Hmmm.... something short n not-so-sweet to end my weekend, i suppose. I've had a real bad urge to write lately. Also, any recommendations as to what to read? I'll read almost anything so long as it isn't any x readers. I need to procrastinate my cross stitching i started :')

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Tyler stares out at the scene in front of him. It feels familiar- far too familiar for him to process. The angel wings on his back ruffle uncomfortably against the wall behind him. The wind is cold and the wall is rough and feels flimsy, not helping his uneasiness at all.

There's bright red and blue flashing. Those are his lights, he reminds himself. He's a cop. They don't really let angels be cops, but here he is- a cop, with a fancy police car, that is now flashing bright lights into the small, abandoned house he's in.

The gun against his leg is comforting- a simple reminder that no, he is not helpless. He has nothing to fear. He is a cop and he is here to apprehend whatever criminal is coming his way. This is his job, he's done this a million times before! He could probably do this in his sleep, for fuck’s sake!

So... why? Why is he so nervous?

Tyler takes another step forwards, glancing around the dark room nervously. He braces himself. Something is going to happen.

Click. He turns on his flashlight, quickly scanning the room over.

Drugs of every kind are scattered across a table, bags of white sitting in a neat pile on the left side. Bright, almost candy-like pills are scattered across the rest, barely hiding the faintest of blood stains on the wood table.

Molly? Ecstasy? Probably both. They do look similar, after all...

Tyler scoffs. He's about to turn around to go search the rest of the house, but then he hears a noise that startles him into staying still. It's a faint, almost inaudible choking noise, then the soft thump of something (a body) hitting the floor.

That's... that's not good. At all. He decides to stay quiet and creeps forwards out of the living room. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest and it makes him want to laugh. A 6'6 angel with a gun and years, years of combat training, is afraid of a little noise? How pathetic. No wonder they were so hesitant to give you anything other than desk work...

He moves forwards a little more. And then a little more. He keeps doing this, moving little by little, for maybe a good thirty seconds of slow, agonizing little steps.

It is then that Tyler bumps into someone. That in itself is weird- there shouldn't be anyone here besides him. What's even weirder is that this person is ridiculously short, and, from the feel of a tiny horn stabbing into his arm, a demon.

He jumps back, panicking and fumbling for his gun. "What the fuck, dude? I'm a fucking cop, state your name and goddamn business here!"

The demon scrambles backwards, hands up in surrender. "I'm- I'm Droidd, man! That's what the people call me, Droidd wit- with two D's! I just- just- fuckin' woke up here, I don't know why I'm here!"

Tyler feels himself hesitate. He's clearly lying but Tyler feels a little bad for him anyways. He settles for lowering the gun and narrowing his eyes. "Okay, Droidd, who do you work for?"

"Oh, you know... myself. But I'm friends with Vanoss. He pays my rent and I get him info on people. Why do you care, huh?" Droidd leans against the wall, his tiny red tail flicking about like a cat's. "You said you're a cop, right? Do you really think they'll care about what you find?"

Tyler glares down at him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, nobody actually lets angels out onto patrol, or any kind of field work. Only humans or demons do that. Come on, man, don't you get what I'm hinting at?!"

"No," Tyler confesses. "I really don't."

"Fuck the police! Come work with us! Don't act like you aren't powerful. We've seen you around, we know what you're capable of, don't let the law hold you back!" Droidd is now strutting around Tyler in slow circles, a grin on his face. "It's either you come with me or I kill you, man, and you're too pretty to kill. So hurry up and let's go!"

Droidd begins to pull on Tyler's arm. It is now that Tyler realizes that his gun is gone, and his radio has been crushed. When did he have the time to do that, let alone do so without Tyler noticing?

He glances down at the small demon in front of him. Droidd is holding the gun up shakily, clearly hesitant to shoot. Tyler has the upper hand here, stereotypes be damned. One punch from Tyler and Droidd's probably gonna have a broken neck.

And yet.... he has a point. What has the law ever done for him? If these guys, whoever he works for, really do want him for his own strength....

This is stupid. He's gonna regret it. He knows this, and he knows it well. Yet, like the dumbass he is, he sighs, nods his head and gives Droidd a stern glare.

"Fine. Where to, you fucking dickweed?"