Alex stood outside the Water Cooler bar — a favorite spot for office workers dreaming of forgetting about their bosses and deadlines after a long, exhausting day.
He was playing the role of a worn-out intern who seemed to have forgotten what sleep and weekends were. In one hand, he held a weathered leather briefcase — the kind that looked like it had been passed down from his father. In the other, a cigarette burned slowly, the smoke mixing with the cool Chicago night air.
Leaning casually against the wall near an ashtray, Alex looked every bit the part of an invisible nobody. The passing office workers didn't spare him a glance — to them, he was just another overworked intern, trudging through the same routine they once endured themselves.
He wore a simple outfit: black slacks, a slightly wrinkled jacket, a white shirt, and a loosened blue tie. Plain glasses added to the weary realism of his disguise, while his messy hair made him look like someone who hadn't slept properly in a week.
He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled upward, and cast a brief glance through the bar's large window. Inside, the usual after-hours scene unfolded: clinking glasses, laughter, talk of salaries, someone complaining about their boss, someone else already half-asleep at the counter.
But Alex was looking for one person.
A crossroads demon named Greg — one who enjoyed lingering among people desperate for success and career advancement. For a demon, this place was the perfect hunting ground: greed, envy, and ambition hung in the air thicker than the cigarette smoke.
"Man is an animal that makes bargains. No other animal does this... no dog exchanges bones with another," Alex muttered, recalling an old quote, a faint smirk curling on his lips.
He didn't feel pity for these people. They chose their fate when they signed their deals, fully aware of the price. Most of them had no idea what awaited them after death. Hell wasn't what they imagined. Alex remembered Crowley's story: for fun, the demon had created an endless queue in Hell. When you finished one line, you simply joined the next — forever. For some, that truly was the worst torture.
While Alex observed the stream of people going in and out, dozens of nearly identical faces passed before his eyes. He barely noticed another man in a dark business suit who walked by — there were hundreds like him.
Yet, a few minutes later, when Alex glanced through the window again, he saw that same man remove his jacket, hang it on a chair, and take a seat in the corner near the bar counter.
He raised a finger, and the bartender immediately brought over a bottle of bourbon. One ice cube, a heavy glass — the amber liquid shimmered softly under the warm light.
Alex narrowed his eyes. Behind the lenses, a faint blue glow flashed — he could see the man's blackened soul. A demon. No doubt about it.
He stubbed out his cigarette, rubbed his face to look more drained, and, with slouched shoulders, walked into the bar.
His steps were slow and unsteady, as if exhaustion might topple him any second. Alex took a seat a few spots away from the demon, ordered a whiskey, and leaned his head on his hand as though barely staying awake.
When the bartender set the glass down, Alex tilted slightly forward, pretending to rest his head, though his gaze quietly tracked the demon from the corner of his eye.
Greg looked like any average office clerk — navy suit, unbuttoned collar, rolled-up sleeves. A tired but friendly smile rested on his face. Only his eyes betrayed his true nature: deep, with a faint red glimmer, as if fire flickered behind them. His fingers lazily spun a lighter engraved with a crossroads symbol.
Alex looked away and took a sip. The whiskey burned pleasantly down his throat. He asked the bartender for an ashtray, lit another cigarette, and continued to play his part flawlessly — just another overworked intern, drained of every ounce of strength.
That's when the demon finally noticed him. Pale face, dull eyes, slouched posture — the perfect prey. A tired man willing to do anything for a little relief. Greg smiled, watching Alex order another drink, and slowly moved closer.
"Frank, this one's on me," he said, nodding to the bartender with an easy, friendly smile.
Alex turned his head, feigning tired surprise. The hunt had begun.
The bartender, a man named Frank, gave a short nod. Greg was a regular here — he often treated patrons to drinks and chatted with them about life. So Frank didn't ask any questions; he simply poured Alex another glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.
Alex cast a quick glance at Greg from beneath his glasses and smirked inwardly — caught you.
He really did look pitiful — a tired, lost man worn down by work, someone who couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. And those were exactly the kind of people crossroads demons loved — the ones desperate enough to cling to any straw.
"Thanks. I guess," Alex muttered, raising his glass in a gesture of appreciation.
"Don't worry about it. You just look like your week's been lasting a month," Greg said with a light smile, taking a sip of bourbon. "Figured I'd cheer you up a bit. Though judging by your face, the day's been rough. And it's only Tuesday."
