Current Transmissions:


"What A Tale My Thoughts Could Tell" [version.Upgrade]

Max looked up at the moon then back at the door to the warehouse. A moment to centre himself.

Come on in, Max, he heard Frank's voice in his mind. It's okay. Max thought that his accent sounded stronger than usual.

The building was rundown, damp, empty. Frank was sitting in fractured moonlight on a stool in the middle of the cracked and stained floor.

Max heard his voice again. I need to figure out how to turn this off. Max understood; whether or not distance actually made a difference or not, being isolated was helping Frank cope.

"Are you okay if I come closer?"

I... I think so...

"No promises, I get it," Max said as he slowly approached. "What's the knife for?"

Frank's hand twitched slightly, the blade catching moonlight. I keep thinking I might need to stab myself in the eye if this doesn't settle down soon.

"Fair enough. Can you hold out for a bit longer?'

Frank's head tilted towards Max; he wasn't wearing his glasses but his eyes were in shadow. It's like... There's still this hurricane of synesthesia all around the edges. I can't let it back in or I will drown or implode or-

"Ok Frank. We can figure this out."

You've been psychic before, haven't you?

"On occasion."

I can't - well, 'see' isn't exactly the right word, but your head... I can't tell what it happening inside it. Hm. Sorry. Maybe you were hoping I could solve some mysteries for you.

"No worries, Frank. I like my privacy though, too. Speaking of mysteries, any idea what caused this?"

Maybe it's a leftover from LEGACY? Or maybe it's related somehow to that warning you got from Control? About The System and Counter-System?

"Well, if we can keep you from sticking that knife in your head this might actually turn out to be pretty cool."