Time's Crucible Part One
Time's Crucible
http://www.weasyl.com/~iscin
TIME'S CRUCIBLE
by Iscin
This is a work of fan-fiction commissioned by LoneWolf669. Gargoyles, the character of Brooklyn and setting belong to Disney Inc.
PART ONE Grim Dark
Consult Your Doctor About Time Travel
'Deslegrate muri tempi et intervalia!'
The incantation rings hollow, but the words themselves are all that matter. A brilliant light shines out of the artefact and seems to fill the entire room but for a flickering moment. Immediately thereafter the light fades and the red skinned gargoyle opens his eyes again. He huffs, brow furrowed and looking upon the Phoenix Gate with annoyance. A merely glowing trinket is not something that impresses Brooklyn. But as he looks away from the tiny gold and blue shield in his talons the gargoyle first becomes stunned and now confused as to the change in his surroundings.
What had previously been clean gun grey metal that comprises the internal walls of this little 'safe room' have now become tarnished with rust and other defects that have spread over what looks to have been advancing years. Moreover, the furniture has completely vanished. No locked metal cabinets with arcane artefacts inside. No fancy diagnostic table. There are not even any light fixtures, though the gargoyle's vision permits him to see clearly in next to no light levels. It is obvious what has happened, though Brooklyn's brain is still taking time to catch up with itself.
'No way.' He says to himself looking back at the Phoenix Gate. 'It couldn't have done.'
Part of him knows he should just recite the incantation and invoke his return trip. But there is that other part, a feline like curiosity with where, or rather when, he has been brought to. He closes his eyes and shakes his head before deciding that he will stay and explore. The Phoenix Gate will have to be kept safe though, and although he could try to keep it on his person he has a feeling that might not be so ideal in the longterm. So first he looks around the decrepit room for a hiding spot. Thankfully there are enough crevices in the walls that he quickly finds a dark hole to stash the valuable artefact.
'Stay put.' He tells the sleeping phoenix, a worried feeing in his gut. 'I'll be back for you.'
And with that Brooklyn finds the nearest exit from the room and starts down equally forgotten corridors looking for a way up and out of the building. This turns out to be harder than he had at first thought as just when he thinks he has found one free passage he turns the corner to find rubble blocking it. It is like a maze and probably helps to explain why most of it looks untouched after whatever incident turned it into the barely standing structure it is today. He hopes that whatever caused this can be prevented, or at least reversed, either way he will have to do what gargoyles do best and persevere. '
We Built This City
The night sky is the same as ever, at least that much is familiar to the red gargoyle. However little else has remained untouched. As he looks out from the tower's rooftop he gawks in bewildered shock. Everything is gone. The people, the lights, at least half of the buildings. The big apple as it once was has been rendered a crumbling shadow of it's previous glory. For what once had been one marvel of contemporary human engineering after have now been rendered as nothing more than decaying ruins, with the occasional drum oil alight showing where bands of roaming homeless, or worse, have made camp amongst the rotting bones.
'What happened...' Brooklyn says under his breath for the benefit of nobody but his own yet still processing shock.
Yet even as he peers over from one rooftop to the next his eyes are starting to be drawn to one particular area beyond the city limits. Bright lights, a shining dome of glass, and a hive of airborne activity. Deeper inland there appears to be some sort of city of light adjacent to New York proper, but barely on the horizon. It is difficult to be sure from his current vantage point but Brooklyn thinks he can make out shimmering towers of glass underneath the dome. And between the towers there appears to be roadways, or perhaps those are actual vehicles moving between them. The disparity with the remnants of New York is both stark and alarming. What could possibly have caused this? The gargoyle ponders this for a moment before something else in his periphery vision grabs his attention.
There are boots on the ground, along with half-track vehicles. Armed and armoured paramilitary types look to be storming through the city below. They are wearing black ablative armour with matching helmets and masks. All of them are marked with an insignia on them that Brooklyn does not recognise. The red skinned gargoyle crouches and peers over the roof he is standing on as he watches them carefully. Destitute vagabonds who remain in the dead city are either ignored, kicked out of the way, or violently subdued before being dragged onto the backs of their vehicles. Whoever these unhappy campers are they appear to be gathering the homeless using criteria that is foreign to Brooklyn's understanding.
