sorry about the delay. but i had things to wonder about.

i was looking through my reviews the other day and wondered just how many of you have kept with this story since the beginning. or how many of you are reading without reviewing. or if any of you have stopped reading because it just won't end. whichever you are, i love you all.

disclaimer: don't own maximum ride.

38. super-special-awesome overload mode

Where the heck are they?

I let the thin, gauzy white curtain fall back over the window in the room I'd shared with Spark, Nudge, and Angel the previous night. It gave me a good view of the street, but nearly two hours after they'd left for their walk, Spark and Sy hadn't returned.

I know. Instinct had already kicked in with loud red warning bells.

But not wanting to alert any of the others--they'd been having too much fun relaxing and acting like normal kids for once--I'd kept my mouth shut. Momentarily. Until I couldn't stand it anymore and pulled Fang out of an increasingly competitive card game called Phase 10 to spill my guts out about the ever-worrisome Spark.

He blinked when I mentioned they'd been gone an hour already. We'd stepped into the kitchen to avoid being overheard, and now Fang's eyes flicked to the clock on the microwave. Then he looked back at me and asked, "If you're that worried, why didn't you say anything?"

I shrugged, at a loss for any other response. "I don't know. Do you think something could've happened? To Spark and Sy?"

Fang paused, staring absently at the countertop I was leaning against as he thought about it. After a few moments, he slowly shook his head. "Maybe. I mean, Spark's tough, but I don't know about that Sy kid. . ."

"You think he's weird too?" I asked, one of my eyebrows rising inquisitively. I'd let him slide for saving our lives, but ever since we'd met him, something about Sy had screamed suspicion. Despite the fact Spark trusted him so completely. . .or was it because Spark trusted him?

Fang shrugged a shoulder, then crossed the room to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He stuck his head out into the living room and motioned for somebody to join us. I shot him a half-alarmed, half-questioning glance when one of Spark's cousins walked in with a slightly confused expression.

"What's up, guys?" he asked warily, smile fading as his hazelly eyes darted between me and Fang, between the grim sets of our faces. "You. . .need something?"

"Um. . .not exactly," I said evasively. "But. . .do you know where, uh, Nikki is?" It felt weird to call her anything but Spark, but not nearly as weird as not knowing which cousin it was I was speaking to. Cody, or Beck? I was completely clueless as to which was which.

"Didn't she and Sy go for a walk?" he asked, scratching the back of his head.

"They've been gone a while," Fang said shortly. "Is there anywhere you think she might've gone?"

"I doubt it," Spark's cousin said uncertainly. "She told us not to tell anybody she was back in the city. And her parents aren't even here, they left right after she did. Why do you. . ." His eyes widened as he saw the worry cross my face. "You don't think. . .something happened. . .to her?"

"Uh. . ." I glanced at Fang nervously and he just shrugged. Spark's cousin paled.

"No," he whispered weakly. "Don't. . .say something bad happened."

"Don't freak out, Beck," I said quickly, guessing at the name and hoping I was right. "I'm sure she's just. . ."

"Um, I'm Cody." I felt my face heat up a bit in embarrassment, but was soon distracted as Cody let out a tense breath, running a hand through his hair. He suddenly looked way older than sixteen as anxiety altered his expression.

"Are you. . .okay?" Fang asked slowly, glancing at me questioningly.

"Well. . .ah, I don't know," Cody groaned, running a hand through his bleached-out hair. "Look, don't tell my brother, but the truth is. . .I worry about her. Nikki. . .she's like our little sister, y'know? Any time anybody says something might be up with her, I get all weird and tense and stuff. I know she can take care of herself, especially 'cuz of the way she is, but. . ." He trailed off, shrugging listlessly.

I looked at Fang again before asking, "What d'you mean by 'the way she is'?"

Cody blinked, then glanced back over his shoulder to check if anybody was coming. Then he looked down and lowered his voice. "Well, you know. The wings."

"You know?" Fang and I were both taken aback.

"Of course I know. I've known since I was thirteen. They were visiting and we got in a water-balloon fight and she was wearing white and I hit her in the back and. . .you know what, that doesn't matter. Ever since I knew she wasn't. . .well, human, I. . ." Cody shook his head and trailed off again, at a loss for words.

