This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/urgoofyahh on 2026-08-03 21:44:25+00:00.

---

Every morning, I walked into the most dangerous government facility in the world.

And every morning, the first thing that tried to kill me was the coffee machine.

Before you ask, no, I am not joking.

The coffee machine in the employee lounge had been responsible for three injuries, one minor fire, and a formal complaint from a vampire who claimed it "had malicious intent." Personally, I thought that was dramatic. The machine didn't hate vampires. It just hated everyone equally.

That was one of the first things you learned working at the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs.

The monsters weren't always the problem;

Sometimes, it was the equipment.

Sometimes, it was the situation.

And sometimes…

It was the people who were supposed to protect you.

I swiped my ID at the first security checkpoint.

ACCESS GRANTED.

The second scanner checked my fingerprints.

IDENTITY CONFIRMED.

The third scanner paused.

That one always made new employees nervous because the third checkpoint wasn't checking who you were.

It was checking what you were.

A small green light swept over my body before a computerized voice spoke.

"Biological Status: Common Human."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Wow. Common? How rude..."

The security officer behind the desk looked up from his paperwork.

"You know the machine isn't insulting you, right?"

"That's exactly what an insulting machine would say."

The officer sighed.

His name was Carl. He'd been working security for eight years. He was also a werewolf, which sounded intimidating until you realized he spent most of his shift arguing with the scanner because it refused to recognize ghosts.

It wasn't really the scanner's fault. Most of its identification systems relied on things like body temperature, fingerprints, retinal scans, and heartbeats…all the little details that came with having a physical body.

Ghosts, unfortunately, had a habit of not possessing any of those.

So every morning, Carl had to manually verify that the ghost floating through the checkpoint was, in fact, the same ghost who had floated through yesterday.

According to him, spectral identification was still "an unsolved pain in my ass," and ghosts should stop wasting everyone's time by using the checkpoint and just pass through walls like they were supposed to.

On the other hand, Margaret, our oldest ghost custodian, called that “species discrimination.” According to her, going through walls felt like “swimming through wet cement.”

I stayed out of that argument. Mostly because I had no idea how to mediate a workplace dispute between a werewolf and a centuries old ghost about proper ghost etiquette.

Once Carl finally waved me through, I headed toward the elevators.

The Bureau was a lot bigger than people imagined.

Actually, scratch that.

People didn't imagine it at all.

Officially, the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs didn't exist. If you asked the government, this building was a geological research center, which was hilarious considering it was built six hundred feet underground.

Apparently, we researched geology by avoiding it.

The Bureau had been around for almost a millennia, long enough that nobody really remembered what it had been called before.

Our job was pretty simple: find the things that shouldn't exist, figure out what they were, and keep them from ending the world.

Contrary to what Hollywood thought, we didn't hunt monsters for sport. Most of the creatures here were never dangerous to begin with. A vampire who just wanted a stable blood supply wasn't exactly plotting world domination. Neither was the ghost who'd spent the last thirty years complaining that people kept walking through her while she was mopping.

Sure, we had the occasional nightmare-fueled entity locked several floors below us, the kind  that could level cities or rewrite someone's memories just by making eye contact.

But those weren't the majority.

Most of our work was research, medicine, diplomacy, and containment.

Turns out the best way to stop most supernatural incidents was by talking before shooting.

Who would've guessed?

The Bureau was divided into six divisions.

Containment kept things locked up. Research tried to understand them. Field Operations found new anomalies. Medical kept everyone alive. Administration fought paperwork.

Then there was Behavioral Analysis.

My department.

Whenever an entity refused to cooperate, whenever negotiations broke down, whenever researchers wrote “Subject displaying unexplained aggression” in a report...

They called us.

Usually me.

Because more often than not, the subject wasn't aggressive.

It was scared.

Or grieving.

Or lonely.

Those were very different problems.

Unfortunately, most people didn't notice the difference until someone got hurt.

I don’t have the sharp senses of a werewolf. I don’t know ancient magic like the witches, and I certainly don’t have centuries of experience like the vampires.

