Apologies for the rather long hiatus. Christmas has no right to be this hectic :P So, to make it up to you, Happy New Year, and a belated gift from me :)

"You've got to go after him," Jeb said.

Max felt her eyes narrow. "Us? What about you? You're the one responsible for creating that… that…" she didn't want to think about him, and gritted her teeth harder together, hoping that the pain would distract her. It didn't. "That monster."

Jeb's eyes stared steadily at her. She hated that look – long and doleful, like a cow's. "Max… he's still Iggy. He's still your friend. Don't go writing him off so easily just because he turned out different to what you expect."

Max exhaled – a short and shakily quick expulsion of air from a throat that felt as tight as a coiled spring – and whirled around to survey the room. Everybody was involved in their own activities – Fang slowly dumping the crumpled tissues into the bin behind the counter, Nudge repeatedly checking the doors and windows, searching for some exit that wasn't locked from the outside, some clue as to where Iggy was going, and Angel stood with an arm around her trembling brother, hot blue eyes glaring accusingly into Max's brown ones, as if it was all somehow her fault…

You know it is, Angel's voice in her head sounded loud, accusing and Max nearly staggered. If you hadn't overreacted, if you didn't have this stupid fear of bats…

Then blame Jeb! Max hadn't known it was possibly to mentally hiss. He's the one who created me, he's the one who gave me this stupid design flaw…

Then we know what the solution is, don't we, Angel's voice was almost unnervingly icily calm, for a six year old. She was angry. We'll go to Marian Jensen and tell her to get rid of the design flaw that makes you have a fear of bats. That way you can still live with Iggy.

"Are you mad?" Max's voice exploded out of her in a high, cracked screech – the flock members who weren't involved in the telepathic conversation instantly whipped around to look at her, alarm reflected in their widened, fearful eyes. Ignoring their bewilderment, Max snapped at Angel "Go to Marian Jensen? She'll lock us up! And I don't even know what it is that makes me have a fear of bats!"

"A microchip," Jeb spoke up suddenly, unerringly, from the corner, and everybody turned to look at him. The scientist's eyes were ringed with dark bruise-like shadows, and his body was trembling like it was wired to a power grid, but his voice was steady, clear. "We embedded a microchip into your foot after you last visited the School. It was meant to pit you against Iggy…" Jeb fell silent as Max burst into rage again.

"Why the hell would you want to pit me against Iggy…?!"

"It was meant to be a test," Jeb sank down into the nearest kitchen chair, as if the strain of holding himself upright was too much for him. He pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. "It was meant to be an experiment evaluating the personal bonds between flock members, and your will to survive. If we could somehow manipulate you into fighting Iggy, it would also be an experiment to test which is stronger: bat or bird hybrid. I…" Jeb fell silent as Max raised a hand, striking him dumb as effectively as if she had bound his mouth with duct tape.

"In case you haven't noticed," Max's voice was positively dripping with a lethal combination of fury and sarcasm. "We are people. We have feelings. We're not just your personal heartless little guinea pigs designed to run laps for you just so you can see how much we can take."

"I was against the experiment," Jeb croaked. All the fight seemed to have drained out of him, like icy water sluicing down a drain. He didn't seem to be able to bring himself to look Max directly in the face; his eyes were downcast, desperately scanning a point somewhere beyond her stomach. "That's why I left the School. You all meant so much to me, Max, I…"

"Save it." Max hissed. Everything suddenly seemed clear and sharp; possessing an unnatural clarity it hadn't had before. She suddenly knew what she had to do.

"Everyone," she called. The call was pointless; every member of the flock was listening in anyway.

"We're going to the School." She spoke quickly, hastily, wanting to get the plan over with as quickly as possible so she wouldn't have to dwell on the consequences. "We're going to see Marian Jensen, have her remove the microchip, find out what the 31 days thing really is, and find Iggy."

"How are we going to find out where Iggy is?" Nudge asked breathlessly, brown doe eyes shining now that the tears and trauma had ceased.

"The School. They're bound to have computers, and tracking devices. We can use those." Max answered, rapidly making plans. "Jeb, can you stay here and tell Ella and Dr Martinez where we've gone? Make sure to explain everything,"

Jeb nodded. "The School you're looking for should probably be in New York. That's where Marian Jensen normally is this time of year."

Max looked around at the members of her flock, seeing the determination in every eye, and wished she knew if she was doing the right thing.

