Previously in v.Western... * It was a dark time for Omega Canyon. A year had passed since The Incident at Judgement Grotto. The rumours about what had happened far outnumbered the facts and the townsfolk were content to let the tales be, as if telling them was like to summon trouble. While the certainties about what had transpired in the graveyard that night - and about how it had led to the ranch of a mysterious horsebreeder being burned down - were few, there were some details about what followed that were plainly agreed upon. Logollos and his corrupt ways were gone. Driven out or shot down, folks wouldn't offer a guess either way. He wasn't missed. The lawman Dexter Washington had given up his badge and taken up residence in the Canyon, opening a small schoolhouse. The marshal Wednesday Wraith had also unpinned her star and become a part-owner of the local printing press. She had began publishing a newspaper. Callan Lokk had won The Hanged Man Saloon in a card game, kept the original owner in his employ, and given up gambling. A new graveyard had been fenced-off and consecrated - the final act of the priest Darius Angelus before he disappeared. The last of the strangers who had ridden into town the day before The Incident had also disappeared, the bounty hunter Mags Magenta. Those were the handful of facts but out of the many, many rumours one was generally considered to be true: that when the grave of the strange drifter Sugarcube had been opened that mysterious night it was not his body they found inside. However odd, The Incident and what came of it had actually changed the fortune of the Canyon for the better. The reversal of that fortune, and the cause of the current troubles, began shortly after when the Office of Frontier Affairs arrived and announced the discovery of oil in the land surrounding Omega...
The last time that the drifter they called 'Sugarcube' - some stories said it was his sweet disposition, others involved a penchant for using treats to lure horses away from their rightful owners - had been through Omega Canyon it'd been a quiet, restful place. A good town to find a bit o' work or to lay low if need be, for whatever such reasons as a wanderin' soul with a knack for trouble-makin', or at least trouble-findin', might have. The folk of Omega were welcoming and not likely to inquire, so long as the trouble stayed out o' the Canyon. But, as is the way of things, the town had changed. A mysterious landowner had moved in and he had brought a lot of two things with him: money and bad intentions. Wasn't long before the man they called Logollos had bent the will and the ways of the Canyon to a murkier, downright poisonous, disposition. So when Sugarcube returned and voiced his distaste with the new cruelties he found in the former haven, well, it led, as it often does, to a showdown in the main street. Whether Logollos won the draw fair-and-square or whether there was some species o' chicanery involved was a truth kept hidden by the townsfolk. And whether that was outta spite or fear was another mystery in itself. But truth always has its seekers, and mysteries beg to be solved... And so it was that some weeks after Sugarcube was gunned down in the street that a misfit gang of gunfighters rode into Omega Canyon lookin' to avenge the death of their friend. A bounty hunter, a sheriff, a gambler, a marshal, and a preacher. And, to borrow a phrase, Hell followed with them.
The following excerpt is taken from producer Greg
Logollos' hidden wiretap that was planted in Max Cube's trailer. Mr. Cube can be heard
talking on the phone with Entertainment Now! reporter Speck Richards. It
was played during Logollos' trial to show how he had spied on his actors'
private lives.
"You know I never thought it would last this long. I'm
still amazed at the originality of the series and the fresh stuff that
we are able to spawn on a weekly basis. After each episode I wonder how
we can top that. But the writers never cease to amaze with the next
story arc. Even though we've been on eleven years now... eleven freakin'
years - that's hard to believe... I'm just waiting for this current
writers' strike to be over so I can head back into the studio and
continue on this amazing ride. You think after eleven years of 24
episodes each year and three TV movie specials that you'd get sick of
doing the same thing. But for me it's home... It's the comfort of not
knowing what lies in store. I'm glad I got in on the ground floor and
watched it flourish. Heck, I'm surprised they still want me to keep
doing what I do with the major cast overhaul three seasons ago. Yeah,
brilliant, simply brilliant.... and yet the similarity between events
in our lives were reflected on the series... simply amazing indeed..."
Max stood on the promenade deck; he was leaning with his
back against the railing. His hand holding a red pen, writing along the
margins of the script.
Damn, these hacks couldn't write worth beans. He
was constantly changing things, adding colons, fixing up the words here
and there, and changing the details to make things more cohesive and
clearer for the audience.
