Dan drew a card from the deck and looked at it. GUN FU +10. It was something that he needed in order to take the beast down.
He looked down at the pattern of cards on the table: his Max was tapped out, he had used Cigarette Clue and Mystic Java earlier in the fight against the big boss. He knew that if he didn't get the card he needed it would be over. He had never had to depend more on the luck of the draw and he got it.
"Looks like it's going to be curtains for Max," Chance replied. His Darius card had Bible Verse of Doom, Skateboard of Protect +2, and Angelic Wings attached to the kid.
"The game isn't over yet," Dan replied.
Showing posts with label max. Show all posts
Showing posts with label max. Show all posts
20160213
20160211
Up and Down The Dial
*click*
... and tonight on MasterCook we have three constants left....
*click*
.... and of the three there is a possible fourth that could be seen...
*click*
... on the right. Now, we know what to expect....
*click*
... for those evenings when nothing works out right there is always...
*click*
... Max....
*click*
... and the ....
*click*
...Meta...
*click*
...plex...
*click*
.... gang....
*click*
... to save the day once again...
... and tonight on MasterCook we have three constants left....
*click*
.... and of the three there is a possible fourth that could be seen...
*click*
... on the right. Now, we know what to expect....
*click*
... for those evenings when nothing works out right there is always...
*click*
... Max....
*click*
... and the ....
*click*
...Meta...
*click*
...plex...
*click*
.... gang....
*click*
... to save the day once again...
20160111
13
Max startled awake. There was a tear in his eye.
What is it? the voice asked.
"I dreamed that Ziggy died."
What is it? the voice asked.
"I dreamed that Ziggy died."
20151222
Max Not Max
Germany, 1977.
The stage was set for the band to hit, Max was sitting at the bar sipping a lager and tapping out a cigarette from the Morley Brand smokes he kept in his pocket. It was the end of summer, a hint of fall was in the air but that didn't matter at all when you were deep indoors a pub that was underground.
"Ein anderes?" the comely bartender asked him.
"Ich werde eine andere," he replied as he glanced at his watch. His contact was late.
He didn't know when he picked up German but he presumed it was all part of the package deal. The words sounded strange and foreign to his ears but it conveyed his answer. He didn't know who this contact was and why he was supposed to meet them here. His brain was a hazy fog of jumbled memories and strange flashbacks as well.
He felt like Jason Bourne but then he remembered that couldn't be right since 'The Bourne Identity' was written in 1980. That was three years from now. Why did he know this?
There was a sound of high heels on the hardwood floor approaching and he turned to see who was coming and then he realized...
The stage was set for the band to hit, Max was sitting at the bar sipping a lager and tapping out a cigarette from the Morley Brand smokes he kept in his pocket. It was the end of summer, a hint of fall was in the air but that didn't matter at all when you were deep indoors a pub that was underground.
"Ein anderes?" the comely bartender asked him.
"Ich werde eine andere," he replied as he glanced at his watch. His contact was late.
He didn't know when he picked up German but he presumed it was all part of the package deal. The words sounded strange and foreign to his ears but it conveyed his answer. He didn't know who this contact was and why he was supposed to meet them here. His brain was a hazy fog of jumbled memories and strange flashbacks as well.
He felt like Jason Bourne but then he remembered that couldn't be right since 'The Bourne Identity' was written in 1980. That was three years from now. Why did he know this?
There was a sound of high heels on the hardwood floor approaching and he turned to see who was coming and then he realized...
20151218
An Addenda
Sheet of paper found on the floor of an abandoned business:
-5-
Addenda To Joint Report
-5-
Addenda To Joint Report
I met Max Cube, editor of Metaplex Magazine, in Copley. He is a very knowledgeable fellow and has a huge reference of science fiction and fantasy novels. I also believe, that he was the ghost writer of several episodes of Morganfokker's Follies as well. Though, he would not admit to it and just alluded to the possibility. Max mentioned to me that he was currently working on a science fantasy novel with an interesting concept and left it at that.
20151208
Ultraplex: Assessment
"Max! Focus!" the voice shouted.
Max was flipping through the nineteen folders. He was confused; they were filled with looseleaf pages of handwritten notes and pieces of graph paper covered with hand-drawn maps.
"Okay, let's talk about another time when you did choose to intervene."
A file folder appeared on the table in front of Max with symbols on it that Max couldn't decipher.
He flipped open the folder and scanned the documents inside.
Max was flipping through the nineteen folders. He was confused; they were filled with looseleaf pages of handwritten notes and pieces of graph paper covered with hand-drawn maps.
"Okay, let's talk about another time when you did choose to intervene."
A file folder appeared on the table in front of Max with symbols on it that Max couldn't decipher.
He flipped open the folder and scanned the documents inside.
[Halogrhin Excerpt]
"The records on your actions in World: Halogrhin are, of course, spotty. Are you able to give us any insight into the process by which you and the Dragons became aware of the threat, the means by which you access the -"
Max interrupted. "Can I get a coffee? I need a coffee. How much longer is this going to take?"
"The records on your actions in World: Halogrhin are, of course, spotty. Are you able to give us any insight into the process by which you and the Dragons became aware of the threat, the means by which you access the -"
Max interrupted. "Can I get a coffee? I need a coffee. How much longer is this going to take?"
