The first-class plane had landed at a small airport on the outskirts of Illinois months ago, bringing Cassian and Helen from North Carolina with the mission to confront Michael Myers. Since then, they had settled into a discreet Vatican warehouse outside Haddonfield, a cold and dusty space where they spent their time preparing. Cassian had dedicated those months to training Helen, teaching her to use the newly arrived devices sent by the Vatican: a tracking drone with thermal sensors, directional microphones, and an encrypted laptop with access to ecclesiastical files. Under the flickering light of industrial lamps, he also instructed her in self-defense, his steady hands adjusting her stance as she practiced punches and dodges, her ragged breathing echoing in the silence. Now, they were ready, and the time to act had come.
Helen, carrying a black briefcase filled with dossiers and tech, adjusted her jacket as they left the warehouse for a motel in Haddonfield. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes reflected a mix of nerves and resolve after months of preparation. Cassian, with his bag slung over his shoulder, checked his dagger and pistol under the fading daylight, the crucifix on his chest glinting with each step.
"This is real now, isn't it?" Helen said, her voice trembling slightly as she gazed at the quiet streets of Haddonfield. "We spent months training in that warehouse, and I still don't feel fully ready. Michael Myers… what is he to you, Cassian? After everything you told me on the flight, I still don't understand him."
Cassian zipped up his bag, his tone calm but heavy as he looked at her.
"I don't fully understand him either, Helen. The reports say he's a man, but one who doesn't fit. Forty years ago, he killed in this town, and since then, he's been locked up in Smith's Grove. Forty years imprisoned, and they still fear him like it was yesterday. The Vatican sent me because they suspect he might be more than human, but I don't smell sulfur, I don't sense possession. We're going to the hospital to see him for ourselves. If he's just a man, I'll stop him. If he's something more, we'll know."
Helen nodded, opening the briefcase to pull out a thick dossier on Michael Myers. "I've read this a thousand times while you trained me. Dr. Ranbir Sartain, his psychiatrist, calls him 'pure evil,' but he doesn't explain how he's survived so long or why he's still a threat after four decades locked up. I spoke with Father Malone from the local diocese; he gave me access to Smith's Grove. What do you expect to find there, Cassian, after all this time preparing?"
Cassian adjusted the crucifix around his neck, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Answers. I want to see him, feel him. If Sartain knows something, I'll get it out of him. You stay close, use the devices to record everything. After months of training, you're ready for this, Helen. I trust you."
They drove to Smith's Grove Rehabilitation Hospital, a gray, oppressive building surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards. Helen coordinated with Father Malone, who got them through with an ecclesiastical pass, while Cassian scanned every corner with caution. Inside, Dr. Ranbir Sartain met them in an interview room, a thin man with intense eyes and restless hands. At the same time, reporters Aaron Korey and Dana Haines arrived, their cameras humming as they insisted on filming Michael.
Sartain eyed them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, adjusting his glasses. "Who are you? I didn't have anything scheduled with the Vatican today. These reporters are already enough trouble. What do you want with my patient after forty years?"
Cassian stepped forward, his imposing presence filling the room, his deep voice cutting through the air. "I'm Cassian, this is Helen. We're here for Michael Myers. We're not here to film a spectacle like them; we want to understand him. Forty years ago, he killed, and since then, he's been locked up here. You call him 'pure evil.' What does that mean? Is he human or something more? Speak plainly, Doctor."
Sartain frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. "He's human, yes, but not like you or me. He doesn't speak, doesn't show emotion, he just exists. I've studied him since I replaced Dr. Loomis. His actions in 1978 were instinctive, like an animal's. After forty years here, he's still an enigma. No possession, just a broken mind that doesn't change. Why the Vatican now? Do they think he's a demon after all this time?"
Helen stepped in, opening her laptop and displaying a chart of the 1978 murders. "We don't know yet, that's why we're here. Look at this: forty years ago, he killed five people in one night, moving between houses at a speed that doesn't seem normal. He survived wounds that would've killed anyone else. He's been locked up here since then, but tomorrow they're transferring him. What do you know that's not in these reports?"
