Doves of War

There's excitement in the air. And flying above San Pedro, Los Angeles, she can sense it.

Few of those below would believe this possible, a fact that does not surprise her. Humans consider themselves more intelligent than any other species on this planet and even the first contact event of more than two decades ago hasn't shaken this belief. Granted, there aren't many non-human species left on Earth, none of them being living scrin but still, it's a point that occasionally grates her.

Then again, it's hard to be moody. She's one of the few pigeons left on the planet-Columbidae patagioenas to be exact, a species that has managed to escape extinction unlike many dove and pigeon species of the Columbidae family. Tiberium and mankind's wars have seen to that and only recently has the tied turn. For once, those who dwell below have shown the ability to work together, applying their technology in a manner to ward off the green crystal and save Earth rather than destroy it. Unlike many of her ancestors, she can now fly through the air without choking on sulphur, argon and whatever else tiberium gas is composed of.

It's arguably the absence of these gasses which allow her to sense the excitement. Because flying over what used to be California, a region well on its way to recovery from the corrupting influence of the green crystal that humans like to use (and worship in some cases), she can tell that something is happening. Something in the sprawling city of Los Angeles to be exact, namely San Pedro. And although she's initially wary of flying down to investigate, she gives in to curiosity.

And besides, provided that humanity's dominant government has lifted some of its rationing regulations, she may be able to scrounge up a few crumbs as well.

It doesn't take long for the dove to find a perch overlooking the gathered crowd and it takes an even shorter amount of time to realize that the chances of her getting a decent bite to eat are somewhere between slim and nil. A crowd of humans and hovering cameras are watching and recording a much smaller group of humans on a stage outside a colossal factory, yammering on about…well, that's hard to tell. Humanity's languages are more complex than even whales and dolphins (supposedly-those two species of mammals went extinct long before she was born) and although being unified under a single government for the last century has led to many human languages becoming dead, a degree of diversity still exists. And even though the man on the stage is speaking on what she recognizes as mankind's dominant language, she still finds it difficult to understand. Then again, actions speak louder than words. And with the doors of the factory opening to reveal the monstrosity within, she understands what's going on perfectly.

More belligerence.

She lets out a squawk of dismay as the…thing comes striding out, much to the humans' delight. Four legged like the elephants that used to roam Africa yet much taller and made of metal, she understands the purpose behind this meeting. It isn't for a noble cause. It isn't for protection, or unity, or whatever vague notions humans like to conjure in the face of extinction. After less than a decade after saving Earth's tattered biosphere from complete destruction, the world's dominant species seems well on its way to simply finishing what tiberium started. And in this moment of understanding, in this moment of fear and sadness, she is able to understand at least one sentence one of those below her utters…

"Bureaucratic doves, 'bout damn time!"

Ruffling her feathers and dropping a white ball on the man's head, she feels gratified in showing him just what doves can do.

Which given what she's just seen here in San Pedro, probably won't be much in the near future…