Not merely a platoon but a state of mind that possesses a select few which can yield the animalistic instincts of
ripping their prey’s innards out with blasting, buckshot, bolt-action and burst-fire beaks after spotting them with
a keen eye.

Sure patience is a virtue, as predators are when watching the movements of their prey, but one wrong move and
it’s a case of which scavenger sinks their steely talons into it first. That’s not to say they are only unrelenting
beasts with no composition – when they fly together, air, land or sea, the place gets torn up. Buildings
crumble, craters form, metal twists and rains, fish and chips disappear. And their cadence call? The infamous
repetition of a particular word that their prey would hear as an indication of their impending doom, the most
annoying and last thing they would ever hear. It’s rare, but survivors liken it to an air raid siren. Take cover,
you’ll wish it was bird droppings.

But there’s always downtime had to stretch their wings, and even then who says you need wings to soar?
Unfortunately, there are those who try but fail to channel the phenomenon that is MyN and in turn produce
this effect : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WNrx2jq184 Regrettably, they cannot be helped.
But if you think you deserve a spot to perch on the power line with us, send a message!

Mine?