Chapter 2: The Watcher—Third Person POV
The Watcher stood almost completely motionless on the bare soil. He would have resembled a statue had his all-white eyes not been following the Flock's every movement through his thick, high-powered binoculars. A group of eight, total, if you thought to include the two dogs with them, which the Watcher didn't. Two blond scruffy kids. One with chocolaty skin, another with strawberry blond hair. A long, dark one. And their leader. They were the targets. They were the group that the Watcher was to bring back to the Director.
Swooping, soaring, gliding gently through the sky—So careless of them! The Watcher scowled. It was no small wonder that the Flock was to be dispatched back to the School for further "editing." Their design simply wasn't good enough.
The Watcher's general tapped him twice on the shoulder. The signal at last! The Watcher sprang into action, blowing an ultrasonic whistle to launch the Flyboys into the air. The Flyboys were much better designed now, sleek, stainless steel metal neatly integrated into weapons seamlessly welded onto their chunky arms. The Flyboys, of course, would not get to actually capture the Flock. No, that was the Watcher's responsibility. A ghostly smile twitched at his lips as he gripped the gun that would take down all of the mutants. Not permanently, of course. If they were taken down permanently that would mean death for the Watcher too.
The Flyboys assembled themselves into optimal fighting form—grouping into triangles so that every angle could be covered, every bird kid taken, and minimal robotic casualties made.
They were ready.