A/N: My second fic...YAY! This ones going to be alot longer and more indepth than my first one. It's set in the near future, and yes, the flock is going to be in it so don't freak out. Enjoy...or don't...it's your choice really...

The Riddlyr

Chapter One

In my world, Itex rules.

The year is 2030, and it was almost twenty-three years ago that everything fell apart. There was nothing anybody could to do stop it. There was no weapon to hold them back, no treaty to meet their satisfaction…no mercy as their reign began.

The government fell; it had been unsteady to begin with. The public submitted; their courage had faded a long time ago. People gave up…and they let Itex do…whatever Itex wanted.

I had heard rumors of when Itex was still young.

They were naive in the ways of genetic engineering. Haphazardly creating experiments…oddities…freaks. Itex had grown a lot since the disasters of its youth, their designs perfect. Their Erasers flawless. Their grip tightening around the world's throat.

That's when the virus broke free.

It escaped from the labs by accident, an experiment that…didn't go quite exactly as planned. It infected pregnant women, settling in their bloodstream, transferring the disease to their babies. Every infected mother died…and yet, the children were saved.

It was then that the first Fledglings were born.

The world had seen avian-hybrids before, but never like this…

Fledglings were born with wings. They were born naturally. They were born superior…and Itex was afraid. The white-coat's worked for a cure. They worked non-stop, in shifts from daybreak to sunset. They worked for three months…and found what they were looking for.

A pill was created.

It stunted Fledgling growth, made them…less. Yet, even the Alter Pill had faults. Tiny holes in its structure. Strands missing from the overall. Defeating its function. No matter how hard they tried, the Alter Pill still had flaws.

I am one of those flaws.

They call me The Riddlyr…

The wall-clock hummed lazily. It's hands spinning across the smooth plastic surface like ice-skaters across a frozen lake. A steady pattern. A set beat.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Nero kept his head down, tearing distractedly at the frayed edges of the fake leather armchair he had sunken into. His legs dangled a few inches off the floor. As usual, he was still too short.

The solid oak desk in front of him was occupied. By whom, Nero didn't know. He kept his head ducked in such a manner that only the man's slightly stubbled chin was visible, his sagging cheeks flecked with age spots.

The man didn't move.

Nero didn't speak.

The wall-clock continued its routine.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The man cleared his throat, shuffling through a thin pile of papers in front of him with his neatly manicured fingers. He stopped shuffling, glancing over as if just noticing the rather short person sunk in his fake leather armchair.

"Nero?" he asked, pretending to move the papers around like it mattered, "Do you know…why you're here?"

Nero kept his mouth shut.

"You're here," the man continued, ignoring his audience's lack of enthusiasm, "because this is the third fight you've…participated in, in this last month alone."

Silence.

"Well," he cleared his throat again, "if this were the case with any other student, I think a one week suspension would be a just punishment. But…you, Nero, you're…different."

The man paused as if expecting a reaction.

"Do you know…why you're different, Nero?" he prodded cautiously.

The man's lips pulled down in a displeased frown. Nero kept his head low, concentrating hard on the pale-carpeted floor. His hands curled into fists as the man cleared his throat again.

"Nero? I'd like you to answer me…why are you different?"

"Because I'm a fledgling," Nero said bluntly, cutting the man's next sentence off.

He cleared his throat a third time, tugging uncomfortably at the edges of his collared sleeves. "Yes, this much is true. You do indeed carry the avian gene though I prefer you do not use such slang as fledgling within my office."

Stiffly, he brushed invisible dust off his desk, "Now. The avian gene is not a disease. It is not your fault that you are different…"

"Not my fault I'm a freak," Nero muttered.

"It is however," the man continued, "your fault that you continue to insist on fighting with those who are different from you. Those who are…"

"Normal," Nero offered, his eyes locked on the floor.

Silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Nero finally looked up, staring firmly into the cold eyes of his Principal.

"Nero," he said icily, "do you know what the Alter pill is?"

Nero gritted his teeth, his nails biting into the palm of his hand, "Yes."

"Enlighten me," the Principal said abruptly.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"It was made to get rid of the avian gene," Nero said carefully, a hot burn creeping up his neck, "to make fle…the infected ones…normal."

