Disclaimer: I do not own "Maximum Ride," or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, movie(s), literature, games, merchandise, or other media. All of the credit for the wonderfully dark world, of "Earth Enthralled," belong SOLELY to James Patterson.

Before-You-Read Background: This BOLD, "Pre-Story Pretext," is my important, intrinsic, "Before-You-Read Background," and these "Before-Chapter-Author-Notes," will almost ALWAYS contain UPPER-CASE Letters, of SOME sort. Proper grammar, and other things are used CORRECTLY in these "Pretext Prologues," though. …And while you should know that, you should also know that the ACTUAL STORY WILL contain GREAT spelling, grammar, punctuation, usage-and-mechanics, syntax, and semantics. Reading/RETAINING the NEXT portion of BOLDED text of IMPORTANT INFORMATION is HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!

Author Announcement(s): While the above statement is true, however, inspiration for starting my own series of novels, falls to Mrs. Suzanne Collins (Even Though Her Ideas Are FAR From Original), Mrs. J.K. Rowling, Mr. D.J. MacHale, Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien, Mr. C.S. Lewis, Mr. Philip Pullman, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the darkly noble Mr. George Orwell (surprised he's in that list there, right?). One day, IF (BIIIIG IF, Since It's a VERY SLIM Chance) I should happen to ever manage to get my book(s) series published, and one of you awesome readers are sitting there in "Barnes & Noble," trying to read the novel in one sitting in the store, so you won't have to pay for it (hey, no shame in it—I do it sometimes…), you might just look up at the author and say: "HEY! I KNEW that guy! I read his FanFiction! …I deserve some of his profits!"

Author Advertisement(s): That's right. Ads. I have TWELVE—Count-'Em, TWELVE—FanFictions On here, that will ALL end-up, being OVER 100K-Words, and they will ALL be updated REGULARLY—HOPEFULLY—from this point-on. …So, if you happen to read in any of the OTHER FanFic FanDoms, that I write for, then, PLEASE, by all means, do NOT hesitate to check-out some of my OTHER FanFictions! Check-out my profile for more information (And Some Awesome Quotes, As Well!), and MESSAGE ME, if you have ANY questions, or just want to chat! I, contrary to popular belief, LOVE to hear from fellow FanFiction-Readers, as-well-as, my own readers! …Also, it should be noted, that ANY AND ALL of my Comic-Based-FanFictions, are VERY EASY to understand, and they are MADE for EVEN a NOVICE/NON-Comics-Reader, to be able to understand VERY EASILY, and things are explained VERY clearly in these above-mentioned Comic-Based-FanFictions, of my own creation.

Important Information: This is NOT an AU ("Alternate Universe"). This story takes place years, AFTER the END of the VERY LAST "Maximum Ride," Book, "Nevermore." This story STARTS, TWO YEARS AFTER the END of "Nevermore." EVERYTHING that happened in the series, has ALREADY happened here.

Author's Amendment: …ANYWAYS… …I hope that any and all of you read and enjoy this work of FanFiction, and that I get some REVIEWS! I would greatly appreciate your opinion and/or review of this story (or any other story of mine you happen to find yourself interested in), as I take every last review and comment into account, in order to make it a more enjoyable experience for everyone reading it. ENJOY!

Wings, Wolves, and Warzones: Warriors of the Wild

A FanFic By: D. Raj David

I. Friends, Foes, and Freaks

Le lividly looked up at his captors. He was tied tight, as taut, thick, rope ripped through his strong, sturdy skin, and all he could think of was the mocking that would ensue from Lethal. She would have a field day with this. He sighed. His captors didn't seem to notice that he had sighed—that he was getting bored.

They were conversing in fluently flawless Russian, and he understood every word. But he knew that whatever they had to say was meaningless to him. Their words were not what he was after—what his team was after. He was after their lives, and although he was captured and bound tightly in front of these men, he was sure that they wouldn't live through the day.
They continued to speak in their Cyrillic tongues, and their mouths moved liked fire, yelling and screaming at each other.

The boy grew tired of their words. He preferred to hear the Russian language, the way she spoke it—the way Lethal spoke it.

The boy looked up indignantly at his captors, and his hardened hazel eyes swiftly scrutinized each and every one of the well-armed Russian men before him—all of which had distinctly defined physical physiques. His haphazard hair, organized in its usual chaotically neat manner, was as dark and blatantly black as his intentions—which were intentions to kill.

The men continued to speak. The boy looked up at them, and he grabbed their attention, the only way he knew how. He spoke.

