You know, there are a lot of wackos out there. You know the type, the nutjobs who live in trailers and wear tinfoil hats, who claim that the government is brainwashing us through our cellphones and faked the moon landings and that they're hiding the UFO that crashed in Roswell inside Area 51.
Sort of, anyway.
It wasn't a UFO landing that drove the military into high gear, it was a group of vampires. Five of them appeared in the desert, out of nowhere. The military was woefully unprepared. Fifty-four soldiers were killed in less than three hours. The only thing that saved the rest of the company was the early dawn. Those "little green men" the nurses reported seeingwere actually the shriveled corpses of vampires that had been exposed to the sun's ultraviolet light.
Three weeks later, on July 22, 1947, the United States Government founded the Paranormal Research, Investigation, and Management Agency. It was tasked with monitering and interviening in any reported signs of paranormal activities.
Of course, the agents didn't particuarly appreciate their agency's name forming the acronym PRIMA, as it made for some not-very-flattering nicknames, so the agents took to calling themselves "the slayers."
Of course, none of this much mattered to me at that point. I had more pressing concerns on my mind, like the werewolf that thought I'd make a good snack. I'd asked him to come in quietly, but he decided to stay belligerent. A trio of silver hollowpoints changed his attitude rather quickly. Unfortunately for me, that just made his girlfriend angry. And everyone knows that werewolves are like Hulk; you really won't like them when they're angry. She tried to take a chunk out of my face; fortunately, she was a bit intoxicated on garlic fumes, so she missed. Still took the rest of my clip to bring her down, though.
My name is Eli Thatcher, and I'm a Slayer.