'Look! Over there!' One of the armed men clearly shouts even with the mask on. An accusing finger jabbing up at where the gargoyle is perched watching them.
Perhaps their masks offer them some sort of augmented night vision, either way Brooklyn has to move and fast. The first shot flies mere inches over his head as the mythical creature leaps back away from the edge. But already a squad of them are forcing their way inside the building from the ground floor. In time they will be joining him, but not for the view. So in order to avoid any altercations Brooklyn takes a running leap off from the rooftop, his red wings folding out before beating down, their strength carrying up as he starts gliding between the dead city's husks.
Unfortunately for the gargoyle these paramilitary types are equipped with more than just half-tracks. Manned VTOLs and soulless drones start tracking his position as they too fly between the abandoned towers. Brooklyn can hear the roar of the VTOL jets and the hum of the drones' propellers before he sees them, his long elongated ears making him keenly aware of their position. A smirk briefly flickers across Brooklyn's face as he starts to draw his wings in and makes a sharp turn around one of the towers and banks into one of its many glassless windows.
Silver and gun metal grey drones, variations of the older predator design, quickly chase after him. Their programming allows for a certain degree of tight urban flight, but this is no ordinary human trying to scurry down some darkened alleyway. Brooklyn's movement is rapid and just a little bit erratic, even for him. As he gets deeper into the guts of what was once room after room of offices with cubicles inside the drones are struggling to keep up. However they are staying with him with surprising tenacity even after a couple of them graze the walls and one flies straight through another due to a miscalculation on its part.
In his time living in the late 20th century Brooklyn knows that the machines can probably see in infrared and even a mythical gargoyle gives off heat, at least in blood and flesh form. This capacity, assuming they have it, is allowing them to see him even through the walls. No matter how much distance he gains the drones are still managing to find him. Suddenly he sees an opportunity up ahead, what was probably a half-attempt at a blockade lies at the end of the corridor just in front of open elevator doors. The blockade is built on two opposite sides covering two corridors that meet at the elevator here.
Brooklyn stops for a moment, his tired wings only too happy for a moment's respite. Yet if he is going to get away he has to move fast. With supernatural speed and strength the red skinned man moves one hunk of debris after the next. With one grunt after the next he shoves old computers and ugly desks to the half built first blockade. After a couple of minutes, and just in time to hear the buzzing propellers of the drones, Brooklyn has now managed to complete at least one of the blockades using material from the second. With any luck this will stop them long enough for him to take the elevator shaft in style.
'So long.' Brooklyn says, hoping that they have mice or something and that someone is listening.
The gargoyle leaps off down into the elevator shaft. He spreads his wings out to help adjust his descent as air rushes past his beak and blows is light grey hair straight along the top of his back. That last part ought to look dramatic if his pursuers are still watching. In the dark he can see the bottom of the shaft coming up and Brooklyn now adjusts his wings to slow his fall for a landing. Unfortunately he can hear that sound again and as he quickly looks back over his shoulder the drones are coming for him again.
Back at the top of the shaft the drones have expended ammunition to blast open the blockade; it is the only way they have to interact with the world around them. Although he does not know it, the gargoyle has already come to the attention of a field commander who is now following him on the live feed from the drones. As his digitigrade claws make contact with the sunken elevator car with a loud clank Brooklyn can already hear the sounds of boots. Down here on the ground floor there must be a squadron of these goons already marching into the building just for him.
It is a classic pincer manoeuvre. Brooklyn contemplates his options as he tears the hatch open from the top of the elevator car. The drones propeller noises are getting closer as he drops down into the car and starts forcing the doors leading to the ground floor open. If this chase continues as it has he will be fatigued beyond the ability to fight any longer. So the only logical option remaining is to beat these machines and tin men back before getting some real distance between them and himself. Thus is his resolve as he now steps out from the broken elevator and flexes his arms and wings, preparing for a fight.
That is exactly when he sees her for the first time.
