Steve Brown took another shot at a cow as he drove down the highway. He laughed, drunkenly, as the creature moaned and fell over. He swerved quickly to avoid a badger crossing the road, not wanting to get his truck scratched. He drove along lazily until he saw a man standing on the side of the road. He pulled his car over and looked at him.

"Hey, what're you doing out here, boy?" Steve yelled at him.

"Oh, thank god!" the man exclaimed, "Please, you have to get me out of here! Quickly, before they come back!"

"What're you talk ..." Steve began, but was cut off by the bellow of a truck horn. He looked up to see the huge vehicle driving at him ... on his side of the road.

"It's too late! Run! Run, you idiot!" the man screamed, turning and running out into the desert. Steve turned to him and then looked back, just in time to see the massive, black machine crash into the hood of his truck. That was the last sight that Steve Brown ever saw.

The man stopped and bent down, taking in deep breaths. As he started walking, many eyes watched him from the darkness, seeing in bright red hues. The man stopped as he heard a clicked sound behind him. He slowly turned with a look of horror on his face, hearing a growling sound. He screamed as a shape leapt off a rock at him. Ripping, screaming, and crunching sounds echoed through the night, but no one heard. It was empty. It was always empty on Route 666.

Dr. John Vandelay walked into his building and let out a long sigh. He stood in the hallway, wearing a tuxedo. The office party had just finished and he needed to get some things out of his office before leaving for the weekend. He was young for a doctor, only around 29 years old. He had been working for the NMBPI (New Mexico Bureau of Paranormal Investigation) for good three years, but he never got any interesting jobs. He would always investigate samples and study remains. For some people, that would be heaven, but what John had really been striving for the SSIT, Sighting Scene Investigation Team. Of course, just out of college, he was looked down upon as a rookie and wasn't relied on for anything more advanced than bigfoot research. 'Everyone knows they exist, hell, I've even know where to find a nest of them,' he thought to himself. As he opened the door, he was surprised and bit annoyed to see a man pouring through his notes.

"And you are?" he said, loudly. The man stood up straight and turned around. His hair was short and almost bleach blonde, contrasting strangely to his leather overcoat. Dr. Vandelay himself had only seen men wearing that specific type of coat on one ocassion, and that was when they thought they had a good lead on a mothman case.

"I'm Colonel Brad Vaughn of the MI6 reminant supernatural division," the man said with a bit of a British accent to his voice. He calmly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. "Fag? (British for cigar)"

"No, I don't smoke," John said, looking at him nervously. The MI6 reminant hadn't even shown up for a break in bogeyman cases. If they were here, something big was going down. "May I ask as to why you're in my office?"

"I'll be blunt with ya', Johnny boy," Brad said, lighting up a cigarette and putting it in his mouth, "We need you. We've got a large project here in NM and you're the best man for the job, seeing your extensive research on a certain number and all."

"What are you talking about?" John asked, a hint of confusion and excitement in his voice.

"666. The highway specifically, There's been a recent wave of disappearances. You know, people go in, they don't come back. Specifically, over 200 people this past month alone," Brad answered, taking out the cigarette and blowing smoke out, "You seem to be the local expert, so we figured we could use your skills. What'd ya' say, mate?"

"Um, sure ..." John said nervously. He had always wanted one of these cases. Well, he wanted any of the big ones, but Route 666 especially. It was just that the highway had a bad reputation and this new information didn't exactly steady his hand.

"Great then," Brad said, putting the cigarette out on his hand without flinching, "We'll pick you up tomorrow, Johnny boy." He tossed he burnt-out cigarette in the trash can left a very confused and anxious John in the empty building.

Two miles off, a girl watched them from the top of a tall building. She was only about ten and wore pajamas. Her stringy, black hair trailed down to her waist as she glared at the leaving vehicle that Brad had entered.

"It looks like they're going to try to stop us," she said with an annoyed tone, "We can't have that, can we?" She turned to the skeletal creature clinging on to the needle spire of the building. It let out a long hiss as its claws raked the steel needle. "Calm down, Rupert," she said, lifting off into the air, "Come, we have thing to do."