*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*
*Prologue*

GENRE: A Batman Beyond fanfic.
PAIRING IF ANY: Terry McGinnis/Max Gilbson.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set after "Curse of the Kobra". I happen to be very Pro-Terry/Max and I don't like Dana much. (She seems too possessive and jealous. Sorry.) Anyway, I've noticed Dana hasn't been in a lot of the new episodes and Max has been getting a larger role (which finally resulted in the episode introducing Zeta [I'm convinced that was a prologue to "The Zeta Project"] and "The Curse of the Kobra" 2-parter.) with each new episode. Forgive me for the overall weirdness of this. *&.^*
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Short enough for ya?
SIDE NOTE: This will be written from Max's POV and I'm not sure if the entire fanfic should be - tell me and I might change it to third person [if and when I do that, I'll give ya'll ample warning]. I think the martial arts sensei's name was Kyri Inaga, buuuuuuuuuut…it probably isn't. ;} On another note, this fanfic isn't of excellent quality. (No, I don't have low self-esteem. I just practice reverse psychology with surprisingly good results. *giggles*)

****

I never should have meddled in Terry's life. I never should have blamed him for those murderous pranks ages ago, I never should have pried, and I should have never found out that he was Batman.

God knows Kyri Inaga would still be alive today if that…thing…called Zander hadn't…

I sit on the park bench, staring with unseeing eyes at the bustling city of Gotham. I suppose Bruce and I are the only ones who know Terry's secret. At least Bruce has a decent excuse.

The wind is cold and embittered, twisting around my body, whipping my coat lapels about. My pink hair is shorn short, so the wind barely disturbs it in the least. I glance down at my brown hands, interlocked, fingernails bitten and short. It's strange how every time I look at my hands, I think of how I'm responsible for so many wrongs, even if it's an indirect responsibility.

If I'm feeling this way, I can only imagine how Terry must feel.

No.

I can't imagine.

I stand and stare off the bluff at the smog covered city I live in; the crime infested rat hole I call home.

How do you change the past?

~TBC~