"Would you mind killing me now?" he asked the Russian men before him, all of which turned to face him. Their durable dark uniforms looked like dark black voids, as the matte material of the armor enveloped the ruthless Russians' bodies.

"Excuse me?" one of the Russians said with an accent. He was adamantly angry. He unslung his assault rifle and leveled it near the boy's face, ready to gratify his request.

"I said, 'would you mind killing me now?'" the boy repeated himself. The Russians looked to one another, and then back to the boy. The lead Russian stepped forward, and he smirked at the boy, lighting up a cigarette and placing it in his mouth as he did so.

"Don't you worry your young little head, boy." the man spat in his Cyrillic accent. "You will be dead by the end of the day. I promise you that." he replied, readily, to the boy's remark.

The boy smirked, although the boy's light brown skin was somewhat splashed in his own blood, although his shirt was torn all the way through, and although his captors had been nice enough to only knock him unconscious three times. The boy chuckled.

The teenage boy smirked, and as he did so, he straightened himself up, his hard knees still sore from being on the cold concrete of the room that he was being held in. The sun shown behind the boy, bathing him in an unholy light, and the morning sunrise of the Russian landscape, below the rooftop he was on, made the boy look like a fallen angel. But he was no angel. He was a demon, a monster, a killer. And his enemies were about to discover that. As he straightened himself, his own musculature could be seen, and his distinctly defined physical physique was now openly obvious to anyone looking at him—as all the Russians were currently doing.

"Good. That's good. But, honestly, would you mind speeding things up, because I'm really getting tired of listening to you talk. So, please, either shut up, or kill me, so I don't have to listen to you anymore." he said smugly, and the leader of the group of gunmen stepped forwards and swiftly slid a knife out of an unseen case on his uniform. The boy smirked again. Just as the Russian man was approaching the boy from the front, the boy made an almost-imperceptible movement with his hands—which were bound tightly behind his back—and almost immediately, the Russian with knife dropped dead, a bullet hole in his head. No one moved. No one wanted to move.

Armed Russians on the ground filed out of the lower levels of the building that boy was currently being held on top of, and all of the Russian guards, down below, raised their weapons in the assumed direction of the sniper's shot, but they were far too slow. A blazing blur of speed swiftly sliced through any and all of the guards down below, and after the black blur that was left in its wake cleared, it could be seen that all of Russian guards were left unconscious or dead.

On the far side of the snowy white field where the Russian guards laid in defeated positions, at the end of the trailing black blur, a teenage boy stood straight, his bold brown hair, brutal black eyes, and cruel canines showing that he had only begun to warm up. He looked up to the roof expectantly, and although the brown-skinned boy was still tied-up and could not see the other teenager, he nodded. The brown-skinned boy nodded, and the other teenager responded readily.

The speedy boy saw the nod, and he grinned, his black irises engulfing his entire eyes, and murderous metallic blades ejecting themselves from each of his forearms. More Russian guards flew out of the building, and out of the two surrounding buildings. The speedy boy swiftly sped off to meet them in bloody battle.

Three of the Russians fell before the speedy superhuman boy reached them. The boy that was tied-up on the roof grinned wolfishly, and he gave a subtle thumbs-up signal behind his back.

Far across the snowy terrain, a girl with beautiful black hair and dark emerald eyes smirked as she saw Le's thumbs-up on the roof across the field. She steadied the scope on her sniper rifle, and she focused on the battlefield below, silently pumping out rounds, and eliminating enemies, while the speedy superhuman boy fought fiercely on the ground. The Russian guards had no time to process what was happening, as they continued to fall flawlessly.

The remaining Russian rebels that had originally caught, captured, and contained the brown-skinned boy had finally regained their composure after their awestruck astonishment had washed over them.

One of the Russians approached the boy, and he swiftly grabbed his neck and jerked his head upright.

"How many?" the Russian asked in a vilely vicious voice.

The boy smirked. "All of them." he responded, as he smiled sadistically at the Russian man. The Russian stepped back, and he looked like he had just seen Satan himself. He shook of his severe stupor, and he leveled his rifle at the boy. The Russian held firm, as his fatally fierce glare penetrated the boy. The Russian prepared to fire.

As the battle raged on below, on the snowy fields below them, the three remaining Russian rebels did not notice the door to the roof of the building, or the fact that it was ajar and slightly exposed. Moments later, a figure crashed through the roof door, brutally breaking it off its hinges. The flying door chaotically collided with one of the three Russian rebels, sending him flying forcefully back, and over the edge of the roof, as he screamed the entire way down. The other two Russian guards—including the one that had his weapon leveled at the boy—turned around to face the open door that was closed mere moments before.