"Finished yet?" Simon said as he approached. He
was carrying two cups of coffee and offered one to Max. "You've been
out here for over an hour. I figured you needed this."
"It's not easy
turning crap into gold," Max replied as he put the cap on the red pen
and clipped it to the page he was editing. He accepted the cup and took a
pull from it.
"What's the scoop?" Simon inquired. "We shooting this
scene today or not?"
"We're three days late as it is," Max replied.
"Logollos is dancing around the producers," Simon said. "He's working
his magic in order for this movie to be finished on time."
"Christ, we're over budget as well," Max said. "I hope to hell this
doesn't end up as another Heaven's Gate fiasco."
The ship chugged along
the river as Max took another pull of the coffee. "Here comes The
Professor now," Simon said under his breath.
"Are you finished with the
changes, Max?" The Professor asked. He was dressed in a windbreaker and
had on a baseball cap that read Cube Productions. "We need to shoot the
next few scenes now before the weather changes again. The lightning and
the weather is a good mood-setter for this."
Logollos put the phone down on the receiver and
cracked a vicious smile and said to no one in particular, "'And that's
how the game is played."
"Don't you know that in games you can
bend the rules here and there?" said a voice from the shadows, which
startled the hell out of him. Logollos scanned his office and couldn't
find the form. He had to have the bio-detectors checked once again; this
was the third time in a month they didn't scan anyone out of the
ordinary. He didn't panic, instead quickly moved his foot over to the
alarm switch underneath his desk. All he had to do now was stall the
intruder for thirty seconds.
"I don't know who you are and how
you came in here," he said with all the charm and charisma of a
snake-oil salesman. "But it's the last thing that you'll ever do."
"Precisely,"
Mayganne said as she stepped into the light, holding one hell of a
handgun. It looked like an arquebus.
Before Logollos had a chance to
reply she pulled the trigger and a blue ball of energy shot out of the
barrel.
The top ten floors of the Legacy Tower erupted into a brilliant ball of light which could be seen for miles around.
The clatter of the tracks suddenly got louder as the car entered a tunnel. Riveta grabbed a railing and stood up.
"Where's Mayganne?" she asked, her voice panicked.
Stone glanced around, blinking. "Ok... calm down..." he said softly, maybe to his former-partner, maybe to himself.
Riveta had the truth of it, though: Mayganne wasn't with them. Scorpio's cell-phone was ringing.
Donnelly turned to them, looking disoriented. "There's some people... in the next car... strange..."
Riveta
turned, checking for her pistol under her jacket, relieved at the feel
of the steel. Looked past the Father, through the window in the door at
the end of the car.
A girl in a tattered sweater talking to a
huge man, his blond hair tied in a top-knot. A cheerleader and another
teenage girl in a cowboy hat. Two other men.
Simon put a hand out to steady Riveta. "It's okay," he said. He looked exhausted. "We'll be okay."
Scorpio snapped his cell-phone shut, ending his quick call with Greg Logollos. From LEGACY.
"That was the Professor," Scorpio said. "We're supposed to kill the people in the next car."
Milton
checked the figures on his sheet and rolled the dice.
"Got
it," he said excitedly. Ayanami
nodded from the head of the table, checked her notes. She brushed her
blue bangs out of her eyes and fixed Milton with a dramatic stare.
"So Scorpio takes the shot and the bullet punctures the panel.
Sparks fly... And the steel doors slide open. Everyone make one final
health check as the toxins evacuate the chamber." Shinji
made his, as did Milton - and good thing because he was almost out -
but Asuka failed hers. Ayanami
continued. "So Aries and Scorpio stay conscious, but you guys
still have the action penalty. Gemini passes out." "I
start CPR," Shinji said, rolling the dice. "Got a
seventeen." "I
try and keep aim on the doorway," Milton said. "Alright,
Gemini, you get another health check now, at +3 thanks to Aries. And
Scorpio, your vision is still a little blurry, but you can make out
one of the genetically modified security dogs creeping slowly down
the hall. It snarls at you." As Ayanami described the scene, she
also passed Milton a note, private character info the other players
couldn't hear. The
note said: Scorpio
hears a faint buzzing sound inside his head and a staticky voice says
'This transmission is coming to you...' Milton and some of the other morning commuters had gotten to know each
other over the months that they had all shared a car to and from work each
day. Milton would often retell the events from his Sunday night
gaming group to one or more of the regular train passengers, if he
felt that they were in the mood to hear it. He knew they humoured him a
lot, and thought him geeky, but they also seemed to enjoy hearing
about the ongoing adventures of The Zodiac Squad.
