For every scientific explanation of a phenomena, there is a deep seeded other-worldly cause.

Whether the forces of the world are malicious, benevolent, or otherwise, rarely matters.

They are simply there.

Most live unaware, leaving such occurrences as freak accidents, or laws of nature.

Yet those who know the truth are left to their own devices; factions manipulating the means to further their own agendas, freaks executing judgement through their own ideology, and spirits who are left as a morbid reflection of the world they knew.

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.

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4:48 AM

2 years ago

Thursday

Dawn was about to break out. The blue haze skewed with the withering dark purple blanket; the morning glow barely made itself known thanks to the clouds covering its radiant beauty. The stars were fleeting. The streetlights were minutes away from turning off. The Neon lights of the quiet city whirred peacefully. Not a single soul drove on the road.

In a not-so crowded Motel parking lot, two men sat in an inconspicuous rust-spotted 1998 Black Sedan. They have been sitting there for the past 23 hours.

Both of them were around their mid to late 20s.

On the driver's seat was a blonde White man wearing square prescription glasses, slacks underneath his pitch black business suit, a white business casual dress shirt with floral patterns on it, a red tie, business pants, and square toed dress shoes that probably costed a humble $4,000. His hair was short and slicked back to the side, jutting a bit outwards in a soft, spiky motion. He rested on his seat, staring at the car's ceiling, mouth agape with drool pooling out.

Sitting on the passenger seat was a Black man, wearing a more appropriate and typical business suit. Nothing jutted out of the ordinary; Black blazer, black tie, white dress shirt, black dress pants, and a wrist watch that was on the pricey end- but not bordering on pretentious mind you. The only thing out of the ordinary with his apparel were the black doc martens that could be substituted for combat boots, and the single earring on his right earlobe. His hair was pitch black and stylized into a mid fade. With his seat leaned back all the way, he laid prone, binoculars glued to his eyes while a soft blue blanket acted as a ghillie suit for him. He stared through the rear windshield, concentrating on a single second-floor room.

"Oh my GOD dude..." spoke the White man

"I am this close to losing my shit, I kid you not" he continued, making a pinching motion with his fingers

Sucking up his drool, he turned over to his friend.

"No really- I can't find it! It sprouted arms and legs, crawled out of my ass and walked right off. Can you find it? Because I sure as hell can't."

The Black Male ignored his friend's pestering and didn't respond for a good 20 seconds.

"Vincent... have you always been like this?"

"Like what"

"Obnoxious"

"mmmmm...???"

Vincent put his hand on his chin for a good moment before responding back

"Yeah. Basically as far as I could remember."

"...I believe it" muttered Jules.

Vincent squirmed his way around and faced the back windshield, much like his friend.

"Has this guy seriously not moved at all? No meal, no visitor, no nothing?"

"Nope."

"My GAWD, this guy has the patience of a MONK I tell ya"

"Yeah."

"I'm pretty sure this guy is onto us, no? Seeing as how he's been playing it safe and locking himself for a god damn day STRAIGHT"

"Mmm-hmmm"

The White agent glared at Jules for moment before announcing his feelings

"Man, you're so fucking boring dude 💀"

"I'd rather be boring than annoying"

"Do you really, though?"

"..."

Jules, taking his eyes off of the binoculars for the first time in probably an hour, looked up and pondered.

"Actually... you might be on to something."

"Well of course I am, I'm a genius after all. But seriously think about it, with an annoying person there's opportunity to have some semblance of fun, as long as you play along"

Jules rebutted

"I disagree. If a person has an opportunity of being fun, then they're not completely annoying; if they're annoying, they're annoying. Furthermore, if it were a boring person, at least you two could mind your own businesses, and leave it at that."

"But that's so boooooring"

"Yeah, but its better than being annoyed endlessly."

(Damn it, now we're back to square one) thought Jules to himself

The both of them went back to staring. Jules rekindled his blanket to a comfortable degree whilst Vincent fished around the small cooler in the back seat, looking for any left over snacks or drinks.

"Dammit dude"

"What happened"

"I think we're out of barbeque chips..."

