Chapter four - Dean

"Hi, I'm Agent Jonathan Davis and this is my colleague Agent David Silveria. We're from the FBI," I said, shamelessly filching the names from two members of the rock band Korn for our cover alibi.

The local policeman who I assumed was the Sheriff looked my brother and I up and down, even as Sam stifled a snort of laughter, which the sheriff didn't seem to hear.

"FBI? You don't look like FBI?" the sheriff commented, as he looked pointedly at the way Sam and I were dressed, and then at our faces.

We were both wearing smart black suits for a change, which was in keeping with the FBI image. We even had copies of the FBI badge that were so close to the real thing it was scary. But still there seemed to be something that didn't seem right to the sherriff, seemingly. Perhaps, to him, we looked too young to be in the FBI, even though I'm 28 and Sam's 24.

"We're undercover," Sam saved the day by saying.

"Riiight. Agent - Davis, was it?" the sheriff asked, and waited for my nod.

"Okay, Agent Davis, I guess you're here to see the bodies," the sheriff asked, not looking impressed with either me or my brother. "Bring your friend with you."

And he strode without even looking at Sam once.

"I don't like that man," Sam announced, with a sour look on his face that was unusual for my younger brother.

"Neither do I, Sammy, but we'll have to humour him for the time being," I murmured back to him, even as I started to follow the ill-mannered Sheriff. "Perhaps he's mad that we're not in-breds like the rest of them! They can't deal with two hot young men in their midst, just so you know!"

Sam was still laughing when we caught up with the sherriff standing already at the pile of dead bodies - all male, all in their twenties and all looking to be in pretty fit condition. Oh, that is, if you didn't count the fact that their livers had been ripped out by force. Looked as though it had been done with a laser, perhaps, judging by the burned skin and flesh around the gaping holes.Sam turned away, looking ill and even I had to turn away and I'm usually the one with the stronger stomach.

"You're pretty squeamish for FBI, ain't you?" the sheriff asked, and it sounded as though he was laughing at us.

"We're still human in the FBI, you know, Sheriff. We're not aliens, or at least, not as far as I know," I said, in answer to that.

The sheriff harrumphed as though he wasn't convinced.

"There were some cattle and pigs at a local farm that received the same treatment. The farmer's gone mad because he's lost almost all his livelihood," the sherriff informed us, and when I looked back at him, he looked as though he was thouroughly enjoying this.

"You're not very nice, are you, Sheriff?" I asked him.T

hat soon wiped the self satisfied smirk off his face. That's one thing I can't stand - people who are too sure of themselves.

Before he could form any attempt at an answer, though, my phone rang. Sam looked at me expectantly, probably expecting it to be our dad.

I said - "Hello?" - once I'd connected, before saying - "That you, Dad?"There was no answer.

"Hello?" I said, again, but all I could hear was a lot of white noise.In fact it reminded me a lot of the noise a computer makes when it's connecting to the internet.

I was just on the verge of giving up and disconnecting, when suddenly, finally, I heard something.

It was a voice; a strange, metallic sounding voice, as though it was coming from perhaps a robot.It said - "You're next!"