Of course, they had
no idea that Milton's gaming group didn't actually exist - that it was
something he imagined every night as he fell asleep. A
wish-fulfillment fantasy where he played a Role-Playing Game with the
characters from the anime Neon
Genesis Evangelion. Sometimes
he would imagine Ayanami or Asuka going home with him afterwards, but
mostly he imagined the gaming sessions. He knew it was strange to
imagine pretending to be Scorpio instead of imagining actually being
Scorpio, but for some reason he couldn't do it. He had this almost
superstitious idea that if he started imagining being Scorpio rather
than wanting to be him, that he would somehow never actually become
Scorpio in real life. So
every Monday morning during the commute by train into the city,
Milton Reddings told his made-up stories about made-up stories.
Except the bits about sleeping with cartoon characters. And
this Monday morning one of his regular audience members said, "You
know Milton, we could always use a guy like you at the company. If
you ever get tired of your current job, that is." He handed
Milton his business card. "Thanks
Greg," Milton said. He didn't exactly know what it was that Greg
did for a living, but he seemed happy and well-paid.
Milton looked at
the card. All it said, above the phone number and the name Greg
Logollos, was LEGACY.
The
Alpha Move Logollos
was more than just sweating, he was anxiously waiting for the snake to
show itself and be skinned once and for all. There
was silence. Too quiet. Even though the squads about were trained
professionals they were getting antsy as well. Having been alerted to a
potential threat they had been on high energy, and nothing resulting from it "Only
two more hours to go?" the woman asked. "Are you sure they
will be here?" "Yes,"
Logollos said. "They are playing the waiting game." "Don't
you think that's a foolish move on their part?" the woman
inquired. She butted out a cigarette in an ashtray, there were two
dozen butts there already. "This is a childish last desperate
act, isn't it?" Logollos
chuckled to himself, and then his eyes widened with realization.
Vipers
In Glass The
setting sun was reflecting off the tower's black glass. Giving the
structure a more ominous tone, and that was the effect the designers had wanted. To look pleasing but menacing as well. It was a huge
structural beauty in the downtown core sector. It was a holiday, which meant that ninety percent of businesses were
closed. So the downtown core was not busy. Sure, the city didn't rest,
but on ritual days the white cells liked to chill down for a bit. Logollos
stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He was
surveying the city. He had over two dozen cell teams out there,
waiting for whenever things began. His eyes bloodshot, his hair
slightly disheveled, he looked like an anti-superman. "You
think they are that stupid to do a full frontal assault?" the
woman asked. "They
are," Logollos said. "They have no other option." "What
makes you so sure?" the woman questioned. "Phase Three begins at Midnight tonight," Logollos answered. "And
all Hell is going to break loose one way or another."
Back
In Town Logollos
was in the car when his cellphone chirped in. He answered it. He had
been getting updates on the situation at hand. A
Cleaning Roster had perished. They were taken out, and reports had
come in that it wasn't Agent Light. Even
before the police had been alerted, Simon's apartment was immaculate.
Not even a cup out of place. The
other bad news concerned Detective Stone. Two of their men were found
dead, heads beaten by a tire iron, and now the cops were sniffing
around the door. There was no clean-up that could get to it, so now
he had to work his magick. To chat with the press. They were sniffing
around like jackals. He
nodded on the phone as the person on the other end was relaying more
information and details. Logollos sneered. "Yes,
I think it has gone too far," Logollos said. "I think
it's time to call in our markers."
Anger
Management Logollos
slammed his fist into the the armrest of the seat of the private
plane. Making two men look up at him. He
had just gotten off the phone and things had just taken some drastic
turns. Turns he hadn't anticipated. Turns that could mean big trouble
for him.
