I Am A Flyer

Escape

Outside the cafeteria, it was still and quiet. A very faint breeze flittered lightly through the compound, while the ascending sun cast soft golden light and long shadows.

A dark figure dropped silently out of the sky, giant black wings slowing his descent. With a soft thud, his feet hit the ground, and he was still.

Mere moments later, another figure landed, crouching slightly to absorb the impact. He too, became still, waiting.

Yet another descended, his helmeted figure dark and frightening. As his wings rapidly slid back into their compact form, he straightened, and stood solidly, also waiting.

In a flurry of moment, a dozen other flyers landed, and gathered with the others. The only sound that could be heard was the faint thuds of their feet hitting the ground, and the whispers of their wings going back into their suits.

Twenty-five seconds later, there was nothing but quiet. Fifteen flyers stood like statues, in a rough line, facing the cafeteria building.

OoO

Jett leaned his elbows on the table, his head resting in his hands. So tired. . . While he did enjoy getting up early to watching the sunrise in the past, he now hated mornings. He was tired, and sitting around waiting for something to happen just made him all the more tired.

And it was creepy. Half the teens were like rocks! They hadn't moved a single muscle; they didn't even seem to blink. There were a few that did the opposite; they blinked and jittered and fidgeted constantly. Oh, and then there was Iern. He occupied himself with weakly scowling at Jett., like he wanted to rip a huge chunk out of Jett, but was too scared to.

He sighed, and peeked sideways at Suil. The spiky-haired teen seemed to be deep in thought, a frown furrowing his forehead. Whatever he was thinking about, it was something that troubled him, because Suil usually didn't wear that kind of expression unless he was mulling through some problem.

With nothing better to do, he started to watch Gramps. The old man was cleaning dishes and wiping down things - more than once, Jett noticed. That was the third time the white-haired man scrubbed down the counter.

As he watched, the old man suddenly stopped, his hand just freezing in place, the rag flopping to a stop. Gramps jerked his head up, eyes narrowed. Then he seemed to deflate, drooping his shoulders with a weary sigh.

His gaze met Jett's, and Jett was struck by the amount of something that lurked undefinably in those alert eyes. Was it sadness? Anger? Guilt, perhaps? It was so muddled up, that even Jett, who was usually able to tell what even a dumb creature was feeling, couldn't figure it out.

Gramps snapped his gaze out over the quiet cafeteria. "All right, brats," he growled out, "Git out of here." His command washed out over them, and jerked everyone to motion. They had all been waiting for something to happen, and this was the start of it.

Even Suil broke out of his troubled thoughts, and slid his chair back to get up. A little perplexed, Jett followed along, and joined the nervous line of teens going to the door. He threw a hesitant look back at Gramps.

The old man was watching them, a strange expression on his face. But when he saw Jett watching him, that expression wiped itself off his face, replaced by his usual scowl. Jett turned back around, certain now that something was off.

His thoughts were confirmed when the first few teens stepped outside. Instantly, a ripple of shock ran through the group, immediately followed by a hint of fear. Jett soon saw why.

A line of death stood outside, waiting for them. Fifteen flyers. Their masters. All of them were ready for war - their helmets hiding their faces and making them all the more menacing, not to mention strange weapons fastened to their sleek figures. Jett figured the weird objects were weapons, because, well, what else could they be?