A/N: Yo. Here is another chap, (DUH), so keep reviewing if you want quick updates like this!
PeaceLoveHappiness2000: Two chapters ago (I think), Iggy said they were going to Death Valley in a blank terrorizing voice. At that point, I thought he was just acting because you it is DEATH Valley. BUt now is it because the School somehow did something to control his mind and lead the flock straight into the trap? A: YES. Round of applause for getting it right :D
Enjoy this long chappie! It took a long time to write bc I (Lia) had surgery on my elbow and can't type with my right hand :/
Fly on,
Lia and Kali
OHHHHH BTW: WE DO NOT OWN MR. IF WE DID DYLAN WOULD NOT EXIST.
Chapter 20.5 Changing
MPOV
I woke up in a cage. Yup. A dog cage. Not many people could truthfully say that, but, you know, I'm Maximum Ride. I hesitantly sat up, almost screeching in pain as my broken ribs shifted uncomfortably. Memories flooded back-making posters with fang, dumping pink paint on him, and flying away. The metallic taste resurfaced in my mouth as I remembered Dylan with wings, clubbing me, and hitting the ground. I'd bit him when he forcefully kissed me. How long ago was that? How long had I been a captive in the School?
I was underground, and the only light came from underneath a metal door on the opposite side of the room. There were about ten other cages, but-luckily- none of them held Fang or any of my other mutant friends. So they were safe. For now. I reviewed my injuries: a few broken ribs, a pounding headache from the club hit, and a few minor scrapes from falling out of the sky onto the ground. No needle injections yet, so I'm guessing the whitecoats haven't gotten ahold of me yet. But I knew they would come for me soon. There were no possible escape routes out of the dog crate, and no erasers or guards I could bait into opening my cage. Crap. So I sat tight, waiting for the perfect opportunity to blow the joint.
"My dear Maximum, it is great to see you again, wouldn't you agree?" My silence was disturbed as the metal door on the other side of the room creaked open, revealing Jeb Batchelder flanked by Ari and . Now my day was complete.
"First of all, it's MAX. And I'm not your DEAR anything, you creepy pedo. And yes. It is a pleasure to meet the person who I've been wanting to kill, isn't it?" he flinched involuntarily at my last comment, but didn't make a move to unlock my cage. We were just having a casual conversation, him in his blood-stained white coat and me all injured and locked in a cage. No biggie.
"You can take her to room 46," he dismissed, flapping his hand at me. I snorted.
"Good luck with that, you jerk," I spat, watching him retreat, leaving with my escorts.
"You will cooperate." In what universe? Certainly not this one.
"Ha! Yeah, and the moon is made of cheese-whiz," I fired back at Ari, who clearly had not dealt with me before.
Dylan unlocked my cage, being a true gentleman, and waited for me to step out. I set my jaw and climbed out of the crate, stomping on Dylan's toes on the way out. That jerk.
"We are taking you to room 46. If you do not cooperate, we will be forced to drug you in order to stabilize you. Don't ask what you will be doing in Lab 46. I suppose you will find out soon enough anyway," the jerk said, clenching his teeth as I stepped on his toes. What the hey, I might as well cooperate until I find an escape route. I followed them out the door, noting which of their pockets clattered with the sound of keys. Important keys.
"Is that what you do here? Lock innocent children in dog crates? Threaten to drug them?" I jabbed as we head toward room 46. After reading Jeb and Anne's journals, I know they do this and much worse. I couldn't wait to see what torture devices they had for me. Actually, I could wait. In fact, I'd rather live the rest of my life without seeing the whitecoat's devices. I know, hard to believe, right?
"Here we are," Dylan exclaimed cheerfully. I had memorized the path up here: out the metal door, directly up the stairs, through the white antiseptic halls of the School, a left, and there we were, in front of a white door with the black printed numbers "46." Possibly my death chamber, which was a shame because I really liked the number 46.
Ari unlocked the doors with the set of keys from his front left pocket, pushing open the doors where I would be tortured endlessly. Reading the expression on my face, Dylan commented, "Awwwww. Is wittle Maxie getting scawred? Not so tough without your pesky emo friend, are you? Too bad he's dead, what's his name? Fangy?" I shouldn't have taken the bait. I really shouldn't have. But, hey, Dylan was being an asshat.
"You little-" I punched him in the face, hearing the satisfactory crack of his nose breaking under my fist. He had to be lying about Fang, but my anger at what he did to me before boiled over, and if I had a lethal weapon, I would've killed him right then and there. No matter what the consequences were. Unfortunately, Dylan was not kidding about the drug part. They had me subdued and strapped to the table in Lab 46 within a few minutes. I busted out my major fighting moves, but one tired, injured bird-kid was no match against two well-fed, well-rested Erasers. On a bad day. If I had a knife and a few hours of sleep under my belt, I would've won in seconds.
