20 or less years ago: "Prep him," a voice ordered. "But..." "No buts." The voice was cold and full of authority. "You do as I say or I find someone else who will." "Right away, sir." "And then send him back." "What?" "Did I stutter?" Control asked. "Your paid to do as you're told and do that." "But the potential this..." "Just do it!" Control stood over the table and looked down upon the kid on the table; he had to be no more than 11 or 12 years old, but it was a successful trawl. He was the first experiment that they had pulled; Project Paperfold was a success. But there was one major side-effect, and it had been a simple flaw on the part of the scientist who had done it. Control took the clipboard and scanned it. The test subject's name was: Max Cube, 11 years old. Taken during a lucid event in his sleep. Control smiled; the project was a success. Poor kid though, will probably never be the same....
The sun was bright and burning, Maggie sat in the shade of the rockface. Maggie scanned the area and could make out two dozen of them, hiding behind buildings, burnt out cars and other forgotten relics of the past. "We're pinned," Trump said; he had tucked himself into a dark nook trying to keep cool in the heatwave. "What do you mean we?" Maggie asked him. She shot him a glance and a wink. "Well, you know," Trump replied. "When they come, you stay hidden," she told the cat. "Don't do anything to let them know you exist." Maggie reloaded the guns, preparing for the eventual assault that was inevitable. She stuck the katana in the ground beside her and knelt before it. She hadn't been in a good old-fashioned, no-holds-barred battle in a while. She feared that she was getting rusty. "Why is that?" Trump wanted to know. "Because you are a talking cat!"
"So what's the game plan?" Suki asked. "Just go with the flow," Max told her. He folded the book he was reading and dropped it on the seat beside him. It was 'The Fly in The Ointment: 70 Fascinating Commentaries on the Science of Everyday Life by Dr. Joe Schwarcz'. Max had found it left behind on one of the seats a few days ago and had started to read it; it was a fine read. "Well, I could go for something to eat," Suki stated. She plopped herself down in the seat across from Max. "Sounds like a good plan to me," he said. He had been feeling a tad peckish. Suki seemed to be enjoying her new role in life, a guardian of sorts. She was confident in her newfound status as a Dragon. Though she was a tween, she had a good head on her shoulders. Akimoto was sitting in the back of the car, looking out at the long darkness. He had been in deep thought, memories of a pleasant time when he was one with the universe, instead a universal pawn. "You up for a burger, Ak-Ak?" Suki called back, breaking him from his trance. "Sure thing, Maus... Suki," Akimoto corrected himself.
Max was bunkered down for the night; he was sitting on his cot reading a comic book. Somewhere, someone had an AM radio tuned into some station that was playing some melancholy song from a world away. His boots were tucked underneath his bunk, and his socks were rolled up into a ball in them. Max's feet were free from their wretched prison for now. He had just came off a heavy shift and was eager to put it behind him. The rain outside was coming down hard; it had been raining for three days steady. Max was glad to be in his cot, with feet up and reading anything that he could get his hands on. Pretty George was lying on the cot beside Max; he was digging around in his foot locker. And he glanced up at Max, his eyes focused on the book that Max was reading. A devilish gleam emerged in his eyes. "What are you going to do with that?" Pretty asked of Max. Max looked over at him. "The comic book," Pretty asked him. "What are you going to do with it afterwards?" "Don't know," Max replied; he was in the middle of X-Men action. Marvel Girl was just about to show some evil mutant what the extent of her powers were. "I'll trade you three packs of smokes for it once you're done," Pretty offered. Which made Max pause and peer over the comic book. He countered, "Make it six." Pretty smiled, "Four and that's final." "It's a deal."
"I wouldn't kid about commodity," Pretty told him. "You just got to know what wheels to grease in order to make the machinery run smoother." A dogface approached Pretty and traded a few razor blades for a pair of nylons, then Pretty turned his attention towards Max. "I'm George," he said as he stuck out his hands. "As long as were going to be sharing the cost next to each other might as well get friendly." "Max," said as he leaned over and shook Pretty's hand.
