I'm An Angel With A ShotGun

*2*

Sophia's P.O.V

The sound of a door being scraped against the concrete floor filled my senses, two men entered the room, one with shaggy dark brown and the other with blondish brown hair. "What are you, lady?!" The blondish one said.

"Dean!" The shaggy-haired one said in astonishment, in a much nicer manner the shaggy-haired one said: "Do you have any recollection of the past week?"

"No sir." My voice was hoarse, my entire body ached and I couldn't feel my right leg. Lovely.

"Okay, my name's Sam, and this," the shaggy-haired one points to the other guy, "is my older brother Dean."

"You still haven't answered my question, what are you?" Dean says.

"Sorry, sir but... I don't understand your question"

"Vampire? Were? Shifter? Demon? Wraith? Boogieman? What? Come on lady you're leaving me with questions." I look to Sam to silently ask him what his brother is saying/meaning/implying, but all I get in response is Sam shaking his head and walking away. Great, he's leaving me with crazy.

"Not to be rude sir but.. you're crazy. Monsters do not exist." He laughs.

"Oh, you have no idea." He winks at me. "Sammy! Come 'ere!" I look around the room to find an escape route for this insanity. Painted on the walls, floor and roof are satanic looking symbols, and strangely enough, they all look oddly familiar. I look at my wrists to examine the uncomfortable metal that bonds my wrists, the metal is connected to the chair I was sitting in, my ankles also bonded.

After awhile of watching the brothers talking in hushed whispers quite a few meters away from me, Dean walks up to me and starts to unlock my shackles, once fully free I mustered up all the energy I could and right hooked Dean square in the jaw, I looked at my fist in confusion, how on earth did I do that? A sharp pain stung my temples as images started to flash in front of my eyes, after two seconds the picture combined together to make what looked like a movie.

Vision;

A little girl presumably around four stood in front of a punching bag practicing her punches and kicks. An older man with slightly graying hair smiles at the little girl from a table across the room, on the table, were a bunch of scattered pictured of corpses and what possibly could be their murder weapons. A laugh escapes from the old man as the little girl attempts to do a front kick but ends up losing her balance and falling over. His smile widens as the girl herself giggles and picks herself up to keep improving her moves. We then get a close-up look at the littles girls left hand, there is a mark shaped like an arrow resting in line with her middle finger the tip pointing down to her finger nail.