"Eh. They were stale anyway."

"Really? I couldn't taste the difference..." mumbled Vince

.

.

.

Across the parking lot was the quiet room that's been stalked for the past (literal) day.

A frantic, disheveled man in his 30s restlessly paced around his room. Clearly not having slept for 22 hours, he stared at the massive mural of classified information.

This is it. This is probably the last thing he's going to see. A carpet of papers and folders. Moldy, leaked stains on the ceiling. Bugs whirred around as his only companions. This pitch black dirty room of a 2.4 star Motel will be the effective death of him. Only illuminated by the faint glow of his laptop, he stared at the wall. A mile's worth of red string endlessly connected and looped points together; pictures of top secret projects, government heads, international syndicate bosses, people who didn't exist on documented papers, people who weren't alive anymore- much less for a thousand years or so, ancient sigils, unreadable scribbles, otherworldly runes, marked targets, entire islands that have been wiped out of the map. Locations and people that existed once, but with no solid evidence, at best it was a myth, and at worst, you're insane; detain and gag this man, lobotomize and castrate him. Anyone who visits or questions him is to be put on a watchlist out of involvement. Involvement of what? Nobody would know; Exactly. Nobody would know because the said "man" who you think investigated these things doesn't exist, and you're crazy for believing it. Now fuck off and watch yourself, you conspiratorial loon.

The man sighed at the sight. With the situation involved, at best, he'll get out of this alive and live with a fake identity in a Native American reservation. At worst, they'll just detain the information he's leaked and torture him until they get what they want. But despite it all, he knew the risks, and still decided to enact justice with his own two hands. He spent his entire life afraid of the government after what they did to his father. As retribution, he obsessed over getting accepted into the CIA, and right after gaining enough information for the two years he's been in there, his first batch of classified information was more than enough to sate 20 years of contempt. One man's life, to give the possibility of feeding the world the truth. Because in the end, justice will prevail; it always does.

No matter the years of planning, the sleepless nights, or the days without eating, even if it meant eating the leftover crumbs of his lunch, or taking a juicy crunch from a cockroach that he could catch, it wouldn't matter. Even if the toilet clogged or the plumbing wouldn't work by some sheer coincidence, or even if the landowner came knocking on the door to kick him out of this room because he didn't pay the amount of hours that he rented, it wouldn't matter. Under no circumstances would he leave this room with that car outside.

He walked over to the drawer and opened it. Staring back at him was the Heckler & Koch USP pistol that was issued to him when he joined the force. There he realized: his fate lied at the end of its barrel.

.

.

.

"So, what are you going to do after this?" asked Vincent

"Personally, I'm going to go eat at Denny's. An entire day sitting in a car is making me lose it, and I think a fine breakfast with mediocre eggs, some skimpy bacon and the best simple crepes on the western hemisphere is a good way to reward myself, no?"

Jules rolled his veiny, tired eyes towards his comrade

"Honestly... as appetizing as breakfast sounds right now, I just really, really, really want to go to bed right now. At best I'll quickly get a $3 breakfast from RatDonald's and at worst I'll just head straight home and get a solid 13 hours worth of sleep" responded Jules

"Aw but come on man, all this hard work for a mediocre reward? Like no seriously, when's the last time you ate at a fancy diner like Denny's"

"PAH! You're funny"

"-Thanks, I know" briefly interrupted Vinny

"But to answer your question, Denny's sounds like more of a mediocre reward than sleeping. Someone once told me, you might see a '6', but I see a '9'; doesn't necessarily mean that either of us are wrong in the end..."

"...

Nah

That's bullshit" commented Vince

Jules rolled his eyes

"Actually- wait a sec" continued Jules

"You come from a lineage of CIA operatives right?"

"Woah shit- getting a little too personal don't ya think? What brought this up?" asked Vince

"I'm just really trying to piece together why you're like this, especially while carrying your family name"

"Oh eh- that's less personal but when you put me on the spot like that, yeah sure I'll bite. Yeah, all of the men in my family have been agents (not operatives) of the CIA, all the way back since 1894."

