The man ran down the dark alley, followed by nothing but the sound of his own footsteps. His breathing was ragged and he stumbled
over an indefinable shape and fell. He barely noticed the scrapes on the insides of his hands and when a car door slammed a few
blocks away the man rose again and started running. His thighs were burning, not used to the exercise and he was covered in small
scrapes and bruises. Blood was seeping from a slowly closing wound on his shoulder and the man hissed with pain as his arm brushed
the wall when he turned a corner. His shirt was clinging to his body, wet with sweat and blood. The man increased his speed as he
saw a major street in front of him, he would be safe there,close to people. But the man never made it to safety. A shadow stepped
out in front of him, and grabbed his arm. The strength of the hand suddenly stopping him dislocated his shoulder and the man shouted
with pain. The creature holding him moved it's other hand to grab the mans throath.
"Where are the Winchesters?" An angry female voice hissed. Red hair gleamed in the light shining in from the larger street. The man
didn't answer. She snarled at him and said
"You will talk." She didn't give him time to answer before throwing him into the stone wall. He felt his head hit and then everything
went black. Unluckily for the man, he wasn't dead.