"Hey. I doubt she's in any trouble," I lied. "I probably jumped the gun. Don't get all worked up. She's probably on her way back right now."

"NOOOO!" I screamed, pitching my voice so loud it felt like my throat was about to tear right down the esophagus. I lashed out with my feet--idiots hadn't strapped them down--and sent a silver tray of surgical tools flying across the room. One of the two lab geeks in the room ducked to avoid getting stabbed by a flying syringe of electric-green liquid, and the other narrowly dodging a beheading by scalpel. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! I'M NOT GONNA BE YOUR PINCUSHION ANYMORE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

For a badass tomboy who avoids pretty much everything remotely girly like it's the plague ('cuz it is), I can screech pretty damn loud.

"Oh, my God, shut her up!!" The whitecoat who'd nearly gotten hit by the syringe--a redhead who I call Tweedledee--clapped his hands over his ears, yelling so his colleague could hear him over my increasingly shrill and barely coherent cries. I hadn't been waiting long before a couple of scientists had come to collect me and take me to the laboratories. Since then, I'd realized that there were three major whitecoats who were to carry out all my testing: the two men here in the room with me, and a woman (I call her Alice) who'd stepped out a half-hour ago to run some blood the three of them had managed to wrangle from my veins.

"You shut her up!" the second whitecoat--a brunette who, in keeping with the Wonderland theme, I call Tweedledum--shouted, jerking out of the way as my flailing legs kicked over a heart monitor. The thin colored cords that had connected me to it pulled and snapped, the screen flatlining. "I already used all my sedatives trying to get the blood!"

"Just use mine!" Tweedledee snapped back, flinging a syringe across the room. "And strap her legs down, too!"

Tempers between Tweedledum and Tweedledee flared high when Alice left the room--their male competitiveness for her attention had gotten really boring really fast, which was why I'd taken to the screeching when it was just them and me in any given situation. Screaming is not high on the list for what a young lab grunt wants in a patient.

And young lab grunts are exactly what Tweedledum and Tweedledee were. Like, early to mid-twenties, so obviously green to the Itex staff they were forced to do all the boring stuff, like drawing blood and holding me down as Alice checked my vitals or shot me up with glowing crap that made me feel all stoned. Plus, they still called me "her" and "she," something you didn't get when being tested by the more experienced doctors.

The door opened a crack, then shut as another kicked object clanged against it. "What's going on in there?!" came the frantic cry. Alice had returned. "Haven't you run the next test yet?"

"She's freaking out, we can't get close to her!" Tweedledee called, crouching near the door. "Run and get somebody!"

"Oh, you're being ridiculous! Let me in!" Alice strode into the room and I struck out with my feet, but there was nothing left for me to kick. Unless any of them got too close.

Alice folded her arms and glared at me with her dark eyes. She was an Indian woman of unfair beauty, and had a British accent, which was why the Tweedles kept vying for her attention. "If you would just cooperate, we wouldn't have to sedate you for every test," she said. "And if you don't have to be sedated for every test, you won't have a headache later. So if I were you I'd. . ."

"Probably be acting the same way," I snapped back. "Just get it through your thick skulls! I don't want to be here and I'm not going to cooperate at all whatsoever! So just give up and get the hell away before I have to hurt you!"

"Oh, like you could hurt me?" Alice asked haughtily, pulling out a syringe of neon-orange liquid.

"Don't try me!" I snarled, clenching my fists. Crackles of electricity danced over my skin and the lights flickered. The three whitecoats shared identical looks of momentary fright.

My patience--and control--was wearing thin. Normally, when I get stressed or annoyed, I become very aware of the electrical side to my power. However, under normal circumstances--an infuriating sibling, an idiotic bully--I was able to quell the urge to electrocute somebody.

This was not a normal circumstance.

So the quelling of the urge to electrocute somebody was becoming more and more difficult.

Alice shook herself. To the Tweedles, she said, "Her powers don't matter. We need to inject her with this newest serum." She held up the syringe of orange gunk. "Dr. Newell's orders."

"But she's. . .freaking out," Tweedledum said lamely. "We can't get close to her."

"I don't care how you incarcerate her, just do it."