A different voice (was that three now?) shouted: "Mr. Montgomery, you are in no position to -"
Max interrupted again. "It's math! It's just math alright. You identify the risks and you identify the protections. If there's more of the former than the latter we go. We help. That's all. No big secret, no complex magic formula. We're variables in an equation. We don't care where the monster came from, unless learning that helps us kill it. We don't care what the monster wants unless that helps us kill it. We show up, kill the monster, balance the equation, and then we're gone."
The Prefalta folder, the Halogrhin folder and the nineteen other folders were gone. There were five new folders on the table.
One of the voices said, "We understand that you want it to be that simple. That the 'equation model' allows you to compartmentalize the work you do in the Ultraplex and prevent yourself from becoming overwhelmed. But is it really so straightforward as 'balancing the math'? How does that explain these records?"
20151204
Psychoplex: The Hanged Man
Cognitive
The Hanged Man arcana functions as a symbolic map of my experiences of being both bound to the world and apart from it. The Tree represents the world, both physically and experientially, all the branches and roots are the repeating fractal patterns of possibility. The world is diverse and complex, strong and vital, but the Hanged Man is bound to it, not climbing it but also not cutting it down. So he has access to it all but isn’t free to leave or fly away. He is also inverted, so even though he has direct contact with the world he experiences it from a distorted or reversed way, seeing first the roots rather than the branches, always forced to understand the tangled web of causes that grow all the effects. From his position the Hanged Man can look out and up at the stars, other worlds, but cannot reach them. His binding is a prison but a ritual one, because the inversion and sacrifice are what gives him this special vision – he can see more than the tangled branches and rough bark. He is trapped between worlds but has access to both. A constant liminal magical state. But he can’t easily act in either world.
How It Feels To Hang
* feeling suspended between worlds
* not understanding the nature of reality, of events surrounding me, their causes and effects
* unable to extrapolate a course of action because I want to act towards a type of truth but I’m not sure what it is
* no sense of ground, of a foundation to make decisions and judgments from
* seeing extreme possibilities, even contradictory versions of events and interactions, leaves me unsure which way to move, which way to respond
* In this sense I am bound to the world > I can’t act only from my own wishes, desires, needs – I need to have feedback, validation, harmony with the way (I think) the world works
* Feeling hanging at the edge of the Otherworld – total fantasy, delusion, magic, dream, madness, imagination > unable to float away because of my need/desire to find truth, my doubt, skepticism, my sense of responsibility
* Feeling deep philosophical uncertainty about my experiences and perceptions
The Hanged Man arcana functions as a symbolic map of my experiences of being both bound to the world and apart from it. The Tree represents the world, both physically and experientially, all the branches and roots are the repeating fractal patterns of possibility. The world is diverse and complex, strong and vital, but the Hanged Man is bound to it, not climbing it but also not cutting it down. So he has access to it all but isn’t free to leave or fly away. He is also inverted, so even though he has direct contact with the world he experiences it from a distorted or reversed way, seeing first the roots rather than the branches, always forced to understand the tangled web of causes that grow all the effects. From his position the Hanged Man can look out and up at the stars, other worlds, but cannot reach them. His binding is a prison but a ritual one, because the inversion and sacrifice are what gives him this special vision – he can see more than the tangled branches and rough bark. He is trapped between worlds but has access to both. A constant liminal magical state. But he can’t easily act in either world.
How It Feels To Hang
* feeling suspended between worlds
* not understanding the nature of reality, of events surrounding me, their causes and effects
* unable to extrapolate a course of action because I want to act towards a type of truth but I’m not sure what it is
* no sense of ground, of a foundation to make decisions and judgments from
* seeing extreme possibilities, even contradictory versions of events and interactions, leaves me unsure which way to move, which way to respond
* In this sense I am bound to the world > I can’t act only from my own wishes, desires, needs – I need to have feedback, validation, harmony with the way (I think) the world works
* Feeling hanging at the edge of the Otherworld – total fantasy, delusion, magic, dream, madness, imagination > unable to float away because of my need/desire to find truth, my doubt, skepticism, my sense of responsibility
* Feeling deep philosophical uncertainty about my experiences and perceptions
20151119
The Battle for the Hyperplex Part One: E.S.P.ionage
The intel indicated that the Ashen Tradition was seeking a powerful relic called The Hyperplex.
Collateral information referenced the Hyperplex in contradictory fashion; sometimes it was described as a Staff, others a Chalice, sometimes a Sword and, of course, a Disc. Max had lots of ideas about what the Hyperplex could be, what it might mean, how it might relate to the other Plexes they were learning about; he was the idea guy, after all.
The rest of the team knew that ideas were important but sometimes not as important as taking action. So Max hunkered down to try and figure things out and the other Dragons went to work.
Angst learned from a contact in the Ultraviolet Lodge that the Tradition had a large-scale portal operation running in a secret sub-basement of the local Museum.
Angst learned from a contact in the Ultraviolet Lodge that the Tradition had a large-scale portal operation running in a secret sub-basement of the local Museum.
Frank conducted some psychic eavesdropping on people entering and exiting the Museum; he confirmed that the portal was indeed active but could not determine where it led to.
