Hello. My name is Maximum Ride. Yes, you've probably heard of me, bird-kid extraordinaire. That's me, the one and only. Now, you may think you know my story, but you don't. Not even close. Why's that, you may ask?

Because I don't even know me. Of course, we've all heard of my heroic acts, how I saved the world and everything – to the best of my abilities. A ton of people still died and everything, that was nothing I could help, as much as I hated to admit defeat. It's true, the great and powerful Max is not a miracle worker.

Limitations aside, I'm saying I haven't lost my memories, I know who I'm supposed to be. The only problem is... I'm not. Yes, I am Max. But, according to the driver's license I found in my back pocket, with my picture, height, eye color, and relative birth date, my name is Maxine Walker. But most perplexing...

I wasn't the bird-kid everyone had come to know and kind-of-sort-of love. Why might I think something so ludicrous? Well, it's kind of hard when I have no wings. Wouldn't you say?

I can't say what exactly happened, if you have any idea, please, do share. All I remember is waking up in the middle of the road, a crowd of people surrounding me, wearing worried looks. Apparently I'd been hit by a car, and had gotten banged up – it certainly felt that way. A few people told me I'd been unconscious for nearly twenty minutes, and that paramedics were on the way.

Dazed as I was at the time, bird-kid instincts kicked in, telling me to avoid going down that road at all costs. Soon as I decided I wasn't in any immediate danger of keeling over, I dashed off. In their surprise, no one had followed. Taking secondary stock of all injuries it became apparent I likely had a concussion, perhaps a cracked rib or two, and definitely a sprained wrist.

Once I'd calmed down, well away from prying eyes, things had started to take a turn for the weird. I'd found a wallet in my pocket, mine apparently. It'd had the likes: money, debit card, a picture or two of me and some woman, and most importantly, my driver's license.

It goes without saying the first thing that came to mind was that this was another trick. But who would pull something like this? Weren't all the bad guys supposed to be dead?Then I noticed a strange sensation. On my back, there was an odd feeling of weightlessness, similar to when you got your hair cut. Only, to a much greater degree. That's when I realized my wings were gone.

Not like they had been removed, rather, it was as if they had never was then, in my gut, I felt the was no ploy, no fake. I didn't have wings. I wasn't a bird kid. I was no longer Maximum Ride.

So, sounds like an interesting idea. And I'd love to have it put to good use. My only request is that you drop me a message, because I'd really like to see what you make of it. Also, more than one person can adopt the story, in fact, the more the merrier!

Remember to let me know if you decide to take it on!