A/N

Hey guys! This is my new story! It takes place after Max gets kidnapped in MR5 (I like to pretend just on my day to day that everything that happened after MR5 doesn't exist anyway). I hope you like it. Feel free to PM me and send through your honest thoughts. Also, if anyone would like their works Beta read, I am up for the challenge!

Prologue: Brain Explosion

I hate winter, I really do.

Actually, I hate all cold weather. As soon as it gets below about 50 degrees, that's it. You can count me out.

The last trip I took to Antarctica, the average temperature whilst I was there was (even though it was summer) 14 degrees (or negative 10 ten degrees Celsius for any of my imperically challenged friends out there). Somehow, I think I am (impossibly) colder now than I was on that trip despite the climate here averaging approximately 12 degrees warmer daily. I am definitely shivering more than I ever did whilst living and working in Antarctica but that is probably due to the fact I was wearing a heavy, insulated a coat whilst residing in the coldest place on earth and right now I'm not wearing anywhere near that many layers.

See, the problem is, is my line of work you need to be able to use the same outfit for a number purposes. Like, right now I'm on a mountain side but tomorrow I could be in the dessert. Luckily for me, the U.S army has a number of handy dandy solutions to this problem and they start and end with cargo pants.

At one time or another, I probably would have been embarrassed at my attire. Especially if any of my Flock were around to see me. However, I had long since gotten over not having the simple luxury's I once had ie. being able to wear such very impractical clothing as jeans and a windbreaker. Ironically, at the time, I had not thought of such items as having been "luxury". Far from it really. One of my girls, Nudge, who had always loved fashion, had told me almost daily back then how much better I would look with the simple addition of some even more impractical clothing items such as a "super cute skirt," as she put it.

At this point in my life, "wearing a skirt" is almost as ludicrous as seeing five porcupines dressed up and arranged in formation as miniature Power Rangers.

I dug deeper into my icy bunker, pushing more snow to the side of me in order to break as much of the bone-chilling wind, which blew across the mountain side and allowed shards of ice to scratch my cheeks, as possible. Couldn't these people have decided to hide out somewhere more…. sunny? Like a nice seaside shalé in Barcelona perhaps. Or a beach house in Hampton's. Or any place that is not a secluded alpine shack in New Zealand.

This is my first time traveling here (if you can really call this traveling) but I have visited New Zealand's neighbor, Australia, quite a few times in the last 3 years. The people I have to "visit" often enjoy holidaying in particularly remote places and the Australian outback is pretty darn remote. Not to mention there's a lot of it. Thousands of miles of red, flat earth with only a few kangaroos and snakes to keep you company while you search- I mean, travel across it.

At least it's warm, though.

I can feel the beginnings of frostbite nipping at my toes. Even for genetically enhanced beings like myself, you have to be careful of conditions such as hyperthermia which would no doubt be approaching a Code: Red problem for me after a few more minutes hunkered down low in the snow.

Unluckily, unlike ski slopes elsewhere in the world, New Zealand's snow-capped mountains are completely devoid of trees and other shrubbery which could act as a shield to block my host's view of me while I prepare for my "visit". Luckily for me, the radio shack that ex-marines Mathew and Corey Bachelor have chosen as their holiday home has large windows in order to view the advanced snowboarding course below during the day and allowing my inhuman vision to be able to track the brothers perfectly without employing the use of binoculars.

I snapped a close range periscope onto the eyepiece of my AK 47 assault rifle and situated it upon its tripod stand. I was finally prepared. The dug out of snow I had made hopefully camouflaged me reasonably well. Two more minutes and then I've taken the shot and flown somewhere with a sunnier outlook and a shower. I breathed deeply and pressed my eye to the viewfinder. I located the two again easily. Mathew was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed while Corey flipped a coin absentmindedly near him. It must be mind-numbingly boring, up here, all alone, just waiting to die (or for someone to try killing you, at least).

I took the safety off my gun. I hated these "visits" (probably not as much as my hosts, though, if you know what I mean). A few years ago, I would never have imagined that I'd be lining Mathew Bachelor up to shoot him through the brain.

Then again, I never would have imagined that I'd be murdering people full stop.

No, Max! I scolded myself. Don't think of it as murder! My finger shook as it hovered over the trigger. It is not murder, it's... Defeating the baddies. Yeah. These are two really bad dudes. Yep. Two bad dudes who deserve to be shot and killed... Even though you're not even sure what they did was bad... Because you don't know they did… Because no one will tell you what they did and as far as you know they could be decent, charity donating hardworking Americans.

Mmmm, I'm very convincing.