Goner was able to hack the Museum's security and Angst was able to counter the protective wards that the Tradition had set up.
They had put the call out to Aqua and to Maggie, anticipating that things would likely get hostile once they made a move on the portal.
When the team gathered, after a few minutes of warm reunion, they prepared to enter the Museum...
20151113
Spilling Milk
Mags Qute looked up from the book she was reading and over at Axie and waited for him to speak. His bright blond hair stood up in messy tufts as the sun streaked through the dark room. Providing light in the abandoned house.
"We've been here for three days now," she stated. Or has it been longer? Placing the tome on the table as she reached for the coffee. "When do we move again?"
Haven't we moved already?
Axie glanced at her and smiled. He had been sharpening his knife on a whetstone. "As soon as Franz and Loner return."
"Maybe they got captured?" Mags stated. They've been captured already, we know they have, so what are we doing here? Back here? "Then what do we do?"
"I guess we can cry over the spilled milk then," he replied.
No, not again...
"We've been here for three days now," she stated. Or has it been longer? Placing the tome on the table as she reached for the coffee. "When do we move again?"
Haven't we moved already?
Axie glanced at her and smiled. He had been sharpening his knife on a whetstone. "As soon as Franz and Loner return."
"Maybe they got captured?" Mags stated. They've been captured already, we know they have, so what are we doing here? Back here? "Then what do we do?"
"I guess we can cry over the spilled milk then," he replied.
No, not again...
20151108
What was that Barthes' essay about killing writers?
When they came for him none of his neighbours were surprised.
For years Mick had been a 6.6-on-the-Richter-scale nuisance in the building. Loud music, loud video-games, loud movies, loud shouting at various gods and goddesses. Aileeza, the tenant in 2B ("Or not to be!" Mick would always shout at her when they passed in the hallway) would often point out that his whole shtick was a knock-off of that character in Warren Ellis' Transmetropolitan. The other tenants didn't get the reference but they got the fact that Mick hated Warren Ellis and therefore hated the comparison, and they took some pleasure in that. Petty maybe, but they had endured and were entitled to some small retributions.
Evicting Mick wasn't an option, despite it being a cause that would have unified Democrat and Republican, Israeli and Palestinian, Team Angel and Team Spike. Mick's residency was secured due to the funding agreements as arranged by the local Arts Council and the local Mental Health Agency. Mick's presence was what kept the rent so low and ensured the other tenants could continue living there.
"'There is no war, there is only the Dalang!'" Mick would shout about the way he both embodied and transcended the dualities of the situation, to which Aileeza would point out that he was only quoting Grant Morrison, another comic writer whom Mick rather liked but nevertheless resented being accused of imitating (although he most certainly was).
And so it had continued until the day it stopped. When they finally came for him. The other tenants weren't sure exactly who 'they' were, or what Mick had done to finally warrant apprehension - for all his sound and fury he never signified anything actually violent.
Of course he did a fair bit of shouting as the men and women in nondescript clothing (the kind of outfits that operatives in those Bourne movies always wore) took him away in their black SUV.
"I fucking made Max! He's nothing without me! If I had never taken that assignment for Opi8 he'd still just be a figment of your fucking imaginations! And who do you think has protected him all this time? Do you have any fucking clue how hard it is for him to even be in the world? If I hadn't kept all you assholes distracted with my rants and my jokes you would have seen right through him and he'd be thrice as fucked as he already is! So you thinking you're helping Max? You're fucking killing him!"
Three or four days later the tenants began commenting to each other on how unsettling the quiet was.
For years Mick had been a 6.6-on-the-Richter-scale nuisance in the building. Loud music, loud video-games, loud movies, loud shouting at various gods and goddesses. Aileeza, the tenant in 2B ("Or not to be!" Mick would always shout at her when they passed in the hallway) would often point out that his whole shtick was a knock-off of that character in Warren Ellis' Transmetropolitan. The other tenants didn't get the reference but they got the fact that Mick hated Warren Ellis and therefore hated the comparison, and they took some pleasure in that. Petty maybe, but they had endured and were entitled to some small retributions.
Evicting Mick wasn't an option, despite it being a cause that would have unified Democrat and Republican, Israeli and Palestinian, Team Angel and Team Spike. Mick's residency was secured due to the funding agreements as arranged by the local Arts Council and the local Mental Health Agency. Mick's presence was what kept the rent so low and ensured the other tenants could continue living there.
"'There is no war, there is only the Dalang!'" Mick would shout about the way he both embodied and transcended the dualities of the situation, to which Aileeza would point out that he was only quoting Grant Morrison, another comic writer whom Mick rather liked but nevertheless resented being accused of imitating (although he most certainly was).
And so it had continued until the day it stopped. When they finally came for him. The other tenants weren't sure exactly who 'they' were, or what Mick had done to finally warrant apprehension - for all his sound and fury he never signified anything actually violent.
Of course he did a fair bit of shouting as the men and women in nondescript clothing (the kind of outfits that operatives in those Bourne movies always wore) took him away in their black SUV.
"I fucking made Max! He's nothing without me! If I had never taken that assignment for Opi8 he'd still just be a figment of your fucking imaginations! And who do you think has protected him all this time? Do you have any fucking clue how hard it is for him to even be in the world? If I hadn't kept all you assholes distracted with my rants and my jokes you would have seen right through him and he'd be thrice as fucked as he already is! So you thinking you're helping Max? You're fucking killing him!"