There, in the open doorway, stood a slender, but fatal, female. Her bright blonde hair was streaked with bold brown highlights, and her steely silver eyes stated that her opponents stood no chance of victory. She grinned wolfishly, and she lunged at the Russians, her irises becoming boldly black and encompassing her entire eyes as she did so. The Russians snapped out of their reverie, and they fired at her. They were too slow.

She slid under the incoming enemy fire, and she ejected a sharpened serrated blade from her forearms as she launched herself up and at the throats of the Russians. Fine fountains of blood spurted from the new overtly open wounds on their necks, as she swiftly sliced through their flesh, and their bodies toppled off the roof.

She approached the kneeling boy that was tied-up, and she smirked seductively at him.

"You look cute, all tied-up." she said smugly. He raised his head to look her dead in the eyes, and as he did so, she retracted her sharpened serrated blades back into her forearms, and her eyes regained their normal color.

He was smirking as well. "You're late." he replied.

She tilted her head, and she smiled seductively as she responded. "Sorry. I was a little tied-up. You know how that is." she readily retorted. He scowled at her. She smirked.

"Mind if I keep the rope? You know, for future use?" she said in a flawless Russian accent—the Russian accent that he loved, the Russian accent that could make him agree to almost anything.

He smiled back. "Take it if you want, but you'll never get to use it." he replied.

She smirked again, showing her larger-than-average canines this time. "Le, I can get you to do many things." she said softly into his ear, and just as she did so, she ejected the blade on her left forearm, using it to cut the ropes binding his hands.

"I'll have to order you not to, then." he responded.

"Then I'll just have to disobey orders." she replied.

He frowned. "That's dereliction of duty." he stated solemnly.

She, once again, smirked seductively. "Then I suppose 'punishment,' would be in order." she replied, ginning.

He smirked. "I'm not going to punish you, and you know that. You'll have to make me." he replied.

"I already told you. I can make you do many things." she said, as she helped him up gently and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

They broke apart a second later, and they found a young redhead, with viciously violent viper-green eyes, staring at them with a knowing smile on her face.

The young redhead rolled her eyes. The teenage Russian chuckled slightly, and the brown-skinned boy—the one named Le—sighed deeply.

"You're a bad influence on her." Le said seriously.

The Russian femme fatale looked serious as well, and she had a clearly cold tone to her voice as she responded to his remark. "Le, we're mutant wolf kids on the run, from seventeen separate governments, and we are wanted fugitives—dead or alive—in thirteen countries. I hardly think that me kissing you is reason to give her anymore nightmares than she already has." the Russian teenager responded, her steely silver eyes piercing permeably through Le as she spoke.

Le sighed. "It's not the nightmares that I'm worried about. It's her good dreams that I'm afraid you'll taint." he said, sounding slightly embarrassed for everyone on the roof.

The Russian female stood silently, as her eyes went wide. "Le! She's ten years old! She doesn't even know what you're referring to! You are so completely, chauvinistically, prying, pigheaded, and male-brained, that sometimes I wonder why I put up with you!" she screamed at the teenage boy before her.

He smirked in response. "You put up with me, because you wouldn't know what to do without me. …Oh, and because you love me." he said smugly, still smirking. The female Russian held her hardened expression for a second longer, before it softened into a sincerely seductive scowl.

"Ahem!" the young redhead shouted, snatching both of the teenagers' attentions. They turned to look at her. "First of all, she isn't going to 'taint' my 'good dreams' because all I have is nightmares. Secondly, yes, I do know what you were referring to, which, by the way, is weird, even for wolf-kids like us with overactive sex drives to be discussing in a situation like this. And, thirdly, I laid the toxins down a minute ago, and the longer we wait here, the more they'll dissipate, and the less potent they'll be." the young redhead elaborated.

Le looked over at his female counterpart, and she nodded. His soft face hardened into the strong, sinister look of Leader Lupine, leader of "The Pack."

He looked at the young preteen girl, and her frantic fire-red hair seemed to match the chaotic conflict that was raging in the snow below them. The female Russian walked over to Le and handed him an earpiece, which he swiftly snatched and placed perfectly in his ear.

The female Russian smirked. "Launch has some complaints." she said, holding her hand to her own earpiece.

Le rolled his eyes. "He always has a complaint." Le replied.

Le held his hand to his earpiece, and he waited to hear Launch's "complaint." "Go ahead." Le said sternly.

