AN This is almost the same as the original, just a few changes, nothing too big. Hope you like it!

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Chapter 1

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He never had a chance. Never had a chance to prove his worth to the world, or to show his strengths. Nobody had ever bothered to spare him a second look. After the initial first glance; they would abruptly avert their eyes and hurry away. Never before had he had any friends, or a family. He had been dumped on the step of an orphanage when he was less than one year old.

At the age of four, he had been kicked out of the orphanage, though he liked to think of it as running away and escaping, and had taken to living on the streets, his only option left. He had been, and still was, a filthy little street rat; begging and stealing to survive in a city that despised him.

Which was rather ironic, as he wasn't in any way a rat. No, he was more of an eagle. Or maybe a hawk. He didn't have a name, or an identity. He had nobody and nothing, and it had been that way for the long sixteen years of his life. When someone referred to him, if they ever did, they called him Wing; because of the two midnight black wings attached to his back.

For the last year now, ever since the debates had started, he had taken to standing on roof tops and looking down on the world. He fancied himself as a predator trying to figure out which of the scurrying figures down below to swoop down upon and kill, and then eat a part and leave the decaying carcass for some one else to finish off.

Wing chuckled a bit at that, idly scratching a bit of mud off of his arm. In a split second, the smile was gone and he turned away from the ledge, sitting down and curling into himself. He preformed the long ingrained habit of hugging his bare torso tightly and tugging his wings around his body to keep what little body heat he had near him.

He could be worse off though. Right after he had left the orphanage, he had been found by a hard core street gang. The leader of the gang, Blaze, had taken him in, taught him how to fight and steal. The gang had taught him how to rely on himself to survive. Wing's whole life had been that gang, until they had all been killed. Nobody knew about it, or cared. Wing had been the only one to survive the fire that had raged through the abandoned building they had lived in.

But, that was all in the past. Wing had a new life now. He had come into his inheritance a few days ago, and now contained more power then most above average humans. From what he knew, his inheritance was equivalent to a human's puberty. His abilities and tolerance levels went up, his instincts got stronger and his wings finished growing. What was more, he could, to some extent, retract his wings into the skin of his back, allowing him to blend more easily with crowds.

"Just a little longer," Wing whispered to himself, his eyes dropping closed. "A few more days, then we'll see who the outcasts in this world are." He smirked, one hand reaching up to push his black hair away from his face. "Because it won't be me..."

Within moments, he fell asleep, dreaming of revenge, planning out idea's that had yet to take a definite shape. There were many ways to pull off some of his ideas, while others were downright impossible. In the end, he settled with the simplest way he could think of.

Letting the military know that he wasn't afraid to fight for his life.

= = =

In a city, fifty miles away, a small group of military officials were sitting down to yet another meeting that was exactly like the last who knows meetings held over the last year.

"They must be eliminated." A tall, scrawny man insisted, looking at the important political people ad other's of important statue sitting around the room. "If they're not, it's only a matter of time before they find it in themselves to take over our world and begin killing those who are not like them."

"So, it's a matter of killing before being killed." A young girl said softly from her seat, attracting the attention of the room. "It seems to me that if we offered them peace and protection, rather then shunning them, there would be no reason for them to want to kill us in the first place."

The man frowned slightly. "Miss Wren, you have siblings, don't you."

"No."

The frown went deeper. "Do you have any friends or family or people that you care about?"

"Do you?" Miss Wren countered, standing up and glaring at the man across from her.

"I don't see how that is important at all."

"Man will fight when he sees a reason. Always in the past, it's out of fear, or protection of loved ones." Wren explained calmly. "But recently, it seems that it's only for the love of fighting that people rush out to kill others."

There were whispers from around the room, but Wren didn't listen to what people around her were saying.

"In this world, Mr. Harrell and even today, people die just for living their lives. Attacks are unprovoked, and unnecessary. Why? When will it stop? If you show that it is excusable to kill off who you deem a lower race, isn't that the same as what has been happening in the history books for the last four millennia? Isn't that the same thing that our forefathers had fought to end?"

The whispers grew louder, to murmurs, and louder to raised voices.

"Can you answer me that?" Wren demanded. "Isn't that true, don't you have pride in your history?"

Mr. Harrell was starting to look uncomfortable, and he could only stare dumbly as Miss Wren stood up and make her way towards the door. Not one person moved to stop her.

Another man spoke up, "I think we have a lot to think about." He said softly, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "We'll regroup tomorrow, same time."

= = =

The moment Wren was safely away from the meeting discussing the fate of life, she let out a sigh of relief and snuck into the inky blackness of the night. Her darker then usual skin, and long dark hair only aided in hiding her from any searching eyes. Trained onyx eyes moved carefully, making sure nobody noticed the wild, wiry frame slinking through the abandoned streets. Sneaking into a dark alley, she unbound her hair and raised her arms to the sky. With a soft whisper of pain, two black wings sprung from her back and she took off into the moonless night.

She couldn't have those morons killing off people like her, after all. That would be insane.

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= = =

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AN Drifting Dreamer