Her
He had it all wrong earlier. The drones are still hunting him sure, but the troops down here not coming for him. Well not until now anyway. So the moment he sees a girl, a woman, at most in her mid twenties, bounding away from the chasing men he is momentarily stunned. She is dressed like a thief with dark clothes and a hooded jacket. More importantly she does not look nearly as destitute as the other denizens of the forgotten city who Brooklyn was watching from on high earlier so probably not a native neither. Moreover the girl is armed, with a gun in hand that she is using is take occasional potshots over her shoulder, all of the missing yet their real use being an ineffectual attempt at making her pursuers think twice. The one thing Brooklyn is certain of is that he has two backs to look out for now.
It is almost pitch black inside the building here, but for a series of lit oil drums and other artificial light sources which have no doubt been left by squatters and vagabonds of differing breeds and dispositions; all clearly having vacated the building the moment they saw the fascists coming. The troops are all wearing those masks of course, but the darkness is almost like a mood setter for the gargoyle. With the sound of the drones nearly at the bottom of the elevator shaft he balls his fists and leaps into action.
Five men, two lightly armed carrying SMGs, two behind them slightly thicker armour with rifles and one more taking up the rear almost seven feet tall and carrying something that belongs on a gunboat. First Brooklyn has to deal with the light-footed, they will undoubtedly have the fastest reflexes too. He swoops in along the ceiling, passing over the girl without her even noticing him. One of the troops spots the horned creature and stumbles, tripping over his own lazy foot. His friend is distracted now, perfect. Brooklyn sweeps in with his two foot claws grabbing one of the two men each. They scream, he ignores that. There is a second elevator. No doors. He flies inside with his two new friends.
Now the drones are down on the ground floor, but they are ignoring the hooded girl. Their only concern is with the red demon looking thing whilst their VTOL cousins are prowling around outside. The three remaining troopers however are confused and stop in their tracks, looking at each other and the drones as they fly by going for the other elevator shaft. The girl stops too, hugging her back against one of the walls whilst peering back at the commotion behind her. She hears the men shouting angrily but does not know what they are saying. Little do any of them know that Brooklyn is busy setting his friends up with new cubicles on the forty second floor, no seats or floor though.
'Now you stay right there and don't let go.' Brooklyn says as the two men hug against the shaft wall for their lives.
It is a little awkward leaving them up here, and they will call for help too. But it is way more satisfying having them clinging on for dear life up here than as members of a new unconscious thugs body pile. Eventually they should be able to get to a maintenance hatch or something, but for now the gargoyle has some other friends who are now entering the shaft down at the bottom. He gets is claws out for this one and stares nosediving at a speed that nearly reaches mach one. The drones are flying up to face him head on. Good.
Metal in the future tears as easily as tempered iron swords did back in the good old days; that is assuming these things are not made out of some polymer or something. There is a wicked glint in Brooklyn's eyes as he makes a sharp loop and thrashes a second one of the robots. The poor things were no manufactured with the design of fighting mythical creatures of the night and before long the remaining machines are nothing but a collation of falling scrap metal and broken parts. The sound they are making on their way down is very strange to the men, and lone woman, still on the ground floor. But now the one of the two riflemen has managed to open comms with one of the men who were on point.
'You're where?!' The trooper is finding it difficult to believe what he was just told. And yet the terrified sound in the voice over the microphone is extremely serious.
'Hey what is that?' Says the big guy with the even bigger gun who has been keeping his eyes on the second elevator since their buddies were heard screaming in that direction.
'Just shoot it!' One of them says, and they do.
Complimentary Gift Basket
A shower of bullets hurtles towards Brooklyn at ballistic velocities, the ones from the big gun look especially dangerous. Right now he is acting purely on instinct as his we weaves left and right, up and down, whilst staying as close to the ceiling as possible. Avoid a broken light there. Weave in past the supporting pillar here. A trail of bullet holes in the plaster that is the ceiling is following the gargoyle everywhere he goes until he finally reaches a corner and ducks behind it whilst the goons continue to fire until a good chunk of said corner has been chiseled out under gunfire.
The girl blinks in the low light. For a moment she doubts her vision and now she doubts her own mind. Standing besides her with his wings closed to minimise his profile is a thing, a creature, a myth that she is dimly aware of and yet that only makes it all the more fantastic and unbelievable. Is this thing here to help or harm? It does not seem to care for the Holy Ones and their troops. Maybe it is one of their biological weapons run amuck? In all the confusion and intense danger of the moment she has forgotten to breathe.