The only thing I am unusually good at...

Is understanding people.

Even when the "people" in question have stopped being human a very long time ago.

As I rounded the corner, I spotted my supervisor leaning against the observation room window with his arms crossed.

Director Mercer.

Common Human.

Mid-fifties.

Always looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

He glanced up as I approached.

"Morning."

"You only say 'morning' like that when my schedule's about to get ruined."

He handed me a tablet.

"I had plans, you know."

Mercer raised an eyebrow.

"You don't have plans."

"I was planning on pretending to work until lunch."

He ignored me.

"Containment requested a behavioral assessment."

I skimmed the report.

SUBJECT: F-214 H-class

STATUS: Non-compliant.

INCIDENT: Refusing food for seventy-two hours. Displays escalating aggression toward personnel.

I sighed.

"They already tried tranquilizers, didn't they?"

Mercer didn't answer.

That was answer enough.

"They did?"

"They're scientists."

"They're impatient scientists."

I handed the tablet back.

"Give me five minutes."

The observation room overlooked a containment chamber built to withstand far worse than whatever was inside. About a dozen researchers stood behind the reinforced glass, arguing over graphs and medical readouts.

The subject sat motionless in the corner.

It resembled a deer.

If deer happened to be eight feet tall, covered in black feathers instead of fur, and had antlers that seemed to bend in directions, antlers probably shouldn't.

No one said anything.

They were waiting for my opinion.

I watched the creature.

It never looked at the food.

It never looked at the door.

It watched the people.

And every single time someone moved, its feathers tightened against its body.

One researcher cleared his throat.

"Well?"

I looked at him.

"How many people have gone into that room today?"

He frowned.

"...Six."

I nodded toward the creature.

"That's your problem."

There were confused looks all around.

"It’s an H-class, obviously it thinks you're predators."

One of the researchers frowned.

"It attacked Technician Morales yesterday."

"No."

I shook my head.

"It panicked."

"There's a difference."

The researcher looked ready to argue, but Mercer cut him off.

"Do what he says."

The room emptied until only I remained.

I picked up the food tray, opened the containment door, and walked inside.

Behind the glass, every researcher tensed.

That reaction was normal.

Most people who worked at the Bureau respected the things in containment. They studied them. They documented them. They tried to understand them.

But respect and fear were separated by a very thin line.

The funny thing was...

I wasn't afraid of the creature.

I was afraid of proving everyone right about it.

I sat down.

Not across from it.

Not close enough to intimidate it.

Just close enough that it knew I was there.

The creature watched me.

I watched it.

Five minutes passed.

Nothing.

Ten minutes.

Still nothing.

Then behind the glass, I heard the researchers getting impatient.

"Is he seriously just sitting there?"

"That's the strategy?"

"Apparently."

I ignored them.

People hated silence. They always wanted to fill it with questions, commands, or threats.

The creature didn't need someone trying to control it. It needed someone to stop treating it like a problem.

Slowly, its eyes moved toward me. For a second, I thought it was finally going to approach.

Instead, it lowered its head.

Interesting.

I looked closer, not at its face, but at everything else. The researchers had focused on the obvious: the claws, the teeth, the size, the things that made it look dangerous. They missed the details.

I didn't.

One of its antlers had a crack running along the base. Not broken. Cracked. Like something had hit it hard enough to damage the bone. Its left wing hung lower than the other, and every few seconds it shifted its weight away from one side.

I frowned.

"You're hurt."

The creature froze.

Behind the glass, someone reached toward the alarm. I lifted a hand.

Don't.

Not yet.

Slowly, the creature raised its head.

I pushed the food tray across the floor. Not directly toward it. Just closer.

"Nobody noticed, did they?"

The creature stared.

"You weren't refusing to eat."

A pause.

"You were in too much pain."

For the first time since I entered, the creature moved. Slowly. Carefully. It approached the tray.

And ate.

Behind the glass, the room erupted.

"He's ea...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1veqzh4/the_government_hired_me_because_monsters_trust_me/