Okay, so I spent about three hours writing this out. It just Kind of hit me. So, review if you will, flame if you must, but remember.... I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. With love, Pink Crackers in the Shower.

DISCLAIMER -- I AM NOT JAMES PATTERSON. HONESTLY, IF I WAS, DO YOU THINK I WOULD BE POSTING THIS ON FANFICTION? NO, I'D BE PUBLISHING IT AS AN ORIGINAL. DUH!!!

Why I Must Be Evil – Chapter 1

Have you ever wondered what the world would be like if everything was backwards? If people never changed for the better. If the good guys never won.... If murderers were good people. Well, contrary to popular belief (and television crime dramas), most of that is actually true. Just look around. How many bullies have you met that are actually nicer as adults? None, almost. How many criminals do you hear get caught? Not many. It's that last one that happens to be pretty circumstantial.

I mean, if you were designed to kill, programmed for it, would you know any different? If, say, you grew up with it, could you know right from wrong? And if, just maybe, you had someone close to you's life on the line, would you really have a choice? See, I'm not so sure if someone like that would count as a murderer at all. But I could be wrong. Makes you think, huh? Giving you a headache? Here, let me start from the beginning....

My name is Maximum Ride. I am fourteen years old. I have dirty blond hair, chocolate brown eyes that seem out of place on me, and rather pale white skin. I'm pretty tall for my age, and so skinny that I'm often mistaken for a bulimic. In reality, I eat enough for ten normal, full-grown men. Believe me, I've tested it.

I was raised in a lab, treated worse than garbage for the first ten years of my life. The scientists, whom I dubbed 'Whitecoats,' experimented on me, made me into one of the many mice they had running through mazes. I was nothing more than a caged bird... literally. You see, the Whitecoats are genetic scientists, who specialize in splicing the D.N.A. of different species, then doing tests on the things that come of it. Unfortunately for me, their favorite test subjects were human fetuses.

When I was taken, the day I was born, I was already abnormal. The Whitecoats had unraveled my D.N.A. while I was in the womb, and somehow managed to redo it with bird D.N.A. Peregrine Falcon, to be exact. So for a time, I was two percent raptor, and ninety-eight percent human.

I used to have the most beautiful wings.... The primaries were tawny, spotted with white all around, and the secondaries were a pure golden color. Underneath the feathers faded into creamy white down, like baby birds have when they first start getting their feathers. I absolutely loved my wings. They were the only upside to being a mutant freak who had had to name herself, and who had nothing except for the hope that one day, she would be free to use those precious wings of hers, to fly out of this place, up into the sky where no one would ever find her.... But of course, nothing lasts forever.

The day I turned ten, the Whitecoats decided to try another test on me. They strapped me down, and injected me with some type of new drug they had invented. Then they left me, screaming in excruciating pain, in the dark of a small room that smelled of antiseptic and my own fear. I was terrified of the dark, still am really, and if you were to go through all that I did, you'd understand why.

I didn't notice anything different at first, past the burning pain in my limbs, my head, my chest. I felt like I was going to spontaneously combust, and I couldn't think past that. So I didn't see the changes, in my mind, in my body, in my heart. I didn't realize that I was no longer blinded by the darkness, but could see everything around me as easily as if it were as bright as day. I had no idea that the fear I felt towards the Whitecoats that had done this to me was slowly transforming into pure, unadulterated hatred. And, most importantly, I didn't see my beloved wings growing longer, the feathers changing from their majestic patterns into a shiny, dark, metallic silver, the soft strands becoming no less pliable, but more solid and sharp enough to draw blood if one was so imbecilic as to touch them.

After three days, the pain stated to ebb, and my struggles became more and more routine, and less and less heartfelt. I had no idea what they'd done to me, but I didn't like it, and I wanted more than anything to be anywhere but that room, strapped to that bed, silent on the outside, but broken and bleeding within. And suddenly, the straps were gone.

I remember looking around hurriedly, wondering where the Whitecoats were and what they were playing at. There was no one. I stood on amazingly steady legs, realizing immediately that I had grown several inches taller, yet was completely at ease with the new found height. Taking quick, silent strides, I glided to the door, which was apparently unlocked, and out into the adjoining hallway. I felt oddly calm and level-headed, despite the incredibly fast beating of my heart. I had no ill-conceived illusions about what I was doing – I was leaving, and nothing was going to stop me.

For some reason that was unclear to me at the time, my disappearance went completely unobserved. No one yelled at me to stay put, no alarms sounded to signal the escape of a subject. I was the invisible man, figuratively speaking. I didn't turn a single head as I waltzed right out the front door. Here, however, was where things got tricky.