Aaron Korey, adjusting his microphone, barged into the conversation with an arrogant tone. "Hold on a second, we got here first. We want an interview with Myers, not a religious chat. Doctor, take us to him now, we've got a deadline."
Cassian shot him a cold look, his voice low but menacing. "You're chasing headlines, we're chasing truth. If you want to see him, wait your turn. Doctor, take us to him."
Sartain sighed, rising reluctantly. "Fine, but don't expect answers. Michael hasn't spoken in forty years—not to me, not to anyone. Follow me, but keep your distance."
He led them to a fenced courtyard where Michael Myers stood motionless under the gray sun, his tall, silent figure casting a long shadow. Aaron and Dana tried to provoke him, shouting questions, but Michael didn't react, his eyes hidden behind matted hair. Cassian approached the edge of the fence, his hand on his crucifix, feeling a chill he couldn't explain.
"He doesn't speak, but he listens," Cassian murmured, turning to Helen. "What does your equipment say?"
Helen adjusted the directional microphone, frowning as she checked the screen. "Nothing, not a sound. But his breathing… it's too slow, like he's waiting for something. Cassian, I don't know what he is after these months preparing, but he doesn't feel normal."
Sartain let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. "I told you, he's an enigma. Forty years here, and he's still the same. No demons, just a man who doesn't fit your rules. Tomorrow they transfer him, and my job's done. What will you do then?"
Cassian stared at him, his tone icy. "I'll stop him, one way or another. If he escapes, we'll hunt him. Thank you, Doctor, we've seen enough."
That night, in the Haddonfield motel, tension hung over them. Helen closed her laptop after sending a report to the Vatican, her hands trembling slightly as she looked at Cassian, who was sharpening his dagger at the table. "This is bigger than I thought, Cassian. We trained for months in Illinois, you prepared me with all that gear, but seeing him today… it scared me. How do you face him without hesitation?"
Cassian set the dagger down, approaching her with slow steps, his voice soft but firm. "I hesitate, Helen, but I don't let it win. You give me strength—you did in Carolina, and you do now after these months. Come here, I need more than words tonight."
Helen looked at him, her cheeks flushing as she stood. "What do you need? Tell me, Cassian, after today I'll do anything."
He pulled her close, his hands firm on her hips. "Take this off me, and do what you know. I need to feel you."
She smiled, nervous but eager, kneeling before him with a slow motion. Her trembling fingers unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants and boxers down to his ankles, leaving his hard cock exposed to the cool air of the room. Helen looked at it for a moment, her eyes bright, before leaning in and licking the tip with a warm, wet tongue, swirling it in slow circles.
"Like this, Cassian? Do you like it?" she whispered, her hot breath brushing against him.
He let out a low groan, his hand tangling in her ponytail. "Yes, Helen, keep going… deeper."
She obeyed, opening her mouth and taking him fully, her lips tightening around him as she sucked hard, her tongue sliding along the base. She guided her head in slow movements at first, moaning softly as she sucked, the wet sound filling the room. Cassian breathed deeply, his fingers gripping her hair.
"Damn it, Helen… you're good at this. Don't stop, I want more."
Helen quickened her pace, her hands clutching his thighs as she sucked eagerly, her saliva dripping down her chin. She brought him to the edge with deep, forceful sucks, her moans vibrating against him, until Cassian gasped, his body tensing.
"I'm going to… Helen, now…" he growled, and she took it all, her mouth filling with his hot cum as he came, his hips trembling.
She pulled back, panting, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked up at him with an exhausted smile. "Better now? Because I needed that too."
"Much better. Rest, tomorrow will be worse."
Hours later, a distant crash woke them: the prison transport had collided, Michael Myers had escaped, and Cassian, looking out the window, felt the air shift—a harbinger of blood on the horizon.