30789 shifted and yawned, fingers restlessly drumming a tattoo on his gun as he patrolled the darkened corridor. The fluorescent neon green lights from his watch nearly blinded him as he checked it and remembered his training manual: "Patrolmen should seek to cover any light-producing equipment on duty."Damn the manual. Only 76890 really paid attention to it and nobody listened to that gabbling rookie. Besides, no one was about. He was patrolling on the eastern side of the School and as far as he could see in the dim light, no one was there. But he was still jumpy that somehow someone might be able to finally break into the School. The New York branch of the School was a place where all the weird, twisted hybrids were born, run by the oh-so-powerful Marian Jensen. The School focused on grafting animal DNA into humans and getting a weird mix of breeds: half-fish men, half-dog men, half-bird men etc.

What am I worried about? 30789 snorted to himself as he paced the corridor, fingers never leaving his gun. That some superfast flying thief would manage to get in here, kill the School's top guards and break in? Only Jebediah Batchelder's flying mutants could do that, and they had long since escaped. 30789 didn't know all the details of the School's newest breed of genetic mutants but he knew that they were 2% bird and 98% human. If any of those mutants escaped, they had the guards, 30789 assured himself.

30789 felt his eyelids beginning to flutter closed and decided to have a cigarette to keep him awake. Patrolmen weren't supposed to smoke on duty but come on, one tiny little smoke? Who would notice? 30789 fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette and his lighter, his balaclava trapping an impatient sigh. A tiny flame flickered into existence and within minutes the strong smell of cigarette smoke filled the corridor.

30798 choked and nearly swallowed his cigarette as his radio crackled impatiently and the voice of 72369 issued over it. "This is 72369 reporting from centre right corridor, third floor. Thought I saw a flash of something. It's heading your way 30789. Can you check it out?"

That flaming 72369 again. Why doesn't he 'check it out' himself?

"Copy that 72369. I'm heading that way right now."

"Roger."

30789 continued grumbling in between drags of his cigarette all the way down the hall. Suddenly he stopped. He was sure he had seen something. Warily, he turned to the right. Through the large window walls, he peered down into the darkened streets, nervously dragging at his cigarette. There it was again! 30789 turned again, this time a little to the left. Mentally, he willed his heart to be silent so he could hear his surroundings. Nothing. Except a burst of static in his right ear, that is.

"30789? Can you see anything?"

72369 again. Since when did they make him the boss? "Nup. I didn't see nothing,"

"You didn't see nothing? Does that mean you saw something? ...That's a joke 30789. It's something you laugh at because it's funny."

"Shut up 72369! I think I see something now…"

For once, 72369 shut up, even though he was a superior officer. 30789 squinted towards the treetops as he detected the same flash of movement he had been seeing out of the corner of his eye for the past minutes. He saw one, two, three, four... fivefigures flying. 30789 felt dread clutch at him. Those figures were too small to be aeroplanes...

His radio crackled again. "30789? What's going on?"

"I..." 30789 squinted again, making out the distinctive form of wings. His worst fears were confirmed. "72369! Those flying mutants! They're here!"

"Well damn..." 72369 breathed. "67584 and 43526, we've got Class A on the loose. Yes, Class A. I want all the troops out. I want the entire quadrant shut down..."

72369 continued spouting orders, but 30789 didn't listen. All thoughts of payrise and promotion were rapidly draining from his head. His knees felt weak and the world spun. 30789 licked his dry lips and said in a hoarse voice. "Marian Jensen is gonna kill us."

"I've been to see him," Ter Borcht paused, lip curling in disgust as he stared down at the bat hybrid. Iggy's hair was matted into thick clumps at the back of his neck, and dark, bruise-like shadows lined the hollows of his eyes, the whites shot through with veins of red. His breath came in ragged gasps, his head lowered. "Haven't they at least tried to clean you up?"

Iggy raised his head slowly, eyes dull and unfocused. "They tried." He murmured. "I wouldn't let them."

Ter Borcht let free a small sigh of impatience. It had been three days since Iggy had first arrived at the New York School. The School's scientists hadn't allowed him out of the cold white cell and the narrowed, laser focus of the many security cameras whirring soundlessly in each corner of the ceiling. The School had a permanent record of the disastrous experiment with the Erasers; thus, they were not letting the possibly volatile bat hybrid out of their sight, physical or electronic.

Ter Borcht paused to rearrange his thoughts. "He's progressing nicely. I suppose they haven't allowed you to see him."