Three or four days later the tenants began commenting to each other on how unsettling the quiet was.
20151102
Surveillance
“There's surveillance everywhere! Every-fucking-where I go I'm being watched!”
“Max, okay, let's slow things down,” Angst said softly.
“Don't try and de-escalate me, I'm the one who fucking de-escalates people. You know it's true – they are watching me everywhere I go. And don't you dare cast one of your fucking spells on me. I don't want to be calm.”
“Okay,” she said. “That's fair.”
Max could tell he was scaring her. He took a deep breath and activated the appropriate implant. The equations began processing.
“I'm sorry, Angst. I'm not mad at you. I just got scared.”
Her posture relaxed slightly. “I know. And you're not wrong – you are being tracked. We know that.”
Max rubbed his forehead. “Do we? I mean... Jesus, it's just that everywhere... It's so loud everywhere, you know? All I hear is alarms and cries for help. And even the silences between them are just spaces for more alarms to fill. And I'm trying to figure out this whole System thing, and the Counter-System. If they're even fucking real. How do I know? It's something Control told me, but what if it's just another thing I made up. Like Maggie.”
Angst tensed again. “Maggie's real, Max. I've met Maggie.”
“How do I know you're real?” He looked at her, his eyes wide.
“Max, okay, let's slow things down,” Angst said softly.
“Don't try and de-escalate me, I'm the one who fucking de-escalates people. You know it's true – they are watching me everywhere I go. And don't you dare cast one of your fucking spells on me. I don't want to be calm.”
“Okay,” she said. “That's fair.”
Max could tell he was scaring her. He took a deep breath and activated the appropriate implant. The equations began processing.
“I'm sorry, Angst. I'm not mad at you. I just got scared.”
Her posture relaxed slightly. “I know. And you're not wrong – you are being tracked. We know that.”
Max rubbed his forehead. “Do we? I mean... Jesus, it's just that everywhere... It's so loud everywhere, you know? All I hear is alarms and cries for help. And even the silences between them are just spaces for more alarms to fill. And I'm trying to figure out this whole System thing, and the Counter-System. If they're even fucking real. How do I know? It's something Control told me, but what if it's just another thing I made up. Like Maggie.”
Angst tensed again. “Maggie's real, Max. I've met Maggie.”
“How do I know you're real?” He looked at her, his eyes wide.
20151031
Happy Halloween 3
Previously on Halloween...
The Dragons' Costumes (version.Sense8)
(Max, Tatter, Suki, Goner, Frank, Angst, Marshal, Maggie)
The Professor and Morganfokker's Costumes (version.Sense8)
Morganfokker's Costume (vesrion.HalfLife)
Max's Costume (version.Multiversity)
20151028
FLASHBACKORFORWARDORSIDEWAYS
Max snapped a fresh clip into Joy then another into Pain. He blinked his eyes, steadied his breathing. The wall was cold against his back, and for a second he flashed on a vague memory of being in some sort of Dome, like a sci-fi underworld. Sometimes the flashes of alternate versions shook him to the core, left him dizzy and spinning. And other times they reminded him that he was a superhero after all. Max spun into the hallway and started sighting, squeezing, repeating, breathing. The guns sounded like a giant beating a drum, shattering the air, the arms and chests of the targets shattering, their black suits exploding in red, their sunglasses hiding eyes gone wide and empty. Max was graceful in the violence because he wasn’t really there; his mind was drifting in a vision of reciting poetry to a shining hologram of his one true love. The rhythm of the words and the rhythm of the weapons ended and the hallway was quiet, the LEGACY hit squad destroyed, Max breathing steadily.
Speakers imbedded in the walls crackled on. “That’s quite alright Mr. Cube. Even as you stand there reloading and no doubt indulging in some fancy psychic technique the nanofabric of the carpeting is absorbing DNA from the blood you have spilled and funneling into microtubes that will be launched into orbit, retrieved by one of our satellites, and bonded to alien-robot hybrid hunters we have in stasis. They will be set loose to track you down, all their superkilling talents infused with the vengeance of the guards you just killed.”
“That’s actually really cool,” Max said.
The speakers crackled. “… Um, sorry?”
“I said that’s really cool. How you’re doing all that stuff with all your crazy technology.”
Speakers imbedded in the walls crackled on. “That’s quite alright Mr. Cube. Even as you stand there reloading and no doubt indulging in some fancy psychic technique the nanofabric of the carpeting is absorbing DNA from the blood you have spilled and funneling into microtubes that will be launched into orbit, retrieved by one of our satellites, and bonded to alien-robot hybrid hunters we have in stasis. They will be set loose to track you down, all their superkilling talents infused with the vengeance of the guards you just killed.”
“That’s actually really cool,” Max said.
The speakers crackled. “… Um, sorry?”
“I said that’s really cool. How you’re doing all that stuff with all your crazy technology.”
“You mean you aren’t scared by it?” the speakers blurted.
“You’re going to all that effort to customize an advanced multi-type team of assassins from space just for me. I’m flattered. And slightly insecure that I won’t live up to the hype.”