I had never actually flown before, the Whitecoats had never taught me. I had absolutely no idea how to fly, but I was about to learn if it killed me. Which, under different circumstances, it might have. As it was, I got lucky enough to fall off a cliff, practically invisible until you came right up to it. And why do I consider this lucky, you ask? Because the sudden rush of wind going past my ears made my avian instincts kick in, and allowed me to whip out my wings, and flap.

I was flying. No, not just flying, I was soaring, up and up through the clouds, getting soaked by the little droplets of evaporation, not caring at all that had no clue where I was going, and just basically enjoying the moment. But, as I said, nothing lasts forever, and at that moment I decided, for some unexplainable reason, to glance at my wings. Then I screamed, and almost forgot to keep flapping. Instead of letting myself drop, however, I clenched my fists to stop from screaming again. It didn't work, because the sudden pain in the palms of my hands was a close reminder of the drug. I looked at my hands, only to see my bright red blood seeping from deep cuts on my palms, and my new, claw-like nails disappearing back into my fingertips. Retractable talons.

Faintly aware of moisture running down my cheeks, I swiped a hand across my face. I was crying huge, traitorous tears, and that's when it all caught up to me. The pain, the transformation, what I had done – everything. I wrapped my arms around my abdomen, and vowed that I would get revenge on them, on all of the people who had made my life a living hell, who had turned me into this, this monster, this freak. I hated every, single, one of them. And I would make them pay.

I had started immediately, breaking into their facilities that were stationed all over the country, gaining information from their computers before triggering the self destruct sequence. It didn't matter to me that the explosions killed hundreds at a time, or that supposedly innocent bystanders were dead because of me. The way I saw things, people were the enemy, and they all deserved to die. Every single one, because none of them cared about the millions of children that were tortured by their own, children whose lives were stolen from them, who were better off dead than alive. That way there would be no more pain for them, no more fear. I honestly believed that back then. I was more than a little insane at first, after I realized what I had become.

But then, one day, I found something interesting in the files of the facility I was about to destroy. My name. M470r415. Listed beside it were statistics that were almost impossible to read, and a picture of a baby, presumably me, in a little white blanket. I almost passed over it, when I saw something else in fine print. A little bio section that I hadn't noticed. It read:

MOTHER – DR. VALENCIA MARTINEZ

FATHER – DR. JEBADIAH BATCHELDER

FIRST SUCCESSFUL AVIAN/HUMAN RECOMBINATE LIFEFORM, SUBJECT M470r415, COMMONLY REFERRED TO AS "MAX," EXHIBITS ENHANCED MENTAL CAPABILITIES, AS WELL AS INCREDIBLE STRENGTH AND AGILITY. SUBJECT IS EXPECTED TO PROVIDE MORE THAN ADEQUATE INFORMATION ON THE INITIAL PROJECT, DUBBED THE A.N.G.E.L. EXPERIMENT. OVERALL GREAT POTENTIAL.

I didn't care much for the little note, as I had seen similar reports on me throughout my entire life. What caught my eye, were the two names labeled MOTHER and FATHER. Of course I knew I had parents. You can't exist without them. And I had known that Dr. Batchelder was technically considered my biological father, though I hated him with a passion. He was a Whitecoat, after all. But I had assumed that they had destroyed my mother, as she surely would have known what was happening. Apparently not. And now, I had a name. With said name, I could get an identity, an address. I could meet my mother.

This idea sounded more and more appealing to me as I thought about it. Maybe, just maybe, she hadn't known. Just maybe, she was grieving for the child she lost. Maybe, she would want me back. And all I had to do was find her. I was smiling as I triggered the self destruct. That decision to find my mother? That's what led me into the situation I happen to be in at the moment. Working for the people who ruined my life. It wasn't my mother's fault, don't get me wrong. But finding my family triggered my own kind of self destruction. Only with me, it was all my fault. Please, allow me to explain.

I was eleven when I learned about my mother. I was almost fourteen when I found her. By then, I had perfected the art of hiding my ugly metallic wings, and my despicable retractable talons. I had discovered that I was always hungry, but that I could go without food for months at a time. I had no physical need to sleep anymore, and I hadn't been able to relax enough to actually fall asleep since I had escaped. I had also discovered that not only was my skin resistant to all punctures and bruising other than that caused by my own talons and wings, but my bones were unbreakable. I was the indestructible, cold, ruthless, miserable Maximum Ride. An inhuman murderer, who cared nothing about the world around her.

I remember that at the time, when I finally walked up to my mother's house, I thought that simply knocking on the door would be redundant, not only because it was around three o'clock in the morning, therefore no one normal would be awake, but also because humans didn't invite strange people into their homes. Especially not strange, dangerous, mutant bird-kids who may or may not be planning to kill you in your sleep. So, instead of knocking on the door, like a sane human being would have, I knocked out the window and let myself in. I planned on waiting for the occupants to wake up.