It was a statement, not a question, but Iggy nodded anyway. "Yes," his breath came out a thin, spent whisper. His head bent lower, whole body trembling in exhaustion, and Ter Borcht groaned.

"It has been three days now. Surely you've gotten your strength back…" Ter Borcht's eyes glided silently to the long, snake-like white drips attached to various places on the bat hybrid's arms, and he fell silent. Pearly white and nearly translucent from the lack of sunlight, Iggy's skin looked sallow and bleached, like a vampire's.

Ter Borcht sighed. "I shall let you know when he is fit to see…"

Ter Borcht's voice trailed off, hand rising almost unconsciously to the earpiece affixed to his right ear. Iggy's eyes rose questioningly behind his long fringe, observing the scientist as he listened intently to whatever news was coming through the airwaves.

Ter Borcht swore so loudly and suddenly Iggy jumped. "I thought the bird hybrids had been eliminated! Stay where you are, I want all patrol circuits reassigned…" the scientist continued to rapidly fire orders as he whirled around for the door.

Iggy's head rose slowly as Ter Borcht left. The corners of his lips rose in a small smile as the door closed, the boom echoing through the cold, sterile confines of the room like thunder, a dazed smile creeping its way across his bruised, battered face.

The flock.

They were coming.

They hadn't forgotten him.

Huddled in the dark, chained to the wall and connected to beeping monitors that pulsed unpleasantly in the gloom, a thin laugh burst free of his lips, building gradually to a high, keening cackle.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he began yanking the drips from his arms.

It was thirty-four minutes since 72369 had first given the order for the flock to be found. Heavy, booted feet drummed against hard black asphalt as men all armed to the teeth with sub-machine guns and Kevlar body armour forced their way through the alleys, the wide light beams of their torches flickering in all directions. The men's radios buzzed as the troops shouted commands to each other.

"Unit D to Unit C, Unit A has picked up the trail. Over,"

"Don't let them get away! Establish a perimeter but don't shoot! Remember, Marian Jensen wants them alive!"

On the ground, the five runners tore their way through the streets, boots kicking up a wave of dead leaves and assorted rubbish as they dodged the spray of bullets that ricocheted off the buildings, spraying them with splinters of stone and wood. Max led them through the streets towards the School, calling encouragement to the younger members. Fang followed close behind her, stooping under the bullets, closely followed by Nudge, the Gasman and Angel. The Gasman's normally laughing face was set into a twitchy expression and his light blonde hair was tangled. Nudge's eyes glittered in terror. Angel alone looked calm although she flinched when the bullets got too close to her, blonde hair swaying with every movement.

Nudge's breath came in ragged gasps as she lagged further and further behind Angel. Tears of despair and terror streamed down her cheeks and hacking sobs burst from her body as she struggled to keep up, wavy brown hair clinging to her tearstained cheeks. Every muscle in her legs felt like they were on fire and her breath burned in her throat as though she was inhaling flames.

Nudge's heart plummeted in terror as she heard the lithe, powerful guards panting as they tailed them. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the other time when they had seen the guards.

Hot, putrid breath that smelt like the contents of a blocked drain that had been put into a barrel of melting fat and left there for a week blasting into her face… plated body armour making them appear like huge, terrifying, jewelled cockroaches… orange night-vision goggles pulsating unpleasantly in the darkness… it occurred to her then that any guard with half a brain would go for the victim that was getting tired.

And that was her.

Nudge let out a small squeal as she tapped into a newfound store of energy that made her double her speed. Fear of the infiltration was great, but her fear of getting recaptured was even greater. In her mind's eye, Nudge saw the School. The sea of bobbing, surgical mask-clad scientists… ice-cold electrodes against her skin… Syringes jabbed into her, breaking arteries and nicking bones…

Fang had taken a bullet to the shoulder a while back; Nudge could see the blood staining the fabric of the heavy grey cloth shirt he wore from behind. The Gasman had a twisted ankle and winced every time he moved. Max was lagging behind and when she called encouragement to Nudge, her voice was hoarse and cracked. Although Max was the strongest girl Nudge knew, even she was getting tired. Angel alone was still fighting fit, which astounded Nudge. Although the flock had more stamina compared to other people, even they were giving out.

Nudge staggered but kept on going, tears of pain and desperation streaming down her cheeks. Reality was wild but she kept on following the blue blurs that was her flock. She didn't pay attention to her surroundings that were meaningless dark streaks on a backdrop of chaotic violet. Her legs burned as though they were being jabbed with pokers.