'What...' She gasps before having to take in a lungful of sweet oxygen.
'My name's Brooklyn,' the gargoyle says thankful that english is still spoken in this time. 'I have no time to explain, just get on my back and hold on tight!' He says and turns his back for her, his thin tail lying low to the ground.
Though still confused the girl is not about to wait for the Holy Ones goons to round that corner. So she pulls her hood back over her face, factoring in the wind factor she is about to be exposed to, and climbs aboard the mysterious red man... thing. Her legs wrap around his waist and her arms clasp against one another just against his collarbone; she resists the urge to check if those horns are real. The sound of gunfire intensifies as more chunks of the wall are falling out now. It seems these guys have more than enough ammo that they are not shy about expending it.
'Circle around!' The big guy tells the two two the rifles over their comms. Both of them look at one another as if expecting the other to go first, but with some supportive gunfire near their feet from the alpha thug they advance together.
They quickly come to the corner where they expect the creature to be waiting for them but Brooklyn is nowhere to be seen. For a moment they both think he has fled, probably finding another way back out of the building than the one they came in from. But that assumption is their own mistake as the deft sound of a swooshing wings fly over them and Brooklyn grabs the soldier on the right. With the weight of the woman on his back, and the already far more heavily armed and armoured guys compared to the two he took out before Brooklyn can only take one of them this time.
Of course the masked immediately starts to fire his gun erratically before working out he should try to shoot up at the gargoyle. This alerts his friend and the guy with the chain-gun, but Brooklyn quickly disarms him before he can hurt him or the girl before throwing him down the room at what is left of one the cubicles. As the guy crashes into it he can feel the wind being knocked out of him, plasterboard splintering underneath the impact as his mask falls off and he rolls a bit before crumpling in an unconscious heap.
The girl is resisting the urge to scream as Brooklyn banks hard and comes back around to full on slam into the other of the two advancing soldiers. This flying without a cockpit malarky is something of an acquired taste. As he knocks the man down Brooklyn expertly disarms him before balling one of his clawed hands into a fist and bringing it down hard against that masked face. He hits it with such force that the mask cracks, with a loud crunching noise and that is a fourth goon neutralised. Yet there is still one of them left, the biggest one at that. He could try going back up one of the elevator shafts, but there are probably still VTOLs waiting for him and he will be even less agile with his passenger. Brooklyn wonders if he can just get around this big fella. Maybe just maybe he could then ask the strange girl who these guys are.
'COME ON OUT! I PROMISE I'LL BE GENTLE!' The bruiser is shouting for them, chest stuck out as his fingers tighten around his ludicrously oversized weapon.
'Do you know any other way out that isn't past him?' Brooklyn asks the girl.
'N-No. I was trying to work around them.' She replies.
'Alright then, this might be close.'
There are loud footsteps now as the chain-gun wielding hooligan is slowly making his way around the corner to greet them with his friend. Depending on how fast his reflexes are then the red gargoyle should be able to outmanoeuvre him, but it will be even more dangerous with the girl. He tells her to hold on extra tight and is glad to feel her arms bunch up closer around his neck without trying to strangle him.
'What's your name by the way?' He asks her.
'Hope.'
'Cute name, mine's Brooklyn.'
Duel
He depresses the trigger the very moment he sees a flicker in his night vision. A stream of deadly bullets spews out from the mouth of his weapon, one slug after the next being spat out like a not so tiny harbinger of death. Naturally the gargoyle starts to weave around, his supernatural speed and reflexes keeping him out of the direct firing line. And yet the bullets are arcing, ever so slightly, so as they are nipping at his tail and claws ever so closely. Are they homing in on his body heat somehow? A big gun like that probably has special ammunition of some kind, but smart bullets? Really?
Brooklyn can feel the panic squeezing around his fast beating heart, even as he feels Hope's arms hug even tighter around his neck. He is still keeping from being shot, but he needs to disable this guy somehow. He starts by initiating a zig zagging pattern in his flying, like a soccer playing dribbling a ball. He works his way closer in order to get within striking distance of his assailant without making it too obvious what he is doing. Now he is close enough the gargoyle makes a sharp right turn and lashes out with his talons, trying to knock the man over or make him drop his gun; hopefully both.
