Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and quotes from Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment belong to James Patterson. All quote from The Incredible Hulk comic book series belong to Marvel comic books (Now owned by Disney Inc.) and their affiliates.

Okay guys and girls, this is my first legit attempt at a Maximum Ride fic. But, before I get started, I need to make something clear. I think we all know that JP wasn't planning on writing these last couple of books, and frankly they've been kind of sub-par. I don't mean any disrespect or anything, I'm just saying that you can tell when parts of a story were forced...It just doesn't come out right.

So, this fic pics up immediately after Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports I won't say too much, so let's just jump right in! Don't forget to review!

My name is Max.

I'm eighteen. I "live" in Arizona with my mom, Dr. Valencia Martinez and my sister, Ella. Sounds pretty normal right?

That's probably because I forgot to mention the fact that I have wings. Yeah, you heard right. Wings. I wasn't born, not like a normal person. I was harvested-genetically engineered while still in the womb and then plucked out to be poked and prodded and tested in all my recombinant glory-I'm two percent bird. I'm stronger and faster and more hardcore than anyone you'll ever meet. And I've got this irritating Voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm supposed to save the world.

I'm a regular Joan of Arc.

Except for the fact that she ended up being burned at the stake; that's something I'm hoping to avoid.

I'm not alone in my quest to save the World As We Know It: even the Incredible Max needs help sometimes. That's what Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel are for.

Fang is my right-hand man. I trust him with my life. He's at least six inches taller than I am, which kind of bugs me a little. He also has this creep-tacular talent of being able to move in with complete silence; great for getting the drop on the bad guys-'cept he usually does it to me. He's also the quietest out of all of us bird-kids, and sometimes comes across as a little...well emotionless.

Iggy is our resident pyro, which isn't really that alarming by itself, considering the fact that he's seventeen-a whole six months younger than I am thank-you-very-much- and that most boys have a thing for fire. However, when you factor in the fact that he's, you know, blind, it turns into a whole new ballgame.

I know what you're thinking: Really Max? You're going to let the blind guy play with matches?

And my answer is: Yes.

Why?

'Cause even though he's blind, Iggy has heightened senses. And I'm not just talking the normally heightened senses that come from having a disability like that. I'm talking über-wicked, freaking sonar hearing-he can hear a mouse sneeze from a hundred yards away. And oh man can that boy cook! His senses of touch and smell combined are so acute that he can make several hundred different meals from scratch, just by knowing what certain measurements feel like. That's just freakin' awesome.

Nudge, who is fourteen, is our car specialist. When the devil-incarnate, Jeb Batchelder was pretending that he actually cared about us, he brought her tons of car magazines to read. You wouldn't guess it from the way she's constantly rambling on about fashion and chicness, the latest Hollywood gossip, but that girl can strip an engine and put it back together blindfolded. And, she can talk her way out of pretty much any situation you can imagine. It comes in handy sometimes, but mostly it's just annoying. But...I love her to bits anyway. (And if you repeat any soppiness to anyone I will find out about it...And you won't like me when I'm angry)

Gazzy (a.k.a. "The Gasman") is Iggy's partner in crime, and as his name would lead one to believe, he has some funky digestive issues. A word to the wise: Stay upwind. Sometimes I think Iggy is a bad influence for him, but he's only eleven, so I can't really blame him for being impressionable; besides, Iggy knows better than to teach Gazzy anything too crazy...I hope. Gazzy is extraordinarily tough for an eleven-year-old, which sometimes makes you forget that he's just a kid, and he needs love and attention just like everyone else. That's not an easy thing to remember whilst fighting for your freedom against an army of genetically-engineerd supersoldiers, but I do my best.

And last but not least, is Angel, my baby girl. She's nine, and like her brother, is incredibly tough for her age. However, she has fits like any normal nine-year-old would on occassion, so sometimes I have to remind her to toe the line. She's a good kid though. Lately, she's beginning to worry me a little. You see, She has the power to...MindJack...a brilliant term from Max Ride Dictionary of Flock Lingo, which basically means she knows what you're thinking, all the time, and she can make you do whatever she wants. It's an ability that's gotten us out of a bunch of pretty hairy situations, but I like to keep tabs on it, just so I know she isn't going to go crazy one day and try to take over the world.

Sheesh, I'm getting sick of all this 'Save, the World' business.

Which is why, when the Voice woke me up at three in the morning with the worst migraine in the history of the entire freaking universe, I was not pleased to hear what it had to say.

That's it for now guys and girls, just your basic intro...I'll write more later; if I force it it's going to suck, so please try to be patient.

Catch you on the flipside,

Ink17