I don't know why I'm doing this. Max did it, so I guess I figured I could, too. Stop here if you want. People who can't stick with it to the end won't be able to help. Maybe even those of you who do finish this thing won't even be able to help. That's okay; as long as our presence is known, we can make a difference. We have to.
.
Where to start, where to start. I grew up in a lab called the Institute, which was located somewhere in New York. I use the past tense because it was later abandoned and turned into a private club. But we'll get to that.
I was a test experiment—one of the most successful from that place. That basically translates to more years of torture under my belt than most of the others. Yep, kiddies, I'm a pro.
I never had a name in that place. They called me Experiment #6226, or just 6226 for short. I don't know how they came up with the numbers for us, since they all seemed random to me. I think mine was shorter because they were counting on me staying alive for more than a few weeks.
So, basically, I was an experiment, this and that, you know how it goes. You read Max's story, right? In that case, I won't waste your time throwing a pity party for myself. It was all of the first fifteen years of my life. Yes, fifteen. Apparently, I'm a year older than the three oldest famous bird kids. I found it funny that Max thought I was only ten, though. Maybe I should explain: I'm short.
The best I can gather for that reasoning would be that they thought if I was tinier, I would fly better or something. I can fly pretty well now, and it helps that I'm extra-light. But the only times I even got close to using my wings were the rare times I was put into a wind tunnel and expected to keep myself from hitting the sides. I couldn't even extend them all the way. Oh, my bad. Didn't mean to slip that in there.
Long story short, Max and her flock came before any of the "labbies" got there and set us all free. Of the twenty in cages, only ten had the ability or common sense to leave. Of that ten, four died in the first forty-eight hours, two ran off, and two were captured by erasers. That left me and one other.
3279 was the being who stuck with me. The poor kid was the other, younger bird kid Max briefly mentioned. I think he was much more of a success than I ever was. In fact, I know he was.
Anyway. I won't give away the rest of my tale. Like I said, stick around if you want to, and if you don't, you can't help us, anyway.