One glance around the interior of the house told me that there was at least one child living here. A closer inspection of the portraits on the mantle revealed that it was a female, maybe twelve years old, that was clearly related to the adult woman in the pictures, whom I assumed to be Dr. Valencia Martinez. So, I had a sister? Seemed likely. I could deal with that, if I was wanted here.

Settling down on one of the couches in the living room, I noticed all kinds of different things in the house. Like the certificate awarded to Valencia Martinez for her degree in veterinary practices. How fitting for the mother of an avian recombinant. Also very prominent were the sounds of two hearts beating upstairs, both slower than my own, but healthy for humans. Their slow, even breathing told me that they were both very deeply asleep, and were dreaming peacefully.

The ticking of clock hanging in the kitchen, combined with the constant hum of the refrigerator and the sound of all the little creatures outside scurrying about their nightly routine filled my head for three hours, driving me slightly more insane, until I heard the tell-tale signs of breathing picking up and sheets rustling about that signaled one of the house's occupants was awake. A moment later, there was a beeping sound upstairs, and a muffled curse, followed by a crash that meant someone had thrown their alarm clock at a wall. I couldn't blame them.

Footsteps sounded on the stairway, and I was instantly beside the banister, ready to grab whoever it was so they didn't wake the other. I had a feeling it was the girl, my possible sister. Sure enough, a moment later a short figure stumbled off the last step, and I grabbed her from behind, putting a hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream. She struggled a bit, though not nearly enough to break my hold on her.

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you, understand?" I said. She nodded, but her struggles continued, albeit less forceful than before. A reflex to being held against your will, I suppose. "I'm going to let you go now okay? I need for you not to scream." Another nod. Slowly, carefully in case she did try something, I released the girl, making sure my claws didn't accidentally come out and hurt her. That would be the last thing I needed, injuring my own sister because of what those monsters made me into. It would have given me even more of a reason to kill them all, which is something they most definitely did not want.

The girl turned around, slowly for me, but more than likely as fast as she could make herself move, what with her completely normal, human tendencies. You have no idea how much I wished I could be human, like her. She was studying me, her eyes narrowed, but not screaming. That was surely a good sign. I knew the moment she recognized our similarities (we did look a lot alike), because her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly in shock.

"Who are you?" she asked, quietly so as not to wake her mother. I immediately stepped back, defensive, and calculated how much I could tell her. I decided that my name meant nothing to anyone who could track me down. The Whitecoats only really knew me as M470r415.

"My name is Maximum Ride. But just call me Max. Who are you?" She smiled, obviously pleased with herself for finding out this little tidbit of information.

"I'm Ella Martinez. How did you get in here?"

"Window."

"Oh. Why are you here?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who just found a stranger in her house, Ella Martinez."

"I'm just curious." Ella's mouth formed a tiny pout, showing she was frustrated with me avoiding her question. I sighed. What was the harm?

"I came to see your mother. Want some food while we wait for her to wake up?" That shut her up. Ella nodded her head furiously, leading me into the kitchen and showing me where all the supplies were. She was being a simpleton, really, to trust a stranger with her food, but I had to admit that I rather enjoyed cooking her meal. It just felt so... human.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" she asked me, eying the plate of eggs and bacon in front of her before digging in. I shook my head.

"I'm not hungry." That was a lie; I'm always hungry. "Besides, I'm not going to eat someone else's food." I do it all the time. "It's rude." Like I care. The word 'polite' was barely in my vocabulary, and then only as an in-passing term. I just really didn't want to make a bad impression on this family. My family, if they want me. Ella hesitated, but seeing as I was completely serious she continued eating.

Ten minutes later, in which Ella and I started mindlessly chattering about nothing in particular, I heard Dr. Martinez's breathing pick up. I smiled, then stood to wash Ella's dishes and fix her mother something to eat.

"Oh, I can do that!" Ella said, but I shook my head.

"That's alright, I've got it. Your mother's awake by the way."

"How do you-" she was interrupted by Dr. Martinez walking into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Ella. Why are you up so ear-" She paused as she caught sight of me flipping a pancake on the stove. "Who is this?"

"Morning, Mom. This is Max. She made me breakfast and wouldn't let me do the dishes." Was her daughter's oh-so-smooth reply.

"Hello," I said, while subtly moving my hair to shield my face. I flipped the last pancake onto a plate for her and set it on the table. "I made you something to eat, if you're hungry."

"Um, thank you, dear. It's nice to meet you. I'm-"

"Dr. Valencia Martinez, born 1975 in Penrose, Colorado, graduated from Harvard University in 1999, with two degrees in biology and one in veterinary practice. I know who you are. That's why I'm here." I could feel two sets of eyes drilling holes into me, and I sighed. "Please sit own, Dr. Martinez. This is a long story." And then I moved my hair, flinching when my mother gasped.