A teeny clanging noise can be heard as the tips of his claws strike against the goon's helmet but he does not even flinch. Something like a growl is emitted by the big guy, so guttural and unnatural sounding behind that mask that Brooklyn wonders if this man even is a human, or at least entirely. He has seen far stranger things after all. Regardless the hail of bullets continue, but now that he is behind him the gargoyle does not feel the need to continue sparring in any shape or form. Let alone with the weapon like that being brandished towards his handsome head.
'We're getting out of here!' Brooklyn tells Hope as he flies at velocity for the nearest door, or rather the gaping hole in the wall, out of this building.
Unfortunately he reaches it at the same time a the VTOLs.
Free Range
Someone must have got on the horn and called the chiefs, or whoever is responsible for leading this merry band of well-armed raiders. Brooklyn stops in midair, beating his wings every now and then to stay aloft as he takes in the sight of the various men, vehicles, drones and VTOLs. All of them as black as night and with an array of various disturbingly effective looking weapons pointing at the exit Brooklyn and Hope just came through. The human expression 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' comes to mind. He holds his arms ups whilst whispering to Hope for her to brace herself yet again.
Brooklyn's black pupils dart around looking for a way out of this. There is an inordinate amount of debris in front of the building. In fact it is a mess in all of the streets in this mostly abandoned city. Rusting automobiles, spent oil drums and trash of various kinds. There just might be an opportunity for another escape here if he times this right. Judging by the way that the troops have begun slowly advancing on him with their weapons raised instead of just gunning the pair of them down, he guesses that they must want him for something or maybe just her. In truth it would not surprise him if his fellow clansman had made more of a name for themselves before whatever happened to the city; in fact he still has to figure out just what happened since knowing Goliath, the big guy would not knowingly let such a thing happen without at least trying to stop it.
'I have an idea.' The girl whispers into his ear. Brooklyn inclines his head a bit for her to continue but keeps his eyes trained on the soldiers. 'I'm guessing that you can see in the dark just fine. Without the optics in their masks working they can't. I can stop them from working but only for a few moments, okay?'
The gargoyle nods his head ever so slightly and bends his knees preparing to make a sudden takeoff. Hope reaches inside of one of her hooded jacket's many pockets and takes out a small metal disk no larger than the size of an especially large pin badge. She pushes her thumb against the centre of it and an ever so faint click can be heard. Seconds pass and for a minute Brooklyn thinks something must be wrong before all of a sudden, with his long pointy ears, he can hear a thin whining sound building up until all of a sudden it pops. The slight annoyance of the sound beside his head is nothing compared to the burst of electromagnetic radiation impairing the soldiers.
They try to remember their training and not panic like children scared of the dark. On any other day they would succeed, but today they are facing a legend from the past. Ultimately they fall back on the only thing they know and almost collectively take a step back before they begin firing wildly into the darkness in front of them. But by this point Brooklyn is already on the move. Launching into the air with hugging tight against his back the gargoyle surges up and over before coming back around and flanking the hapless goons.
His first target he brings the full force of his flight down on. The man is pushed forward and down against the broken asphalt, cracking the front of his mask and knocking him conscious. Brooklyn quickly rebounds flying into a second soldier, this time he uses his claws, ripping the gun out of his hands and then kicks hims back so that the man goes flying into the side of one of the half-tracks. Now there's a third and a fourth, he takes them down the exact same way. But now that he is onto the fifth the night vision in their masks are starting to reboot. The VTOLs for their part just remain hovering a good twenty or so metres above. They seem to be waiting for the fighting to clear up or maybe they are just observing. It only now occurs to Brooklyn that he has not seen them really do anything but fly around; maybe they are not armed at all.
From Hope's angle it is all just a mixture of motion and dark things moving under a cloudy sky. The flashes of the gun muzzles is all that lights the scene of combatants being disabled one after another. Of course judging by how fast Brooklyn is going through them she is more focused on holding what remains of her lunch. As mad is it all seems after getting a handle on her burgeoning motion sickness the girl starts thinking about this mysterious red winged man dressed in nothing but a loincloth. Who is he? What is he? Where did he come from? These are all questions that she curiously wants answered, being being the passenger for a fight of this calibre is hardly the time nor place.
