SUMMARY: About a year ago Fang was taken to the school. The flock hasn't seen him since, no matter how hard they try to get him back. Now Max has been captured in her latest attempts to save him, and they are reunited. But it's not a happy reunion. The two are forced to play a game of Russian Roulette together in a sick "test" to see which of them can handle fear better, thus determining who is the true leader of the flock. They will play until either one of them is shot or the white coats decide who to spare. The thing is, Fang has been playing ever since he was first captured a year ago. And he hasn't lost a game yet.

Russian Roulette: .org/wiki/Russian_roulette

DISCLAIMER: This is based on a Rihanna song by the same name, which I do not own. I also do not own Maximum Ride. The end.

Russian Roulette

"Take a deep breath," he says.

Fang and I stare at each other from across a large, round table. In the middle of the table is a single gun.

The gun that will be taking one of our lives.

"I'll go first," Fang says softly, reaching for the gun. I give a sharp intake of breath and reach out to stop him, but he shoots me a look that slows my movements. "Max, it's okay," he whispers. "I haven't lost a game yet, remember?" There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, but soon it is replaced by a grimace as he realizes what he has said.

As he raises the gun, I notice the blood red dyed into his night sky black hair. Obviously, the white coats invested in this little touch up in order to make him look intimidating. It worked.

I'm startled by the click of Fang pulling the trigger, the muzzle pressed to his temple. He's done it so quickly, so effortlessly. My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out. His eyes, which he had closed in anticipation of what would happen, open slowly.

Fang sets the gun back on the table, and as I stare at it, the sound of the heart monitors attached to each of us starts slowly driving me insane. Eventually I have to move. I grab the gun with my left hand, my right clutching the side of the table for dear, sweet life.

"Count to three," Fang whispers, head slightly tilted, eyes wide with pain. No one else would recognize the slight twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers curve to show that he's inches away from digging his nails into the wooden flesh of the table.

But I can tell. I can tell that he is completely and totally scared out of his mind.

He's doing well with hiding it, though. I'm sure none of the white coats have noticed these subtle hints, and his heart rate remains slow and steady. I already know I won't win the "who can handle fear better" contest because Fang has been able to hide his fear for so long.

"Close your eyes," he says as I put the gun to my head, swallowing loudly. "Sometimes it helps." The cool metal presses against the vulnerable flesh of my temple through my hair, and I take Fang's advice, closing my eyes. My stomach turns as I contemplate what it would feel like to blow your own brains out.

Before I know it I've pulled the trigger and my eyes ache from closing them so tight. Fang is still sitting in front of me, as impassive as ever, though a little relieved. My stomach gives another uncomfortable flip as I imagine the red dye in Fang's hair is really his blood.

I lean over and lose yesterday's McDonald's dinner. Fang remains silent and still at his position across from me. Once I've finished, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and straighten. Fang's lips are parted, and we both know what I've done.

I've shown a sign of weakness; unless the white coats really wanna see one of us bury a bullet in our own brains, then this is it for me.

Suddenly, Fang lets out a horrible, pain-ridden wail. He runs up to the two-way mirror the white coats are obviously monitoring us through, and pounds his fists on the glass.

"I can't do it! Just kill me, kill me!"

I'm horrified by this. I shoot from my seat, whispering loudly, "Fang! What the hell are you doing? Fang!"

Fang shushes me and then goes back to his tantrum. "I can't take it! Don't let her die, please!"

This is so out of character for him that I know he's faking. But why? He could have easily lived, won the game.

A door opens, and Fang stops screaming, breathing heavily. "Experiment 420468 (A/N: Random made up number, lol) you have been deemed the weakest and unfit to lead the flock," a pudgy white coat says in a monotone, scribbling on a clipboard. "You have been slated for termination."

As soon as the words leave his pink mouth, two huge erasers come in to haul Fang away. And Fang lets them. He doesn't fight. He just goes limp as the two erasers drag him away.

"Congratulations," Mr. Monotone continues, "you are the strongest..."

I tune him out, staring at the gun on the table. It's so close. If Fang is going to die, why shouldn't I join him? In a flash I've got the gun, and before Mr. Monotone can stop his little speech in time to notice me I've shot him.

I point the gun to my head and hope the bullet is ready to fire. At first, fear clutches my stomach as I wonder what will happen to my flock. But I realize I'm no good to them without Fang anyways, just a lump of grief and depression. This is better for all of us.

And all the white coats will talk about how their greatest experiment, Maximum Ride, went out with a bang.

A/N: Whoa, that was depressing. *tear* Although a little rushed, in my opinion...ah, well.

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