The British men of letters had a new task for the Winchesters: kill a monster. So now the boys were stuck, following Ketch down sterile white hallways. Sam was glancing around, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. While Dean was wrapping his head around the whole ordeal. Within the lab, there are pods lining the walls. And inside them? Monsters. Some they recognize, others they don’t.

Sam’s face is a picture of disgust. He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looks at a particularly deformed creature in one of the cages, its skin slick and stretched tight across bones that look like they’ve been surgically altered. Words are being said, but both men are not listening. Then, they are taken to the last room. The door slides open with a soft hiss, and they step inside, squinting against the stark lighting.

It’s a cage, but not one like the others. It’s larger, more like a containment cell, and there you stand. You don’t look like a monster. You look human. Nothing about you screams evil. Your eyes are empty, you stand from your bed, walking up to the glass, staring at the men on the other side, sizing them up. The technician starts talking, giving some spiel about how they’ve perfected a person who’s been modified: transgenetic, unkillable. They’ve removed its need for sleep, and even basic human functions, with different DNA inside them. Essentially, this thing is built to last. Built to kill.

“Meet your objective.” Ketch says and both boys look at him.

Sam’s face hardens, “We don’t kill people. We don’t kill innocent people.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? This thing, whatever it is, wasn’t born innocent. It was made. And they’re left wondering if it’s even human anymore.

“Yeah, that’s not right,” Dean mutters under his breath, his voice low, but you can see it; he’s weighing his options, his brain already working through how he could make this thing stop breathing. He’s looking for a flaw, some weakness he can exploit. “I bet I could find a way to kill it, though.”