The speakers fuzzed and went quiet. Just then Max’s cell rang. The Professor’s voice barged in as soon as the phone flipped open.
“Max, while you’ve been battling LEGACY in their Tower Maggie had been targeted by another supervillain! I believe the villain may be in league with Morganfokker! Her name is-“
“The Cheerleader. I know her. We’ve actually met.” Max lit a smoke.
“You’re going to all that effort to customize an advanced multi-type team of assassins from space just for me. I’m flattered. And slightly insecure that I won’t live up to the hype.”
The speakers fuzzed and went quiet. Just then Max’s cell rang. The Professor’s voice barged in as soon as the phone flipped open.
“Max, while you’ve been battling LEGACY in their Tower Maggie had been targeted by another supervillain! I believe the villain may be in league with Morganfokker! Her name is-“
“The Cheerleader. I know her. We’ve actually met.” Max lit a smoke.
“Max, this is serious! All the data I have on The Cheerleader indicates that she is an Omega Level- waitaminute… You’ve met her?”
“Listen Prof, I’m not surprised to hear Maggie’s going at it against DeeGee.” He inhaled, staring down at the carpet, imagining the tiny robots in the carpet gathering up the molecules of blood. It was beautiful in a way. Maybe when the alien-robot hunters finally caught him they could figure out a way to reprogram them or something. A way to give even a bit of these guards a second chance.
“DeeGee?!?! Max what are you talking about?”
“Maggie’s undergoing a ritual and-“
“Another one? She just got out of the Initiation Chamber?!?!”
“Calm down, Prof. She’s invoking the arcana of the High Priestess in order to attain a greater level of wisdom, self-understanding and inner peace. Sacred combat against her shadows and dark sides is part of the ritual. Maggie’s no doubt engaging the Cheerleader to serve as an iconic manifestation of that darkness.”
“Ahh…” The Professor went quiet for a moment and Max could hear the sound of typing and some beeping. “I’ve updated my file, but I still think we have a problem and that Mags might be in danger.”
Max pushed the button on the elevator. Getting out of the LEGACY tower would be a hard job, even with the initial hit squad stopped.
“Why’s that?” Max’s tone grew serious.
“Based on my readings Maggie’s psychic waveform is oscillating between her identity as Ms. Magenta and, if you can believe this…”
The elevator doors slid open. “Think who you’re asking.”
“Listen Prof, I’m not surprised to hear Maggie’s going at it against DeeGee.” He inhaled, staring down at the carpet, imagining the tiny robots in the carpet gathering up the molecules of blood. It was beautiful in a way. Maybe when the alien-robot hunters finally caught him they could figure out a way to reprogram them or something. A way to give even a bit of these guards a second chance.
“DeeGee?!?! Max what are you talking about?”
“Maggie’s undergoing a ritual and-“
“Another one? She just got out of the Initiation Chamber?!?!”
“Calm down, Prof. She’s invoking the arcana of the High Priestess in order to attain a greater level of wisdom, self-understanding and inner peace. Sacred combat against her shadows and dark sides is part of the ritual. Maggie’s no doubt engaging the Cheerleader to serve as an iconic manifestation of that darkness.”
“Ahh…” The Professor went quiet for a moment and Max could hear the sound of typing and some beeping. “I’ve updated my file, but I still think we have a problem and that Mags might be in danger.”
Max pushed the button on the elevator. Getting out of the LEGACY tower would be a hard job, even with the initial hit squad stopped.
“Why’s that?” Max’s tone grew serious.
“Based on my readings Maggie’s psychic waveform is oscillating between her identity as Ms. Magenta and, if you can believe this…”
The elevator doors slid open. “Think who you’re asking.”
“Well. Maggie, even as she is in combat with The Cheerleader, is phasing back and forth into a tiny little faerie named Misfit…”
Max stepped into the elevator. “Gotcha. I’ll give her a call.”
The cellphone signal sputtered slightly inside the shielded elevator. The Professor’s voice warbled, “Which one?”
Max flicked the cigarette through the closing doors. “Think who you’re asking.”
Max stepped into the elevator. “Gotcha. I’ll give her a call.”
The cellphone signal sputtered slightly inside the shielded elevator. The Professor’s voice warbled, “Which one?”
Max flicked the cigarette through the closing doors. “Think who you’re asking.”
20151014
"Kaze Wo Kirutabi Kimochi Yokutte" [version.Upgrade]
The Sidhe had dispatched a Sluagh hit-squad after Max. He didn't know if that meant the Unseelie Court had ties to the System or if it was just another unlucky roll of the dice. He did know that if the whispering swarm of sharp-edged shadows caught up to him he would at best be captured, more likely changed...
They had managed to herd him to the bridge over the river that split the village. He knew they'd catch up to him if he tried to run across. He couldn't risk jumping in the water; the elemental transition would only make him more liminal and more vulnerable to the faeries' magic. Sometimes he still regretted giving up Joy and Pain. A last stand at the bridge would at least make a good story.
Suddenly a light flared in the night sky and something large and heavy crashed into the approaching Sluagh like a meteor. Some of the creatures were crushed, others disintegrated in a wave of energy that washed off the massive object. The remaining fey assassins began to take cover.
Max grinned as he watched the object rise and unfold from the crater it had made: a fifteen foot tall mecha. He had been trying to be stealthy but the villagers would be awake now with a tale to tell (a better one than my last stand).
