Secret Society Part Three

Kimberly came to with a noise, a raw sound from the border of things, her trained hand serpenting from under the covers to slap the panel on the bedside table. A dozen buttons but only one left active overnight to ensure her fumbling fingers didn't launch the wrong sequences. The protocols and precautions of Perdieux.

Lights and speakers and recorders embedded in the walls and furniture of the apartment turned on. Patterns of sound and colour, programmed a decade ago by Perdieux and only now gaining cautious acceptance in the most edgy of the city's dance clubs. What they did to her senses, her lobes. Waking consciousness recoiled from the post-psychedelic display, barricaded from entering standard flatline perception. In the blurry visual and auditory fugue Kimberly began shouting out details of the dream in the evoked sleep-awake hybrid language.

"She is staring ate muself bright coallition her hair stream moment as we pass. I... surrounded by the street familiars new breed criminal intentions incongruous with her later betrayal collision distinct against that look, how can we have looked at each other like that it done it's done after what she'll do..."

The Fragment Missing

"I think we have a serious problem," Maggie said.

"Don't I know it," Max replied as he rubbed his temples. "I think yesterday is missing."

Maggie was sitting at the dining table, her fingers dancing across the keyboard on her laptop. Max was leaning up against a wall, a cigarette in hand as he stood there pondering things.

"Just as I suspected," Maggie said. She turned the laptop towards Max. He leaned forward and looked at the screen and then shook his head.

"Damn!" he muttered as he balled his right hand into a fist. "That rat bastard! How dare he!"

The screen showed the livejournal page of a user; there was only one entry and it didn't detail anything at all. Just a part of a conversation.

Phenomenonialistic

Maggie ran down the hallway, firing at the window until it fractured opened and then she dove out through it. The thing she hated the most about this move was that there was a percentage chance of getting cuts while going through the window.

She was free-falling now and that was okay. She let go of the gun and then turned in the air like a diver at a competition. She spread her arms wide and the cape billowed outwards, to help guide her body.

Midway down the alarm on her chronometer began to ring. She reached out and caught the flagpole and swung around, three times, to slow her momentum, and then let go. She was going at a 90 degree angle, then she caught the lamppost and twirled around, like a spinning top, down to the ground.

She landed gracefully, like the sidewalk were eggshells, then, looking up at the skyscraper, she walked towards the street, just as a car was pulling up.

"What took you?" Maggie asked Max.

"I ran into a few old friends," Max said with a wink.

Out of Touch, Out of Time

"Is this Disneyland?" Angst asked, as she peered down to the city below.

"Yep," said Max. He didn't bother looking; he had been there before and didn't much care for it. He took out some tobacco and began to roll a smoke. 

"Welcome to hell is more like it," Maggie replied. She stood on the edge peering at the elegant city through her binoculars. The Big Apple. This one rotten to the core. She handed the binoculars to Angst and turned to face Max. "Well, looks like they are setting up a welcoming committee."

Angst could make out a huge army forming just on the outskirts of the city. She scanned the legion, making out the thousands of spears and the banners of human skulls that were raised towards the sky. Angst spat out in disgust.

"Where are they going?" Angst asked. She turned to see Max put the cigarette to his lips and spark it up. She frowned a little. She didn't care too much for smoking.

"Who knows," Max replied. "They could be sent to hunt us."

"You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you," Maggie said. She punched him in the arm.

MORAGNFOKKER SAYS THAT YOU MUST NEVER FORGET THAT ALL THE SUFFERING YOU EXPERIENCE IS THE RESULT OF CHOICES YOU YOURSELF HAVE MADE

Of Totems

Buzz.

The black fly zipped along through the air, amongst the darkness and on instinct. It was attracted to the scent of sweat. It found its target, a man sitting cross-legged on a mat in the center of a studio apartment.

Max sat in a lotus position in the apartment, covered in sweat. He was meditating. Incense burned somewhere, its aroma flooding the room with a honeysuckle fragrance. It had been a rough few months and he was glad to find a place to rest for a while and gather his thoughts.

Buzz.

Black flies buzzed about him, landing on him, crawling about his body. Max didn't mind it; it was all part of the zen. His eyes were closed but he was sitting there field-stripping several weapons that were scattered about him, his hands automatically flowing to the parts he needed to complete the guns.

Buzz.

For the past few years he had felt like he was on the window-sill of life, looking out on something that was unique. Though his perspective was somehow tainted with cloudy visions of what was or was not going to happen. He just needed this time to think. He needed time just for himself, to converse with the center vision.

The last of the weapons was assembled, and they laid out before him in a single line, arranged by size, with Joy and Pain book-ending the rest. He opened his eyes, and saw several flies crawling about him. The hairs on his body acted like a sensor, and it picked up their pattern tenfold. Max let out a long sigh and smiled.

Alive She Cried

"Gimme that, you big palooka!"

Maggie snatched the hat off of the big jock's head. The big brute simply let out a chuckle. Maggie nodded at him and then tossed the hat aside; she really didn't want it in the first place. The hat wasn't long before being picked up by someone else on the much crowded street.

"Now you don't look so much like a dork," she told him. 

The jock didn't smile, but he nodded. "But The Professor said we are supposed to keep a low profile," he said. He continued to walk with his hands in his leather jacket. 

Maggie walked ahead and turned to face him. "Well, you sure stood out in that pimp hat! And I ain't one of your girls!"

"Sorry Maggie," the jock said. "But the Professor said..."

"Let me handle that," Maggie said with a playful wink.

They walked down the streets of the city, passing by others. They were out for a night on the town. Maggie was actually feeling alive; she loved this. She twirled with her arms open as she walked; it was summer and hot and it was West Hollywood. It had been a long while since she had been here last and it was good to take the chance to visit.

"Ah, there we go!" Maggie said. "The Whiskey A Go Go! It's one of the final nights I get to see them play."

"Who?" the jock asked. 

"Why The Doors of course!" Maggie said. "Why'd you think I wanted to come here and visit in the first place? We only have a 5 hour window so let's make the most of it!"