=================
NYC...
Rooftops...
=================
The russet-skinned gargoyle sighed wearily as he glided over the city.
It had been weeks since Demona's scheme to unleash a genocidal plague on the world had been defeated, the canister quintuple locked away in a sealed room deep underground in a Xanatos facility in Antarctica. Human-gargoyle relations were at an all time low since their revelation, but Xanatos, making good on his promise to repay the gargoyles for saving his son and then some, was doing a lot of spin control. Brooklyn even got a thank you from someone he saved from a mugger.
That still didn't stop problems from arising.
Demona was still around, her insanity even worse since she had accidentally alienated her own daughter, Brooklyn's clanmate, Angela, from her.
A new group of bigots, the vicious Quarrymen, had arisen. They were led by Jon Castaway, formerly John Canmore, who was ironically the more gentle of the three Canmore siblings before losing his mind after a series of accidents and misunderstandings.
There were sightings of Goliath's evil clone, the megalomaniacal Thailog, creating the possibility that he may be alive.
The mutate Wolf, along with the cyborgs Hyena and Jackal, the last still-evil members of Pack, had been sighted in the city recently.
On top of that, it was getting harder and harder for Brooklyn not to be hungry.
He didn't know why his appetite had become so intense. Hudson told him is was a common thing among beaked gargoyles to get a bigger appetite than most as they got older, giving some vague religious reason involving a connection to the gargoyle's supreme deity, known simply as the Dragon.
Brooklyn scowled, and wondered if the Dragon had an appetite like his.
He had been eating more and more lately, eating so much at meals that BROADWAY of all people was suggesting he cut back.
He would love to. He was starting to get a visible pot belly in his once slender frame from all his eating. But no matter how much he ate, it was never enough. He never felt satisfied. He wish he could figure out what it was he needed to eat...
Then the concussion grenade hit him.
Brooklyn let out a surprised cry of pain, falling from the sky like a rock and landing in an alley, mercifully falling into a dumpster full enough to cushion his fall.
He groaned, slowly pulling himself out of the dumpster, which thankfully was filled with papers and not food stuffs. After quickly checking to see if his wings were badly damaged, he looked up to see who had fired the grenade at him.
He scowled. "Oh great. Not you."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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