The speedy superhuman boy with the brown hair and carnivorous canines screamed into his miniature microphone, and the volume was so loud that it almost damaged Le's hyper-sensitive ears.

"WHAT THE HELL, MAN?! I'M DOWN, HERE RISKING MY ASS, SO YOU CAN GET SOME?! GET DOWN HERE AND HELP ME! THEY ARE TOUGHER THAN THEY LOOK! …AND THEY LOOK PRETTY DAMN TOUGH!" Launch boomed into the mic. Le sighed, and he rubbed his aching ear.

"Launch, give me assailable locations, and your pinpoint position—now." Le said seriously.

"…Um… …I'm somewhere in a snowy field…" Launch trailed off, sounding sarcastic and severely strained.

"Launch, this is serious. Give me what I asked for, now. That's an order." Le said sternly, making himself clear.

Launch was amazingly accurate when he responded. "I'm in the northeast corner of the second field from the right of the building, whose roof you are currently on. I'm pinned down. Logic can't get a clear shot on anyone down here. I'm a lone wolf—literally. Local locations are currently unavailable to flank. The enemy is everywhere." Launch replied.

Le sighed again, and although Launch had tried to hide it, Le had heard the slightly strained tone in Launch's voice. He was in pain, and if anyone in the Pack was in pain, they handled it—well, very well. Thus, for Launch to let any sign of pure pain enter his voice, he must have been injured severely.

"…Launch?" Le asked quietly.

"…Yeah, boss?" Launch responded.

"Injuries?" Le inquired intricately.

"It's noth—" Launch started, but Le cut him off.

"Injuries." Le stated again, but this time it wasn't a question. It was an order.

Launch waited a second before he responded. "Right arm. Gunshot. Nothing major. No arteries hit—I think. Minimal blood-loss. Again, I think. It's hard to tell, you know, among all the enemy blood as well." Launch joked, and he could be heard chuckling comically throughout the team's communications. Launch was always using comedy to calm situations. He had succeeded in eloquently easing this one as well—even if only momentarily.

Le sighed again. He had put him in this position. If he hadn't been so reckless, Launch wouldn't have a hole in his arm. "Alright. Sit tight. I'm on my way." Le said, and Launch chuckled again.

"With all due respect, Leads, where the hell am I gonna go? Hell's all booked-up, y'know? Especially after all the Russian bastards we sent down there." Launch chuckled again, but this time it was definitely strained.

The female Russian beside Le spoke into her own mic, having heard the conversation as well. "Launch, we're going to save your ass. And then I'm going kick your ass—after I save it—for that comment about Russians." she remarked, and even though no one could see him, they all knew Launch was smiling.

"You gotta save it first, princess." Launch remarked, and then his mic went silent. The female Russian, and the ten-year-old redhead looked expectantly at Le. He sighed, and then he dutifully handed out his orders.

"Lethal," he said, pointing to the Russian female, "you dive out the back of this building and divert fire from Liquid and me as we make our way over to Launch." he commanded clearly.

The female Russian known as Lethal nodded, and she proceeded purposefully to the open door on the roof that led down into the rest of the building. She turned back once, and Le nodded. She ejected both of her brutal blades from her forearms, and her eyes went black as she did so. She then proceeded into the building and out of sight.

Le turned his attention back to the young redhead name Liquid. He nodded at her she nodded back. Le then spoke solemnly into his mic. "Lethal, Liquid has laid her venom and toxins all around this building," Le said, looking to Liquid for confirmation. Liquid nodded. "Thus, all of her 'fatally flammable fluids,' should be soaking into the floors of this building, right now. They'd fuel a pretty nice fire—catch my drift?" Le asked Lethal.

"Yeah. I got it. It's my last cigarette, though…" Lethal said sorrowfully, trailing off.

"Lethal! Start the fire! That's an order!" he yelled at her. There was silence for a second.

"Fine." Lethal spat back in a defeated, downcast, dangerous voice. Le shouldn't have yelled at her. He was going to pay for that later. Liquid's sarcastic smirk and raised eyebrow—both of which were aimed at her Leader—said just that. Le chose to ignore her.

Lethal took out her last Light-on-Anything-Cigarette, and she struck it on the wall of the building, as she ran through it. The cigarette lit up, and Lethal neared the window that she had decided to skillfully slam through. Unfortunately, the cigarette wasn't coming with her.

