This is my first attempt at a case file. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Sorry this is short, the second chapter should be up in a day or two.

Disclaimer: When I tried telling people that I created Bones, they didn't believe me. I suppose they're right.

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The rough silver walls, aside from being marred with scuffs and dings from years of rough treatment, have been painted by an unskilled hand. Crude trees, barely more than wide strokes of deep brown paint, rise from the concrete floor and waver along the hills and valleys of the corrugated steel as if the branches are swaying languidly in a breeze. But the air is still, no breeze stirs the rancid reek that fills the room. Crimson paint runs in dried rivulets down the branches of these lifeless trees, gruesome blood that has never flowed in human veins. One wall bears a clumsy figure, sheathed in a hooded robe of almost luminescent glossy white paint. The figure has no hands or feet, and only a black oval where a face should be.

Outside, voices. A door slams shut, and then another. An engine starts.

After a moment of near silence, with only the quiet hum of the car to fill this grim void, a scream of metal upon metal echoes through the room. The barren trees vibrate as if filling with long-awaited power, and where the car has collided with the structure, the door bends inward, thin metal warped by a careless driver.

The occupants of this room do not react to the violence that has rent their resting place. They are long past the stage of caring. They wait, always patient, for someone to find them. For someone to give them the voices that they lost so long ago.