"It's Tuesday already? I thought it was still Wednesday," Alex replied tiredly, lowering his head.
"Is it really that bad?" Greg asked, lighting a cigarette and giving Alex a curious look.
"Well… I started working at NexWave Solutions a little over a month ago. They promised things would get easier after the internship. But a month's passed, and I can't even remember the last time I slept properly. Work even on weekends, not a minute of peace. Today's the first time they let me leave early because our manager's celebrating his anniversary with his wife. Generous guy, huh? Especially considering he does absolutely nothing and dumps all the work on us," Alex said, letting weariness fill his voice.
"Ah, NexWave Solutions," Greg drawled casually. "Those guys occupy the fifteenth to eighteenth floors of LaSalle Tower, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Exactly. All shine and glass on the outside — corporate hell on the inside. Feels like they're hiring slaves, not employees," Alex said with a heavy sigh.
They kept talking like two strangers killing time over drinks. Greg played the part of a friendly listener — as if he'd been through the same grind once and just wanted to encourage a young worker. He listened, asked questions, shared stories — but it was all an act. A game to earn trust while Alex drank and relaxed.
Alex, of course, saw through it all. He simply played along, adding new details to his story, complaining about life, and inventing a tyrannical boss who had supposedly driven him to the edge.
The fairy drone Navi hovered nearby, recording every second of the conversation. The girls from Alex's household watched with interest through the projection. To them, it looked like a scene from a workplace drama — the exhausted intern, the bar after work, whiskey and cigarette talk.
"Ugh… I wish that bastard would just get hit by a car," Alex muttered, taking another sip and pretending to be even drunker.
"You really hate your manager that much?" Greg asked, tilting his head slightly with a faint smile. "If he were to… disappear, what would you do?"
"What else? Take his place. That idiot wouldn't last a day without our reports. Hell, the director could hire a gorilla, and it would still do a better job than that bastard Pete," Alex replied, waving his hand and swaying a little as if he were losing coordination.
"What if I told you I could help you get the position you deserve?" Greg said softly, leaning closer. His voice grew gentle — almost soothing.
Alex lifted his gaze, feigning uncertainty."You a recruiter or something? Trying to poach people from other companies?"
Greg chuckled quietly."Ha. Something like that. So? Interested?"
"And how exactly do you plan to pull that off? I'm just an intern with no experience. I only just graduated," Alex said, acting hesitant.
"Not here," Greg replied, standing up and tossing a few bills on the counter. "Let's step outside for a smoke. No extra ears."
He smiled, gestured for Alex to follow, and headed toward the exit.
Greg rose from his seat, confident that the job was almost done — just a little longer, and a new soul would be in his hands. He struggled to suppress a satisfied smile: how easy it was, after all, to deceive office clerks. These people were ready to sell their souls for a worthless promotion, a few extra zeroes in their paycheck, or the meager respect of their colleagues.
Alex was the perfect prey — young, ambitious, exhausted, and envious. His expression was that of someone ready to do anything just to break free from the gray mass and feel important.
Alex glanced at Greg as he walked away, a faint, cold smile flickering across his face. He finished his whiskey in one gulp, rose from the stool, grabbed his worn leather briefcase, and, swaying slightly, staggered after him, pretending to be drunk.
When he stepped out of the bar, he saw Greg turn into a dark alley beside The Water Cooler. Alex silently followed. The alley was quiet — only the hum of distant traffic and the neon glow of the sign reflecting off the wet asphalt.
Greg stood leaning against the wall, already lighting a cigarette. Everything was going exactly as he had planned.
"So how exactly are you planning to make me take Pete's place?" Alex asked, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth.
"Don't worry about that," Greg replied, smiling. "All I need from you is to accept my offer. I'll help you. And in ten years, I'll only ask for… a small favor."
"And what favor would that be?" Alex feigned confusion.
"Just your soul. No big deal. Ten years of comfort, success, money, power… and then I come and take what's mine. All fair." Greg said it with a light smile, as if the request were insignificant.
Greg exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking at Alex with a slight grin.
"Soul?" Alex repeated, frowning. "Are you out of your mind? Or decided to play devil? If this is a joke, it's gone on way too long."
"Oh, not at all," Greg replied softly.
His eyes changed — the sclera turned a deep red, and his pupils glowed like embers in the dark.