The surviving Sluagh started to rally, hissing and shimmering, when the panels on the bulky forearms of the robot warrior slid open and dozens of micro-warheads launched like a swarm of furious fireflies. They swirled and buzzed until they locked on their targets, their trajectories becoming lethally straight. The creatures became ash upon impact.
The panels on the back of the mech unfolded and Aqua climbed out. She perched herself on the robot's shoulder. She was wearing cool goggles. She smiled.
"Bishop helped me build it out of the wreckage of the subway car. Re-purposed 'The They' technology. I based the design off of those Golems from that Citadel videogame you always used to play. So there's a full-suite of offensive and defensive armaments and yeah, it can can still travel between dimensions.
"Sometimes you need more than just gauntlets and only a brand new outfit will do."
Max grinned. "I missed you."
They had managed to herd him to the bridge over the river that split the village. He knew they'd catch up to him if he tried to run across. He couldn't risk jumping in the water; the elemental transition would only make him more liminal and more vulnerable to the faeries' magic. Sometimes he still regretted giving up Joy and Pain. A last stand at the bridge would at least make a good story.
Suddenly a light flared in the night sky and something large and heavy crashed into the approaching Sluagh like a meteor. Some of the creatures were crushed, others disintegrated in a wave of energy that washed off the massive object. The remaining fey assassins began to take cover.
Max grinned as he watched the object rise and unfold from the crater it had made: a fifteen foot tall mecha. He had been trying to be stealthy but the villagers would be awake now with a tale to tell (a better one than my last stand).
The surviving Sluagh started to rally, hissing and shimmering, when the panels on the bulky forearms of the robot warrior slid open and dozens of micro-warheads launched like a swarm of furious fireflies. They swirled and buzzed until they locked on their targets, their trajectories becoming lethally straight. The creatures became ash upon impact.
The panels on the back of the mech unfolded and Aqua climbed out. She perched herself on the robot's shoulder. She was wearing cool goggles. She smiled.
"Bishop helped me build it out of the wreckage of the subway car. Re-purposed 'The They' technology. I based the design off of those Golems from that Citadel videogame you always used to play. So there's a full-suite of offensive and defensive armaments and yeah, it can can still travel between dimensions.
"Sometimes you need more than just gauntlets and only a brand new outfit will do."
Max grinned. "I missed you."
20151007
Escalation
Marshal double-checked that the office door was locked. He turned back to the computer terminal. The desktop picture was from Serial Experiment: Lain. There were three video-chat windows open, conferenced with each other. "Ok, go."
Angst spoke in the first window. "Yeah, so. Not good. So not good. None of the contact rituals for Odin, Merlin or Kele-De are working. The Infrared Lodge and the Ultraviolet Lodge are in open conflict. And the Ashen Tradition is claiming to be on the verge of locating a relic they are calling 'The Hyperplex'."
Frank was next. "LEGACY has apparently negotiated a truce between the Manticores and the Basilisks. If that's true they will undoubtedly try and loop in the other Legend Gangs as well. There's also rumours that they are looking to recruit Lanight into the fold."
Marshal sighed, "So things are fracturing in one direction and consolidating in another. Everyone knows by now that something is happening."
Goner spoke up. "More bad news: my intel says that Throckmorton, Angus Mode, Mr. Clean, and Verdi are all bidding on an assassination contract. Maybe Nell and Ally, maybe Meelos and Legos. Or, maybe, The Future."
Shit, Frank thought and they all heard him.
"And the target?" Angst asked.
"Max," Goner said.
"Well, Max better watch out," Marshal said.
The others looked confused.
Angst spoke in the first window. "Yeah, so. Not good. So not good. None of the contact rituals for Odin, Merlin or Kele-De are working. The Infrared Lodge and the Ultraviolet Lodge are in open conflict. And the Ashen Tradition is claiming to be on the verge of locating a relic they are calling 'The Hyperplex'."
Frank was next. "LEGACY has apparently negotiated a truce between the Manticores and the Basilisks. If that's true they will undoubtedly try and loop in the other Legend Gangs as well. There's also rumours that they are looking to recruit Lanight into the fold."
Marshal sighed, "So things are fracturing in one direction and consolidating in another. Everyone knows by now that something is happening."
Goner spoke up. "More bad news: my intel says that Throckmorton, Angus Mode, Mr. Clean, and Verdi are all bidding on an assassination contract. Maybe Nell and Ally, maybe Meelos and Legos. Or, maybe, The Future."
Shit, Frank thought and they all heard him.
"And the target?" Angst asked.
"Max," Goner said.
"Well, Max better watch out," Marshal said.
The others looked confused.
20151005
The Stars Aligned
Derek Moore sat on the car looking up at the stars; his father, Andrew, leaned against it making sure that Derek didn't move too far on the hood. It was dusk and the evening was claiming the sky, fading away the blanket of blue and revealing the stars slowly but surely.
"I think I see Max," Derek said as he looked up to see a group of stars clustered like a man flying through the air in some gun-fu maneuvers. "And Maggie is right next to him."
Andrew's eyes looked to the heavens and saw that Max and Maggie were there in the clear evening sky, his eyes taking in the constellations of the cat, Trump, and the bird, Crow, as well.