"Wait, I thought the CIA was made right after Pearl Harbor"

"What? Oh my god no. Didn't you take the history class?"

"No I chose different electives because quite frankly, I couldn't care less about what has already happened"

"That's... yeah that's fair. Anyway, The Company has been a thing since the founding fathers but instead of what we are now, it was more like bodyguards being privy to information and gossiping about 'did you know what John Adams told ME, girl you would not believe!' (dramatized). Then after the japs bombed Pearl Harbor, Mr. Truman made it official and bada bing bada boom, we're top dog now. Each generation since then, my family's been pretty tight with The Company...aside from one or two shit heads. And as for carrying the weight of my family... uhm... I couldn't give less of a shit...? Bro, I could work at McShittles for all I could care."

"Then why did you choose to work here?"

"Dude.

Money...?

Like- how is that even a question? That, on top of all the perks I get for my family's relations. Shit man, why do you work for The Company? Like be so for real with me right now, nobody works here for the sake of our country like."

"Yeah...

Yeah you're right, it's just the money." reluctantly agreed Jules.

"Now it's my turn to be an obnoxious, nosy little prick"

"Dude-"

"Where the hell did you come from, and what's your family like? I know I've asked this question before but something always interrupts us"

"Ah...hm, yeah.

I came from the inner city of Chicago. My father was gone, my mother wasn't the best. At age 15 I ran away and never looked back. I used what little skill I had to climb my way up and 12 years later, I wound up here."

"Where's your mother now?"

"Dead."

"How do you know."

Jules blurted a delayed response with

"-I don't actually know, I just hope she is."

Vincent sneered and pointed at Jules

"Nice catch."

Jules glared at Vincent.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP BEEP BEEP

BEEP BEEP BEEP

5:00 AM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4eB0B-FGOg

The timer rang out.

The loud ringing of the phone whispered the invisible tune that they've been waiting to hear for the past 24 hours. In an immediate response, both of them stopped what they were doing and automatically put on their tight leather gloves. Puppeted by years of repetition, hypnotized by the job at hand, they both moved mechanically in astute synchronization. Tightly screwing on the suppressors on their Heckler and Koch USPs, they both got out of the car and slammed the doors at the same time. They quickly scanned the area to see whether or not there were witnesses around. 0? Good. Less bodies to take care of. Gallantly marching to the chants of their job, Vince went in front of Jules. Both of them casually walked up the stairs, pistol at their hip, barely hidden from plain sight.

"You take the back just in case he uses a vent, I'll take door" announced Vincent in a serious manner

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Heard." responded Jules in a monotone voice.

.

.

.

Their march could be heard from the floorboards alone. The paranoid ex-CIA agent could sense Death coming for him by the second; a cold and unwavering steady stride that cared not. The only thing that existed was the execution of the mission. Though the door was closed, the ex-agent felt the air of the entire motel change. A dense, malleable smog that reeked of malice and determination.

Tight stomach. Lump in the throat. Slow and silent breaths. Heart beating so hard it rubbed against the ribcage. Pupils smaller than an ant. Hand tremors. Stiff muscles. The mind screaming, torn on whether or not to fight back or run away. But where to? *How?* **Why?**

Not like this

**NOT LIKE THIS**

NO WAY

*NO WAY NO WAY NO WAY*

AFTER ALL,

*THEY ARE ONLY HUMAN*

The paranoiac slowly and silently walked over to his drawer and retrieved his gun. Hiding behind his bed, his wavering arm aimed directly at the window. Anybody's silhouette who DARE pass through would get shot!

But...

*But...*

What if its an innocent?

What if it's a bystander? He'd be truly fucked then. Hell, what if it's a child!

Christ

"They really thought of everything..."

He leaned back against the wall, and stared at the ground. He tried not to cry, and squished his palm against his left eye so as to stuff himself from tearing up.

"Pah...

Pahahahhahhh.....

*That's funny..."* he whispered to himself

"You're not making me look insane here... you're just making me look stupid...

All this... for ego? Shit. I wish... I just wanted revenge...what did my dad do... what did *I* do?

Tch...

...