The
Best Laid Plans Greg’s
day had been very long. And his night had been too short. The meeting
had gone very well, but was exhausting. The private celebration he
had arranged for himself with some local talent, charged to his
discretionary fund, had also gone well and was also exhausting,
albeit in a much more satisfying way. He had been ready for sleep
when the phone had rung, and everything had started to fall apart. “You’re
telling me that they are gone,” he said, his voice perched on the
edge of fury. He listened. “If you are implying that the
intelligence I extracted from Sanderson was faulty… No, I’m sure
you weren’t.” Greg
got out of bed and moved to the wet-bar. Poured a drink. “So
Cube must have tipped them off… Which means he’s made Agent
Light…” He
took a sip. Something was wrong. “Except
that Theory planted that coverstory, about the infection, so that
Cube would sever contact with the experiment… Would he really have
risked it?” He
took a gulp. This was the wrong time for the situation to be moving
so far outside parameters. The result of today’s meeting was that
the backers were ready for the project to move to Phase Three. Except
that thanks to Cube they had lost the project, then found it, and now
lost it again. “No,
of course you don’t. Fine. It’s time to cancel Light’s
involvement. Use one of the Sanction Roster. It’s time this gets
sorted out. I want a report on my desk by the time I return
tomorrow.” Greg
sat on the edge of the bed. He could see himself in the mirror on the
wall. Here, alone in the room, backstage, out of the spotlight, he
looked tired.
The
Waiting Greg
Logollos sat in the huge waiting room; there was a table by his side
with a cup of herbal tea. He was sitting reading the New York Times,
catching up on the day's events. He
had taken a Concorde and flown three hours to be here; he had scheduled
this meeting and it was only proper for him to attend on time. He
was far from tired, and he looked ever the professional with his
chiseled good looks and his charismatic appeal. He looked like a man
waiting for a lunch date. He
didn't even bother to look up as a door opened, and footsteps
filtered across the marble floor. Like grasshoppers clicking their
heels. "His
Excellency will see you now, Mr. Logollos," a young man in long
robes addressed him. Greg
looked up and smiled, a smile that looked like it could slice through
a dark heart. He
folded the newspaper neatly, and reached over and took a sip from the
herbal tea. Placing the cup gingerly on the saucer, he stood up and
nodded at the young priest.
The
Economy of Tragedy "We're
sorry to keep you up so late, Mr. Sanderson. We're almost done." Hank
nodded at the man in the suit. The woman sitting beside him continued
to type things into the laptop. "It's ok, I don't mind. It will
all be worth it." The
woman paused in her typing to look at him. "It will be, we
assure you." "You
can make it go back to the way it was... Before he showed up,"
Hank said. The
man answered. "We most certainly can. In fact, if things go
according to our projected design, we will be able to make some
adjustments that you might find... to your liking." Hank
was tired, and his head was swimming. A lot of the meetings he had been to these last few days were blurry, dreamy. He had answered
every question they had asked. Had he told them about his feelings
for Alice too? "And
you can make sure he won't show up again?" Hank asked. "We
have someone working on that right now," Greg Logollos said.
Vector "Thank
you for meeting with me, Agent Light," Greg Logollos said,
taking a seat across from the young man. He looked crisp and clean in
his expensive three-piece suit. At the tables surrounding them other
patrons of the Azure restaurant carried on their own quiet
conversations. A background whisper of deals and bargains and
secrets. Simon
tapped a key on his PDA, opening a file to take notes. "You have
some information regarding a current investigation?" Greg
poured a cup of coffee from the urn on the table and offered it to
Simon. "No
thank you. I don't drink coffee." Greg
smiled. "No, of course not. But yes, we do feel we can be
helpful in certain matters, yes." Something about the man's
smooth tone made Simon miss the gruff detectives from the other day.
"LEGACY has always enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship
with all of the agencies such as yours. What is the current slang?
The Alphabet crews? We've worked with the FBI, CIA, CSIS, NSA, DEA,
MI6-" "I
understand, Mr. Logollos. Please, I don't have a lot of time."