As the Holy Ones' soldiers start to recover their senses and actually begin aiming properly once more Hope realises her own oversight. The EM pulse is temporary, especially on normally hardened military gear, but she does have another one in her pocket. Unfortunately both of her arms are preoccupied holding on to the strange flying man as he rushes out, now narrowly avoiding bullets once more. Hope ducks her head as she hears them fly past her head like angry hornets, these guys are packing tracer rounds. She tries to gain his attention but it is nearly impossible. However as the guns stop firing one by one she realises something has changed. He has done it, they are all down.
'See? No sweat.' Brooklyn says as he takes a breather standing on top one of the empty half-tracks.
All around them there lies the unconscious bodies of their would be captors. It seems a bit unfinished just leaving them here until red lights starts blinking on their armour. The Holy Ones are not the kind of people who appreciate losing at anything, and their superiors are only too happy to sacrifice the whole squad if it gains them a pyrrhic victory.
'Err I think you want to-' Hope starts to warn him, her eyes wide with panic.
'Yeah yeah! I see!' Brooklyn takes to flight yet again, soaring straight up without looking back.
Both the gargoyle and his human charge make it only fifteen metres before the charges built into the armour detonates. High yield explosives similar to C4 but with a greater destructive potential than should be possible packed inside of those suits of armour blooms into a mini sphere of fire and destruction. The shockwave throttles up and hits Brooklyn square on the back of his wings before travelling up and along Hope's far less sturdy body. She can feel her skin bring pressed down against muscle and bone as the detonation occurs and her eardrums are ringing with a terrible aching sound for a solid minute after.
Hope closes her eyes and renews her grip around her guardian gargoyle as he climbs higher and higher. It is over now. They've made it, both of them. Similarly both of them have their questions for one another, but after that ordeal they can wait a moment longer and gain some distance before finding a less active part of the quiet cocoon that was one New York City. Feelings of rest and pictures of a mattress that is not half-wet and probably infested with maggots dance around inside of Hope's mind as her saviour continues to climb higher and higher, reaching the peak of some of the Manhattan towers, or at least those which remain.
Such a shame that the VTOLs decided to act.
Falling Is An Art
There is a sharp pain in Brooklyn's left wing. Something has hit him and perforated straight through the membrane in between the two thickest spines. He cries out in pain that simultaneously snaps Hope out of her reverie. She asks him what is wrong before immediately noticing the cause of his distress all for herself. One of the VTOLs has taken an interest in them and has turned to open its rear hatch and a lone gunmen is standing inside. He is holding a rifle with a very long barrel, obviously a sniper of some kind and he has made the perfect disabling blow on the gargoyle.
'Hold on!' Brooklyn tells Hope as he tries searching for somewhere nearby to land.
Each time he tries to beat his left wing the tear in the membrane hurts worse than before, and might be tearing open even wider. Tears well up in Brooklyn's eyes but he he tries to conserve his efforts and glide more than anything else. Unfortunately the night air is dead, almost zero currents to ride upon so it looks like he is going to, well, wing it. A small blessing is that he thinks the nearest tower all of its glass shattered after receiving a slight tilt in its foundations. If he can make it only ten metres he should be able to deliver both himself and Hope before something terrible happens such as his losing consciousness.
There is no denying that the decision is a risky one but as he glides closer Brooklyn knows he is going to make it. Hope meanwhile is already concerning herself with what will happen next. Two more VTOLs are starting to move towards them, their blue flames shining brightly in the night skyline. If she knows anything about the Holy Ones, and she does, those look like flying troop transports and she bets Mr Shooty has called them in to either finish them off or worse. She reflexively squeezes tighter around him as Brooklyn wobbles in his flight and he has to tell her to not try and strangle him.
As he starts veering off at an odd angle Brooklyn can tell this is going to his worst landing yet. A dirty and glass covered floor rises up to greet him. He flinches and at the last second drops down to the floor beneath that, there is a less glass here for some reason. His talons touch the floor, they curl forward, he stumbles, trips and finally falls headfirst. Hope makes just as much noise as hi as they roll together, with both his good and bad wing giving some much needed shielding for her from the small pieces of broken glass.