Two hours later, I had filled both of them in on my past, leaving out the parts where I went psycho and killed thousands of people in cold blood. But other than that, they knew everything. After I sat with my head down, waiting for them to scream and call me a freak, or call the cops, or just make me leave. If they wanted me gone, I would understand. I wouldn't even be angry. Sad, yes. Even more miserable than normal, yes. Absolutely devastated and terrified of ever trying to tell anyone my story again, yes. But angry? How could I be? But when Dr. Martinez spoke, I was surprised.

"May we see? Your wings, I mean. If it's... okay with you?" My head shot up, and I found myself staring at her with wide eyes.

"You mean... you believe me?" She nodded, and I bit my lip, thinking. If they tried to turn me in, I could easily escape, especially if my wings were already out. And the closest neighbors were almost a mile away, so no one would see me.... "Alright. But we have to be outside. I might break something in here." I stood up so quickly that I didn't think their eyes caught the movement, but they both stood to follow me.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly on the green grass, making it look to me like a dozen rainbows ricocheting of every blade. Of course, no human could see this. Only my enhanced raptor vision allowed me to. I took a deep breath and motioned for them to stand back, before slowly unfurling the hideous things attached to my shoulders. I heard two sharp intakes of breath and I glanced up at them. They were both looking at my wings with something akin to... amazement? Awe? How could they think of these terrible contraptions in a positive light? Then I realized, of course, that to someone who'd never seen a humanoid being with the ability to fly, even something as ugly as my cursed feathers might seem beautiful. Ella was clenching her fist tightly, and I saw why when she asked what she was thinking.

"Can I... touch them?" The innocent question sent me into panic mode, and I took a step back, shaking my head furiously. She flinched, and I when I realized I'd hurt her feelings my expression softened.

"I'm sorry, Ella, but that's really not a good idea." She sniffed, her eyes slightly red. Was she going to cry?

"Why not?" I bit my lip, then, slowly enough so that they could watch what I was doing, but too fast to feel the pain, I swiped the palm of my hand across one of the feathers, then held it out for them to see.

"They are very, very sharp, see? You would hurt yourself if you touched them."

Both of them nodded their heads, but were watching my hand in amazement as it healed itself, until only the red stain of blood showed that there had ever been a cut there at all. I bent and wiped it on the grass, then tucked my wings back into place along my spine, where thy were hidden from onlookers.

"So, Max, where are you staying while you're here?" I glanced at my mother and shrugged.

"I don't really stay anywhere, to tell you the truth. I have no need to rent a motel room or anything like that." She was confused. Great, here comes some awkward explanations, I thought.

"What do you mean? Where do you sleep?" she asked. That's what I was afraid of.

"Well, see, I kind of... don't. Sleep, I mean. I guess I could... if I really wanted to, but.... Look, ever since I got out of that place, I've been too paranoid to relax. I don't physically need any R.E.M. sleep to regenerate myself, so I just keep flying, or whatever I happen to be doing at the time. It's the same thing with food, sort of. I think the last time I ate anything was sometime last year, and even though I still feel hungry, it's like I'm programmed with the ability to not eat. It doesn't hinder me at all." There was a moment of silence in which I'm sure they were both staring at me like I was an escaped mental patient (no pun intended), and then:

"Max, how old are you?" Ella asked. I shrugged.

"I'll be fourteen next month. Why?"

"You're not old enough to be on your own, that's why! Mom, can she stay with us? Pleeeeease, Mom? She can have my room, I'll sleep on the couch! It'll be like a big happy family!" A big happy family.... Something I'd always wanted. Dr. Martinez smiled, then turned to look at me.

"Would you like that, Max?" I hesitantly nodded my head, eager and terrified at the same time. I was shocked. They wanted a freak like me, a monster, to stay with them? They didn't know what I was capable of, I could kill them! I wouldn't even mean to, if I wasn't careful enough, if I moved to fast, or brushed by them too hard, could hurt them! Could I have that much control?

"Well, it's settled then. Max will stay with us for the time being." Ella squealed and ran up to me, wrapping me in a tight hug. I pulled my wings in tighter, careful to make sure she didn't cut herself on them, and gently squeezed her back. Sure, I could do this. I could refrain from injuring my family. I would not let myself hurt them. Another vow I couldn't keep.

I was still staring at Dr. Martinez as I let Ella drag me up the porch steps. As we passed her, I whispered the only thing I could think to say, the only thing that seemed even remotely significant that I had to tell her. Because I had to say something. "Thank you." I hoped it was enough.