A/N: Huzzah, peasants. It is I, your faithful half-wit squire. I carry a message atop my back:

So I decided to scrap the 22+ chapter system, at least for now. That's because I realised I might want to do someone else's POVs sometimes. Plus, I haven't even decided what was going to be behind the door yet, but I do have lots of ideas!

I shall keep you hanging a few days longer then, and give you a chapter from somebody else's POV. But I think you'll like who I'm talking about, so you won't mind, right? …Right?

…

…

…

And then I fell out of a twenty-two storey building.

The End. :)

Song for the Chapter: watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=Q5aW_cBkUes

-Faximum

The Eleventh Encounter

Chapter Two – Suited To Her

"No – oh God no – someone tell me not to look! I can't help it! Okay, I'm just going to peek. If I open it just a second then they won't see – AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHJ RBJHKFDJBFRKFBWLFALJUBUI!"

I pause the video and feel a chuckle rumble from my throat. I love Maximum Ride so much.

I'm pretty sure every guy in the world, and most girls while you're at it, has strung together those six words during their lifetime at some point. Everybody's either heard one of her songs mentioned somewhere, visited her channel once last year, or has her posters covering every inch of their house. Either way, she's been a sensation ever since she posted that first remix of a Paramore song. She didn't have any manager or recording deal, any precise motives for doing it; if we're honest not many friends either. Just a naïve fourteen year old without a steady road. That was five years ago: now she's nineteen, and so am I.

My real name is Nicholas Batchelder, but everyone calls me Fang. There's no particular reason I guess; when I was growing up I started working out, which gave me a bigger frame, I let my hair grow out a little and I started wearing black clothes. One person called me emo, trying to get to me, but I'm glad it never caught on. A mid-high school friend thought it was funny though, and called me Fang, I'm guessing because it's a fitting nickname for an emo.

I work in a Cex store now, every Friday to Tuesday. Speaking of my job, I should be going in about half an hour. Every Saturday, I wake up at half seven, get ready for the day, and either watch whatever's on TV or some classic Max, up until nine when I go to work. I'm hoping to work for a better company at some point. It may seem a little nerdy to you, but I want to be a game developer. I'm not saying Cex is bad, but they're always very cheap. It just doesn't seem very… professional.

Deciding I can watch for another ten before I need to get up, I press play again. If I'm ever feeling down, Max cheers me up immensely. And her music inspires me more than I can say. That's why I love her.

"Oh dear mother of all that is HOLY. GOGOGOGOGOGOGO." Max hisses, forcing her poor traumatic character to sprint down the dingy hotel hallways. She's gotten herself into some dog-pile guano there, that girl, walking into the hotel even when the others told her not to. And I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to get in until later on in the game, but that's just the kind of thrill-seeker Max is. "Can get out – of this window – oh jeez girl, grow some panties, we're only on the second floor. I would've jumped out." I bet you would, Max.

Faster than I know it, ten minutes has passed, and it's time to get moving.

At about one, I begin to get a little bored of introducing beginners to their gaming sections and decide to get myself accustomed to the kind of games we sell here. That might make me better at my job, because I can recommend some relevant games and then people will want to come back again.

Walking around the horrors at the back, I see that we've got a good range. Mostly, this store sells pre-owned. That would mean that a lot of people would have to have sold these to Cex, and that means this state has a lot more sissies than it needs. Somehow, I find my mind wandering back to Maximum Ride, and thinking that what America needs is more people like her. It's a hopeless thought, really, because we all know that there will never be anyone as cool as Max. What I would give to…

Okay, that's not the point.

To take my mind off the subject, I study a few games. Some are spine-chillers, for giving you goosebumps whilst you're in-game ghost-busting, but not things that would freak you out when you turn off the lights. And some are spooks, for the paranoia factor, but not things that would make you carve your own wooden stake and carry it around in your denim handbag. The next type I come across are based on true stories, like old houses in the country or the pyramids of Egypt; just spiced up a bit to get you interested. These are all nothing like the kind of game Max would be playing. She's completely all-out.

