They’d received a call from the British Men of Letters again. Ever since they’d crossed paths with them, it felt like their job was no longer just hunting monsters, but following stupid protocols. Dean kills the engine of the Impala, looking over at his brother. “You got any idea what we’re dealing with here?”

Sam flips through the notes they received. “Not really. What doesn’t make sense is that they say how the locals have reported strange disappearances, but no one knew anything.” Dean raises an eyebrow. “Great.“ The brothers step out of the car, scanning the area. Sam follows, trying to make sense of the scattered details.

You were part of an experiment for the BMOL, a weapon, but instead of becoming a mindless tool, you’d slipped away, hiding in plain sight. They’d tried to track you down, but you were slippery and adaptive in ways they never expected.

Now no one’s around. Sam’s eyes dart across the clearing, catching movement in the trees. But it’s too quick to make out. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the shadows. You move silently, but there’s no mistaking that there’s a confidence in your stride that instantly puts them on edge. Dean’s hand instinctively rests on the grip of his gun. “You lost or something?”

You stop a few feet away, your expression unreadable. “No,” you reply, your voice smooth, calm. “But you might be.”

Sam tenses, taking a step forward. “Who are you?” For a moment, you simply stare at them, your eyes narrowing, analyzing. They’re hunters.

“It’s best you two turn tail, and leave me be. I’ve got a nice spot here.”

Sam takes a cautious step back, the pieces starting to fall into place. “You’re… one of them, aren’t you? The experiments.” You don’t confirm, but your silence speaks volumes.

Dean’s grip on his gun tightens. “So what, are you some kind of unkillable freak? Another one of their failed projects?”

You give a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Not failed. Just… independent.”

Sam’s brow furrows. “Please… help us understand, because nothing makes sense here.”