Welcome to the New American Institute of Science and Research, or NAISR! Here we create things that shape our nation and our future! And here is our most promising specimen, No. 113, AKA Lark! More a bird of prey than a songbird, she has hollow bone...
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Lark stretched out along the broad branch of an old oak tree, her sandy brown and ivory wings folded tightly against her back. The low, constant hum and buzz of the bees and the dancing long grass lulled her into a light doze; her hands were folded peacefully on her chest, and her legs hung over the edge, swinging slowly back and forth. She breathed deeply, the summer air heavy and sweet, and a small, contented smile curled at her lips. The promise of rain hung thickly, dampening her golden-brown skin, which glinted in the late-afternoon sunlight. A burst of hot, dusty wind gusted through the deep green leaves of the oak tree and ruffled some of Lark's loose feathers.
Suddenly a sharp, reedy whine cut through the pleasant buzz that filled her ears. Lark shifted and woke. She was in the compound. A dream. Of course. She'd never been outside of the compound. She was born here, and would probably die here. Such was the life of the soldiers of New America. Compounds like this one were scattered all across the nation. At least, that was what she'd been told; you never knew what to trust coming from the Superiors. Lying was their nature.
The idea of being trapped in here her entire life---never even getting to fight a war in this era of artificial peace---made her wings itch unbearably. Lark sprung to her feet and paced wildly along the beam, breathing rapidly. Her fingers felt numb, and her chest was tight. "Stop it," She muttered to herself, trying to slow her pacing. "Stop." Her heart felt as if it was lodged in her throat, and she wanted to scream and cry and rage.
Her chain rattled as she moved, and she grimaced in pain as the shackles rubbed against her ankles. If only I could fly, she thought desperately. If only... But she didn't dare; she couldn't bear it if she was like Owl, wings savagely torn from her back... Lark shuddered in revulsion and fear. She remembered well the howls of pain that had echoed throughout the compound. They still woke her at night, crept into her dreams like venom.
Lark shook herself from her reverie at the sound of heavy footsteps. She gently flapped her wings, frowning in puzzlement. Why were they coming now? It was well past feeding time. Fear consumed her. "Gods, please," She murmured. "Please say they're not coming for the fledglings."
The metal gates screeched open, followed by a scuffling noise and a low shout. Lark paused mid-spring. Odd. She thought to herself, head cocked, her bright eyes fixed on the gate. Whatever happened, she had to be ready to protect the fledglings, wings be damned.
Before she could think any more on it a man came storming in. "No. 113!" He called sharply. "Your assistance is needed. Fly on down!" She considered her choices carefully for several moments, glance darting between the cages holding the fledglings. "Now!" He barked, and she scowled. He wasn't of high rank, that was clear. She would remember him if he was. She was of a mind to ignore him just to spite him, but for once curiosity won out. She shifted her wings and stretched them out, full-span. She gracefully dove from her perch, and circled him once, before landing in front of him.
Lark glared at him as he eyed her warily. After several long moments, the man lowered his eyes. "You're needed outside." She blinked at him and began walking towards the door without a word. Her chains rattled as they pulled taught and she stopped short, only halfway there. Another man walked into the cage. Dark, curly hair and warm brown skin---Lionel. He looked relieved. "Lark," He whispered. "Thank gods." She let her lips lift in a small smile when he reached her. "Hey," She said, voice rough from disuse. "What's going on?" Lionel jerked his head outside. "Better come out and see for yourself." He knelt down and unlocked her shackles. She scowled when he took her arm in a firm grip and he grimaced apologetically.
When they finally exited the cage Lark was blinded by glaring, fluorescent lights. She blinked rapidly, trying to chase away the black spots that danced across her vision. Still, she felt a sense of elation at finally being free. Well. Semi-free. She would never be totally free.
The majority of the spots faded and Lark blinked again, this time in surprise. There was a girl standing before her---or perhaps standing was the wrong word. She was dangling, had obviously tired herself out struggling against the men that held her. Her hair was dark and wild, her skin pale, her eyes a bluish grey. She was small. A fledgling. She was gaping at Lark, eyes wide. "You have wings!" The girl blurted, voice hoarse from screaming. "Yes," Lark said, still shocked. "I've had them as long as I can remember." The girl was still staring at her. Lark shifted, uneasy. "Wow," the girl finally breathed. "Can I get some?"
Lark looked at Lionel and he nodded imperceptibly. "Yes," she answered, trying to smile reassuringly at the fledgling. "Of course. You only have to come into the c---" She paused. Maybe calling it "the cage" in front of the fledgling wasn't the best idea. "The room," She continued as if she had never stopped. The girl turned suddenly wary. "Are you sure?" She asked cautiously, voice wavering. Lark put on the expression she used when telling Robin that Christmas would come for sure this year. It was the most trustworthy expression she had. "Of course," She said, praying that the girl would believe her.
The girl's face lit up with a bright smile. "Yay!" She exclaimed, wriggling free from the soldiers' grips and scampering into the cage. Lark and Lionel followed behind her at a slower pace, and once they crossed the threshold the gates slammed shut.
