The one thing about flying: It's impossible.

"Keep it up, Skylar! That's it, bend your left wing first, then the right!" He said, encouraging me in his odd, British accent.

"Shut up, Rift! I can't concentrate!" She said, making a perfect, sharp, bank.

"You both shut up so I can get this stupid maneuver down!" I shouted at both of them, coasting for a moment.

"Squiiib!" It shouted at us in concern.

Meet my pack. Rift, the genius, Clio, the perfect, and Squible, the fish boy.And me, Skylar, the misfit.

We've all been traveling together for a few months now. We're working on our bonds, but as you can see (Squible just punched Rift for telling him he was a little off) we do… need a little work.

I did everything Rift told me to do, and I still didn't get the bank. Rift says I need to bend one wing before the other, and feel the feather tips to increase my flying… but it really, really isn't working. And yes, you heard me right. Flying.

See, we were all (Except Rift) created in this place called The Institute, and no, it's not a school or a collage or something. It's hell on earth. Hell on earth that's been hit by the hottest day of the year, been burned eighteen times over with nuclear explosions, and ruled by people who's favorite color is white.

Yes, I do believe that is more accurate.

We were all saved by another girl like us, she and a few other people, all with wings. They broke in, and broke us out, and (I hope) managed to get out alive.

But I highly doubt.

"Jesus, watch it, Skylar!" Clio shouted at me after I ran head first into her. That's what I get for thinking and flying at the same time.

Clio is special. I mean… more special then Rift or me or Squib. She's one third Eraser. Which, in case you didn't know, just so happens to be a recipe for Hell dogs. And when I say hell dogs, I mean, literally. See, the Institute I was talking about, that's where they were created too.

But they were, no pun intended, the lap dogs of the Labbers (The mean people who poked us with needles and made us run fourteen miles without water or walking in under 10 minutes)

They think we're a tasty little snack, and would do anything to get their grubby, large, hugemungous claws on us.

But Clio's different. She'd do anything to be normal, or at least canine-gene-less. I never understood why… she was completely flawless. Rift says she's sixteen (I never learned how to count), she's gorgeous, strong, and she was treated like a queen in the Institute… I actually thought I hated her for a while. But I didn't, because she's nice too. But they did bad things to her in the institute… well, they didn't think it was bad, and neither did I for a while, I actually thought she liked it.

But god, was I wrong.

They made her hunt everything, little birds, small dogs, chimpanzees, other experiments… She's killed so many things agents her will that it's a wonder how she can still live every day normally. Well, normal for her.

I sighed again and made another bank, then flapped my way closer to Rift.

"We're all getting tired, and Squib's getting cranky. I think we should rest for the night." I said softly to him.

Rift paused to think for a moment, closing his eyes, then nodded. "You're right… I think we could all use some sleep." He said, with a heavy accent on the "All". I knew it was intended, because he could make himself have whatever accent he wanted, he just thinks he looks like a British type of guy. And he's totally right, as usual.