<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Decoton, Louisiana</span></strong></span><br/><hr/><br/>"Third one this week," said the short Sheriff staring down from thick reflective shades.<br/><br/>Had the Sheriff not been staring down at body that had literally been cooked onto the hot asphalt of the road, he might well have been mistaken for someone without might investment in their words. His flat affect was hiding the effects of the horrific scene that he'd seen twice already, just in that week.<br/><br/>"All black, none with a record, no clothes, no wounds," said the deputy standing nearby.<br/><br/>"They're all coming down from up north, but Sheriff Wilkes doesn't have any record," said the sheriff, "suppose we'll call the feds, and let them sort this mess out."<br/><br/>"You think that's wise, pa?" said a young man, leaning against the Sheriff's car.<br/><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Washington, D.C.</span></strong></span><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><strong>FBI Special Unit Headquarters, 9:43 P.M.</strong></span><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><strong>- - -</strong><br/></span><br/><br/>The building was fairly unassuming by itself. Just one building as part of a small office park, a pale whitish concrete box with indents for windows, and a simple glass double door leading to the lobby. One would have to have gone inside, to check the floor listing to realize that everything below the first floor was taken up by a single listing. FBI.<br/><br/>A short elevator trip downward, aided by a key card, and a rather sophisticated security system using the camera in the elevator to screen the new recruits faces, and the bright artificial light of the rather spartan basement levels appeared. The team was already assembled recruited from anywhere it was necessary, and of course, from the FBI itself.<br/><br/>"Alright, everyone, I am Special Agent Wagner," said the suited young man standing in front of the meeting-room table, that was sitting in a room much too large for the few people contained in it.<br/><br/>"As you no doubt have guessed from the name of this unit, Supernatural Crimes, you were recruited for your rather unique ... expertise, in an area of crime that the Bureau would rather not think about," he said, the stress on 'expertise' indicating that the idea of the team grated somewhat on Wagner's nerves.<br/><br/>"We are already behind schedule, people," he said, "so for reference, I am the task-force head, and you report to me. You can all get to know each other in the next fifteen minutes, because in twenty, I want everyone to report to the armory to be issued their equipment, and in an hour, we are leaving on our first case. Short notice, I know, but it is what it is."<br/><br/>Special Agent Wagner stood over six foot, and wore a plain black suit, which was standard enough for the bureau. He didn't look exceptional, really. Brown hair, brown eyes, athletic build. He wouldn't stand out in a crowd as anything other than well-groomed.<br/><br/>"Any questions?" he asked, looking up from the file sitting on the conference table in front of him.