"This is not the end," I spit, struggling against the restraints. They had me tied down like I was about to be dissected. I was on one of those body boards with metal locks around my hands, feet, neck and stomach. Jeezum. Dylan loomed over me with a devious grin a predatory glint in his eye. He grabbed a vial from the table, preparing to inject me. Ari had the decency to wipe my arm with alcohol before the needle plunged in, and I was subjected to the hazy almost-world of drugs.
My eyes cautiously slid open, revealing a bright white room with a sharp antesceptic smell. I had no recollection of getting there, or who I was, or why I was there. Time felt elastic, and it felt like forever until a shadow appeared across from me. It blurred in and out of focus until it said, "Maximum. It's time for your procedure, follow me." I had no control as I stood up, following the shadow into another white room. White, white, white. That's all there was. I was carried onto a cold metal table, and outlines loomed over me. Where was I? I had a pounding headache, and I caught snippets of conversations before they faded.
"Only eight years old..."
"Not accepting memories..."
"Procedure, then training..."
"Keep in cage 32..."
Then, a dark face rose above the others. Jeb Batchelder. "Ok, sweetie, your wings are ready..." he called in a sing-songy voice. I tried to scream, to move, to escape, but then a needle was pushed into my arm and the rest was nothing.
I woke up with a pounding headache. My mind sped at a million miles per hour, trying to piece together the hazy bits of my hallucination. Real or not real? It felt real, like I had actually experienced the dream. I recalled Jeb's journals, how he had stated my mind "was not accepting memories" and they "might resurface." Until then, I thought it was all bullcrap. Now, not so much. I mean, it made sense. I was eight years old when I was grafted with wings. Here at the School. They "trained me" and inserted crap into my brain. And I was at the place where that had all happened. Unless they moved in the past eight years. Which was likely.
"Max. It's good to see you all grown up! How has your life been?" announced a peppy girlish voice. I swiveled my head, trying to catch a glance of the intruder.
"Why don't you free these restraints, and then we can have a civilized conversation," I suggested, struggling against the metal locks wrapped around my body. I saw no sign of Dylan or any other whitecoat, so that was a minor plus.
"Haha! Oh, Max, you're so silly! Like I am going to risk your escape. You will never leave the School again, so you might as well become comfortable with your surroundings." The whitecoats walked into my view. She had short blonde hair, and wore an expensive-looking tweed skirt suit. A fake smile was plastered on her face and her high-pitched voice and giggles were so fake it made me nauseous. When I looked into her eyes, a blur of images flashed through my mind: whitecoats testing me, teaching me how to fly, and watching me train. In the back of my mind, a small voice said her name; "Anne." So this is Anne. Jeb's ally in grafting DNA onto human children. She looked nice enough, but based on the journals she wrote, she was not only erudite, but a total bitch too. (A/N: DIVERGENT FANS)
"Yeah, Anne, I'm really gonna get used to living in a freaking dog cage," I snapped, pleased when a look of surprise flickered on her face.
"How do you know my name?" she cautiously questioned, striding towards a metal table next to me.
"How do you know my name?" I countered, just to get on her nerves.
She narrowed her eyes, then picked up a full needle of who-knows-what-drug. "I am going to take you to training now, are you going to cooperate?"
"That is the million-dollar question, isn't it?"
She motioned to the door, and three fully-morphed erasers drew nearer, including Dylan, who smirked at me. "Arena 4, Jeb will be waiting," Anne told them, coming closer to inject me with the needle.
"Ok, OK! I will walk myself there, Jeez. Have some patience, lady." She contemplated whether I was trustworthy to walk by myself or not.
"Fine. But at first sign of noncooperation, I am going to inject you with this, ok?"
"Yeah, I'm TOTALLY fine with you injecting me with whatever weird substance is in that creepy syringe." I said sarcastically, glaring at the dark purple liquid. Will I ever be trusted to even stand up without guards or drugs? Unlikely. Anne glared and pulled out a small remote control from her pocket. From what I could tell, it was lined with rows of buttons. She pressed one labelled "46" and the restraints holding me back clicked open, releasing me from the metal table's grasp. Immediately, the erasers swarmed me. So even if I was well enough to escape, I wouldn't have been able to. Dylan handcuffed my hands behind my back, and the other erasers hauled me out the door, followed by Anne. We took a few turns, but stayed on the same floor. Soon, we entered "Arena 4." OOOHHHH I'm so scared. Jeb was lounging on a comfy-looking chair, examining x-rays and stacks of paper. In the center of the room, there was a treadmill and a device that looked like a hamster wheel. I MEAN COME ON PEOPLE. A frigging hamster wheel? Except this one was much larger, and restraints lined the insides. Hmmm...