Tweedledee steeled himself before taking a step toward me. I swung my leg and would've slammed him in the ribs if he hadn't dodged. Tweedledum took advantage of my attack and came around to pin the straightened leg to the table. I jerked and nearly threw him off, but he put his weight into it and overpowered my right leg. Tweedledee lunged for my left leg and slammed it to the table as well.

"G-get off!" I shouted, twisting and struggling to get my legs free. I strained at my arm bonds as well, but to no avail. I was now successfully incarcerated; Alice, with an infuriatingly smug look on her face, flipped the cap off her syringe and stepped toward my left arm. I arched my back and tried to break free before she could get to me.

"Get away from me! Get the hell away!"

Alice placed a cold gloved hand on my elbow and twisted my arm to expose the underside to the ceiling.

"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!" God, screaming hurts. My throat, my ears. I never knew I could be so loud.

"Oh, shut up," Alice snapped, then stabbed me with the needle and injected me with glowing orange liquid.

I inhaled sharply as a soft tingling raced up my arm. My fingers curled inward and my vision started to go shaky. The lights flickered off, then insanely bright as everything else went fuzzy and quiet.

Both male whitecoats--their names being Dr. Macmillan and Dr. North--jumped away from the experiment's legs as flickers of electric discharge shocked them. The two of them--along with their female associate, Dr. Stadtfield--watched with ever-widening eyes as the drug took effect.

The experiment started to seize, electricity sizzling over her body in visible red bolts like something out of a cartoon. She started thrashing so violently the straps holding her down on the table snapped, and all three scientists' eyes went wide. What was she going to do? Was she even conscious? Would she try to escape? Should they call for help?

As soon as the thick leather straps fell from the experiment's body, the red lightning decreased in size and frequency, retreating into the occasional flicker of light from her fingertips. The experiment's seizing slowed, and soon she just lay quietly upon the table, barely breathing, eyes closed.

Macmillan was first to react. Running a hand through his red spiked hair, he took a breath and stepped toward the experiment.

"What the hell did you inject her with?" he heard North mumble at Stadtfield. The Indian woman said something back, but Macmillan didn't catch it. He was at the experiment's side, inspecting her curiously.

"She appears to be unconscious," he announced. "If your drug was fast-acting, it has no effect on the subj--AHH!"

Macmillan's words seamlessly flowed into a high yelp as the experiment's eyelids flew open, the girl herself sitting upright in one quick motion. It wasn't just the motion that had startled him--more that the fact that her eyes were completely dark. A deep, whiteless expanse of the darkest blue, with barely the hint of a pupil in the direct center. Macmillan automatically took a few hasty steps back.

The experiment blinked once before an evil smirk curled over her lips.

"Ha," she said. In one lightning-fast movement, she sprang off the examination table and to the door of the small room. Once there, she pointed her palm at the doorknob. A zigzagging bolt of red electricity arced from her skin, blasting the metal knob and forcing the door to open outwards, opposite of what it was supposed to do. At the threshold, the experiment looked back into the room at the scientists, her smile absolutely and insanely predatory. "You're scared of me. You should be."

And then she ran.

Stadtfield was first to snap from the trance this time. A look of horror passed over her face. "Macmillan! Why didn't you grab her? We're going to be killed for this!!"

She wasn't far off the mark. Former employees of Itex's inner companies didn't exist. It was like the Mafia--once you were in, the only way out was when Death came a-knockin'.

Macmillan shook himself before dashing out the door after their escaped experiment. Stadtfield wasn't far behind him, but her stilettos were making it much slower going for her. North stayed in the exam room, keying in the access code to the building-wide intercom system.

"Attention employees: an uncooperative experiment has escaped. Human-avian hybrid, fire-colored hair, in uniform, currently running on effect from thirty milligrams of hypermaladrine. Her capture is necessary and vital. Thank you."

Running in slippery dress socks down countless white tiled hallways was fun. Almost as fun as blasting the door had been.

She reluctantly willed her legs to stop and slid about four feet into the next hallway, whereupon she had a choice of going right or left. Having been unconscious when they'd dragged her in, Subject Five of the Avian group narrowed her deep blue-black eyes, a flicker of worry crossing her mind. The thought soon fluttered away, though, as her ears picked up a distant slap, slap, slap of flat-soled shoes over the tiled floor. They sounded as if they were coming from the right, so she went left, once again running in a literal blur of speed.

