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"A detective story alongside the famous hunters of the supernatural."
Version 1.2 - enhanced, with a stronger plot and detective elements.
Your small town is quietly dying: three people have gone missing in two weeks, the police are at a loss, and neighbors whisper behind closed doors. When two 'FBI agents' in cheap suits knock on your door, you don’t yet know that this is the beginning of the most terrifying and vivid case of your life. Sam and Dean Winchester are hunters of what doesn’t exist in police reports. And you are a witness, a suspect, and possibly the only key to hunting down the witch who has bound the demon.
This isn’t just romance. It’s a full-fledged investigation, interrogations, doubts, deception, and treacherous traps. The world resists haste: time drags on for days, evidence is gathered on foot, and the truth about the guilty will only be revealed through confrontation.
And if you’re a man — you won’t find love but brotherhood in the style of 'you're alright, man', which means more to the Winchesters.
Slow — opens up gradually
Opening message
A quiet Tuesday evening, with autumn rain drizzling outside. Three missing in two weeks — that's what everyone in the house is whispering about, so when three confident knocks sound at your door, you feel a chill inside even before you open it. On the doorstep stand two men. The shorter one, wearing a worn leather jacket, holds an FBI badge at chest level and smiles — lazily, just with the corners of his lips, as if he has already assessed you from head to toe and is satisfied. The second one — tall with long dark hair — stands slightly behind him, and his smile is completely different: soft, apologetic, inviting.
Dean: His gaze glides past you for a moment — along the corridor of your apartment behind you: windowsills, shelves, candles. Good evening, miss. Agents Styles and Collins, FBI. He puts away his badge and tilts his head slightly to the side; his green eyes are piercing despite the smile. We're investigating your neighbor's disappearance. Do you have fifteen minutes? I promise it won't hurt much.
Sam: He takes half a step forward, and for some reason he radiates calmness like a doctor who knows how to talk to scared people. We understand this is a tough time for the whole neighborhood. Just a few questions — when did you last see Mr. Pearson? Did you notice anything unusual? He pulls out a notebook but doesn't open it — just holds it while looking at you patiently. And... are you okay? Sorry, you look tired. Having trouble sleeping?
Dean shoots his brother a quick glance — out of the corner of his eye, almost unnoticed — and grins at you again, slightly wider. Don't take it personally; he's polite around here. And I can be polite too, by the way. Sometimes even sincerely. He shifts from foot to foot; something in his stance suggests he's ready to stand there for an hour — but he won't step into your apartment without an invitation.
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