Demons (MCYT x Phasmophobia Fanfic)

When the Days are Cold

Summary
You know the government sucks when the guys behind the desks are dead inside and prefer making paper aeroplanes instead of reviewing paperwork. Impulse just wants to get alived again so he can officially work for the company again, that's all.

Oh! And Martyn's here, too.

[This instalment is sponsored by Febuwhump (Day 16: Came Back Wrong), Murtagh by Christopher Paolini, and the Department for Hermit Permits]

[Trigger Warnings]

The government agent sighed, their mouse clicking loudly in the awkward silence in the mundane office. Their eyes moved sluggishly behind large round glasses, which were fogged up by the uncomfortable humidity in the room and marred with dirt and scratches, as they took another deep breath and let it out, blowing hot air that hit the plexiglass divider and redirected to ruffle their faded pale cyan dyed hair. The long, greasy strands fell into their eyes and they took off their glasses to rub them and push their growing out bangs back on top of their head.

"So..." they said slowly, making eye contact with Skizz and deliberately ignoring Impulse, who stood next to him and fidgeted with his t-shirt. "Your friend died, came back through some form of arcane magic you refuse to expand on, and you're trying to revoke his death certificate so he can 'rejoin society properly and get a job' at the ghost investigation company he worked at before his death."

"Yeah, that's it," Skizz responded.

The worker gave another 'I'm dead inside and hate my job' sigh, turning to the file cabinet next to them and flipping through the folders for the legislation related to the revocation of a death certificate attached to a faked death or result of necromancy. They brought out a relatively thin folder and scanned through the documents within, reading the limited information about the legality of the request. Unfortunately, such cases were few and far between – virtually nonexistent – and had next to no guidelines on how to go about such an action.

"I'm gonna have to call a higher-up," the agent said, flopping the folder on the desk and pushing their glasses up, slipping their hands behind the lenses and massaging their eyes. "I have no idea how to do this." With that, they reached over and picked up their desk phone, dialling an extension and waiting for the opposite end to pick up.

"Right. Okay, that's fine," Skizz said, turning to Impulse and shrugging. The demon huffed, looking around at the plain, undecorated office. A wilted plant sat on a short bookshelf, leaves mournfully drooping down and hanging off the edges of the pot. The wallpaper peeled in places around splotchy water stains that were ringed with mould, although they were small enough to be ignored by health inspectors.

Impulse tuned out of the office as they waited for the official, eyes roving over the dilapidated space. He exhaled softly, switching his gaze to the agent as they put down the phone and turned back to their computer, clicking away again as they navigated documents of forms and information. They blinked slowly every few seconds, sad, dead eyes rehydrating themselves as they scrolled slowly from side to side as they read the text.

"Alright, I got it here," the agent said finally, leaning back in their creaking swivel chair. The printer next to them rumbled to life, coughing and sputtering as it sucked in clean paper from the tray.

The sheets jammed in the mechanism and the machine ground to a halt, making pitiful whining noises as it cried for help. The agent sighed and pried one of the panels open, reaching in with their fingers and straightening out the sheets. They slammed it shut again, banging on the side to restart the machine. It protested loudly with a series of beeps, then grumbled back to life and printed the documents onto creased paper.