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The Profile Of A Djinn

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The faint sound of dripping blood was the only noise to be found in a dark, desolate room, isolated from the world around it. The room was hidden underground, mostly empty aside from the two women being help captive. Their arms hung above them, cuffed and tapped into, their blood being drained into separate bags placed beside them. The both of them were similar in stature and appearance: thin with long, brown hair and an identical light skin tone. As of that point in time, nobody had been able to locate the two women despite any efforts the local police had put into said search. They had been labeled as missing for days, yet every search was inconclusive. The man holding them captive was intelligent, and this was in no way his first rodeo.

He had nearly drained the women empty, occasionally slipping back into the room to make sure they hadn't woken up. They were both in empty dream states, their minds miles away as their lives slowly dwindled to a halt. He smiled in triumph, knowing it wouldn't be long before he could feed on their blood -- the kind he had grown accustomed to consuming. He paced around the two people he had captive, watching their eyes race under their eyelids. With a single finger, he transferred more dreams to his victims by simply touching their necks. And as they idly hung from the ceiling, their final moments prepared to pass. For the two of them, all was lost.

Sam sighed and scrolled through more tedious newspaper articles displayed on his laptop, none of them particularly piquing his interest. His older brother, Dean, sat beside him, sifting through similar articles in a physical copy of another paper. They had been on the hunt for a case for a while now, hoping for something to pop up. Sam reached for his coffee, eyes glued to a particular story about the kidnapping and murder of two women: Karen Smith and Alicia Kennedy. "You know, out of all the terrible things we read, sometimes I wish we could stop things like this," he said, highlighting the headline before turning the computer around for Dean to see. Dean looked up from his own work and skimmed through the article, sitting back with a slight groan.

"Not that I don't agree, Sammy," Dean replied, placing his feet on the table as Sam pulled his laptop back to himself, "but we have a certain criteria to meet. I'm sure that bastard'll get what's coming to him at some point." Sam's jaw dropped as he scrolled down to read the remaining section of the article, lightly hitting Dean's foot with his hand. "What? Now you got a problem with my feet on the table? Are your panties ever not in a twist?"

"No, no; it says that the two women were," Sam paused, furrowing his eyebrows, " 'drained and disposed of'. That sound a little bit more like our kind of gig?" Dean shrugged, closing his paper and sitting up, throwing it onto the table. "They found pricks in the women's wrists where their blood was drained from. It also says that the missing persons report was filed nearly a week ago, and that the cause of death was a lack of blood." Sam chuckled closing his laptop and reaching behind him for his jacket. "This may be up our alley after all."

"Good," Dean responded, standing and reaching for his own jacket; "that means we can get out of this freakin' place. I feel like a caged animal or something." With a smile he grabbed the car keys from the table as Sam tried to memorize the address of coroner's office where someone had to be currently searching for more clues as to why Karen and Alicia had been kidnapped and murdered. Sam shut his laptop, holding it at his side and following Dean out of the room into the open. Dean locked the door and pointed to the Impala, the brothers then making their way to the car. He was practically jumping with excitement -- he had been waiting to work a case for so long it was practically criminal. If anything, he would have ended up punching a wall just to feel the rush of blood it brought. He needed to occupy himself with something or he felt as though he would suffocate in the bunker.

Sam read out directions to the office from the GPS on his laptop, Dean attempting to make haste and arrive as soon as possible. The drive was relatively calm with Dean quietly singing along to the Led Zeppelin emitting through the car's speakers and Sam figuring out where to go. At some point they stopped to pull their cheap-ish suits out of the trunk, along with their false FBI badges and emergency weapons. They found a random place where they were hidden to stop and change, throwing what they were previously wearing into the trunk and double checking that they seemed official enough. When they arrived at the office, they were greeted by a local officer who asked for their names, which were stolen from some famous rock band, without the man being able to conclude that they were lying. They questioned the officer about the victims, unable to obtain much more information than what was stated in the article, and also being denied access to the bodies without much retaliation.

As they made their way back to the Impala, Dean sighed and leaned against the hood, wiping a single bead of sweat off his forehead. "So, whaddya think?" Sam watched as people went in and out of the office, some officers and some most likely something else.

He gnawed on his lip before replying, "Sounds a bit like a Djinn to me." Dean nodded in agreement. "Which means we need to hunt it down and make sure it doesn't open its eyes once we get ahold of it." Then he shook his head and looked down to the pavement, a slight chuckle passing his lips. "We have a good while to wait before he attacks again. He completely drained two women, which gives him a decent chunk of time before he needs to hunt again." He paused again, deep in thought. "Unless he's stockpiling." With that, Dean grinned and straightened his back, walking over to the driver's side of his car.

"I'm betting on the second option. Let's hunt this sonnuva bitch."