Le spoke into his mic one last time, before he and Liquid descended the roof. "Logic." he said seriously, and the fatal female across the field—their sightline sniper—put a strand of her black hair behind her ear, and put her hand to her ear to listen. She couldn't respond verbally. She never could, and the sinister scar on her throat gave clear clues as to why she remained silent; silence was her native language—she had no choice in the matter.

Le continued, knowing that Logic was listening.

"Disengage the enemy at your current vantage point. Head around the woods, and offer stealth support to Lethal from the rear of her advancing position. Give her some help, and make sure you both get out alive. Stay alive, Logic. That's an order." Le commanded, and Logic nodded, knowing no one would see her, but that everyone would know she had performed the action.

Logic swiftly, skillfully, dismantled her precious sniper rifle, and placed the pieces perfectly among the rotten log that she was currently camouflaged behind. Her black eyes scanned the terrain, before she ejected two blades from her forearms and her irises became blatantly black, enveloping her entire eyes as they did so. She began to make her way around the woods, and to the rear of her enemy's position on the other side of the building far across the field in front of her.

Logic caught a scent on the chilly winter wind, and she scowled slightly at the scent. It was the scent of blood. She didn't mind the smell of blood. She was used to it. But, she absolutely hated to smell the blood of any member of the Pack, and the blood she smelled right now belonged to Launch. She shook her head, and silently stalked over to where she needed to be, to do what she needed to do—to kill.

Le turned and nodded to Liquid, as she nodded back. The next second was a dismal, destructive, disorderly mess as Lethal dropped her lit cigarette in the flammable fluid that Liquid had left in the building below Le and Liquid. The building burst into ferocious flames, just as Le catapulted himself off the roof, and Lethal smashed her way through the rear third-story window.

Le ejected the blade from his right forearm, and his own hazel eyes became black as well, as he skillfully stabbed his blade into the side of the building while he was freefalling, stopping his fatal fall. The blade, now imbedded in the building's outer wall—which was constantly getting hotter from the flames inside—took some time to slow his descent, but eventually, Le came to a complete stop. Just as he slowed to a stop and began to hang on the wall freely, Liquid shot right by him, dropping hard and fast, and he reached out and grabbed her with his free left hand, harnessing her close to his body—protecting her.

Liquid looked down, and she noticed that her feet were dandling only mere inches from the snowy ground. She looked back up at Le. "That was close." she said, showing only subtle signs of her fear.

Le smiled at her. "The closer the better. Death likes a close competition. Beating him badly isn't any fun. Doing with only a second to spare—priceless." Le replied.

Liquid scowled playfully at him. "Death cheats, Le." she said, and he chuckled because it was too true.

He released her, and she dropped down to the snowy ground beneath her. He joined her only moments later. They both looked across the snowy field to where they knew Launch was, and took off running—far faster than an advanced athlete would be able to. As they ran, Le and Liquid both ejected their blades from their forearms, and their eyes turned dark—deep black—as they did so. Their canines also became more clearly visible in their mouths.

They continued to accelerate their speeds, until they reached the embankment on the far side of the field, and they slowed only momentarily, before Le caught the scent of Launch—and his blood.

"Over there." Liquid said, pointing to a shallow ditch. Le followed her gaze, and looked back at her, nodding. They approached the ditch carefully.

The two came to the back of the ditch. Launch was crouched in a combat-ready position, and the moment he locked eyes with Le, his entire tersely tense form relaxed. And his languidly limp left arm became the focus of everyone's attention. The gunshot was worse than he had led on. That was to be expected, though. No one in the pack ever complained about pain. Ever.

Le and Liquid raced into the ditch, and they began to quickly assess his injury. He was bleeding out—fast. Le frowned. There was only one way to stop this bleeding, and it was a very painful way, indeed. Le looked at Launch, and he nodded, understanding what had to be done.

Le motioned for Liquid to approach Launch, and perform the task. She inhaled very deeply. She slowly began to approach the bleeding boy. She reached his side, and she gently grabbed his injured arm. She rolled his sleeve up, and placed her wrist over the wound. Launch nodded at Liquid, smiling as he did so.

She nodded in return. Streams of fluid shot out from small slits on the undersides of Liquid's wrists, and the fluid burned brutally as they made contact with Launch's wound. He winced, and he grimaced, but did not make a single sound.

Liquid's peculiar ability to produce, emit, use, and immunize venom was one of the many adept abilities that members of the Pack had acquired over the years, such as Launch's ability to travel at superhuman speeds. Launch's immune system—like every other member of the Pack—was so powerfully protective, and efficient, that the venom that Liquid produced in her small veins—venom that would melt a grown man's face clean off, stop the heart of a horse, or cripple an Olympic Athlete—did not harm him. Actually, her venom had the peculiar ability to heal members of the Pack. On the downside, though, it hurt like hell.