Alex played his part perfectly. Shock and fear spread across his face; he even took a couple of hesitant steps back, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the wall and lowered his gaze, feigning panic.
Greg grinned with satisfaction — the reaction was exactly what he had expected. People never change. They fear, and fear is the best path to a deal.
Blinking, the demon returned to his usual appearance. His eyes were back to a normal brown, and the "friendly" smile returned to his face.
"So, you're a demon… And if I agree, we make a deal, and I take Pete's place. That's right?" Alex said in a trembling voice.
"That's right," Greg confirmed. "Ten whole years you'll live as you want. No worries, no suffering. Ten years of freedom, my boy."
"Give me a couple of minutes… I need to think," Alex said, lowering his gaze.
"Of course, of course," Greg nodded. "The customer is always right. Just don't take too long — my time is too valuable."
He turned his back to Alex, giving him "time to think."
As soon as the demon looked away, Alex's expression changed instantly. All the fatigue, trembling, and confusion vanished. He exhaled heavily, took off his glasses, and muttered a quiet curse under his breath.
His eyes regained their natural iridescent gleam. Alex loosened his tie, brushed his hair back, and took off his jacket. With each passing second, the image of a tired intern melted away, replaced by a cold, confident man standing tall.
He stretched, cracking his neck, straightened his shoulders, and looked up — at the fairy-drone Navi hovering above.
"Hope the girls at least give me an Oscar for this," he muttered to himself.
Meanwhile, Greg stood with his back turned, whistling a tune, more pleased than ever. He had not a shadow of doubt — another deal was practically sealed. He even allowed himself a smirk; after all, he was the one who had once made a contract with the director of NexWave Solutions, granting him success and power.
And now — another soul from the same company. Fitting.
"I've been thinking. But before we sign the contract, let me ask you one question," Alex said calmly, wrapping his tie around his hand.
Greg turned his head slightly.
"Heh, of course. Anything for my client," the demon replied smugly, not bothering to turn around.
Alex stepped forward, grabbed the demon by the shoulder, and raised his fist to strike."Where's Crowley, Greg?"
"What?.. What did you just say?" Greg began to turn, but he only managed to see one thing — a powerful fist flying straight toward his face.
Before Greg could utter a word, the last thing he saw were those iridescent eyes and the wide, almost deranged grin of the man who, just a second ago, looked exhausted after a long, miserable day.
The punch was swift and precise. Alex's fist smashed straight into Greg's nose, and the air filled with the sickening sound of bone cracking. The demon's body flew backward, slamming into a dumpster before collapsing to the ground.
Greg's ears rang; his head spun, and fiery circles danced before his eyes. But the sound of approaching footsteps snapped him back to reality. Lifting his head, he met Alex's gaze — mockery gleamed in those eyes, and his lips curled into a disdainful smile.
Greg clenched his teeth in frustration and snapped his fingers, trying to break the neck of the insolent human who dared strike him. But nothing happened. He kept snapping his fingers, until Alex's expression shifted to pure contempt.
"Oh, Greg…" Alex said calmly, looking down at him. "Your buddy Albert talked. So just tell me where Crowley is. Believe me — it'll be easier for you."
"Hunter?.." Greg rasped, squinting angrily.
"No," Alex smirked. "I'm not a hunter. I'm something much worse."
A chill ran down Greg's spine. His eyes darted around — and only now did he notice the devil's trap burned into the ground beneath his feet. Everything became clear: the one caught in the trap wasn't the human — it was him.
He knew this alley — he'd made dozens of deals here and had always believed it was safe and deserted. But now everything was different.
"Well then, Greg," Alex said, crouching in front of him. "Where's Crowley?"
Greg gave a hoarse laugh.
"Ha… You really think you're something just because you hunt us?" he rasped, spitting blood. "Even if I tell you where Crowley is, the King of Hell will turn you inside out. The only ones he'd ever show mercy to are his precious little pets — the Winchester brothers. And you… you're just a pathetic loser."
Alex sighed and shook his head. Then he straightened up abruptly, grabbed Greg by the collar, and landed a punch. Then another. And another.
His fists connected with a dull thud against the demon's face as Greg continued to laugh. Spatters of blood flew onto Alex's face and ran down his cheek.
But when the laughter didn't stop, Alex lost his patience. He grabbed Greg by the head and slammed his face into the metal dumpster with all his strength. One. Two. Three.
