Chapter 2

After mentally sulking for 5 minutes instead of conjuring up an escape route, I felt his wet, clammy breath raise the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.

"Max." A small voice rose in a whisper. It obviously wasn't him speaking, seeing as to he was literally less than a millimeter away from me and I hadn't felt or heard him talk. He was way too close for comfort, and at this point, I was freaking out.

But if it wasn't him….who could it be?

Oh crap.

You have got to be joking….

Was it my voice???

Not my voice as in my voice…but the annoying, pest of a voice that seemed to pop in my head at the perfect times just to tell me what I was doing wrong. It wasn't a shy critic, either.

"MAX!!"

The voice was strained, as if spoken through clenched teeth. Soft, but audible.

The whitecoat began strapping down my numb, helpless body to the wall like a prisoner, and I craned my neck as hard as I could to try and locate the "voice" I kept hearing.

Doctor Evil hadn't responded to it, which struck me as odd. (Then again, he didn't have my totally best, mutant sense of hearing. Just saying.)

I waited, feeling completely vulnerable as he sealed the last strap on my left ankle. Wiggle. Nothing. Wiggle. Nothing.

Could this situation possibly get any worse?

Why, of course. Haven't you been paying attention to how utterly crappy my life is??

The voice spoke again, only this time more of a mini yell.

"MAAXXX!!! I'm over here, you IDIOT!!"

It's funny how 6 little words could give away a persons identity so quickly.

Iggy.

Every nerve I possessed fired with excitement! He had come to rescue me! I silently debated how I should get his attention without tipping off the lab-rat.

Obviously, I couldn't just blatantly answer him back. I wasn't that much of an idiot.

But I also had to consider what I was dealing with : plastered limb from limb to a beige, puke colored wall with an evil-genius-mastermind of a psycho breathing down my neck. Needless to say, that rules out the whole "handy dandy escape" shindig I was so used to using.

What I needed was a distraction.

But what?

Before I had time to think, Iggy was on it.

Welcome to explosives 101.

When trying to form a distraction, tossing your heavy duty hand grenade into a towering shelf of alcoholic chemicals is NOT the way to go! Instead of helping the victim, you will be left with a burning building, an angry unhurt scientist, and of course the scared, livid, and did I mention…COMPLETELY STRAPPED DOWN victim up the creek without a paddle.

Way to go, Ig.