Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
They had driven in after reports of two separate robberies. In both cases, employees stole from their own workplaces—clean jobs, no forced entry. Then that same night, each of them went home and committed suicide.
Pattern.
That was why they were here.
Dean and Sam had gone inside to talk to one of the employees who worked at the second location. Henry chose to stay in the car. Interrogations weren't really his thing.
Instead, he was admiring his new laptop.
Brand new. Latest model available in 2007. Fastest processor on the market. Glossy screen. Clean keyboard.
He ran a hand over it proudly.
As for the money… well, he had burned through most of what he'd found in his old house. Between motel stays, food, and this laptop, he was basically broke now.
Penniless.
But not for long.
He adjusted the Ghost Hacker Specs and glanced at the screen again.
With this and the laptop, he could create things. Accounts. Trails. Clean digital identities. A quiet offshore setup with numbers that didn't raise alarms.
Having money behind you gave a certain peace of mind.
The Impala's doors opened.
Dean and Sam got back in.
"Yeah," Dean said as he started the engine. "Definitely a shapeshifter."
Sam nodded. "Both robberies fit the pattern. Same behavior. It steals, then the real person ends up dead. Cleans up loose ends."
"Also," Sam added, "it's going after cash. High payout targets."
Dean snorted. "Greedy thing."
Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Henry focused on the laptop.
"Hey," Dean said. "You watching porn back there?"
Henry didn't even look up. "Not everyone is like you, Dean. I just got this thing. I'm testing it."
Dean smirked. "Uh-huh."
"It doesn't even have Wi-Fi right now," Henry added dryly. "How exactly am I supposed to stream anything?"
Sam glanced back at him. "You coming in on this one?"
There was a pause in his voice. Shapeshifters were messy. They copied faces, framed people, turned simple jobs into disasters. One mistake and things got ugly fast.
Henry shook his head. "I was thinking I'll sit this one out."
"Good decision," Dean said immediately.
—
They parked near City Bank of Milwaukee.
Dean and Sam walked in dressed as security system technicians, toolkits in hand and fake credentials ready. Henry stayed across the street at a small coffee shop that conveniently advertised free Wi-Fi.
He opened his laptop and adjusted the Ghost Hacker Specs over his eyes.
"Alright," he muttered, "let's see what you can do."
The screen seemed sharper. Interfaces clearer. Lines of code easier to follow.
Across the street, Dean and Sam accessed the bank's security room. They pulled up footage, scanning angles and timestamps. On one feed, they froze a frame—the bank manager glancing at a camera. For a split second, his eyes flared unnaturally.
Shapeshifter.
Back at the café, Henry worked quickly.
He slipped into one of the largest banking networks in the country. Firewalls that should've taken hours folded in minutes. Logs rerouted. Traces redirected. He built a clean account layered behind proxy institutions and staggered routing.
Untraceable.
Even to the bank.
He took the fake credit card Dean had lifted from a previous case and linked it to the account. Then he modified the card's digital footprint so every transaction would register under a different alias and branch location.
Different name.
Different bank trail.
Same hidden account feeding it.
Clean.
Thirty minutes later, he leaned back and pulled off the specs.
A strange irritation crept into his skull.
For a second, he felt an urge to slam his head against the table.
He blinked and steadied himself.
"Right," he muttered. "Cursed items."
He rubbed his temples until the feeling passed.
Across the street, sirens suddenly wailed.
Henry looked up sharply.
The job inside the bank had just escalated.
Henry frowned and adjusted the specs again.
"Is this supposed to be hard?" he muttered.
He tapped into the internal security feed and pulled up live footage from the bank's cameras.
Then he nearly choked on his drink.
"What the—"
On screen, the situation was a mess. A fat guy man waving a gun. Customers captured in the vault. Dean and Sam standing there looking just as confused as everyone else.
Henry rubbed his forehead. "Right. I forgot about this part."
You couldn't expect him to remember every detail of every episode.
He immediately pulled out his phone and called Sam.
Sam picked up on the second ring. "Yeah?"
"Sam, police are outside. I'm seeing squad cars stack up. They're already escalating this. If you stay too long, you're walking into an FBI situation."
"We know," Sam replied tensely. "We heard the sirens. But the shapeshifter changed again. We're heading back to the security room to see what changed."
"No need," Henry said quickly. "I'm in the backend security system. I can see everything. The shapeshifter's current form is a black guy. Bald. He's in the vault with the hostages."
There was a short pause on the line.
"You sure?" Sam asked.
"I'm looking at him right now. He's blending in with the captured employees."
Sam didn't hang up.
He turned toward Dean. "Dean. The shapeshifter's in the vault."
Dean's eyes hardened instantly.
"Then let's go finish this."
Dean, Sam, and Ron moved toward the vault.
The moment the door opened, the hostages inside stiffened. Some of them shrank back against the safety deposit boxes. Others just stared at the rifle in Ron's hands.
Sam scanned the room calmly.
Then he saw him.
Black. Bald. Standing slightly apart from the others. Watching too closely.
There was only one man in that vault who matched Henry's description.
Sam pointed. "You. Step out."
The man flinched. Just a little.
"Why?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Dean shrugged casually. "We're thinking of letting someone go. Show the cops we're reasonable. You get to deliver our demands."
"No," the man said quickly, taking a step back. "I'll stay. Send someone else."
Wrong answer.
A few of the hostages immediately spoke up.
"Yeah, let me go."
"Please take me."
Dean's expression hardened. He pointed towards Ron's rifle slightly, not dramatic, just enough to make the point.
"We're the ones holding the gun," Dean said evenly. "So let's not drag this out. Walk."
The bald man hesitated again.
Sam stepped closer. "Now."
For a second, tension thickened in the air.
Then the man slowly stepped forward, jaw tight.
Dean grabbed his arm and steered him out of the vault.
*****
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