The following night, Barry and Syssim just lounged on the couch, watching tv and drinking beers, just having a good time.
When the doorbell rang.
"Who the fuck it can be at this hour?" grumbled Barry.
He still got up and opened the door.
And found himself facing a man.
A middle-aged man, clothed in a casual fashion.
Yet Barry felt something... off.
"Hello, mister Weelz."
"You are?" asked the trucker.
"Agent Thomas Rogan, police of Salt Lake City. I have a few questions to ask you."
"About what?" asked warily Barry.
"About how the giant werewolf ruined your truck."
"Er, why the police cares about this? And now?"
The "cop"'s only answer was to smirk.
Barry paled, realizing what felt off, what his instincts told him.
He knew.
"...Come in," he managed to articulate, his mouth dry.
The man entered.

Syssim, who had seen, heard and understood the scene, glared at the man, who kept smirking.
"To be honest, mister Weelz, I'm not a cop. I'm actually-"
"A member of a secret monster hunter organization, that doesn't see with a very good eye a planet-sized werewolf," spat Barry.
"How did you guess?"
"First off, I'm a trucker, doesn't mean I'm a dumbass. Second off..."
He suddenly ripped a shotgun from behind the couch and aimed.
"I don't need to be in wolf form to be dangerous."
The man kept that infuriating smile.
"You really think that's gonna help?" he asked.
"Well, we can check if you're bulletproof," snarled Syssim.
"Or you can answer our questions," spat Barry.
"...Okay."
"One: You're alone?"
"No, I have two snipers covering me, they're ordered to not act unless I give them the signal, but you should play nice, I can't be sure they'll get nervous."
"TWO: Do you or your organization consider me a threat?"
"No. Though your little gunplay might make us change our mind."
"Three, and better watch out what you're going to answer: what do you intend to do with the Deep Ones?" snarled the deep one in the room.
"Help them, of course," replied the unknown man, finally dropping his smile. "But we need your help first."
A long, tense silence ensued.
Until eventually...
"Okay, fine," muttered Barry, turning his shotgun away. "Syssim, you can grab us three beers?"
As Syssim went in the kitchen, Barry sat down at his table, and put the shotgun on it, pointed away, but close at hand, in a clear message.
The man sat down, followed by the deep one and his beers.
"So, who are you really, and what's your organization?"
"I didn't lie on my name," said the man as he pulled and showed a card. "Thomas Rogan, AMS agent."
"AMS?"
"Association of Monsters' Sanctuaries."

Art by  gepredators
Original here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/33273340/
Barry and Syssim © me
Deep Ones © H.P. Lovecraft
Thomas Rogan © Sega