his plan had taken months to blossom, weeks to come to life & he was so close to end this reign of terror. life on the run was not the kind of life he was born for. with his father’s head in the clouds & his mother’s tending to his perfect little twin brother, michael had already lived through a lifetime of suffering - one that hardly differed from the nightmare his kind lived in now. he knew how to fix it; cut the snake’s head off - solve the problem.
it was easy & simple enough. he’d spread his wings, let the dogs catch a whiff of his scent & they came running like the good little puppies they were. every dead human hunter made the world a bit safer. this time though, he sent a message. coordinates to an old ruin in sunny los angeles - oh, the irony. he could fly out if he had to, but he didn’t come here to run away again. his armor was dark as were his wings, the shoulder pad did good in its mission to hide the defect that accompanied him for the majority of his life, as it pulled his shoulder down far enough to pretend it was just another ordinary shoulder - only the wing, crooked & ruffled was a telltale sign, but there was little he could do about that. “i won’t lie, this time. i didn’t think you’d show.” alone, too.