A/N: Hola peoples of Earth. I'm back with chapter numero dos. There's gonna be a bit of Spanish in this chapter, so I'm gonna tell you guys the secret to my success: Google translator. Use it and all will be well. Anyway, hope you like the chappie. It's kinda short, but I'll try to get the next one up soon. Review!

Disclaimer: Don't own Maximum Ride, Angry Birds, or a taco (unless one of you gives me one :) Seriously, please? I really want a taco)

Copyright: I own this story, and...that's pretty much it (but, I could have a taco soon)

Chapter Two

"Y-you can talk?" I stuttered, staring at the smaller red bird.

"Well, o' course we can talk, love. How else d'ya think we moigh' ge' aroun', eh?"

I stared open-mouthed at the talking bird.

"Can you all talk?" I asked.

"Max," Fang whispered, putting his hand on my shoulder. "They can't talk."

I turned to the flock. "What do you mean they can't talk?" I asked, forcing a little laugh.

Fang frowned at me. "They can't talk," he repeated.

"They just make weird birdy sounds," Gazzy added.

I looked back and forth between the birds and the flock. Can you hear them talking Ange? I thought, hoping Angel was listening.

I hear them thinking, but not talking out loud, Angel answered.

"Great," I muttered, leaning against a tree. "I'm going crazy."

You're not going crazy, Maximum, the Voice piped up.

"Oh, yeah, great time for you to show up!" I exclaimed.

Fang raised an eyebrow at me.

I shook my head. "Sorry," I muttered.

"Are you okay, Max?" Nudge asked.

I ignored her and turned to the birds.

"Can you all talk?" I asked again. That was my first mistake.

"Alrigh', chaps. Say 'ello to the little lady," the red bird commanded.

A green pelican-looking bird that I hadn't noticed before stepped forward. He was…..wearing a wig with…..long…braided hair…and was holding…..a set of…bongos.

"Allo, mon. Join the konga line," the bird said.

Great, I thought. There's a Jamaican one too. The triangular/fattish yellow bird came forward next, wearing a sombrero and holding a Spanish guitar. How does a bird that doesn't have hands play guitar? The world may never know.

"Buenos tarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrdes, señorita," the yellow bird said, rolling his r's. "Me llamo," the bird paused, strummed the guitar three times, and whispered, "Amarillo."

Now, I don't know much Spanish, but I know enough to think that birds should be able to think of more creative names than just the color of their feathers. Or not.

The rest of the birds said hello; the three blue ones morphing into one, then splitting up again to say, "Hi Max," three freaking times; the bigger red one saying nothing but, "Me Red,"; the black one speaking like an army sergeant ("MEN! FALL IN! WE! ATTACK! THE PIGS!); and the white one speaking non-understandable fluent French.

After the introductions had been made and I had explained to the flock what I was hearing, we got down to business.

"So," I began. "The pigs."

"What are they?" Fang asked.

"The pigs are our enemies," the little red bird answered. "They been attackin' us for years! They just always seem to bounce on back. Lit'rally."

I relayed this information to the flock. Then, "Big Brother," as we called the bigger red bird, spoke up.

"Pigs green. Pigs bad. Pigs mutatashaun!"

Mutation. Possibly the longest word BB had ever said, even if he said it wrong.

"They're mutations?" I asked.

"Si," Amarillo answered.

"Who made them?" Angel wondered, although she probably already heard the answer telepathically.

"Las chaquetas blancas," Amarillo spat, disgusted.

I looked to LR (Little Red) for translations. Little Red sighed and reluctantly interpreted.

"The whitecoats."

A/N: Ooooooooooh, cliffie! Sort of! Hope you guys liked the chapter. Tell me what you thought. I'll try to update soon. Review!