They finally come to a stop together nearly reaching the wall at the far side of the room. There are no cubicles this time, just a few couches and a coffee table. It looks like it was probably some kind of waiting room. The sounds of the VTOLs closing in can soon be heard and powerful spotlights start being shone on the building they are in. It was too fast for the pilots to catch where Brooklyn landed exactly but they know which building him and the girl are in.
Farewells
'What happens now Brooklyn?' Hope asks as she gets up looking around the office room for something that might be of some use.
'I don't know. I'm not even sure when I am to be honest.' Brooklyn replies as he props his back up against the wall. A sharp pain runs down along his spin as he feels the tear in is left wing.
Brooklyn takes a closer look at his damaged wing. The bullet shot right through him, no deflection of any kind. Judging by the clean edges the original bullet hole was probably two inches in diameter, but the strain of making it the rest of the way to this building has caused new tears that have at least doubled the size of the original hole. Threading his finger through it Brooklyn hisses, the wound is very raw but it will feel better next night, if there is another night for him.
'Maybe we can create a barricade.' Hope says as she finds the two entrances into the room and starts looking for furniture she can move.
There is very little in the room to move, but the coffee tables make a good start. Brooklyn watches her as Hope starts to slowly drag or push one of the tables, usually alternating depending on which of the four legs are catching on something. It is a dirty old wooden frame with a glass top that has somehow survived all of these years with only a few cobwebs. Hope is petite with very little muscle on her, so by the time she has moved the table over to be against one of the doors she is panting hard, with both her arms and legs tired. There is no way she is going to be able to barricade them in here in time, and even if she did, would that really stop them for long?
'Come over here.' Brooklyn calls for Hope, his voice starting to sound groggy as his eyes are trained on the horizon outside.
As Hope makes her way back to where the injured gargoyle rests they can hear the sounds of the VTOLs above. Even on this floor there is the unmistakable sound of the craft as they land on top of the building and the sound of boots marching. She can no longer recall which floor they are on exactly, but it can not be anymore than a dozen floors down from the rooftop. Hope kneels down and looks at the gargoyle, wondering what he is staring at.
'I want you to promise me something.' Brooklyn says, turning his gaze to her. The girl takes down her hood, short cropped brown hair and green eyes on a gentle face, quite beautiful by human standards. 'No, I need you to promise me that you'll run.'
'What do you mean?' Hope asks, her tense voice belying her understanding.
'When they come you will run. Don't stay here for me. They want you, I can tell.'
'And what makes you think I'd stay with you?' She says in feigned contrarian spite, resisting the urge to feel show affection for the beleaguered hero.
'Call it a good feeling. But good feelings can get people hurt too.' Brooklyn grimaces as he feels a twinge of pain from his hurt wing. 'So promise me you'll keep running.'
'What if I don't?' Hope folds her arms and stares him down.
'Then it won't matter that I saved you before. Please Hope, please...' But even before he can finish his begging to her one of the VTOL's suddenly swings out in front of them.
The pilot shines a spotlight onto the pair of them and the sounds of boots marching grow louder as the troops are closing in on their position fast. A louder speak seems to be one of the many obnoxious things included on that thing as the voice of the pilot is projected across into the building. He tells the pair of them that their flight is over, knowing full well that Brooklyn is unable to fly anymore. If they know what is best for them they will surrender without trying anything like they did before with the miniature EMP.
Hope swings her head back to look at Brooklyn. They hold their gaze with one another, a myriad of emotions, mostly trapped ones, dancing across one another's faces. This is the end of the road and they barely know one another. So many questions, so little time with more questions for Brooklyn than for Hope. He may now never know what happened to his once beautiful and life filled city, or have any chance of stopping the calamity before it has even begun. What is the point of travelling back and forth through time if you can not change it right? But right now there is only one thing on each others minds, one confession for their inadequacies in spite of the odds.
'I'm sorry.' They both say in unison.
As they exchange that final word the orange glow of the sunrise comes up over the Atlantic. Its light touches the building and Brooklyn with it. He had not even realised that they were facing the east. Hope watches as her temporary guardian hardens, his whole body petrifying from the tip of his horns to the end of his tail. She slumps back in disbelief as the troopers finally break in, her little would be barricade barely even slowing the heavily armed troopers. They hold their fire as Brroklyn's body finishes its metamorphosis and Hope begins to weep.