 'Cause that place is as sterile as it gets. Except for this fucking house. It's quite a bit more sterile. Somehow. Anyways, we're sort of slowly stumbling through this place, not really knowing what to expect. That uncertainty makes this exciting. I'm the only one who's still excited. Still no signs of the kid, or really anything alive at all. No flies in here, no nothin'. Dead and empty. And with some real tacky fucking design choices. Looks like the 70s if the 70s were a really fucked up house that shows no sign of ever being lived in. None of the other places in town that we checked were (obviously) anything like this, exterior or interior. We march up the stairs. Alien first. Then Virgin. Then me. There's only one door up here, and unlike the first floor, the walls are completely blank and colorless. When I say colorless, I mean, like, they don't have a color at all. There are walls there, that much I can tell, but if you held a gun against my head and asked me to tell you what the fuck they look like in any regard whatsoever, then brother, just pull the fucking trigger already. I'm starting to get less excited. Maybe it'll be me freaking out this time. Maybe I can bury my face in Virgin's chest or something. It's only fair, right? The only door up here is slightly ajar, so that's where we go. Not that we would have any other option if it wasn't ajar, being as it is the only door on this floor of the building. Alien first. Then Virgin. Then me. Alien pushes the door open and walks in.
Virgin and I stop dead in our tracks. I'm not sure why. She probably doesn't know why either. Probably even less than I do. But that room is fucking pitch black, like the outside of the house. Alien went in. It feels like hours have passed, neither of us have moved an inch. Alien went in. He didn't come out. I'm not going in that fucking room. We're getting out of this place and calling for backup. That's what's happening, that and absolutely nothing else. Virgin walks in. Fuck. That sweet, sweet ass sways like Venus straight into the mouth of Hell. I'm not going in that fucking room. Another hour or so passes in no less than a few seconds. I walk in, now that it's my turn. It feels like suffocating. Fuck. I never even scored.
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