-WARNING! LOTS AND LOTS OF VIOLENCE. IF YOU DON'T LIKE TO READ ABOUT REALY GRUESOME STUFF, I SUGGEST YOU TURN AWAY NOW. THERE'S MURDER, UM...A GUY SLITS SOMEONE'S THROAT...MAX SHOOTS A COUPLE OF PEOPLE...SOMEBODY ELSE SHOOTS SOMEONE...STUFF LIKE THAT. IF THAT'S TOO MUCH FOR YOU...I SUGGEST YOU GO. SORRY :( -

The violence isn't actually too bad, but it happens a lot. Just a warning.

Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride. If I did, Dylan would be dead. Max would have chopped him up slowly with those ultra-thin wires. And then Fang would have come, and Max would beat the living crap out of him, and then make out with him.

True Max style.

Crash and Kill

MAX POV

There is no manual to life. You can't open up a short book of instructions and expect to be an expert within twenty minutes. Instead, we as humans spend a century going through stage after stage of life, hoping that in the end we'll die happy and ready for whatever is to come after that.

For me...life isn't exactly simple, and I'm not entirely sure if that next life I'm supposed to go to is heaven…or hell.

Joining the F.B.I seemed like a good idea at first, and years after that. Except of course, when that first kill takes place, and suddenly you regret it all.

So, I'm a killer.

Killers go to hell, right?

Even if it's for a good cause?

But…well…I can't go back on my job. I have the burden of taking care of the hundreds of criminals running rampant in Oakland, California, a city notorious for it's high crime rates.

Trust me, life isn't simple. It's not a toy, so there's no way to cheat.

Sighing, I shrugged my slim-fit t-shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground, not even bothering to throw it into the nearby hamper. I walked the short distance to my closet examining the sparse clothed I actually owned. Deciding to wear just some simple flannel pants, I slipped out of my dark cargo pants and into them, reveling the feel of the soft fabric.

I stumbled tiredly to the bed and fell backwards onto it. My body turned onto its side and my legs curled in the sheets before I reached one hand out and flicked the switch on the built-in light switch on the wall. The silence enveloped my like a blanket and refused to let go; only the slightest crack of the cooling building breaking it. It seemed to be creepy and mysterious in some ways, to have absolutely nothing there.

Before I knew it though, the mood changed completely as suddenly loud thrashing and low grunts broke any form of silence. Instantly, my tiresome mood was washed away and my eyes shot open, ready for action.

Shooting out of bed I ran down the hall, grabbing my gun on the way and ran through the kitchen and living room until finally bursting through the front door. The noises continued from the apartment across from mine, a large 911 plaque for the address. Figures, this would be where the danger was.

A small smile formed at my lips, the sign of rising excitement for me, and I threw myself against the door.

It took three hard crashes at the locked door and quite a few curses until it finally swung open and hit the wall behind it with a loud BANG. My arms automatically gripped the gun harder and they sprang up in front of my face, the classical position for this kind of thing. The trashing had stopped by now, my presence evident, and I advanced inside.

My voice rang out, loud and confident. "Come on, it's not like you're going to hide. I could hear you from my room and you're not doing much good to my precious beauty sleep. Now that calls for punishment, " I chuckled darkly. "Not to mention, I have an excellent shot."

I crept through the place, on guard and ready for anything. The bedroom door was open and I cautiously stepped through, my bare feet barely making any noise.

My eyes landed on two guys, one older and one my age, on the ground. The older man was under the other holding him tight to his chest with a restricting arm.

And not to mention the knife that was being held against the younger's neck.

I was across the room, maybe 15 feet away, my gun pointed directly at the other's head, as he seemed to be the most likely suspect here. The boy my age looked slightly flustered, breathing heavily but still acting as if this happened every day.

Maybe it does.

His shaggy black hair fell in front of his face as his chest rose and fell; his pale, slightly muscular arms coated with a thin sheet of sweat.

The man with the knife suddenly stood up, throwing the younger harshly to the floor, and walked towards me, taunting the other. "Well, well Nicky, " he drew the name out, "Look what you've stirred up. Wouldn't want her to suffer because of you, now would you?"

The younger (still on the floor) ground out between clenched teeth. "Like she said, she has an excellent shot."

His voice was velvety smooth, enough to make any girl swoon. Ha! They don't even need to hear his voice. One look at those perfectly toned arms and their already drooling.

He stood, his actions silent as to not alert the other's whose eyes were still locked with mine.

"I'm sure it is. So, how did it become so perfect? Experience? Are you a criminal, girl?" he mocked gasped, "A cop? No, not a cop…a federal agent! You guys sure have quite the spunk!"

He got a wicked smile. "Right, Nick? I'm sure you've dealt with quite a few be-"

"Nick" was already behind him and lunged, his fist coming in contact with the others jaw. He stumbled backwards and in my direction. In a second I had dropped my weapon and lunged, placing a roundhouse at his hand. His hand jerked back and I watched in silent prayer as his knife flew out of his hand and towards Nick. The knife clipped his arm, nothing serious, but still I lost my focus for a moment and gasped quietly; I had only been trying to keep him safe from him and look what I did.

