(Maximum ride and characters as well as the plot and all else is © to original owners)

Prologue type thingy-

Hey there, avid Max lovers. If you've read any of my other stories, then you've gotten a feel for my work, but let me tell you one thing. The Phantom is taking my writing to a whole new level. This is the school like you've never seen it, and if you like blunt, rapid destruction aimed at the school and the bad guys, then you're gonna love this.

MR was a ride, but this is an experience that will have you turning in your grave.

End Prologue thingy

My body was so cold now, the head fading slowly from my fingers and toes, making them tingle. My body lay mangled on the ground of the abandoned building with a cold piece of steel protruding from where my heart once was.

I'd lost everything I ever loved because some psychopath wanted me dead. My love was gone, and with him went my heart. My family was gone, every one of them down to my last cousin, and with them went my soul. My friends were all gone, every one of them, and with them went my spirit. My pets were all gone as well, and with them went my strength. And so on and so forth.

I was a broken, useless shell now, nothing left but sheer anger, raw hatred, and pure wrath. I looked up at the ceiling fading from my vision. This was the end. Who would have known that this soldier would fade away through the cracks of reality in such a harsh, dark manner? But then again, my life had been harsh and dark, so what better way?

I'm losing you, aren't I?

Rewind.

Back to the explosion that fueled my rampage. An innocent, thirteen year old me stood on the side of the street as the third explosion went off. My young eyes sparked into tears again as I watched my father's office building fell apart in a fiery blaze. My father was a wealthy man, and he was visiting his second office building for some business with some clients. This was no accident. He hadn't been back to this building in years, and the one day he comes back, it just happens to explode. The image of the first explosion replayed in my head and on the TV screens of the newscasters all around as I heard the screams of horror of the passersby.

My blonde hair was showered in ashes, and my tears made black lines down each side of my face. The truth was so cold, why couldn't the world just lie to me and tell me that he was away on a business trip? Maybe, if they had, the fire in my rage would have been doused. But no, that was just the beginning.

Three days later, when I was barely beginning to recover from the shock of losing my father, my house bursts into flames. My mother's screams from some other room of the large mansion ring in my ears as I run through the flames, trying desperately to find her. The firemen practically have to sedate me to remove me from the house as the others push past me in search of my screaming mother.

Abruptly, the screams stop and I squeeze my eyes shut, giving one last pound on the fireman's shoulder. I fall limp after a moment as my mother is no longer heard. I didn't need to see her body or be told. I knew.

She was dead.

The police struggle to get their mind around the scratches of evidence, and the unfortunate events that are playing out before them. They brought me down to the station where I stayed for a few days and then went home with a very nice investigator. I liked her. When I couldn't sleep because of the nightmares, she stayed up with me and made me smile as we made chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the night.

But of course, all things have an end. She is shot by some unidentified figure on the scene of a crime. She died instantly.

I was sent to a foster family. They were all very nice. The first one died when their house collapsed. The second family died in a drive by shooting. Then I was sent to live with a couple. Their car went careening over a bridge when their brakes gave out and the axle on their car broke in half.

I split. I gathered up my things and took up living in an abandoned building downtown, sharing the turf with the local gang. They were all respectable fellows underneath their scars and gang tattoos. They were my only friends, the only ones that the psychopath never touched. I think it was because he preferred to take the groups out all together, but he couldn't do that with them.

I waited in hiding as I trained myself in street fighting and the basics of martial arts as well as fighting with knives and swords.

I spent enough time with those gang thugs to call them family, but I never dared call them friends even for fear of what would happen to them. And they didn't mind, they knew all about my past.

Slowly as I waited, the remnants of my friends and family were picked off, killed one by one and in small groups in the most gruesome "accidents" you could ever imagine. And though it hurt terribly, I was almost at a complete loss of all emotion other than hatred and wrath.

If I were to ever find anything that even resembled something to respect in the insane stalking serial killer, I would have to say that it would be the way he never framed anyone, he always left everything to point in a direction leading away from both me and the victims. Whether he did this on purpose or not, I don't know.

Then one day, it came. I got a tip from one of the gang members and that was enough to set me off.

Commence anger fueled rampage. I packed up my things, strapping my swords and knives to my body, and then staked out the spot that the murderer was supposedly hiding. Then he came one day, and I was waiting intently for him. I went blind with anger, stabbing him a number of times. But he didn't seem affected. He turned on me, ripping a metal piece from the exposed building support, and them proceeded to drive the dull piece through my body.

Fast forward.

Now that you're all caught up, I can get on with dying, if you don't mind.

I had one last thought before the lights faded out and I met my said death.

I would come back, one way or another and demolish that (enter twisted, curse filled insult here).

I would and I will.

I am the Phantom, and this is my story.