Dib shivered. The room was kept cold to counteract the fact that the occupants were packed like sardines, though he felt they overdid it tonight with the air conditioning - it had to be sixty degrees in there. He pulled the trenchcoat closer around his chest as he looked up at Agent SkunkApe, who was readying to make her announcement. Dib stood at the front of the crowd because he was so small, hardly half the height of the next shortest Agent there. But then again, he was only eleven. He still had a lot of growing to do, and his fellow Agents understood that, looking past youth and seeing him for his true talent and ambition. In the Swollen Eyeballs Network, he wasn't Dib Membrane, local nut job and outcase; he was Agent Mothman, respected paranormal investigator... for the most part. He was still reedeeming his name in the network after an incident involving Zim.
"Welcome, fellow agents." SkunkApe addressed the crowd. Though the light was low, as usual, Dib could see her oversized sunglasses under her long, bubblegum pink hair. She always looked exactly the same at every meeting. "Among the devout and the inquisitive, there are a few theories that share many characteristics in both fields - fields which rarely share any notions due to a small rivalry in belief. As I'm sure many of you are aware, the most prominent of these stories tell of the Seven Gates of Hell; entrances on the Earth Plane that lead to the land of the damned. The research shows that five of the seven Gates have been discovered, with two Gates left for the taking. A small taskforce of Agents now believes that they have successfully located the sixth entrance. However, there is a potentially problematic issue: It is reported that those who have ignored the warning tales have simply..." Her voice faded off as she searched the faces of the crowd, though how she could see them was a mystery to all. A small smile came to her lips as she pulled the right term from her wordbank. "...disappeared. Due to this interesting observation, we've found that we can not send the Agents who have discovered this. On the contrary, each and every one of you are Field Agents, and therefore are permitted to volunteer your time to investigate the interesting paranormal phenomena that takes place at this house."
Dib gaped. "A house? The sixth Gate of Hell is a house?"
"Precisely, Agent Mothman," SkunkApe said, looking down on him with a smile. "A house; one that's been the center of many campfire ghost stories for some time, that resides at the end of a lost dirt road that leads just north of here."
"A haunted house, one of the Gates of Hell? You said it yourself, it's the center of campfire ghost stories! You can't be taking it seriously."
"Quite the contrary, Agent. Some of our best have thouroughly investigated the matter, and I assure you, we're quite certain that this is the fifth entrance." SkunkApe repeated calmly.
"What proof is there?" he asked, unrelenting.
"No proof, Agent, other than shrewd conclusions and the disappearences of four Mid-L Skool students."
"Disappearneces? Kids are disappearing in this town every day!"
SkunkApe's voice betrayed her composed features with a tone of annoyance. "Perhaps you would like to be given the assignment, Agent Mothman?" she asked. This boy, as bright as he could be, was far too opinionated. A fine dose of intimidation would shut him up.
Immediately, the boy's face lit up. "Really?" he asked, his voice brimming with excitement. "Yes! I accept the assignment, Agent SkunkApe, and I'll prove that it's nothing more than a Campfire story!" Without hesitation, he ran up the steps and across the stage to take the case file from his superior. She handed them to him in a stunned silence, her mouth hanging open slightly at the event that just took place. She couldn't be handing this case to the youngest member of the society... it went against all logic. Not only were there more deserving agents, Agents who had been with the Network longer, but there were far more experienced Agent. Not to say that Dib was incompetent, but surly there were far more competent Agents who would be more suitable for the case. But she'd offered him the job. She'd handed him the case - metaphorically and physically, as she felt the manilla folder slip from her fingertips.
SkunkApe's voice was hesitant, as she was still recovering from the shock of her mistake. "Angent Mothman... are you sure you want to accept this case? Take into consideration the possiblibty that you're wrong about the house. Perhaps it truely is one of the Gates of Hell. Are you sure you're up to the challenge?" she asked, interrupting Dib's happy, "This is a dream come true!" He turned on the spot and looked Agent Skunkape in the lense. "Without a doubt." he said sternly. He was eager to redeem him name, eager to prove himself to his superiors.
The Agent at the Podium merely nodded. "If you require assistance, alert me, Agent Mothman, and I'll have a backup team at your beck and call."
Dib gave a prefunctory nod before darting back off of the stage, gathering his things as Agent Skunkape addressed the crowd. "Well..." she started, the tone of ease still apparent in her voice. "Well, everyone, wish Agent Mothman luck. We'll see you all at the Halloween Network Party...That is all. Drive safely. Goodnight." She sad, dazed, before retreating from the stage herself.
The Agents all filed out of the convention room out into the parking lot, where all but Dib started their drive home. The young agent hailed a taxi cab, since his father was too busy that night to come pick him up. It was like that msot nights, but he didn't mind. Moreover, he was used to it. So long as his father administered the correct amout of allowance each week, Dib was more than capable of taking care of himself.
In hindsight, it was actually fortunate that his father didn't keep tabs on him. Otherwise, Dib was certain, he would not be able to go to half the meetings the Network held, nor would he be able to take up the case he'd just been assigned.
Now, granted, he would have to wait until the weekend to preform his duties, but it gave him something to look foward to during the skoolday. Something besides his main objective of survival, of course. That week, his classmates had taken to throwing rocks at him while he studied. Some had even gotten brave and begun throwing live animals at him. He'd returned home quite often, lately, with an angry lizard attatched to him, or clawmarks on his face. Yesterday, one even threw a snake at him. What it would be today, he thought as he sat alone on the brick wall fence on the playground, was a mystery. It couldn't possibly get worse than the snake. A sick smile twisted his lips at this.