That moment was enough though. By the time I had the chance to fight back, he had served three punches to my arms and a good kick to my stomach.

I straightened and gave my best death-glare and fought back with everything I had, refusing to let this bastard get anything on me. I was fuming, throwing a fury of punches with accompanied grunts of effort.

I was overdoing it, I know. But, for some reason, I couldn't wrap my head around somebody beating me; winning a battle I've never lost. Everyone has his or her faults and mine is the fault of never losing in my own game. The game every federal agent plays, the one with the crime solving and shooting, and when necessary: killing.

Luckily, Nick managed to pull me away just before I practically killed the man. He lay there on the ground, groaning and holding his stomach for dear life.

He didn't look like he was getting up any time soon.

Nick stood me up against the wall and stared at me. "Calm down. You're fine."

I nodded, my tank-top clad chest rising and falling heavily and muttered a quick. "Right. I should probably call this in."

His eyes quickly flashed with an undeniable panic, but he nodded and backed up.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself from the wall, and started to the door.

I glanced around the place for a moment, taking in how everything was as it should be for a younger adult's home.

Translation: It was a rotten mess.

Clothes were scattered across the beige carpet, piles of popcorn lying at random intervals on the black sofa across from a large TV with stacks and stacks of movies and video games scattered around it.

It was an average sized apartment, with one bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, and dining room. The living room was small, barely leaving room for a small couch, recliner, and TV. The walls were barren, no pictures, no posters of scremo bands, just a simple window with thick, black curtains blocking out any chance of sunshine.

This guy is such a messy shut-in.

On my way to the door, I had to kick aside a bowl of green mac & cheese, and gagged a few times until I finally reached it.

I walked across the hall and into my own apartment, quickly finding the light switch. Down the hall and in my room, sitting on the bedside table was my phone.

I picked it up and held down number two, the quick speed-dial for my boss.

It ringed four times before he picked up, his gruff voice ringing through my ears. "Honestly, Ride? It's like two in the morning!"

I rolled my eyes. "Actually Dylan, it's about eleven."

He seems slightly confused. "Really? I should really get this clocked fixed."

I jogged back to Nick's apartment while talking. "Yeah, you should. Listen, my neighbor just got attacked. I figured we'd just take care of the scene and arrest the guy, and then hand it over to whoever works this kind of stuff."

He sighed, and his voice held some edge now. "Next time this happens, call straight to the harassment unit, okay? Don't even bother calling me. I'll do it this once, but never again. Next time, you're fired. I'll be there in ten."

I hung up, taking note of the threat, and walked into Nick's bedroom, where he leaned against the far wall, a deadly glare settled on the intruder.

The man lay on the floor, looking to be unconscious.

I raised an eyebrow. "When did he pass out?"

Nick turned his head slightly and gave the slightest smirk, "Right after I punched him."

I nodded, not really caring. "Okay. I called my boss, and he said he'd be here in ten minutes. You should clean up your cuts."

Nicks eyes widened a fraction of an inch and he turned fully to me. "Why did you have to call the cops anyway?"

I gave him a funny look. "You were just attacked; of course I called the cops!"

He swore and looked around the room. He raced over to the corner and grabbed his shoes, shoving them violently onto his feet.

I brought my hands out in a questioning gesture. "Where do you think your going?"

He glanced at me sharply, and started towards the door. "I don't like cops."

I shoved him quickly from the door, and stood in his path. "Yeah? Well too bad! You have to give a report!"

He glared an icy glare. "No I don't. I'll be perfectly fine on my own, thank you."

"Yes, you do!"

He started towards the door again. In a flash, I crouched and picked up my dropped gun. I jumped up just as he got two feet away from me and the door, bringing the gun up to rest on his chest. "Yeah right. You're staying here."

A voiced chimed in behind me, and I breathed out in relief. "She's right, you know. You're a witness and you have to give a report, or else you become a suspect on the run. Suspects get a full background check and investigation, which I'm sure you would not enjoy."

I spoke now. "Witnesses, all they have to do is write a report and answer a few questions. No harm done."

Dylan came up behind me and pushed my arm lightly. "Now Max, please put the gun down."

Obediently, I dropped my arm with the gun to my side, taking a quick moment to turn the safety on.

Nick paused for a second, looking anything but happy. "Fine. I'll be a stupid witness."

Dylan stared over my shoulder warily at the guy on the ground. "Good. Max, you can go question him, while I go deal with this guy."

I nodded curtly and spoke to Nick. "Do you have anything to eat?"

He nodded. "Top Ramen."

He lead me to the kitchen, where I plopped down on one of the bar stools.

Ten minutes later he sat a bowl down in front of me, and I started my questioning. "Okay, let's start. What's your full name?"

Something flashed in his eyes. "My name is Nickolas Walker. But just call me Fang."

I nodded. "Okay…Fang."

Yay! Chapter numero uno! Whoot-whoot! Let us hope this turns out good!

Okay, enough with the Spanglish.