A Musical Interlude

The Firefly was a small piano bar located beneath a popular restaurant. It was never truly filled but it was rarely ever empty. A nice place to sit back and enjoy a quiet night.

There was a dozen people in the room when Max and Maggie arrived. Strolling in through the doors, dressed to the nines, looking like they were having a night on the town.

"This is the place," Max said as he removed Maggie's wrap.

Maggie took in the atmosphere of the small bar; it reminded her of an airport lounge, a sense of the transitory, but classier. "This is quite nice."

"Get used to it," Max said as he grabbed a package of matches from a basket. It had golden writing on it declaring the name of the lounge. "It's yours."

Maggie looked at him to see if this was a joke or not. Max just winked at her and smiled. Then he wandered over to the piano, took a seat and began to play a very familiar song.

Maggie leaned on the piano and looked at Max. "Thank you," she said and then struck into a song. Her voice was sultry and full of life and made everyone in the room smile.

Out of the Frying Pan

"I'm running out of ammo. You know I hate it when I run out of ammo," Maggie told Max. She was leaning against the wall with a machine gun in hand. She had been hit a few times by stray bullets, but she felt fine since they were only flesh wounds. "Why do we get stuck in situations like this?"

Max shrugged and checked his guns and clips. He stood up and leaned against the wall, inching his way to the doorway. Max turned his head at her and winked. He raised his guns and did a quick glance out the door. He got several rounds of fire in return.

"How many do you think are out there?" he asked. 

"Well, given the hail of bullets," Maggie stated, "I think about 50."

"I like them odds," Max replied after a few moments of silence. "Those bastards don't know who they are messing with."

Maggie gave out a little chuckle and then added, "So are we going to do this like Butch and Sundance?"

Fly

The night was humid; with the window open there wasn't much of a breeze blowing through the little apartment. Max walked over to the fan that was blowing and shut it off. 

Max stood in the room, arms akimbo. He had just finished working out and he was covered and sweat and stink. As one black fly landed on him, he glanced at it and nodded. He waited and then a few more came and landed on his body.

Max didn't move at all. He stood statuesque as more and more flies buzzed about his apartment, attracted by the scent.

He was covered in thousands upon thousands of black flies, crawling over his body like maggots on a piece of meat. He stood there and could feel them all, millions of tiny feet crawling over his body. 

His breathing was slow and controlled and his movement was practically non-existent. He was covered with a living blanket of insects, and he felt more in control.  

We need you.

It sounded like thousands upon thousands of tiny voices crying out. And it startled Max for a few seconds; was he finally over that edge? 

You need us.

The cellphone chimed. And when he moved, all the insects took flight, leaving an empty space. There was no sign of Max anywhere, as if he had become part of the insects that covered him.

The cellphone chimed again.

Max's eyes flickered open. He was laying on his bed and he reached for the phone.

Dropstate

Maggie crawled through the air-duct, uncertain of where she was going, still moving as if with a purpose. Fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed in fatigues and sweating bullets.

"Damnation," she whispered under her breath. The gun in her hand ready for action. Stopped crawling when she heard voices filtering through the duct.

"Are you sure?" one said.

"Yeah, psychics picked up another presence about 10 minutes ago," the other said. "Be on alert for anything at all. Shoot first, ask questions later. They're prepping a seance just in case."

"What's going on exactly?" voice one questioned.

"Not sure," the other answered. "But they're paying us the bucks to shoot the shit out of whoever the fuck pentatrated the outer defenses."

Maggie began to crawl but much more slowly, inching her way closer to the screen. Saw a warehouse, tons of boxes and a few crates off to one side. She could also make out two men standing by a door. Strained to hear if there was anyone else in the warehouse section, but couldn't.

"Well, this is a good enough place to start with," she whispered. 

She positioned herself so that her feet were close to the screen, lying on her back. She drew the other gun from the holster and cocked it.

Both guards were startled when the screen fell from the ceiling. She dropped down to the floor 15 feet below, firing both guns as she fell. Bullets coughed from the weapons and hurled through time and space to find their marks.

Both men hit the floor at the same time as she landed.

The Alley

Max was battered and bruised. He staggered down the alley holding his right side. He figured that a rib or two might be broken after throwing himself out of the third story window. And bouncing off a car hood. He guessed it could be worse.

He leaned up against a dumpster for support, his brain going on pure adrenaline. 

His left arm was shattered as well, and hung at an odd angle. Not counting the three bullet wounds along it, as well. He figured there were a few more in him. He knew he could count a few more in him.

His body was covered in third degree burns, as well. Hell, he had expected a trap but he hadn't expected that half the force would be waiting for him. They had wanted him dead, and he managed to escape by taking out 300+ of the goons.

"What a day," Max muttered to himself. He spotted a butt on the ground and bent over to pick it up. "Well, at least my luck is changing for the better."