She finally finished spraying the affected area, although Launch continued to wince. That pain didn't just go away. It lingered—for a while. Launch looked up at her, and he smiled. "Thanks, kido." he said sincerely. She smiled at him, and he ruffled he hair. Only Launch would thank her for making him feel like he was being hit by a tractor-trailer—repeatedly.

Liquid smiled in return. "Any time. You know what they say. The best cure for pain is—" Liquid started, but Launch cut her off.

"—Is more pain." he finished her statement for her. She smiled.

"Alright 'Doctor Pain,' let's get back to the others." Le said, rather anxiously. He had already spent too much time here. He didn't want to waste any more.

The sounds of distant gunfire, erratic explosions, and screaming Russian men filled the air. Launch rose to his feet, and Le helped stabilize him. The blood loss had been more severe than Le had imagined. After a moment, Launch was able to stand on his own two feet. He smiled at the sounds of his female friends causing havoc. He loved those two. Then, again, he loved all the members of the Pack.

Le motioned to Liquid. "Where are the other two?" he asked. In response, Liquid he gestured to the second building across the snowy field, the building right next to the one Lethal had set on fire.

Le nodded. He put his hand to his ear, and he spoke directly into his earpiece. "Lunge, Loyal, I know you two can hear me. Listen to me. Unlock the roof access door, and wait for us to arrive. Stay silent. Be quick. We're on our way." Le gave his orders, and he then turned back to face his two teammates.

"Let's get the hell out of here." Le said to his two friends, and they nodded in response.

The three friends rose from the ditch, and they sped across the snowy terrain, towards the building left of the one engulfed in flames. The three entered the building's main lobby, darkened by the loss of electricity, and cluttered by the scattered papers that were strewn everywhere. They proceeded upwards using the stairs, meeting not a single soul, as all of the Russian guards were all fighting—and losing—against Lethal and Logic on the snowy ground outside.

They reached the top floor, and the three barged from the stairwell, and into a room lined with computer panels. Le gave silently swift hand signals, and Liquid ran towards a small staircase at the far end of the room. She climbed the three stairs, and melted the lock on the door at the top, using her venom. The locked burned away, and she tapped the sturdy steel door three times. She stepped back.

The door burst open with a precise pound, as two young boys entered the room.

Wary wolfish eyes looked out from under a short stack of brown hair. These eyes belonged to the youngest member of the Pack. These eyes belonged to Loyal. Beside Loyal, was his friend, and comrade—his brother, although not by blood—Lunge. Lunge's black hair, and murderous midnight eyes said one thing about him. He had seen things, things that no fourteen-year-old should ever have seen.

The two boys had come exactly on time. The plan was being followed perfectly—aside from the erroneous event of Launch's injury—and the terrific timing of the Pack had supplied Le and his team with the perfect distractions to complete their mission.

Lunge approached Le, and he handed him a small flash-drive. Le accepted the device, and he proceeded to the far end of the room and inserted the drive into a port on one of the banks of computers.

Le put his hand to his earpiece, and he spoke directly to Logic. "The drive is in. It's all you, now, Logic." Le said solemnly.

Some distance across the field, motionless Russian bodies littered the snowy field, and Lethal stood a few feet behind Logic, as the two crouched down behind a pile of metal crates beside the burning building.

Logic had her right knee in the snowy ground, and she had a small electronic device opened on her left knee. Logic typed a series of commands into the device, and the flash-drive inside the building began to blink, as it began to send data from the bank of computers, wirelessly, to Logic's device.

As the data began to flow, the breach in the computer systems triggered an alarm, as Russian guards surged into the building containing the flash-drive—the building where Le and the rest of the team were located.

The guards swiftly stormed up the stairs, guns raised, and they quickly reached the top floor. A heavy bank of footsteps could be heard outside the computer-lined room, as many guards prepared to enter the room.

The plan was simple. Le was supposed to get captured. He did. Logic was supposed to be a lookout. She was. She was the best sniper, after all—and the best hacker. Launch was supposed to create a distraction, as soon as Lethal freed Le. He did. This had all happened in a perfectly precise manner, and while all of these things were happening, Lunge and Loyal were supposed to quietly make their way to the roof of the building with the computers, as Loyal's abilities were the only thing that could bypass the Russians' sensors.