Things hadn't quieted down since he was first tapped to check out some
potential terrorist activity. The diner, the building
downtown - some sort of makeshift hostel based on the
remains - both burnt down. The mutilated bodies, complete with a small
arsenal of cutting-edge gear, splattered inside the warehouse. The
body of Lon Lugerelli, killed execution-style. The appearance
of the Fujimoria woman, taken off their watch-lists over five years
ago when she was reported dead. The body of Aaron Quipton, found in
an apartment along with signs of a kidnapping, killed by an
as-yet-unidentified energy weapon. The
action-movie-car-chase-gunfight on the interstate four days ago. A
strange and violent set of tracks that Simon was trying to follow to
whatever beast was stalking his territory. Greg
nodded. "Indeed. Agent Light, you're aware of the recent
incident at our research facility. We believe it is directly
connected to your current pursuit of Ms. Suki Fujimoria for
questioning in a number of deaths and incidents of arson." Simon
arched an eyebrow. "Connected how?" "In
a number of ways, possibly. Most importantly, we believe that she is
currently trying to locate the man who is the cause of all the
recent... chaos." "That's
a man I would be interested in meeting. What's your interest? This
person was somehow responsible for the damage to your facility?" Greg
nodded. He sipped his own coffee. For a moment he stared at the
liquid in the cup. "Our principle concern is this man's recent
attempts to sabotage an ongoing experiment being conducted by LEGACY.
An act of corporate espionage, if you will." "Who
is he?" "His
name is Max Cube." Simon
shrugged. "Should I know the name?" Greg
studied the agent for a moment. "I thought you might." "We'll
need everything you have on him, of course," Simon said, tapping
his PDA. "Of
course," Greg nodded. "I am pleased to be able to inform
you that we have a lead on the Fujimoria woman." "Really?" Greg
leaned in closer and explained to Simon that an employee of LEGACY
was currently being held hostage by Fujimoria, and that by
using some classified satellite technology and an employee
genetic-tagging system, they were in the process of locating them. Greg
smiled. "We'll have coordinates for you within 24 hours."
Damage
Control "...
upon initial investigation there was a rupture in the main gasline
which caused the explosion at our research facility two days ago,"
Greg Logollos said into a podium full of microphones. He happened to
be the man of the hour, with all the personality of a superstar and
the charismatic appeal of a politician. Plus the soul of a snake. "It
wasn't an outright attack as the media stated when the event
occurred." It
was his job. Damage control; to make sure that the recent events had
no bearing on what was unfolding. To make lies become truth, and the
truth to become fiction. He loved his work. "So
it wasn't an act of terror then?" a reporter from CNW asked.
"Eyewitness' reported seeing a van heading in the general
direction of the complex before there was an explosion." "Oh
yes," said Logollos, with the skill of a snakeoil salesman. "We
all know how the media likes to pick up on small details and bend
them to make it look like one thing when in fact there is
a simpler solution altogether." "Does
the security videotapes show anything unusual at all?" a
reporter from ABNC News asked. "The
video tapes show nothing," he said honestly. Because it was the
truth, since an electromagnetic pulse wiped out everything in a ten
mile radius of the facility. That was standard procedure in case
something like this happened. "The
matter is under federal investigation and until we know what they
know, that is all I can say," Logollos said with a lie so thick
you could call it titanium.
Deception Point Luger
arrived through the side door of The Azure restaurant. He walked
through the kitchen, not paying attention to the chef or the kitchen
staff. And they paid no attention to him. He had done this a few
times before, so he was recognizable and unnoticeable. He
strolled from the staff door and into the crowded restaurant; it
wasn't noon yet but the restaurant was filling up with suits dining
and talking business and deals. He walked to a corner booth and slid
into a chair. "What
have you got?" the man in the expensive three piece suit asked.
"It better be good." "The
other day a man was invited to the Rave," Luger said. "He
fits the description you said to look out for." "Did
you get a name?" The man in the suit was interested and leaned
forward now that Luger had a juicy tidbit to offer. "Max,"
Luger said. "I didn't get his last name." The
man in the suit cracked a huge smile before he took out his cellphone and hit a number with his thumb, as he stood up and headed for
the door. "I
did good?" Luger asked as he chased after the man. "Is
this big money good?" "Luger
my friend," the man in the suit said. "You've just earned a
$10,000 bonus."