*To hell with this*"

Sucking up his own anger, the ex-agent gritted his teeth and focused on the passerbys.

Thirty seconds passed.

Forty two seconds passed.

A minute passed.

By the second minute, he saw someone's silhouette on the window. He couldn't make out the exact features due to the curtains, but anyone waiting at the door would surely be the enemy.

CHK

CHK-KK

CHIK-CHK-CHKJJKJGGGJK

The door handle jiggled and jiggled and jiggled forcefully.

Right as the ex-agent was about to pull the trigger, a nasally voice, probably one from a teenager's faintly rang out from the other side of the door

"Oh... dude, wrong door..."

A head splitting migraine within the ex-agent's mind occurred right after those words were said.

"Fucking kids..." hissed the ex-agent under his breathe

He wanted to take a look at the parking lot, but knew that if he took a peak from the window, they'd have a sniper ready for him.

The next best thing would be through the door's peephole.

He tip-toed across his room and slowly, hovered his eye near the peephole.

"..."

"What the"

"What the fuck is tha-"

image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/775778634677092396/1211230451511992320/peephole_execution.png?ex=65ed7143&is=65dafc43&hm=2f9f4c65e5018beaaa43571adbe52d6854e7de3b5d4ef01027e19b37743363ee&]

image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/775778634677092396/1211230489038553088/vincent_execution.jpg?ex=65ed714c&is=65dafc4c&hm=53b27d477bc1e8fc4cacf5efd789ecbcf7cb8eba2103dcb09cf33873b2a88dc4&]

TEE-EHT

Vincent's USP Mach hissed, ending the ex-agent's fate

at the end of its barrel.

Though Jules was on the other side of the building, his trained ears heard the familiar sound of the CIA's most handy weapon; A man's best friend.

.

.

.

Jules caught up with Vincent

Vince started

"Did anybody see us?"

"Surprisingly...no. I know a suppressed weapon is quieter than a lot of things but... it's not silent. And though this place is a bit vacant, there's still some people around here..."

"Yeah..." responded Vinny, whipping out a cigarette and lighting its end.

"Did you bring a towel?" asked Jules

"Small one but, it'll do"

Vinny sucked a sweet ounce out of his cigarette as he whipped out a small towel out of his back pocket. He stuffed the towel near the end of his gun's barrel and proceeded to press it up against the door's deadbolt and hole.

"On the count of three" started Vinny

"1

2

3-"

"CO-HOGGHUGH" coughed out Jules as the suppressed gun destroyed the lock.

They both frantically entered, struggling for a bit until they barged with brute force.

"Damn body, shit dude, who knew they actually weighed a bit" scoffed Vince

As they closed the door, they turned around and stared at the blood-soaked and brain matter-ed stains of their organizations history.

Jules furrowed his brow.

Vinny's mouth was held agape.

"Oh my god..." quietly announced Vinny

"This guy...

This guy...

THIS GUY WAS ONTO 🔥 🔥 NOTHING 🔥 🔥

Can you believe this guy? I wouldn't be surprised if only 10% of the information here was real. Honestly bro, guy died...FOR THIS? NAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH"

Vinny's agape mouth finally morphed into its true form.

A yawn.

While Jules was flipping through folders and looking for a microwave, Vince commented at the scene.

"Y'know, I'm kinda glad they feed different ranks varying degrees of misinformation, I mean- honestly, these guys deserve what they get. Obnoxious really..."

"You're implying that they deserve to get a bullet in the eye for seeking the truth?" asked Jules, barely paying attention

"No, I'm not implying it; I am deadass just saying it

Like honestly, as long as there's a roof above your head and you get enough money to eat, sleep, shit, and repeat, why would you care?"

"Well to be fair, with that logic, that would imply that people living in communism are happy with their lives. They have a roof above their heads and they technically eat... somewhat, even if its slogs of porridge and shit"

"Ugh- I hate arguing with people who pay more attention than they should" commented Vince under his breathe before he continued.

"Counterpoint: different context. I'm talking about good ol' US of A. I could give less of a rat's ass about some third world sinkhole."