"Up and away! We'll fly in!" Nudge was barely aware of the order that Max shouted. As soon as the order left Max's mouth, the flock all simultaneously spread their wings. Nudge's wings flared to their full 12-foot wingspan, and she leapt into the air. Climbing to an altitude of more than thirty feet, Nudge stared at the mass of dark concrete buildings of the School that spread out before her.

I hope you're here, Iggy, she thought, and followed the rest of the flock as they swooped downwards towards the School.

Iggy crouched in the cupboard amongst old laboratory coats, and screwed up his face to suppress a sneeze. The wounds on his arm stung like fire, bleeding hot stickiness onto his formerly pristine white hospital clothes, but he couldn't be less concerned about that now as he peered through the crack in between the two doors.

The corridor in front of him was deserted, except from the time a couple of whitecoats had marched past. Escaping his room had been ridiculously easy, although Iggy knew if a person raised the alarm now, he would be as good as dead. Even if they didn't shut down the lifts, there would still be a flotilla of troops after him.

Confident the corridor was deserted, he slipped cautiously out between the doors. Yanking off his stained shirt, he tore it into several sizeable patches, flinging one of the swathes of cloth at a corner of the ceiling where a security camera rotated on its stand. Iggy hoped the sudden blackout wouldn't attract the attention of the people watching the monitors, nerves jangling as he crept along the side of the wall, taking out security cameras as soon as he spotted them.

The corridors were eerily quiet. The constant, steady echo of his footsteps against the white tiling seemed like bombs dropping no matter how hard he tried to muffle them. The whole building was like a maze, full of loops, one way doors, dead ends and corridors that went in circles, but Iggy was confident he could remember fairly clearly exactly where the room he sought was. Once inside, he could get what he had came for, get out, and re-join the flock.

Trapped in the never-ending loop of his thoughts, Iggy didn't notice the figure until he walked right round the corner and ploughed straight into the approaching figure. The guard threw him off and backed away before Iggy got the chance to berate himself, eyes betraying the shock she felt at seeing a grubby teenager patrolling the corridors, when everybody else was busy with the winged kids.

"Hi," Iggy croaked, backing away.

The figure frowned.

"Iggy," said Marian Jensen. It was only then that Iggy noticed the dripping red scalpel in her hand, and a tuft of tan-speckled feathers. "What are you doing here?"

Iggy stood his ground, although his flickering eyes betrayed the uneasiness he felt at the sight of the scalpel. "I want to see him."

Something – frustration? – flickered in the back of Marian's eyes. "Iggy, this really isn't a good time…"

Iggy pivoted his wing muscles, baring his bone-claws, and tried to look braver than he felt, even though his skin was burning, and his head was swimming, swinging between two mentalities, fight or flight. "I want to see him now."

Marian portrayed no sign of fright at the sight of the bedraggled, bloodied bat hybrid. "I've told you, he isn't prepared yet. He hasn't developed…"

He snapped. "It's been thirty-one days!" His eyes fully riveted on the scalpel and the feathers, voice rising to an angry shout. "You locked him up!"

smash went his fist into her stomach and the whitecoat doubled over, eyes widening, scalpel falling and spinning across the tiles in a blur of sticky redness, and Iggy screamed.

"You kept me away!"

Smash

"YOU'RE EXPERIMENTING ON HIM!"

Smash

"WE HAD A DEAL, BUT YOU BROKE IT AND NOW YOU'RE EXPERIMENTING ON HIM!"

He drew back his fist, preparing, focusing, for nothing in his life had made him feel more visceral and raw than this, this blind, pulsing anger thrumming through him like the beat of a mighty drum pounding in time to the pain of his skin the pulsing of his head andhedrewbackhisfistevenmore and…

A hand caught his wrist in an iron grip, and a voice spoke to him. "Iggy, enough!"

Iggy stopped. Wobbled. Hesitated.

A deathly silence descended, broken only by Marian's desperate gasping as she shuddered mutely on the floor, and Iggy turned around.

"Max?"

"Enough." Max said. Her face was white, her jaw was trembling, but her brown eyes were clear and calm. She looked with distaste at the whitecoat on the floor and drew him close, turning him away. "Come on. Let's go. She's not worth it."

Iggy trembled as she led him away, while Marian Jensen slipped into unconsciousness behind him.