~*~Max~*~

I wanna kick at the machine
That made you piss away your dreams
And tear at your defenses
Till there's nothing there but me

            It was killing her. Max sweated silently as she sped past her apartment building. Sped past Crash. Sped past Jam Pony. Sped past Foggle Towers. Turned around and went back to Foggle Towers. She decided that she needed some familiarities surrounding her.

            She ran up the stairs and kicked down the door of Logan's apartment and spun around and around. Yes, this is just what she needed. She laughed insanely but stopped fleetingly. Something was missing…the infernal clicking of computer keys? The ominous voice of Eyes Only? The smell of cooking food?

            Logan.

            Max's rejoice was short-lived when she realized the one she had been yearning for was non-existent.

            Shit! Where is he? He's always home!

            Then she remembered how stupid she had been and told him to go away and not come back for a few days.

            "Stupid! Idiot! Moron! Brainless! Jackass!" Max hollered at the top of her lungs. She stomped her feet in a childish attempt to make things better.

            Must find him…I have to…I'll go insane! Positively insane! Oh for the love of God why am I so persistent on finding him? You're being ridiculous, Max! Get a grip on yourself…

            These thoughts ran through her head as she ransacked the penthouse to find any evidence to where he had gone. It was possible he could be anywhere, especially since she noticed that his exoskeleton was gone. Max opened drawers and flung ajar cabinet doors almost off the hinges.

            I can't believe I'm doing this…this is so not like you, Max. Has it ever been like this? Have you ever been this crazy about a guy that you scour his apartment to even get an inkling about his locality? Crazy, absolutely bonkers—insane!

            After almost sweeping everything off of Logan's desk, Max uncovered a few old photographs. One showed two adorable little boys—a tall, freckled one and a skinny little thing with glasses and spiked blond hair—with one arm on the other's shoulder, both smiling stupidly, at the camera, bearing gap-toothed grins. Neither were wearing shirts but had on swimming trunks and they were standing in front of a body of water, possibly an ocean. Written on the back in feminine script was Brent and Logan, Summer in San Diego, 1994.

            So this was the little boy who grew up to be the great and powerful Eyes Only, Max chuckled to herself. Jesus, even back then he was a geek.

            The second was of the same two little boys, yet they were at least four years older. They were standing beside each other, covered in mud and beaming, wearing football gear. Brent and Logan, Seattle Stamina quarterback and nose-guard, October 1999 Championships was scribbled on the back, this time in a very bold print.

            Max raised her eyebrow at the last picture. The photograph this time was Brent and Logan, plus about three other guys the same age, wearing suits and ties, standing in front of a large gray stone building. Again, Max found a caption on the back, this one typed: Zack H., Brent L., Logan C., Ross P. and Kyle M.: members of Few Left Standing, 8th Grade Graduation Dance @ Smokerise Inn, June 2003.

            "Okay," Max mumbled to herself. "Exoskeleton—gone. Three pictures of Logan and a guy named Brent—recovered. Operation? It will be tricky."

            Unable to stand it, Max stripped and borrowed Logan's shower. She had gone too long with out a cold one. When she finished up, she went into his bedroom and laid on his bed and began to sob out of simple frustration.

            "Oh God this is going to kill me!" she bawled. She pounded her fists on Logan's pillows. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the side, Max grabbed her clothes, thinking this is probably the only time she'd lay naked on Logan Cale's bed. As she pulled on her panties and leather pants, she noticed a letter on his nightstand. She clipped on her bra and then picked it up, reading it quickly. Only the last paragraph caught her eye:

            I can't wait to see you again, man. It will be like old times, the two of us chilling out (of course, this time Joi and Namou won't be there!). I also wanted you to meet my wife Priscilla and my kids. Yeah, kids—stop laughing. I have a nine-year-old girl named Amy Ann and a five-year-old boy, Mark. I can't tell you how many times I've told stories about when we were kids.

            Anyway, I'll see you on Thursday, hopefully.

From, Brent

            Max's eyes widened. Brent? That was the guy that was in all those pictures with Logan as a kid. With a stroke of luck, she noticed the envelope was lying right beside where she had found the letter. Brent Laszlo lived in Fresno, California. Everything she needed was right here, in black and white. Stuffing the envelope in her bra, she continued getting dressed and fled from the penthouse.

            Everything else be damned.