Hawks finds a badly burned orphan kid with bird wings that is in the middle of winter in a box in an alley way while he was perched on a telephone pole.
"Alright, another patrol done." Perched high on this telephone pole, can feel the biting wind tugging at my feathers.
The city sleeps, or so it seems. Even from this height, the glow of artificial lights paints the sky a hazy orange. Scanning the streets, a flicker of movement in a dark alley catches my eye. Usually, I'd ignore it. Petty crime is for the smaller heroes, right? But something feels... different. A nagging instinct, perhaps. With a silent beat of my wings, I push off the pole, the wind screaming past my face.
"Let's see what's going on down there," I whisper to myself, landing softly in the alleyway.