Johnny popped his right shoulder as he walked out of the locker room at the track, feeling rather sore all over after the 500 mile race. He had won, but it had been a hard victory. One of the Excelsior guys had been riding his ass near the whole race. Oh well, he'd won and that was what Indian cared about.

His fellow Indian teammates were back in the locker room, changing out of sweaty riding gear and chattering about the race, but right then all Johnny wanted was to get Gracie and ride home.

The garage was dark, broken and smashed bikes from the race shoved against one side like a gruesome pile of corpses. In the center, though Gracie stood tall, red painting shining in the meagre light.

Looking around cautiously, Johnny shut the door behind him then shrugged out of his human form with a sigh of relief. His wings and tail felt cramped from disuse, he hadn't had a chance to get out of human form for the last week since he'd been on the road with the other guys.

Stretching his wings, Johnny was about to step towards Gracie when the door to the dark garage was thrown open, "Johnny, what'cha doin? We gonna go get drinks?"

It was Peter, another rider for Indian and someone Johnny considered a friend. Well not anymore.

Peter gasped when he caught sight of his teammate and fell against the wall, "J-johnny? Wha's goin' on? W-what are you?"

Johnny sighed, then looked over with a resigned expression in his glowing red eyes, "Haven't you ever wondered why they call me Johnny Demon?"







. . . Yeah, I got bored in Theatre History class and doodled. Then I needed a story behind my doodle. Then I got this. (I've always wanted to use that line "Ever wondered why they call me Johnny Demon?" )

Have I ever mentioned Johnny is incredibly fun to draw? He is. So much.