The laughter stopped, replaced by cries of pain. For the first time in a long while, the demon felt pain — real, human, unbearable pain.
Alex lifted his head and shoved it straight into the dumpster, then slammed the heavy metal lid shut with all his might. The alley reverberated with the crash. Another slam. And another.
"A-A-A!" Greg screamed, unable to believe what was happening.
He couldn't understand — why? Why did he feel pain, when Alex had no holy water, no salt, no weapon capable of harming a demon?
When Alex finally stopped, Greg slid down, his bloody face pressed against the cold metal.
It seemed over. But Alex lifted his foot and struck the back of Greg's head with full force. The demon's skull slammed into the side of the dumpster, leaving a dent.
Alex's hands, face, and white shirt were drenched in blood, but he didn't even notice. He simply stood there, calmly looking down at the demon.
"Ready to talk?" he asked coldly.
"Khe…" Greg spat blood and smirked. "Go to hell… you pathetic hunter…"
Alex calmly lit a cigarette, ignoring the blood covering his shirt, hands, and face. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose, then picked up the leather briefcase lying nearby. He brushed off the dust as if nothing unusual had happened.
For him, this was nothing new — neither humans, demons, nor other creatures unwilling to speak. Alex knew a simple truth: everyone eventually talks. You just have to know how to make them.
Yes, he could have simply read their memories, but he found that boring and tasteless. There were no emotions, no fear, no sense of power. Forcing someone to reveal everything themselves — that was true art.
Greg lifted his gaze to Alex, watching him calmly shake off the ash and close the briefcase. He thought he was facing just another hunter — rude, arrogant, one of those who believe that the force of their blows replaces reason.
"You know, Greg," Alex said, holding the briefcase and slowly exhaling smoke. "I like people like you. Want to know why?"
"Khe… And why would I please you so much?" Greg rasped, spitting blood.
"Since you asked, I'll share a story," Alex said, almost smiling. "You see, I've faced beings that even Crowley and Lucifer would run from, heels flashing. And on my path, I've always met ones like you. Pathetic, self-satisfied, worthless creatures, sure that a drop of power makes them gods. You're ridiculous, Greg. Both worthless and amusing at the same time."
He took a drag, letting the smoke escape slowly through his teeth.
"And you know what's the most interesting part?" he continued. "You all say the same thing. Different words, same meaning. But in the end, you all start talking. Just not immediately. You have to know how to make them. And believe me, I'm a master at it — better than Crowley. And you, my new friend, will not like that one bit."
Alex flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
Greg listened, and the longer that calm, almost lazy voice went on, the stronger the growing sense of dread became. He remembered Alex saying he was "something worse than a hunter." Now he understood: it wasn't bravado. It was the truth.
Greg's body trembled. He felt fear. Real fear. The kind he hadn't felt even in Hell, when his soul was tortured until it turned black.
Alex's face darkened. It was as if the darkness itself gathered around him, sharpening his features. Only the rainbow‑bright eyes and a crooked, almost mad smile that bared sharp teeth flashed from the gloom.
Greg instinctively stumbled back, then bolted. He didn't think about the trap, didn't think about anything—only running. He managed to take a single step. A pale, unnaturally long hand slid out of the shadow and clamped around his ankle.
"Where do you think you're going, Greg?" Alex's calm voice sounded from behind him. "You're a crossroads demon. You like to toy with people's feelings, make deals… so why are you running? Scared?"
He took a few steps forward; the shadow seemed to follow him, clinging to the ground.
"We're friends, Greg," he said mockingly. "You bought me a drink, you listened to my story… and now you run off? You break my heart, Greg. And I don't like being hurt."
"Get away from me, monster!" Greg howled, kicking at the pale hand. "What are you? Go to Hell!"
"I've already been there," Alex whispered, stepping closer. "And, you know… I liked it."
He stepped into the shadow, and when he reappeared before Greg again, his face was twisted in a mad grin. His mouth stretched to impossible width, revealing razor teeth.
Before Greg could scream, the leather briefcase crashed into his nose with a dull crack. His head snapped back and struck the concrete. Alex was on top of him. He raised the briefcase and slammed it down again. And again. And again. Each blow landed on the same spot, turning the demon's face into a bloody pulp.