"It's beautiful sight," Andrew said.
"That it is, Dad," Derek said. He loved the nights he spent with his dad since it meant sitting out under the stars and looking at the constellations.
"Look, there's Aqua," Andrew pointed. "Looks like she has her friend with her as well."
"I think I see Max," Derek said as he looked up to see a group of stars clustered like a man flying through the air in some gun-fu maneuvers. "And Maggie is right next to him."
Andrew's eyes looked to the heavens and saw that Max and Maggie were there in the clear evening sky, his eyes taking in the constellations of the cat, Trump, and the bird, Crow, as well.
"It's beautiful sight," Andrew said.
"That it is, Dad," Derek said. He loved the nights he spent with his dad since it meant sitting out under the stars and looking at the constellations.
"Look, there's Aqua," Andrew pointed. "Looks like she has her friend with her as well."
20151002
C2IP Update.2
The ground shook again, dislodging more rubble from the bombed-out buildings. Shadows swept across the ground from the light of the flares in the night sky, voices hollow and fuzzy with static calling out over malfunctioning sound-systems, repeating emergency protocol directions that were very 'too-little-too-late'. Mick strolled down the centre of the cracked and scorched street as if all the lights and noise were a massive party; this wasn't his first apocalypse. In a lot of ways he felt at home in disaster zones; they were somehow more honest.
His contacts were less brazen, with good reason Mick figured, given that of the ever-increasing number of factions in what appeared to be a cold-war-turned-hot-turning-nova most likely had capture or kill orders out on them. They signalled to him with a pre-arranged series of flashlight blinks from the shadows of a ruined hotel lobby.
"Okay," Mick said, hunkered down behind the front desk. "First off, no I haven't gotten any leads on who the double-agent is. I don't doubt your intel, especially given the source, but there are so many variables in play right now...
"Second, Goner's rejoined Max, Frank and Angst, so they're active again as a cell. Plus they've gotten a lead on Mags - sounds like she's changed too.
"As for Suki, it looks like she's actually shifted along the Chronoplex - that's what we're calling it now, right? She seems to be in a much older version of herself. I know, it's not the first-time Suki's age has altered. No idea if or how she's going to intersect with the others.
"The Diner crew... Things are still different with them too... Like they're on a different frequency from the other Dragons? I dunno, I feel like something's brewing there.
"Max has got his spirit guides in play, the bird and the talking cat. Still nothing from Aqua. Oh, but get this - I found this weird urban legend about this strange warrior-monk type-guy who wanders the globe, actually walking, no planes or buses. He's this dirty bearded vagabond, stops briefly to debate about things like Confucianism or Norse Mythology. Sometimes does a bit of intervening on a street-level if there's some injustice happening, and ain't there always? There's versions of the tale where he seeks out a vision at holy places, the hidden Temple of the Sky on Everest, the sacred glass monolith at the centre of the Sahara Desert, the keystone of the Great Wall of China that contains the last essence of the demon Hrarchuta who sacrificed his immortality to save his love, the angelic Yuriti... It's great stuff; I wish I'd written it. But it's got to be our boy Akimoto, right?
"And lastly, just so I'm keeping track, so far there's the Chronoplex, the Paraplex, and the Ultraplex? Now, how about you share with me: do we know yet what exactly has kicked off this whole mess between the System and Counter-System?"
The contacts exchanged glances.
Suddenly a swarm of sirens began wailing outside and the thunder of helicopters erupted overhead. Mick sighed. "I get it, 'to be continued'."
His contacts were less brazen, with good reason Mick figured, given that of the ever-increasing number of factions in what appeared to be a cold-war-turned-hot-turning-nova most likely had capture or kill orders out on them. They signalled to him with a pre-arranged series of flashlight blinks from the shadows of a ruined hotel lobby.
"Okay," Mick said, hunkered down behind the front desk. "First off, no I haven't gotten any leads on who the double-agent is. I don't doubt your intel, especially given the source, but there are so many variables in play right now...
"Second, Goner's rejoined Max, Frank and Angst, so they're active again as a cell. Plus they've gotten a lead on Mags - sounds like she's changed too.
"As for Suki, it looks like she's actually shifted along the Chronoplex - that's what we're calling it now, right? She seems to be in a much older version of herself. I know, it's not the first-time Suki's age has altered. No idea if or how she's going to intersect with the others.
"The Diner crew... Things are still different with them too... Like they're on a different frequency from the other Dragons? I dunno, I feel like something's brewing there.
"Max has got his spirit guides in play, the bird and the talking cat. Still nothing from Aqua. Oh, but get this - I found this weird urban legend about this strange warrior-monk type-guy who wanders the globe, actually walking, no planes or buses. He's this dirty bearded vagabond, stops briefly to debate about things like Confucianism or Norse Mythology. Sometimes does a bit of intervening on a street-level if there's some injustice happening, and ain't there always? There's versions of the tale where he seeks out a vision at holy places, the hidden Temple of the Sky on Everest, the sacred glass monolith at the centre of the Sahara Desert, the keystone of the Great Wall of China that contains the last essence of the demon Hrarchuta who sacrificed his immortality to save his love, the angelic Yuriti... It's great stuff; I wish I'd written it. But it's got to be our boy Akimoto, right?
