MORGANFOKKER SAYS THAT SILENCE IS THE ONLY ANSWER THAT DOES NOT LIE

Knight Awakening

The sensation of being poked by a stick is what woke him. Max's body felt like it was on fire, his joints ached and he was disoriented. His mouth felt as dry as a desert. He cracked open his eyelids and the bright sunlight bored into his brain, bringing another bout of great pain.

"Are you dead mister?" a little voice asked.

"Maybe undead," a boy added. "He could be a zombie."

"That's gross," a girl replied.

Max's eyes cleared to see that several children had gathered around him. His mouth was too dry to say anything. He was in some park, lying underneath a picnic table. The kids had gathered round to see the strange man; one of them held a stick like a warrior.

"I think he's a bum," a little girl said matter-of-factly. "My dad says they sleep outside a lot."

"Well, your dad sleeps outside a lot," one kid told the little girl.

"Does not."

"Does too."

Max sat up and hit his head on the bottom of the table. His body was sore and tired. He looked at the 7 kids standing around him. Max saw his clothes were torn and tattered; he had to find some suitable attire.

He brought his hands up to his face; they were still shaking. He really didn't know what was going on but he felt uneasy; he felt that this thing had happened before, maybe once or twice.

"You okay, mister?" a little boy asked. "My dad is a doctor and he can fix you up."

"No doctor," Max said with a dread undertone. He felt that seeing a doctor would cause him greater pain then he was in already.

Max paused for a moment and took in the scenery. His memory fleeting, as if pieces of it were hidden behind a thick curtain. He didn't know what was happening.

"What's your name?" one of the girls asked.

Max had to think about it sometime before answering. "Cube. I think my name is Cube."

A Leaf in the Wind

Max looked up at the sky; it was a different hue, a light yellowish colour. The sky was clear, a cool breeze blew, the sunlight bright, hinting that summer was around the corner. He turned around and paid the cabbie with a huge bill, then walked away without waiting for the change.

Ever since Tuesday, he had had a compulsion to be here. So he took the journey without knowing why. He had learned not to second-guess his impulses. He walked into a corner store and purchased a coffee. He drank it black.

His attention was triggered as he passed by a house on his left. The windows and doors boarded up. Long since abandoned. He paused, putting down his styrofoam cup of coffee on a post. He lit up a cigarette and let the smoke drift from his mouth like a California hill fire.

"Interesting," Max muttered, walking up to the front step.

He didn't know why he was doing this, just that he had this feeling he should. The porch steps creaked under his weight, hinting that they wouldn't take too much longer before they succumbed to old age.

He walked up to a window where the board had slipped and peered inside. The place had been long abandoned. Graffiti covered the walls declaring mulitple slogans of the day: 

You Did It

I Love You All

Dan You Bastard!

Max pulled the board loose and climbed in. Looked around as he strolled through the first floor of the house.

He crouched and butted out his cigarette. "What now?" he asked no one in particular.

A small wind blew through the house and the door to the basement opened up.

Prelude to a Beginning

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of the helicopter as it flew just above the jungle below. He sat there, bolt upright, eyes closed, as sweat rolled down his forehead like a runaway train. He didn't even bothered wipe it.

They were moving in under the cover of the false dawn, like Santa but instead of gifts they were bringing death.

Morganfokker sat across from him, smoking a shitty smelling cigarette, reading a dossier. Raising his eyes from the file, he said, "Max."

Max opened his eyes, looked over at Morganfokker.

"You okay?" Morganfokker asked him.

"Yeah, just the sweat," he lied. 

He didn't dare say anything about the recurring dream he had been having for the past three days. If he did, this mission would be scrubbed. He was a good solider, and like all good soldiers he obeyed orders.

The problem was that Morganfokker knew Max better than Max knew himself. He had spent the last four years subjecting Max to various tests and treatments. The project was coming along according to plan. Morganfokker was pleased that he was going into the field with his star pupil on this one. He would get to see him in action.

There was a low buzzing sound, the sky was blood red.

"We'll be over the LZ in 3 minutes," the helicopter pilot called back. 

Morganfokker tapped Max's leg and handed him a brown envelope. "This is our assignment."

Max ripped the seal and slid the glossy photo out. The picture showed a scene of a small native community, several people sitting about a campfire; a red marker had circled an elderly man who stood there. It named him Muronki, Witch Doctor.

The shaman was the target. He had been classified as a threat and, like all threats, had to be dealt with. Max looked at the photo. He studied the face of the man and then he looked at the surrounding people in the photo. His eyes taking in each person around the shaman.

The door to the copter rolled open and lines were dropped. Max and Morganfokker slid down into the thick tangle of leaves and vines. They checked their gear as the helicopter disappeared overhead, leaving them alone in the jungle.

"The village is just a few miles this way," Morganfokker said. "Let's get this done, quickly."

Max checked his handgun and brought the weapon up behind Morganfokker's head and pulled the trigger. Strawberry pie flew forward.

"I quit," he said to the corpse. He crumpled the photo and dropped it onto the body. He headed towards the village.

The crumpled photo began to uncrumple. One of the faces around the shaman was that of a young woman; she looked like she was looking directly at the camera. Her eyes held a look of knowing, and her t-shirt declared: I [heart] U.

Max didn't know who she was, but he definitely remembered seeing her somewhere before.

... and on Monday Morning She Awoke

Maggie rose in the morning, thinking, as she often did, of what her main purpose in life was. For the past six months she had been recovering from a near fatal wound; now her body had healed as well as it could, and it was time for her to get back to work. And get back to Max. 

That's if she could find him. He'd been missing since the explosion had thrown her across the room.

She had come to in the hospital, listed as Jane Doe. She feigned amnesia. The police came in a few times to question her and all they got was just static. Some shrinks followed, a social worker. She played the role that was expected of her. 

It was determined that she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no charges where laid. The explosion in the abandoned factory was attributed to a gang turf war. If the police had really scratched the surface, they would have discovered a whole other reason.

She yawned and stretched, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reached for a wallet-sized photo of a man looking straight into the camera, more akin to a mug shot than a normal nightstand photo. The picture was crumpled and worn; it looked like it had been taken in the 1950's. It was the only relic they had found on her, and it wasn't a good clue whatsoever.

"How come I can't feel you?" she whispered. 

She wondered where he was; now he was a ghost that haunted her dreams, or were they other realities? She hadn't felt a shift in a long, long time. Maybe the war was finally was over, maybe this was a new life. To continue on as a mundane.

"That's crazy thoughts," she muttered to herself. She got up and headed to the shower.