New story time! Kind of gave up on the Flock's Halloween story. Not like anyone read that anyway.

I inhale slowly, concentrating. I raise my gun, pointing it at my target.

Today is my day. I will not fail.

My sharp vision let me see her features clearly, even from this distance. Every detail is plainly visible : her plain brown hair and deep brown eyes, so unaware of what is about to happen.

I adjust the angle of my gun. The other five are unimportant. Useless to me, at least. Without their leader, the flock can't function.

And that is precisely why I am trained to kill Maximum Ride.

I pull the trigger, and faster than the blink of an eye, blood begins to blossom on her shirt, right near her heart. His wings falter, and then she begins falling.

I can hear the screams of the younger ones as she quickly plummets towards the earth. The one called Dylan swoops down, but he is too late. He is not as advanced at flying as the others, or as fast. Maximum hits the ground with a shockingly loud thud.

Looks like you're not so invincible, Maximum Ride, I think. Then the whole world goes dark.

"Very good, Zoey!" a voice calls out and applause can be heard from behind me. I pull off my helmet, shaking my strawberry blonde hair out of my face. "That's the fifth time this week you managed to kill her."

Well, that's a weird sentence, I think. I set the virtual reality helmet on a table beside me and a scientist takes the gun away. It's a fake gun. I guess they don't want me to kill them or something.

Not like I would, anyway. My sights are set on only one person. Maximum Ride.

"Zoey," another voice says. I walk over to Luke, the guy who is in charge of my training. I guess you could call him my coach. He's only a few years older than me, eighteen or nineteen at the oldest. He has hair that's so blonde it's almost white. You'd probably expect to see him at a beach surfing, not in a lab.

"Yeah, Luke?" I cross my arms over my chest. "What is it?"

"That was excellent," he says. It's very rare that he praises me, so I can tell he's pleased. "You may be permitted to go on your first field training mission soon."

I feel like jumping up and down. Only the most exceptional people get to leave the School to participate in training. Of course, I don't jump up and down. "Sweet."

Luke smiles. "I thought you'd be pleased."

Pleased? I'm ecstatic. I just don't show it.

"Well, time for you to go back to your room," another scientist says, walking over to me. I make a face.

The scientist grabs my arm and steers me down the hall towards my room. I wave good-bye to Luke.

"Here we are," the guy says, sounding bored. I think his name is Jeff or something. Oh, yeah, because I call him Depressed Jeff. He's always talking in a monotone and looking, well, depressed.

I flash my ID card at a hidden sensor on the door. Only I and certain scientists are allowed to come in my room. Depressed Jeff is not one of them. Luke, however, is.

My room was designed originally by the scientists. That was when I was new to the assassin program, only eight years old at the time. Until then, I had lived in a cage in the lab. When I was thirteen, I basically remodeled my room. It's pretty awesome, let me tell you. There are three different rooms. I have a kitchen, full of snacks and plenty of cooking stuff, because the scientists expect me to make my own food. They're too busy fooling around with DNA to make homemade meals. Next to the kitchen, I have a bathroom, with is pretty basic. My personal favorite room is the main one, which is my sitting area-slash-bedroom. Three walls are painted the color of the sky, though one is covered by posters of my favorite bands, such as Paramore, the Beatles, and many others. The fourth wall is my canvas. It's a big collage of whatever I feel like painting. I have a big, king-sized bed covered by sky-blue sheets and a quilt. There's a flat-screen TV on one wall with a couple of beanbags and a beat-up but still comfortable couch. A few bookshelves chockfull of books are pushed against one wall, and a desk covered by forgotten homework is next to my bed. A small closet is nestled between the TV and bookshelves.

It's a pretty sweet place.

I wander over to my canvas wall, looking at all of the pictures I painted. One is a fake window, showing a happy sun and smiling animals and lots of trees and flowers. I painted that when I was about ten years old. I've never been outside, so I rely on my imagination and TV to show me what the real world is like.

I walk over the TV and flip it on. My all-time favorite show, Glee, is on. As I watch it, I wonder what it would be like to go to a normal high school, full of normal people. I'm sure they don't have to worry about killing targets.

Glee ends and a news commercial comes on. "Strange bird-kids seen near Anaheim, California! Stay tuned to Fox News at Eleven!" Then the commercial ends and another commercial for cat food takes its place.

I rush over to my intercom and call Luke. "Luke, to my room, please."

"I'll be right there, Zoey."

Pretty soon, my door slides open. One of the things about my room is that I can't get out myself, but I can get in myself. If I want to get out of my room, it has to be authorized. There's no door handle on the inside of my room, and my door is always locked.

Luke walks over to me. I'm sitting on my bed now.

"You saw the commercial," he realizes.

"You did too," I point out. "Luke, this is our chance. My chance." He must hear the determination in my voice. "I've been training since I was eight years old for this opportunity. I'm sixteen now. That's six years of training, Luke. I've gotten perfect scores on my training for as long as I can remember. I think I'm ready."

And to my surprise, Luke nods. "Yes. You are."

Before I know it, I'm in the Prep room, being prepared for the mission. I still have my training suit on. It can blend into the background at any command, so that no one sees me. Its full name is the Camouflage Suit, but I call it the Camo for short. Boots are laced up on my feet, and my hair is pulled back in a tight braid. A gun is pressed into my hands. A real gun.

"You sure you can handle this?" Luke says as we're sitting in the helicopter, minutes away from our destination.

I nod confidently. "Six years of training, Luke."

"You can handle the gun?"

"Must I remind you of the training I've had, Luke?"

He smiles. "I think you're ready, Zoey."

"Here we are!" the pilot calls over the drone of the helicopter blades. I nod and stand up.

Luke nods at me as I yank the helicopter door open. "You've got this, Zoey. Call us when you're done, and we'll come get you."

Though that won't be necessary, I nod back.. "See you in a few." I leap out of the helicopter, feeling the air rush against my face. My Camo blends to match the blue tone of the sky, so no one will panic. I don't want them to see a strange girl falling from above.

I can do this, I assure myself. I have no doubts. Because I was literally born to kill.