The Principal stood up, his chair creaking as the sudden weight was removed. He pushed aside a stress-reliever with his fingertip and cleared his throat for the last time. "I hope you've gained something from out little chat. I'm sending you home early today; this is the only punishment I will deal. You're parents will be informed."

"Parent," Nero corrected him quietly, sliding out of the room and shutting the door behind him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his heavy cotton hoodie, his worn sneakers scuffing the empty school hallway. He didn't bother to stop at his locker…all of the sudden, schoolwork didn't seem so important.

The sun was burning fully as Nero turned his back on the fenced in playground pounded ruthlessly into the cement next to the brick walls. He brushed his fingertip over the bruise collecting under his eye, flinching at the pain it brought.

How was he going to explain this?

"I'm home."

Robert Riddlyr glanced over his shoulder, nearly dropping the frying pan he had been holding in the process. He set the pan down, dread creeping into his stomach as he wiped his hands on the white apron tied around his waist.

"Nero," he said calmly, turning around to face his son, "you're…home early."

Nero traced the tiled floor with the tip of his sneaker, a sore spot rising on the back of his neck from bending it for so long. He shrugged, letting his dark hair fall over his face, "I…it's…it's nothing. The Principal sent me home early."

Robert rubbed his wire-rimmed glasses on the edge of his collared button-up shirt, sliding them firmly onto his nose-bridge and motioning foreword with his other hand. Nero hesitated, glancing back at the doorway just a few steps behind him, and trudged across the kitchen to his father's side.

"Let me see," Robert said curtly, lifting Nero's chin just enough for his hair to slide away, giving him a clear view of the blackened skin under his eye.

He made a deep noise in the back of his throat, pulling a nearly empty tube of Neosporin from his pocket and untwisting the cap. "How many were there this time?"

Nero flinched as Robert rubbed the cream across the bruise, "Three," he muttered.

Robert shook his head, "First it's one, then it's two…" he sighed setting the bottle down on the counter, "now it's three. Next, there'll be four. Then five…Nero, when is this going to stop?"

This time there was no wall-clock to fill the silence.

Robert ran his hand through Nero's ruffled hair, smiling sadly, "I don't know what to do," he shrugged, "I really don't know what to do with you. You're mother…" his hand dropped away, "…she would have known.

"They're just bullies," Nero said quickly, "I can handle it."

With a deep frown, Robert turned back to the stove, running his hand across the grip of the frying pan. He laughed, flinching as it came out more like a snort, "That's just you, isn't it?" he said distractedly, "You can handle anything, right? Nero Riddlyr…conqueror of all."

"Dad…" Nero muttered, turning away.

Robert turned back, his eyes shining with unshed tears, "And…on your birthday, too? You think they'd give you a break on your birthday…fourteen, right? The big one four. I remember when I was fourteen…back then, when we didn't have to worry about Itex," his voice grew hard, the pan slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

He glanced up, only now noticing that Nero had gone.

He rubbed his temples, leaning against the counter as a distant car alarm squealed.

Nero slammed the door behind him, hot tears of anger and disappointment burning his eyes. He tore his shirt off, throwing it on his bed and turning around to look at himself in the full-length mirror tilted crazily against the wall.

He was short…too short to be fourteen. His eyes were too young. His chest too thin. Skinny…but not strong. Not strong enough. Dark bruises spotted his ribs. Stretching painfully across the skin, leaving a black mark where each kid had kicked him. His shoulder was sore from being thrown to the ground. His bottom lip burned from where his teeth had punched through as he hit the concrete…

The mirror shattered against his fist, cutting razor thin slits across his knuckles.

Nero sat down hard on the edge of his bed, burying his head into his hands, letting the blood smear across his face.

The bits of mirror littered the floor, smiling up at him mockingly. Each tiny piece reflecting back…just to show him how much of a freak he was. A million Nero's patterned the carpet. A million blood shot eyes. A million bruises and cuts…

A million pairs of black wings rising from his shoulder blades, the ebony feathers falling around him in a halo as he shook.

When was this every going to end?