When Greg's features became unrecognizable, Alex laid a hand on his forehead—and everything knit back together. Skin healed, bones reset. The demon didn't have time to inhale before the briefcase dropped on his face again. The blows continued, metronomic. Alex felt neither pity nor pleasure—only cold indifference.
He knew perfectly well: a crossroads demon is an empty vessel. No soul, no life to pity. He didn't need holy water, salt, or rituals. Alex could inflict pain on any being, even one that lived outside the concepts of time, space, or death itself. He could annihilate everything. And most often he chose the most barbaric method—simple, direct, and brutally honest: beat them until they cease to exist.
Half an hour had passed since Alex began beating Greg. But for a crossroads demon, it felt like an eternity. He even recalled the torments of Hell—the same pain that had seared every cell of his being. Yet what he was experiencing now was far worse. This pain didn't tear at his body; it shredded the very foundation of his existence, making him feel as if his soul was cracking at the seams, ready to shatter like thin glass.
In Hell, the tortures were physical, but now they penetrated deeper, as if the very laws of the universe themselves were trying to rip him apart from within.
Alex finally stopped and wiped the blood from his face. His shirt and skin were streaked with crimson, giving him a truly terrifying appearance. The old leather briefcase at his feet had soaked up so much demon blood that it slowly dripped onto the floor.
Greg himself was a pitiful sight. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, as if someone had tried to squeeze the juice out of them like fruit. His face was a mess: a crushed nose, sunken eyes, missing teeth, a torn mouth. Looking into the lifeless eyes of the demon, Alex clicked his tongue.
"Looks like I might've overdone it a bit. What do you think, dear?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
From the shadows behind him, Zhang Ya slowly stepped forward. She silently observed Greg's mutilated body, then her husband, covered head to toe in blood. For a few seconds she simply stood there, then shook her head slightly, clearly indicating that she didn't consider his actions excessive.
Alex just smirked, shrugged, and looked back at the demon, who was making hoarse, gurgling sounds, struggling in vain to breathe.
"All right, I suppose we'll continue our little chat in the basement," Alex muttered, his gaze thoughtful on Greg. "Albert said you know where Crowley is. So, I think it's worth giving you a little time to collect yourself… if you're even still capable of that."
He understood that destroying the foundation of a being's existence was a torture beyond words. Even much stronger creatures than the inhabitants of this world rarely endure it without losing their sanity.
Alex grabbed Greg by the leg and snapped his fingers. A portal opened in the air before him.
Zhang Ya stepped closer, gently cupped her husband's cheeks, and kissed him on the lips—briefly, but with a warmth that rarely touched her cold eyes. Then she silently returned to his shadow.
Alex held his gaze on the shadow for a moment, shook his head, and smirked. Lately, he had noticed that Zhang Ya spent far too much time alone—either in his shadow or in the Red City, watching the prisoners, hopelessly trying to gain freedom. The other girls often gathered together, laughing, discussing things, while she always remained apart.
Perhaps it was time to find her some company. And he already had a suitable candidate in mind. But first—business needed to be finished.
He stepped into the portal.
When Alex emerged on the other side, the house was silent. He turned his head slightly and met the astonished gazes of Emmet, Rosalie, Jasper, and Jane. All four were staring not only at him but also at what he held in his hand.
Greg, dangling from his grip, looked as if he had been run over by a truck and somehow survived.
Lucina let out a heavy sigh, placing a hand on her forehead, while Alice turned slightly away—fully aware that part of this was her fault: she hadn't warned Alex that her family would be dropping by again today.
The Cullens silently shifted their gaze between the bloodied Alex and the battered Greg. Alex's blood-soaked appearance caused more than mere confusion—it was frightening.
"Oh, how awkward. Looks like I've been caught…" Alex said calmly, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue as he looked at them.
"This is way more than just awkward," Rosalie spoke first, pointing at Greg. "What's that bloody thing in your hands… or who is it?"
"That's Greg. My new friend," Alex replied without a flicker of emotion. "Also, he's a demon."
"A demon… demon? Or is that what you call some kind of maniac?" Jasper asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A real demon. A crossroads demon. Likes deals, souls—the whole classic setup. Ask Alice—we caught one of these recently, she'll tell you all about it. For now, I'm going to show Greg his new home. After all, he's my new friend, so I must show some hospitality," Alex said in a lazy tone.
He smiled. The blood on his face made the smile unnervingly eerie.
"Do you treat all your friends like that?" Jane asked calmly, crossing her arms.