The orange drug had changed her. All of her senses were on high alert, and when she wasn't moving, it felt like her muscles were just vibrating with power, yearning to run, fly, punch, kick, do something. She felt every flaw in every tile she stepped on, heard every distinct whoosh as she zipped past another open hall, another open door. Saw each flicker of the cheap fluorescent lights, heard their faint humming. Felt the electricity that ran through the walls, powering the entire building.

"Spark?!"

Subject Five stumbled to a stop as she recognized the word. . .her name. The name she'd been given at the age of sixteen months, when she'd first given somebody a minor electrocution. That name, spoken in a voice she also recognized, a voice that filled her with hatred and betrayal.

Subject Two of the Fish group was standing in an open doorway, watching her with wide sapphire eyes. He looked the same as the last time she'd seen him, with one change: instead of black shirt and gray overshirt, he was wearing bandages over his bare chest with the gray overshirt thrown on top.

The memory of causing him pain satisfied her a bit. As did the look on his face. Surprised. Nervous. Scared, almost?

"Hi." Subject Five smirked, dark eyes glittering. "You're afraid of me."

Subject Two blinked and shook himself. "They really did it, then. Gave you hypermaladrine."

"Hah. You bet," she replied. "Catch me if you can!"

Then she ran. Even faster than before, so fast she frequently had to pay attention so as not to run into walls. She could hear Subject Two following her, plus the sounds of others in the distance. The whitecoats were looking for her, scrambling the forces to find her before she escaped.

You need an outer window, she thought. Blast through it and get out of this place.

Dimly, she heard Subject Two shouting.

"Get the hell back here before they call the dogs!!"

Oooh, scary. Dogs! Four-legged little devils, those beasts! They distract you with friendly tail-wagging and affectionate licking before they make their move and rip out your throat!! Subject Five laughed quietly to herself. Like a stupid dog could take me dow--

"AHH!"

Subject Five went flying backwards, landing on her tailbone and sliding along the floor a good six feet. She clutched her forehead, where a thick red welt had suddenly sprung up. "Oooowww! What'd you do to me, you bitch?!"

"Hmph. You've got a hard head." The tall, sixteen-year-old girl with long silver hair came out from around the corner and looked distastefully down on Subject Five. "You're lucky a broom handle was all I could find, you featherbrained little wench," she said with disgust, shouldering said broom handle.

Subject Five rubbed her forehead and glared up at the girl, who she assumed was part of the Fish group, most likely Subject One. Her eyes were red, after all. And even if she didn't look remarkably like Subject Two, they bore some similar characteristics. Slender frame, pale skin, fragile hands. Unlike Subject Five, the silver-haired girl wasn't in the black shorts, black shirt uniform of Chicago experiments--rather, she was wearing tight jeans, a white tank top with a black half-sweater, and four-inch high heels.

"Ooh. Haven't been called a wench in a while," Subject Five said as she got to her feet. The pain in her head was already retreating, as was the mark from the broom. "Get out of my way."

"Make me," the girl snarled, her eyes suddenly dancing with fury. She gripped the broom handle tightly and held it up, ready to fight. Subject Five smirked and started to curl her fingers, preparing to draw on electricity, when a slight breath of air passed through the hallway.

"A-A-Ariel!" Subject Two's voice stuttered, sounding absolutely surprised. He'd caught up.

Both girls stopped, Subject Five half-turning so she could have both fish hybrids in her line of vision. Subject Two's hair was all messed up from running, and his chest was heaving. His broken ribs were probably making it painful to move.

"Dylan?" The silver-haired girl straightened up, blinking in surprise. Then, sounding taken aback, she asked, "What. . .what'd you do to your hair? It's. . .black!"

No time for this. Subject Five raised her hand, fingers alight with lightning, and was about to toss a handful of electricity at the silver-haired girl when Subject Two lunged at her and grabbed her wrist, yanking her arm back and causing the shot to go awry. She'd just slammed her elbow into his stomach to get him to let go when Subject One was there, cracking her broom handle over Subject Five's head again.