"Like how you could less about other people- within this country."

"Yes- ACTUALLY, YES! YOU GET IT!"

Jules gave Vince a tired stare.

"No but seriously," continued Vince

"I don't get why these people look for... what they're looking for. Do they not know who they work for??? Like- dude. Did you not agree to bomb other countries because of their vapid ideals? Did you not agree to eat good and shit gold?"

"Projecting a bit there"

"Ok yeah, I know. Counterpoint- Am I wrong?"

"Well, I'm assuming some of these people join just to get closer insight of The Company. Though, as we know, they all get weeded out rather quickly...

...

Say Vinny, are you tired?"

"Pssshhh, uh- yeah, of course I am. Dude I can't wait to get those crepes, I'm telling you, that shit will make you CREAM; I'm barely exaggerating here, like, HELL, I could even PAY for yo-"

"No, not THAT you oaf" responded Jules in an annoyed tone

"I'm talking about the missions..."

"Oh what now? Are you getting cold feet on us now? You know how that goes..." muttered Vince

"No, the job isn't the issue. Like you said, I could care less about killing and pillaging."

"Oh, based?"

"Stop saying that. But it's not that I'm getting stressed about it. It's just that I'm getting... bored of this, believe it or not."

"Wow you... are a fucking freak" teased Vince with his serpentine tongue

"Shut up."

"But what are you suggesting? Going into advanced Janitorial duty? Clean up a couple countries here and there?"

"No.

I want to join the spiritual branch"

"Hohoho- shit, I didn't expect you for 'that' type."

"I just feel like it'd be an interesting experience. Don't you think?"

"I mean yeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh. It could be fun. But remember this: we're not just some ghostbusters taking down cute little goopy creatures. We're still taking down terrorists with abilities we couldn't even fathom; gods and beings higher than our very plane. Don't be surprised if there's a universal awakening every week"

"...The fuck are you talking about?"

"In all honesty, I don't know, but I've heard some preeetty wacky stuff here and there. So, you sure about joining that branch?"

"I only live once."

"Tch, yeah

Fuck it, how about I join as well?"

"This wasn't an invitation but ok"

"Then why are you telling me this if not for me to know or to weigh in?

Idiot."

"...

that....that wasn't nice..."

.

.

.

Vince dragged the corpse onto the bed and put another bullet in the back of it's head. He then emptied two bullets out of the ex-agent's gun and dropped the spent casings nearby. Jules grabbed as many documents as possible as well as the ex-agent's laptop. He then proceeded to put a day-old burrito wrapped in copious amounts of aluminum foil into a microwave. He inputted 99:99 as the timer, then pressed enter. Vince reached for a small water bottle full of gasoline and made a gentle stream leading from the microwave, towards the wall and floor of the room.

"Aright, well, that's that!" commented Vince in a chipper mood

"Now-" he clapped

"Denny's?"

"I'm going straight to bed. You drive"

They exited out the door and scanned for witnesses.

To their right, a teenager with brown shaggy hair, covering his eyes stepped out of his motel room. He had a lanky physique and was generously tall at around 5'11". His hoodie was brown and beige. Though his hair covered his eyes, both of the agents still noticed that there was a bandana underneath those cloud-like bangs.

A silent exchange between the people took place.

"..."

"..."

Vince and Jules both pulled out their USPs and aimed it at the kid.

"▯▯▯▯▯"

Serious epilepsy warning

image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/775778634677092396/1211231198257479730/eye_gif_test_2.gif?ex=65ed71f5&is=65dafcf5&hm=2093f6c804055a2f09772f1f1d242f281e24064228464b7bef21a68e45a37e1b&]

"..."

"..."

Both the agents, with a dumb blank stare on their face, holstered their weapons and walked quietly towards their car at a normal pace.

The doors slammed.

Jules was in the driver's seat and Vince in the passenger.

As they both stared blankly in front of them, Jules noticed

"Hey wait a sec, I said you were driving!"

"W-W-what huh WAIT HUH WHAT?

WAIT THEN WHY'D YOU SIT IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT IN THE FIRST PLACE THEN???"

