“We need you,” he said, strolling up the wide steps of the Museum of National History alongside me. I ignored him and stepped inside. I like the museum; it’s a quiet place for me to sit and think about all the things I’ve done, and all the monsters I’ve done in. I’m a tough bastard, that’s for sure, and one of the best monster hunters alive.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, but not because I’m psychic, no. It’s because I’m smarter than everyone in the world, and last I checked, you were one of those everyone. It’s part of being perfect, I guess. Anyways, you’re thinking “Monsters? Hah, he doesn’t mean REAL monsters, like the Jersey Devil or anything,” and you’d be wrong, because I killed the Jersey Devil three years ago.

…but it was my last mission, because, well… fuck.

Peru’s hard to talk about. Long story short, I retired from the ’Files, and I’d hoped never to be contacted by the FBI again. For the most part, they’d been good about letting me be. Let’s leave it at that.

“Look, forget about the Peruvian Lizard-men incident. It wasn’t your fault!” I had raised a hand to stop him, but I might as well have raised a hand to a chain saw, or my girlfriend. Of course, I don’t have a girlfriend, so you can see why this would be useless and not at all about beating her up because she left me that stupid bitch my penis is pretty fucking BIG thank you very much.

Suddenly, his face darkened. You could say a lot of things about the Assistant Director, like how he was bald, or worked for the FBI, or used to be my boss back on the ‘Files, or anything, but you couldn’t say he didn’t feel for his agents, or, in my case, ex-agents. “I’m sorry,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder “I didn’t mean…”

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Instead, I lurched away, and past a mob of raucous schoolchildren into that room with the stuffed walrus. I don’t know why–hell, maybe I never will–but looking at that walrus always makes me feel better. The thought of something so goddamn ugly just sitting there, all stuffed and dead, like all ugly things should be… it just feels right.

“The ‘Files needs you,” insisted the Assistant Director, having finally caught up with me, and once again placed a hand on my shoulder. I flinched. “Oh, yeah, right,” I heard him mumble apologetically, “the Lizard-men thing. Sorry.” Then he brightened up, or rather, did that thing people do when they feel relieved that they’ve got bad news to tell you and can stop feeling embarassed about reminding you about the incident that got your partner… well, you know.

“It’s about vampires,” he said darkly.

“Vampires?”

“Vampires.”

“But we haven’t seen any since February 22, 1998, when a group of what might have been vampires were spotted in Texas. Even then, we were never sure if they really were vampires, because the agent in question was drugged!”

“Well, we’ve found them. They’re in Washington. I need you to assemble a crew, and make them extinct again, like they should have been in 1865!”