To Be Continued

The Professor addressed the latest team. The newest Dragons. It wasn't the first time the roster had been replaced, or recombined. He had worked with so many of them throughout the strange non-years of the Metaplex, the liquid time of plureality. All of the lost and the found, the warriors, the outcasts, knights and assassins, witches and spies. The different teams gathered and sent on their missions, and always The Professor there to guide them, to never really be a part of them. Except the times that he had been, or the times he was never there at all - though most of those he couldn't remember... 

Dexter, Wraith, Darius, Callan. Frank, Goner, Angst, Suki, Aqua. Akimoto, Tatterdemallion. Cromwell, Bern, Caden. Siltailus, Falador, Rickson, Cloak, Nurendemyr. The Kat, Misfit, Silver. Odin, Merlin, Kele-De. Mick. Marshal, Michelle, Nick and Jonas. Nick, Pat and Charlotte. Soma and Heresy. All the Travelers, the Blueberry Hill Gang, the Shelter Team. Bishop, Twofeathers, Trump. Pretty George. Maggie Magenta.

And now, Stone and Riveta, Donnelly and Mayganne, Scorpio. He had explained to them as much as he could, what he was allowed to, what he was able to. And what the plan was. Desperate and uncertain, but the only way the Professor could think to turn this situation around. It wasn't safe to contact Simon Light in any local versions - the Professor had had to quarantine him. But maybe if they went far enough around... Find him, some version of him, somewhere else...

There was no telling if any of them would make it, or who they would be. If they would remember or understand anything. If they would find him and reach him. If that would be enough of a convergence to change things. If this would save things or end them.

The Professor had briefed them. He had taught them all the mantras and visualizations that he knew for transferals. Had exposed them to specifically modulated energy fields. Had read them modernist poetry, shown them certain movies. Tried anything he could think of to help them.

And now he was going to send them into another world and hope that they would somehow return...

Threshold Days

He felt exhausted. 

Last night he had injured a classmate during self-defense training.

This morning the sun was red. Crows lined the road on his drive into the office.

He had yelled at people he was trying to help. He was stuck on a level of the videogame he had been playing. He could only lie to his co-workers and his friends and tell them everything was fine.

Last night he dreamed of killing a man named Morganfokker and of a great feeling of change and relief coming over him, but in the morning the dream made him feel uneasy and scared.

Alison was dead and no one seemed to care. His cellphone would ring and he would answer it and hear only static.

Breakfast of Champions

"Good morning," he said. 

Alice looked at him. He was blond-haired, thirtyish and looked a little rough around the edges. She had just finished pouring him a cup of coffee.

"Hello," she replied with a smile. "What can I get for you this morning?"

"First of all a name would be nice," he stated with a smile of his own. It was a warm smile, a smile that was shared between good friends guarding a personal secret.

Alice looked at him and chuckled. After all she was wearing her name tag on her shirt.

"No," he said. "I was wondering if you knew my name."

Alice looked at his face and into his eyes. They were like pools of liquid, of warm emotion. His face seemed familiar but she attributed that to being a customer. She knew he was here a few times before. "Can't say that I do."

"Damn," he muttered. He took a sip of coffee. "They only reason I asked is that I've been going about seeing things and little flashes of recognition would just spark then die out. For some odd reason seeing your face and seeing something familiar about it sparked something in me."

Alice smiled and knew how he felt. Sometimes she just had an urge or feeling that things happen for a reason. Lately she'd been getting a lot of them. Like yesterday when she took the subway and she thought that she had entered the last car on the platform but when she got on and looked at the back window she saw another car, and in this other car she saw people. People's faces and clothing that seemed out of place and style, and there was this one cheerleader who looked familiar and...

"I suppose I will have the special this morning," he said.

Flames

Susanna shook her bodyguard-slash-houseguest awake. Maggie gasped and sat up. “Where’s my sword?” she asked with a raw voice. 

“It’s right here,” Sue said. She almost picked it up from the floor beside the couch but felt uncomfortable about touching the weapon.

Mags steadied her ragged breath. “What’s happening?”

“You were talking in your sleep, almost shouting. It woke me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Susanna brushed Mags’ hair back in a motherly gesture. “It’s fine, really. Are you ok?”

Maggie had dreamed of the cheerleader again, the one who reminded her of her old friend, Angst. Another lost friend. Except her cheers weren’t rousing, inspirational chants; they were dark, whispering rants. Cruel poetry, words that cut deeper than a demon’s claws. Maggie reached down to touch the katana; it couldn’t cut through ghosts but it made her feel stronger knowing it was there.

“If I say I’m fine will you tease me again about deflecting?”

Susanna smiled. “Let me brew some tea.”

As the woman she was supposed to be guarding for the Professor, and whatever bizarre scheme he was running now, moved into the kitchenette, Maggie shivered and pushed the last echoes of the nightmare from her mind.

“I hope you get attacked soon,” she said, “so this arrangement doesn’t feel so one-sided.”