They switched seats then drove off

To Denny's.

.

.

.

Around 7 minutes later, the Fire trucks pulled in and successfully contained the flames from spreading.

4 minutes after that, the news crew came by.

24 minutes after that, the police arrived.

Though there were only a few motel residents inside the building at the time, very few of them bore witness to a semblance of what occurred. Some only heard a loud hissing sound, and by the time they checked their windows, the man's door was already closed. An old lady claimed that there was only a white handsome man. The other two witnesses claimed there were two of them. The most vocal about the situation was a tall teenage boy with shaggy bangs, a brown and beige hoodie, and a bandana that was sandwiched between his eyes and his cloud-like hair. He insisted that it was only a young Mormon missionary who came to pay a visit to the tenant, but it seemed the tenant had a rough day and shooed the Mormon away. Since the room was in fire, he probably accidentally burned his meal or killed himself on purpose. The Mormon missionary then quickly left the room without a fuss and walked away down the street.

At first, the police man taking in the boy's story was skeptical beyond hell; he would sooner believe Obamna quickscoped Kennedy back in 1963 than believe whatever this kid was talking about.

Until the officer believed a little of the story.

Then he believed all of it.

Then he believed all of what the kid would say.

He didn't ask any more questions, not to the kid in question or any of the other witnesses, and took the teenager's word as gospel.

He walked back to his car with a blank stare, and looked at...nothing for the next thirty or so minutes.

Of course his partner was beyond confused on what the hell his problem was, but it was probably his marriage taking a toll on him. After all, getting cheated on whittles away at the psyche. Or so the partner thought.

Meanwhile, the main detective and a couple other officers on the scene examined the burnt remains of the room.

Loud flashes from cameras repeated every couple seconds. Two officers stood outside the room shooing the press away. One of them stood at the edge of the balcony and vomited all over; his spray unintentionally hit a news reporter's hair. The officer "comforting" the gross officer sucked his cigarette and soaked in the scene. Back in the room, discussions over such an odd suicide method- if it even was one took place. The corpse was holding the gun, and there are two spent casings with the same caliber as the gun... but that doesn't explain why there's a hole on the door's peephole. The detective looked left and right and scoured the room. There were carbonated skims of paper leftover, but they were indistinguishable in terms of what type of documents there were. The remains of a laptop charger were found, but no laptop in sight. Despite the short amount of time its been, the corpse was surprisingly burnt at an accelerated speed; left as a black and brown mummy with tightened skin and skin bubbles that freckled all throughout his body. The skin sunk deep into its face, making a permanent expression of disbelief and anguish. A pain so harsh, even the corpse was still processing it.

"Jesus..." said the detective

"I think it's pretty clear sir," said a short ginger officer in their early 20s

"-but just in case, what do you want to call it? First degree murder? Robbery of property?"

"Yeah... it just keeps piling on and on..." responded the detective, soaking up the entire scene.

In an odd sense of morbid curiosity, he kept on discovering clue after clue after clue after clue until-

"Wait a sec" he said aloud

"Hank, gently flip the body over"

An officer did so

The detective realized the second hole in his head.

Frozen, the detective stood silent for a moment.

Most of the officers in the room looked at him confused.

Others stood silent and absorbed it for what it was.

And the few of them still didn't process it.

After what felt like 15 minutes, the detective finally announced his sentiments.

"It's a suicide.

Pack it up, this case is closed."

The Detective left the room quickly and quietly.

Standing at the balcony, he stared into the distance and soaked in the scene like a sponge full of vinegar.

He stared at the news crew who were approaching him with oversized cameras and long microphones. He witnessed the old lady covering her granddaughter's eyes and comforting her. He heard the wind laugh at him, carrying over the audible conversations of the frustrated Motel residents and the stressed out Manager. He saw the teenager quickly slip back into his room with a smile on his face. He stared straight into the horizon.

As the sun rose, the red neon light that taunted him switched off, and the gray clouds parted through the middle. If only for a sliver, the blue sky announced itself, while the sun peered over his head.

If only things were that easy, on a typical American, Thursday.