Alex turned his head toward her, his smile widening.
"Only those who can't keep their word."
Jane wasn't particularly surprised by the scene. In her thousand years of serving the Volturi, she had seen far bloodier sights than this. She had left them only after Carlisle's departure—then, for the first time in a long while, a little light returned to her life. Meeting Jasper changed her completely: she refused human blood and chose to live as a vegetarian, feeding only on animal blood.
Noticing her calmness, Alex raised an eyebrow. Jane simply rolled her eyes.
"Of course," Alex smirked. "Greg is quite the friend. Right now, he just needs to answer a few questions… after a cup of tea. I'll be back soon."
He grabbed Greg by the leg and dragged him across the floor toward the basement, leaving a trailing bloody streak behind. Lucina glanced at the blood trail, and the corner of her eye twitched nervously. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and went for the mop.
The Cullens watched as Lucina methodically set about cleaning with icy focus. She moved with such confidence—as if she had done this many times before. Feeling a slight pang of guilt, Alice joined in, helping to wipe up the spots Lucina missed. Ten minutes later, the floor was spotless once more, as if nothing had happened.
At that moment, Alex emerged from the basement.
"Go take a shower and wash the blood off yourself," Lucina said, leaning on the mop. "I'll burn your clothes for now."
"No need," Alex replied lazily. "Too long. I just want some coffee."
He snapped his fingers. In an instant, the bloodied clothes and the old leather briefcase turned to ash and vanished. In their place, Alex wore his usual casual home clothes, and all traces of blood on his skin disappeared, as if they had never existed.
Under the astonished gazes of those present, Alex flopped into the armchair, propped his feet up on the armrest, and closed his eyes. Alice settled on his stomach, while Lucina brewed coffee so he could gather himself a little.
"Well, are you going to tell us where you went and why you needed a crossroads demon?" Rosalie broke the silence first.
"I need the self-proclaimed king of Hell," Alex replied, opening one eye slightly. "And to reach him, you have to catch his minions."
"King of Hell? Are you serious?" Emmett asked, frowning.
Even for the Cullens, long familiar with the supernatural world, Alex's words sounded almost insane. The existence of demons seemed distant enough, but talks of a king of Hell were nothing short of legend. Even Jane, who had lived the longest, knew nothing of such beings.
Alex noticed their confusion and looked at Alice. She shrugged innocently, letting him know she hadn't told her family anything yet.
"Yes, demons exist. And angels too," Alex continued calmly. "Remember the day of the meteor shower?"
"Yeah… and what about it?" Emmett asked, crossing his arms.
"That was the fall of the angels," Lucina answered for him, placing a mug of aromatic coffee in front of Alex.
"You're joking?" Rosalie exclaimed, wide-eyed in shock. "Over what?"
"Long story," Alex smirked. "There was a whole chain of conspiracies. One angel decided he was the smartest of them all, farted into his own hand, and proclaimed himself the new chief in Heaven. Result—civil war and closed gates of Paradise. If you want details," he nodded toward the stairs, "there's a board in our room with all the investigation. Everything is documented there."
The Cullens exchanged glances, stunned by what they'd just heard. Their questions only multiplied: if demons and angels were real, then who—or what—was Alex? How different was he from those he hunted?
The answers lay with Alice. While Alex sipped his coffee with pleasure and Lucina gently massaged his head, easing the tension, Alice went upstairs and brought back a large board covered with photographs, clippings, and notes. It held diagrams, fragments of articles, images of ancient symbols, and even photos of Dean and Sam Winchester taken at a police station.
The Cullens examined each detail with growing interest, diving deeper into the story Alice had laid out for them. Meanwhile, Alex, comfortably settled in the chair, listened to their voices and allowed himself a brief rest—a rare moment of peace after a long night.
To be continued…
(I'm thinking of doing another time skip and moving on to Samantha's arrival. And leaving Greg's interrogation off-screen. After all, I still need to squeeze in Wednesday and other horror films. And I haven't even shown the Winchester brothers yet. Oh yeah, and before I forget, if you'd like to see a horror film in this arc, feel free to suggest it. I've settled on Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Silent Hill for now. I even had some thoughts about the plot of the first Alan Wake game, which would fit in really well. There's darkness there too, and what if this darkness from the Alan Wake game is part of Amara's own power, which has seeped into the world, and so on. Anyway, I'm looking forward to your suggestions.)
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