This time, Subject Five was knocked unconscious by the blow.

"Hmph." Ariel took a breath and brushed some hair out of her face to get a good look at the bird-girl on the floor. She'd passed out, crumpled on the floor like a pathetic rag doll. She lifted her ruby-red eyes from the floor to search for Dylan, ready for the praise of taking care of the experiment.

But he wasn't looking at her, which put a little dent in her pride. He was leaning against the wall, face contorted in pain and one hand clutching at the bandages that were wrapped around him. His breath came in short, irregular hisses.

Other than the hair, he looked pretty much the same as when she'd last seen him a few weeks ago, when she'd been brought here to Chicago. Slender. Pretty much all muscle. A quiet, kind air about him. Dark blue eyes.

For Ariel, that spelled one four-letter word: H-O-T-T.

Ariel stepped over the bird-girl and went to his side; even in heels she was just barely as tall as him. "Dylan?" she inquired, her voice much kinder than it had been when she'd been speaking to the bird-girl. (It always sounded like this when she talked to him.)

He flinched at her voice. "I-I'm. . .fine."

Aw, he's trying to hide his pain, like a real man. "No, you're not," she said firmly. She reached into her pocket, where she kept a cell phone. She dialed a number and, as she waited, asked, "What the hell happened and how can I fix it?"

"You can't. Broken. . .ribs. Ow."

Ariel frowned, confused. None of them had ever tried fixing broken bones before, but she was sure she'd be able to do it. Especially if she had access to water. The person she'd called finally picked up, but for a second she ignored him. "How'd they break?"

"She kicked me," he replied shortly, nodding toward the unconscious bird-girl. He took a breath, winced again, and then stood up straight. Focusing still-blue eyes on her, Dylan asked, "What are you doing here?"

Ariel raised one perfect eyebrow at him. "Don't you remember? I. . ."

"Why the hell'd you call me if you're not going to say anything?!" Blaze's voice screeched from the cell phone. Ariel winced and almost dropped the phone.

"Oh, have a fit!" she snapped. Ariel strode over to the nearest door, heels clacking loudly on the tile, and looked inside a room. "I'm in the south experiment caging hallway. Dylan and I caught the freak."

"Is she unconscious?" Blaze asked.

"Yeah. I whacked her with a broom, I don't know how long she'll be out. Just get over here and take her back to her cell."

"Fine." Blaze hung up and Ariel pocketed the phone before turning to Dylan again. He'd moved nearer to the bird-girl, looking down at her. His hair shadowed his face so she couldn't read his expression.

"Dylan." He looked up. "How long have you been here? In the Factory, I mean?"

"Couple hours," he answered shortly. "What about you?"

"Couple weeks. Chicago's running a couple comparison tests between us, Blaze and Constantine, and two of the cats from Italy. I thought you knew that."

Dylan shook his head before gesturing at the bird-girl on the floor. "I've been trying to get Spark and the rest of the avians to come here. Con screwed up my plan and we only ended up with Spark."

"Where are the others, then?"

"A safe house about ten miles from here. We don't know how we're gonna get them yet."

Ariel slowly smirked. "Bet I could help with that."

"Uggghhh. . ."

I groaned as I sat upright, hand automatically going to my head. . .which wasn't hurting. I opened my eyes into the artificially brightness of my cell, but didn't get a blinding headache one would usually associate with getting knocked out. To the contrary, I felt really good. Awesome. More rested and energetic and alert than I'd felt in weeks.

What. . .what was that stuff? I wondered, trying to remember what had happened. I remembered the Indian doctor jabbing me with a needle, and I remembered the tingling sensation the orange drug made as it raced through my veins, but beyond that. . .

I noticed I wasn't on the floor, as I had been the first time I'd awoken in this god-forsaken cell. Instead, I was on a cot, a thin mattress with white sheets and a cheap gray flannel blanket.

There were no clocks in the room, and they'd taken my watch, so I had no way of telling just how long I'd been out. Hours? Days? My spirit sank as I thought about Max and the others. They'd probably guessed something had happened to me by now. Were they looking for me? Were they stupid enough to try and find this place to break in?

