The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store hummed, casting a pale glow over the rows of chips and sodas. Outside, the world was a still and silent canvas of empty highway and star-filled Midwestern sky.
"ID please," a bored cashier, a young man with tired eyes and a nametag reading "Elijah," said to a middle-aged man holding a six-pack of beer.
"Very funny, Eli," the man chuckled, placing the beer on the counter. "You know I'm a regular, and I'm way older than twenty-one."
Eli's expression didn't change. He simply repeated, with the patience of a man who had this exact conversation too many times, "ID. Please."
The man sighed, a weary huff of air. "C'mon, dude. It's midnight. Nobody's got time for this." He finally relented, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. "Ah, fine. Here you go." He pulled a laminated card from his wallet and tossed it onto the counter.
Eli picked up the ID, his eyes scanning it for a few seconds. He typed something on the screen of his register, a green light blinking on. He nodded to himself. "That seems right."
Without another word, Eli reached under the counter, pulled out a handgun, and shot the man directly in the forehead. The man's body hit the floor with a thud. Eli then calmly stepped from behind the counter, stood over the motionless body, and double-tapped him in the heart.
Eli sighed. "I don't get paid enough to deal with this." He walked to the backroom, retrieved a mop and a heavy-duty trash bag, and returned to the scene. "Damn skinwalkers. Why hasn't the government dealt with this already?" he muttered, starting to clean the mess.
Just as he was about to start mopping, a small dot of light flickered in the night sky. It grew rapidly, turning into a fiery streak that tore through the air with a deafening roar. It crashed to the ground, a loud, metallic screech of tortured steel, sliding and knocking down multiple trees before stopping right in front of the convenience store entrance. It was a perfectly shaped disc of polished metal, unlike anything from this world.
Eli stopped mopping and simply stared at the spectacle, his hand still on the mop handle. He let out a long sigh and pulled out his phone. "I swear to God, I don't get paid enough to deal with this." His fingers deftly dialed a number he had called more times than he liked to admit.
A gruff voice answered on the other side of the phone. "Hello, this is Smith speaking. Who is calling so late, and how did you get my other personal number?"
"It's me again, Smith," Eli said, his voice flat. "A spaceship just crashed in front of me. Can you guys deal with it?"
Smith's voice went from groggy to a sharp, disbelieving whisper. "Huh?"
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The perimeter surrounding the store was now a secured military zone, cordoned off by official vehicles and guarded personnel. A swarm of personnel in hazmat suits worked efficiently under the glaring daylight. They hooked up the disc-shaped spaceship, carefully lifting it from its gouged resting place and securing it onto a transport platform. A fleet of helicopters waited in the distance, their massive blades slowly spinning, ready to airlift the prize to its final destination.
Wallace, a man in a crisp suit, watched the operation. "Another spaceship, huh?"
Smith, standing beside him, took a slow sip of coffee from a steaming cup, his eyes fixed on the spectacle. "Probably just some bored extraterrestrials crashing their ride on Earth again, hoping to speed up our technological development." He took another sip. "Apparently, they've been doing it for a long time now. Most of them end up in the United States, at least to our knowledge."
He gestured to the ship. "The problem is getting any of their tech to work. We need dark matter-based fuel, but we're not technologically advanced enough to produce a usable amount." He sighed. "The extraterrestrials keep sending us cryptic messages in crop circle to 'summon demons' for dark matter, but the Paranormal Department is clueless on what that's supposed to mean."
Wallace's gaze followed the ship as it was secured. "Where's this one headed?"
Smith took another sip. "To Area 51, of course. It'll just be sitting in storage with the others until our scientists can figure it out."
Wallace turned to him. "Also, are you sure you don't want to recruit that kid into the FBI? Although he doesn't have any psychic abilities, he's a supernatural magnet."
"The kid rejected my offer, so there's nothing I can do," Smith said with a shrug. "Besides, more paperwork would come my way if something unexpected pops up." He paused. "Although, we should probably station a few more agents around his area, just in case."
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The phone's persistent ringing tore through the silence of the night. Smith reached for his cell, the glow from the screen illuminating the tired lines on his face.
"Hello, this is Smith speaking. Who is calling so late?" he said in a low and dangerous rumble. "If I wasn't the Director of the FBI, I would have silenced all incoming calls at this time."
"It's me, sir," Wallace's voice crackled through the line. "This is an urgent status update. The recent spaceship had been hijacked by unknown Espers belonging to 'that' organization."
A pause stretched between them. "Ah, 'that' organization again," Smith said, his tone one of weary recognition, as if speaking of a particularly persistent pest. "Well, just tell the Paranormal Department to deal with it. I'm going back to sleep."
"Wait, sir!" Wallace's voice rose in panic. "We managed to capture an agent from that organization, and stop them from committing suicide. We extracted some information. Their organization is called Orpheus, and they are backed and funded by a shadowy cabal of powerful and wealthy elites."
Smith let out a short, hollow laugh. "Yeah, so are we, Wallace. If I have to guess, we probably have way more than them." He sighed. "If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."
The line went dead. Smith tossed the phone onto the nightstand and, without another thought, turned over, sinking back into his peaceful slumber.