"Oh good! I was really looking forward to analyzing Experiment 46," Jeb exclaimed excitedly. Really? He was getting excited over "analyzing" me? WTH is wrong with these people?
"If 'analyzing something' gets you excited, you must have had NO FRIENDS in life. Because seriously, I think that's the single most nerdy-sounding thing I've ever heard," I jabbed. "And I have a name, you know?"
"Shut up, Experiment 46," Anne said, probably just to piss me off.
"Release it," Jeb waved his hand at me, and the erasers let me go. I was still fuming over the last comment, but to call me an "it?" I mean, seriously? I HAVE STANDARDS.
"IT? DID YOU CALL ME AN IT?" I shouted, my hands twitching to suffocate Jeb and the rest of the whitecoats. I mean, what does an Avian American have to do to earn respect around here?
"Calm down," Jeb stood from his comfy chair. "You know there is no way to escape; you are trapped. So I wouldn't try anything, 46." AGAIN WITH THE FLIPPING NUMBER THING.
I silently boiled with anger, but I knew he was right. I was surrounded by three erasers and a maniac holding a sleep serum. Fang-freaking-tastic.
"Ok Jeb, I have to go check on Generation 14, I'll bring the erasers with me. Or do you want them to stay?" she asked, glancing at me quickly.
"Let Dylan stay, you can take the other two." Of course. One more way to make my life miserable. "OK, Dylan, show Max to the Flyers Wheel."
Dylan's hairy paw wrapped around my forearm, dragging me toward the Hamster-wheel-thingy. Apparently called the-Oh. I get it. I was gonna fly in circles while Jeb "analyzed" my speed. Definitely my idea of a fun pastime. *dripping with sarcasm* What about you?
Dylan shoved me to the center of the Flyers Wheel, attaching the restraints to my feet and arms. I was stomach-down against the side of the wheel, my wings out in the air. Dylan stepped back, as Jeb hit a few buttons on his remote control. The wheel started spinning, slowly at first, but sped up quickly. I glanced down quickly, spotting something I hadn't noticed before. Right below my feet were razor-sharp spikes, positioned so that if I didn't fly fast enough, I would fall back into the spiked. Lovely. Just another way to try to kill us.
"I know you can do at least 100 mph, 46!" Jeb maniacally cackled, increasing the speed on the Flyers Wheel. I flapped my wings, desperate to escape the spikes at the bottom of the wheel. I zoomed forward, and Jeb cracked the remote again. Dammit. For all I know, he's planning on keeping me here for hours. I slowed down to conserve energy, but stayed far away from the spikes.
"Pick it up, 46!" Jeb yelled, turning up the speed. I swear, it was faster than I'd ever gone before. I fell dangerously close to the spikes, and I was panting. Fricking panting. Like a dog. I never panted while flying. My vision blurred at the edges, and it felt like I'd been flying for hours. But still, the speed went up, and I heard Jeb yell, "This is it: 300 mph." WTH? I was flying at 300 mph? The wheel cranked faster, and I felt myself dropping closer to the spikes. I closed my eyes, willing my wings to go faster. I would not die. I mean, who wants to die on a frigging hamster wheel? Come on. Come on. I pushed forward, and my wings were moving so fast I couldn't feel them. The restraints tugged painfully, and my hair slapped across my face. I surged forward one last time, and suddenly, the wheel stopped. I opened my eyes to find I was at the other end of the wheel. I'd literally outflew the flying machine.
"Excellent job, 46," Jeb congratulated, sounding stunned.
"Can you... do... me a huge... favor?" I asked in between heavy breaths. "Can you.. just call me by.. my name? That's the... only thing... I ask."
"Sure, Max. You've earned it." Dylan snorted, and I (somehow) resisted the urge to punch him in the face. Jeb hit a button, and my restraints snapped open, releasing my onto the ground. I dropped to my hands and knees, trying to catch my breath. Dylan, as he was determined to make me as miserable as possible, promptly walked over to me and yanked me up by my arm. I yelped in pain, and tried to fight him. I was able to wrench my arm free, and a took a few steps back and glared at him. "I can walk myself, thank you very much."
"Take her back to her quarters," Jeb announced. By quarters, he meant cage.
"Fine," he snarled, and opened the door and left, not bothering to look back and see if I was following. I rolled my eyes and went after him, knowing I didn't have a choice. (A/N: Like Orpheus and Eurydice... But not really. D: such a sad story.) Dylan walked back into the hallway, leading me down the stairs and back into the dark basement where I had woken up the morning before. He held open to door to the crate that would be mine for... who knows how long. As I crawled inside, I could only hope that it wouldn't be long.
*Review for fast updates. AND GO TO OUR PROFILE AND DO THE POLL. please.
Love and HOLY TEST TUBES! MAX FLIES FAST,
Jeb