Everything had been perfectly paced. Everything had happened according to the plan. But, now, a swarm of well-trained, angry, Russian guards were prepared to make entry on the room with the computers—the room that Le and his team had worked so hard to enter—and Logic was not yet done with gathering her important information. She was not yet finished with the room.

The guards entered the room, and just as they began to swarm the area, Logic's device finished collecting her data. Logic smiled. Le and the rest of the Pack slid down the side of the building, their blades extended deep into the building's outside wall as they slid down. The moment that they touched the ground, Logic unwrapped her present for the Russians.

The flash-drive in the computer room began to flash even faster now. One guard approached it, and examined it carefully. He gasped as he realized what was about to happen. But he never got a chance to warn anyone. Logic was far faster. The flash-drive detonated, gutting the entire top floor of the building, and taking any and all of the guards with it.

Le and his small squad arrived by the side of the two girls. They all smiled, and nodded in agreement. These gestures said one thing that words could never articulate: 'mission accomplished.'

Le and his team walked to the middle of the snowy complex, and they observed their work. The two buildings on either side of the snowy field burned brightly, and any and all of the guards around the complex had been neutralized—one way or another.

Logic turned to her leader. She wanted to speak, but she couldn't. She never could. The smooth scar on her throat told a story that gave reasons for her inability to speak, but she didn't want reasons. She considered the reasons to be excuses, and Logic hated excuses. Excuses were for failures, and she had been called a failure enough times in her lifetime.

Logic looked to Le, and using sign language, she silently signed to him. 'I couldn't wipe my traces from the flash-drive. They'll know it was us.' she signed. Le nodded.

"Good." he responded. "I want them to know." he said sincerely.

"They will come for us." Loyal said.

Launch smirked at him. "Let them come. We'll be waiting." he interjected. Loyal smiled and nodded.

Le nodded to the Pack. They were done here. They needed to go, before reinforcements came. Le looked to his team, and he opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped short. He caught the scent of something—something deadly—heading his way. He tried to identify the scent, but he couldn't place it. Whatever it was, it wasn't alone. It was traveling. They were traveling. They were traveling right towards the Pack. They were traveling much too…fast. Le's eyes went wide. They were flying.

He narrowed his eyes. "Everyone, circle-gate formation. Form-up. Blades-out, teeth barred." he ordered.

Lethal looked at him with curiosity. "…What is it?" she asked aptly.

Le shook his head. "I don't know. But, whatever they are, I don't think that they're friendly." he replied.

Lethal nodded. The Pack gathered in a circle, with their backs towards the center. They all ejected their blades, as their eyes turned brutally black. They were ready for a fight. Le scanned the skies, and every member of the Pack saw his actions.

Launch chuckled slightly. "Hawks?" he questioned comically.

Logic shook her head. She sniffed the air. 'No. They are much too big to be hawks.' she signed.

Le nodded. He sniffed the air as well. "…And, much too deadly." he added.

Max flew in formation, her bold blonde-brunette hair whipping wildly around as did so, and the Flock—her flock—followed closely, flying full-force. The Flock had just survived an attempt on their lives, and they were determined to make sure that their enemies were not as lucky as they were.

The last attempt on their lives, was an attempt on their sanity, as well. The moment that Max boarded that plane, she was dead, dead to the world, dead to herself. It had been reported that the plane had crashed, surely sinking in the ocean. But, no one knew that the plane had landed. The island that Max and the Flock had been on for months was an island that seemed like any other, but it wasn't like any other. It wasn't an island. It was a trap, a trick. The manmade island was surrounded by transitory teleportation grids, and when one went to one end of the island—an island that no one could ever see the true end of—they returned to the other side. There was no escape.

They had been trapped there, by "The Doomsday Group," so she would be unable to stop them from completing their plans. The blast that the Flock had seen on that island had convinced Max that the end of the world had come. The satellite readings that Dr. Martinez had read had confirmed it. But, that was all a lie. It was a false fact that was directly designed to test the survival abilities of the Flock.

The world had not been blown apart, and it still existed. Only Max and her flock had been blown apart. But, soon they realized that the island was a deception, and then everything they knew was shattered.

"Itex" had wanted to kill any and all of the sick, or wounded humans, to catapult the planet into "evolution." "The Doomsday Group" had wanted to kill any and all of the worthwhile, well, humans, in order to give the new, emerging species of "Gen-77-Kids," and their subsequent spawns, a "food chain."

