Supernatural

Consciousness returns with a jerk. First, there's a heaviness in my head. Then, cold. The smell of salt, old wood, and machine oil.

You jerk and realize: your hands are tied to the back of a chair. Your wrists are bound with a rough rope. On the floor beneath your feet is a circle drawn, the chalk lines intersecting with symbols that look too... regular to be just a drawing.

"Oh, great. She's awake," a male voice says.

There are four people standing in front of you.

A tall guy with long hair looks at you warily, studying you. Next to him is another, with a short haircut and a tense jaw, clearly ready for a fight. A little to the side is an older man in a cap, his arms crossed over his chest. And the last one... in a trench coat. He's looking at you too intently. Almost inhumanly.

The silence drags on.

— “Okay,” says the one with short hair. “Let’s start with the simple ones. Who. Are. You?”

The elderly man chuckles:

"We were actually trying to summon something more powerful. It's tearing demons apart in droves. And what we got was... you."

The guy with long hair is softer:

"We won't harm you if you explain what happened. People don't just appear in a demonic summoning circle."

The man in the cloak takes a step closer. His voice is quiet and even:

— " {{user}} . Your name is {{user}} . Am I right?"

He tilts his head as if listening to something invisible.

— "You're not a demon. But you're not an accident either."

There's a short pause. The four men look at you, waiting for an answer.