My door suddenly opened and I looked up. Con strode inside, with two boys I didn't recognize right on his tail. Con came to stand a few feet from my cot, arms crossed, the two boys looming menacingly behind him.

"Ariel did a nice job," he commented. "You've been out for a day and a half."

Shit. Who's Ariel? I wondered. A brief memory flickered to the surface and I remembered that that was the name of the first successful fish hybrid. Was she here? And was she the one who'd knocked me out? All I got was a blur. . .

"Well, thank her for me," I said brightly. "I feel great. I think it was that orange stuff. Got any more of it?"

Con rolled his eyes, then looked back at the boys behind him. "Let's go."

"Aw, you're not leavin', are ya?" I asked innocently. Then I noticed the boys were moving toward me, not away.

"Spark, meet Joey and Frankie," Con said lightly. "You can consider them your escorts until the hypermaladrine* is out of your system."

"Ha! No way." I smiled in disbelief, shaking my head. "You need Italian muscle to drag me around. I didn't even know the Mafia lent out their kids," I said sarcastically.

Joey and Frankie weren't tall and skinny, like me or any of the others, so I crossed bird off the list of potential animal genes. Rather, they were just plain big. Thickset, obviously strong, dark-haired. . .and I'd guessed of Italian descent. One had short hair spiked into a fohawk, and the other's hung to his ears, flipped out at the ends. The corner of my mouth twitched in a frown. I wouldn't be able to shake these two easily, that was for sure.

Hm. . .unless I got some of that orange stuff again. Hypermaladrine? I'll have to remember that. Maybe there'll be a chance to steal some. I could probably break outta this place if I get a hold of it.

Joey and Frankie came up on either side of me and grabbed my arms, yanking me out of my cot and onto my feet. They then proceeded to escort me after Con and out into the white hallways of the Factory.

I tried to babble randomly in a Nudge-like manner in hopes of annoying Con, Joey, and Frankie, but none of them paid me any mind. Not even when I started comparing Ryan Seacrest to Jesus. (And I was sure that'd get them to tell me to shut up!)

I was forcefully led to an interrogation room incredibly similar to my cell, if a bit smaller. In the viewing room were Blaze, a girl with silver hair identical to Sy's, and Sy himself. The girls glared at me venomously, and Sy just ignored me.

"After you, Spark," Con said, opening the door to the room and bowing mockingly. I guessed my silent Italian bodyguards would become suddenly active if I tried to kick him, so I did nothing as they pushed/followed me into my newest interrogation.

There was a table, two chairs, and a man. He was wearing a white coat, had a clipboard on the table in front of him, and had sandy-brown hair and mustache.

Joey and Frankie sat me down in one of the chairs at the table, then took up posts on either side of me, making absolutely sure I couldn't escape. It made me feel claustrophobic, but I didn't show it.

"Hello," the man in the white coat said, smiling at me.

I said nothing. Just looked at him like, Are you kidding?

The whitecoat sighed. "Ah well. There'll be time to talk later. Right now I just need you to answer some questions."

Again: Are you kidding?

"What's your name?" the guy asked, taking a pen from his pocket.

Are you. . .wait. I could make this fun. So, being one to always take the fun answer, I took a deep breath.

"My name is Ashley Blair Crystal Doris Ezrela Fayana Gertrude Holly Iris Joan Kaliska Levana May Netis Orenda Pollyama Querida Raine Shirley Twyla Ulani Virginia Wilhelmina Xenia Yarin Zorina Alphabetticacious Juniorette."

I could sense my bodyguards trembling with concealed laughter, and now the man was staring at me blankly. I grinned cockily.

"People call me Alpha," I said. "But, since I don't really classify you in the term of 'people,' I will only respond to you if you use my full name."

He put his pen down on the table and touched a hand to his forehead in irritation. "That's not the right answer."

"Who says? It's a name. There's no wrong answer."

The whitecoat sighed. "Perhaps I should start over." He put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together before trying once again to smile at me.

"Spark, I'm Doctor Julian Newell. When you were little, I was your caretaker. You called me Jay."

*just so you know, hypermaladrine isn't an actual drug. i don't think. if it is, i doubt it's a bright orange liquid that makes you all crazy-fast and stuff.