For some reason, I immediately find myself searching for a game worthy of her almighty zombie-butt-kicking skills. I've actually been researching horrors; trying to find the best and worst, the most spine-tingling and the most full-on screech-seeking. And I've been watching her videos ever since she started, so I should know what she would love. What… who she would love…

That's not the point either. She has a boyfriend, Fang; it's none of your business. You don't know her.

But I feel like I do.

Turning away, I see an interesting-looking girl standing in the racing games section, and on a leap of faith decide to go and greet her, to see what she's looking for. As I head towards her, her head turns to me. I freeze immediately in my tracks, a blaze of recognition in the back of my throat. I can't be sure, because she's wearing shades, but another hint is that I've seen her vlogging with those glasses before. I swear I have.

"Can I help you?" I ask, my voice scratching like sandpaper with nervousness, willing her to speak. If she would only, I would know for sure; that husky yet smooth voice, with its natural seductiveness that I'm sure she's never noticed.

"Horror?" she replies with a question, and my breath hitches and settles in my windpipe. It's her. Max is talking to me.

WAIT. Play it cool, Fang, like you don't know who she is. This could be your only chance to get to know her. If she thinks you're some kind of mad fan, she won't want anything to do with you. She's above that…

"Right this way, miss." I call her miss, desperately trying not to replace 'iss' with 'ax' and weaving coolly past her. Horror is definitely her forte; I'm not surprised this is what she's looking for. Just for the record, I'm so glad I decided to take a closer look at these.

She glances around dismissively, quite plainly deeming these unworthy, and so totally not scary enough. I'm ready to help her at any second she needs, but instead, when she says, "Anything you would recommend?" I hesitate for a moment, not wanting her to think I'm too enthusiastic.

"Amnesia?" I didn't see that one here yet, but I've read all about it online. It's something that I could watch her play for hours on end and still be on my toes by midnight. Thankfully, I swiftly find it on the top shelf – that could've been disastrous; if we didn't have it I would've looked like some kind of pillock. On my tiptoes, I shift it off the shelf and hand it to her. She turns it over, weighting it, and then I think that this is only something that a true professional would do. I want to be a professional too. I want to be a professional with her.

"Amnesia…" she murmurs, making me nervous all over again. Finally, she concludes, "Nice. I'll take it. Got any good gunners, while I'm at it?" I didn't expect her to say that. Not that challenge/survival isn't something she does like breathing.

I take her over to the gunner section, which is just a rack a few rows away from horror. "Have you played any Halo before? That's entertaining." I tell her, but of course I know she hasn't. She's done several haul videos and shown us her collection multiple times. I never saw any Halo.

She begins to smirk, which is so adorable and dangerous at the same time it's almost criminal. "No, but I know the concept."

"Well, for a beginner," I say with emphasis, because it's pretty obvious by now that I know who she is. If I hadn't, I would never have shown her Amnesia, and she knows it. "I'd say this one," I finish, offering her a Halo: Reach disc.

"Mm." she takes it from me and contemplates, before deciding, "Alright, this one too." She glimpses the pricing stickers, forks thirty dollars out of her back pocket and hands it over. Then, without another word, she saunters out of the shop so arrogantly and so elegantly that I almost pee myself.

That, my friend, is the mark of a true badass.

As I drive home, I think over my encounter with Max again. It was so short I can hardly believe it was real. I don't have enough proof to even convince myself, yet I saw her with my own eyes.

There's another reason that I want to be a game developer. I want to create the perfect game for Maximum Ride; and watch her play it over and over again. I want her to love that game more than any other game she's played before, because I know how much she enjoys them. I want her to…

Just shut up once in a while, male thoughts, will you?

So, I'm just going to have to make a game that's perfectly suited to her slender body.

Ha-ha, I made a pun.