Both groups had wanted to do the exact same thing, in exact opposite ways. "Itex" and "The Doomsday Group," wanted the same thing, but they had different ways of getting what they wanted. If they had executed their plans at the same time, then they would have become engaged enemies with each other. They would have been opponents. They were the same, in strikingly different ways. They were the ones that had experimented with new genes, and species. But, they were not the ones that had supplied the materials.

Another person—or group—had supplied the materials, the money, the important information, and the parents that were willing to donate their children. Someone had supplied any and all of these things to "Itex," and to "The Doomsday Group." Someone had been dealing to both sides—double-dealing. Max wasn't a soldier. People cared when soldiers died. She was not a soldier. No one would have cared if she had died. She was a weapon. But, she could not be marketed, so she had to be deactivated. Deactivating her had been difficult, and thus, detaining her seemed to be the only option left.

The group that had been dealing these beings—these "weapons," these poor changed children, these mutants, and mutates—to these terrible terrorist groups, were the ones that were truly in control. The question still remained, though. Max wondered whatever this group was in control of, exactly.

It certainly wasn't her, or her flock. After their escape from the island, Max and her flock had charged, and defeated "The Doomsday Group," in a fierce final battle. Max had grown more violent, vicious, and vehement than anyone had ever imagined she could become. She stopped saving, and she started killing.

The Flock had been relocated to America, and after many negotiations with President Danning, and his administration, they had all agreed on a few things. The Flock was given a base-of-operations, and an agreement to remain out of the spotlight, while they lived their lives. They were also given intense training, tempering, and teaching, in order to help them better defend themselves, and preserve their existences. And, finally, Angel was given her true nature back. Her wings were given back to her.

Then, a bomb had blown a horrendous hole in their penthouse base. And they were mad.

Nudge had used her electronic-hacking abilities, to trace the origin of the explosive that had been planted—and primed—in their base-of-operations, and she found that it had originated here, in Russia. The Flock flew towards the Russian weapons complex, silently, swiftly, and stealthily. Many murderous experiences, events, and episodes had strengthened them, and increased their wariness, and readiness. Besides their experiences, though, Max had made sure that her flock could do more than defend themselves.

After the final battle with "The Doomsday Group," Maximum Ride and her flock had trained, taught, and tempered themselves far beyond what their limits allowed them to accomplish. And their limits were high to begin with. They had broken any and all of their boundaries, and they were determined to stay out of the spotlight, and never be targets again. Unfortunately, that dream was short-lived. But, the Flock was well on their way to hunting-down the last of their hunters. The Flock was done being hunted. They were the hunters, now.

Max tuned her head slightly, and she gazed at Fang, flying at her right side. Beneath his short-cropped dark hair, his experienced eyes looked back at her. Their eyes locked, and neither of them said a word. Since Fang had returned to the Flock, he had been even quieter than he had ever been before. Things weren't the same with him. Things weren't the same with any of the Flock. But Max was determined to correct that.

Even though Fang had been severely silent, since his return, he had said more to Max than she ever could have imagined. He had said more than she wanted to hear. He had said what she didn't want to hear. He had said all of these things with his actions.

Max shook her head, and she cleared her mind. She had a mission, an objective. She didn't have time to be worried about trivial feelings—even if these "trivial" feelings were the only things that she had that were worth fighting for. Max looked around, and she took note of the pattern, position, and pace of each and every member of her flock. She corrected herself. Those emotions weren't all she had to fight for. She had her flock to fight for. She had her family to fight for. And she was going to fight. She would always fight.

She glanced over at Fang once more. He ignored her gaze, but she knew he felt it. She sighed slightly. Still, though, it would have been nice to know, that once the fighting was done, that she had something—someone—to look forward to. She didn't have that solace, though, not anymore.

She continued to fly straight, turning her sadness into anger, and her anger into fury, flying fury. This was just what she needed to take her mind off of things. She needed a fight, a furiously ferocious fight. She couldn't wait to meet her new enemies.

A/N: Well, I hope that you all enjoyed that chapter. On a side-note, any and all of you, wonderful readers/reviewers, should surely check-out my profile, and see what other of my publicly posted FanFics might interest you! There may be a few. If you have read a book, then the chances are that I have read it as well, and if I have read it, then I'd love to talk about it! Message me, if any of you guys have any questions, or just want to chat, about ANYTHING. I'd love to hear from you! Well, stay tuned for the next update, and please click that subscribe/alert button, if you want the alerts for updates on this story, or simply message me, and ask me to message you every time I update, as I would be HAPPY to do so! So, please R&R, and stay tuned for the next update!