I took a deep breath in and puffed out a cloud as I exhaled. This isn't some sort of moral decision; it's my job. It doesn't matter what these guys have done. All that matters is that they've pissed off the wrong person and have ended up next in line for a barge ride across the river Styx and that it's my job to put them on the boat.

My finger steadied on the trigger and I zeroed in on Mathe- I mean, my target (this is all very spy mission-y, isn't it?). I just need to breathe and disassociate myself. That's what they always tell you in training.

Oh, if the Flock could see me now. What would they think? Their brave leader, always sprouting of bullshit about doing the right thing, literally about to kill someone in cold blood.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. I am doing this for them, I thought. Plus, it isn't like I'm new to this. I've done this a hundred of times before (or something like that, it's not like I keep a list). I put pressure on the trigger lightly to steady my hands. Finally, I was completely prepared.

I compressed the trigger fully and braced for the kick back from the shot. It was silent for a few milliseconds, the silencer on my rifle preventing the shot from echoing out around the mountains, and then the window exploded and so did Mathew Bachelor's skull.

His brain decorated the cabin walls behind his body, like gory tribute to the man now staring blankly in the direction of his brother.

It was mildly disturbing.

Corey jumped to his feet, shocked. He stared at the blown out brain matter now slowly slipping down the wall. I knew he couldn't really believe that all of that blood at bone had moments ago been contained in his brother's skull just from the way his eyes widened. Corey stared at Mathew next, taking in the image of his dead sibling. The picture of utter incomprehension and sadness painted on his face made my stomach flip uncomfortably.

See, it's not like I don't have a conscience.

The heartbroken brother slowly turned his gaze toward the window and then fanned it out across the snowy dunes in the approximate direction of where the shot had come from. I lined up my next bullet with his turned temple and pressed the gun's trigger again. This time, however, the bullet missed its mark. Corey had taken a step back which meant the bullet had grazed him but that he was otherwise fine. He hadn't spotted me but, instinctually, he knew that the bullet was coming for him and had been able to dodge out of the way in time.

Blood, slowly dripping down Corey's hard face, mesmerized me as I watched him. In what seemed like slow motion, small streams of red liquid flowed down the valley's in his lined face toward his pale neckline. He shook his head, and the dark droplets went flying off of his cheeks. When he began to move in the direction of the door I snapped back to reality. Everything sped up considerably as my third bullet was released from the chamber, this one striking the side of Corey's head and penetrating the bone.

Corey Bachelor dropped to the floor, dead and I, Maximum Ride, had killed him.

Oh well, shit happens.

After checking that Mathew and Corey were really dead (Gross, I hated getting blood on my boots) I had flown down to a nearby town and had rented a room at a pretty stingy ski hotel. I flopped onto the bed, happy to be somewhere with heating. The sun had set whilst I was flying and it had begun to snow before I landed. My cargo pants were slightly damp as a result but I honestly couldn't be bothered to change them and so just lay on my back, not doing anything for about half an hour. I was so tired but knew I couldn't sleep yet. Finally, I found the energy to pull my phone from my many pockets and call HQ.

"Maximum, finally!" General Starvish (who unfortunately does not pronounce his name like starfish) drawled. "How did it go? Are they taken care of?"

I shuddered at his wording. "They're not living, if that's what you mean."

The General chuckled, "Of course. Well done. They do call you the best."

"Yeah." Yep, thanks for that awesome compliment. I love being great at tracking people down and killing them. I have no choice but to be the best but thanks again... Jerk.

"You took your sweet time, though."

I frowned, "I had to fly to New Zealand."

Starvish hummed. "That may be true, but this assignment still took longer than you're last three missions combined."

I sighed audibly, "I know." I played with the tassels on one the stained pillow near my head absentmindedly. "So what bullshit mission will you have me on next? Slaughter a kangaroo and mail you the tail?"

The line was silent and then, deathly quietly, the General responded, "You will not address your superior in such a crass manner Soldier." I rolled my eyes. See, here's the thing about the US army: they love drama. "Your next assignment," The General went on authoritatively, "Will take place back home."

I raised an eyebrow. For the last two years, I have been kept as far as physically possible away from American soil. It's kind of a long story, but basically, I owe the government a….. debt (yeah, let's call it a debt) and for the last 2 years I have been paying off this debt.

"Home, Sir?" I questioned.

"Yes, we believe it's about time you come back to the States. You will receive further instruction when you arrive at Fort Hunter."

The call ended.

I stared blankly at the screen of my phone. Home. I haven't had a home in a long time. Does this mean I'll be staying in one place for a while? Or is there just some army rule about having your operatives come back to base for routine training every two years or something like that.

I sat up suddenly. A thought had struck me. Did this mean I get to see the flock again?

A/N2

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~El