"And lastly, just so I'm keeping track, so far there's the Chronoplex, the Paraplex, and the Ultraplex? Now, how about you share with me: do we know yet what exactly has kicked off this whole mess between the System and Counter-System?"
The contacts exchanged glances.
Suddenly a swarm of sirens began wailing outside and the thunder of helicopters erupted overhead. Mick sighed. "I get it, 'to be continued'."
20151001
The Irreducibility of Explication
"Max! Focus!" the voice shouted.
He blinked and tried to follow the order. He was lost in a memory or a series of memories about a time he was driving around looking for something to eat and just feeling absolutely completely emotionally and mentally fucked up. Of course he had the thought that maybe he still was driving around and that this was another delusion. If he had ever had any delusions; maybe everything that he had thought happened had actually happened?
The voice was sounding frustrated, or maybe it was a different voice? Joining in? "We need to understand more about your actions in the Ultraplex. We need to know about what happened on World: Prefalta."
A file folder appeared on the table in front of Max with symbols on it that Max couldn't decipher.
What's the Ultraplex?
"Go ahead," the (first?) voice said. Max flipped open the folder and scanned the documents inside.
[Prefalta Excerpt]
"Specifically," they continued, "why did you order Aqua to intervene in this scenario? What criteria were met that required this action to be taken? Why did you select Aqua from the roster of Dragons who were available? What was the desired outcome of the intervention?"
Max suddenly had this strong sense that he was immersed in a tutorial for some type of advanced videogame, that the answers he selected to the questions being asked would set his preferences for the gameplay to follow... But there was also a very real chance that the videogame idea was just a psychological defense mechanism allowing him to minimize his responsibility in the incident they were discussing.
"The most important question is, perhaps- " the voices said.
Max couldn't really remember ever giving Aqua any orders... He hadn't even seen Aqua since...
"- why did you choose to intervene in this incident and not any of these?"
Nineteen more file folders landed on the table in a rough stack.
Max felt nauseous.
He blinked and tried to follow the order. He was lost in a memory or a series of memories about a time he was driving around looking for something to eat and just feeling absolutely completely emotionally and mentally fucked up. Of course he had the thought that maybe he still was driving around and that this was another delusion. If he had ever had any delusions; maybe everything that he had thought happened had actually happened?
The voice was sounding frustrated, or maybe it was a different voice? Joining in? "We need to understand more about your actions in the Ultraplex. We need to know about what happened on World: Prefalta."
A file folder appeared on the table in front of Max with symbols on it that Max couldn't decipher.
What's the Ultraplex?
"Go ahead," the (first?) voice said. Max flipped open the folder and scanned the documents inside.
[Prefalta Excerpt]
"Specifically," they continued, "why did you order Aqua to intervene in this scenario? What criteria were met that required this action to be taken? Why did you select Aqua from the roster of Dragons who were available? What was the desired outcome of the intervention?"
Max suddenly had this strong sense that he was immersed in a tutorial for some type of advanced videogame, that the answers he selected to the questions being asked would set his preferences for the gameplay to follow... But there was also a very real chance that the videogame idea was just a psychological defense mechanism allowing him to minimize his responsibility in the incident they were discussing.
"The most important question is, perhaps- " the voices said.
Max couldn't really remember ever giving Aqua any orders... He hadn't even seen Aqua since...
"- why did you choose to intervene in this incident and not any of these?"
Nineteen more file folders landed on the table in a rough stack.
Max felt nauseous.
20150928
Dream Journal
Max's eyes flickered open in the pre-dawn morning. He glanced over at the alarm clock and noticed that it was definitely too early to be up at the moment. He sat up and his feet hit the cold hardwood floor; he flicked on the light on the nightstand.
He grabbed the journal that was there and a pencil and began jotting down the remnants of his dream as it began to fade away from his memory. It was too bad that the dreams couldn't be taped and viewed over and over again to decode what they were trying to tell him, and it would be nice to spot the easter eggs as well. But a pencil and a journal was the next best thing.
A couple of quick sketches: one of a crow sitting on a fencepost with a pipe dangling from his mouth, another of a cat sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city, the last was a man with an eyepatch, a sort of David Hasselhoff as Nick Fury kind of vibe going on. Under each sketch he jotted:
Crow or Raven.... could be a Magpie.
He grabbed the journal that was there and a pencil and began jotting down the remnants of his dream as it began to fade away from his memory. It was too bad that the dreams couldn't be taped and viewed over and over again to decode what they were trying to tell him, and it would be nice to spot the easter eggs as well. But a pencil and a journal was the next best thing.
A couple of quick sketches: one of a crow sitting on a fencepost with a pipe dangling from his mouth, another of a cat sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city, the last was a man with an eyepatch, a sort of David Hasselhoff as Nick Fury kind of vibe going on. Under each sketch he jotted:
Crow or Raven.... could be a Magpie.
Cat... or Trump? Hard to tell
Don't hassle the Hoff?
Don't hassle the Hoff?
20150923
Gemstone
Max rolled over, hit the alarm, dragged himself out of bed.
Cut through some back streets to avoid the crowds. Hot summer weather, low-orbit satellites visible in the clear sky between corporate towers.
Friendly wave from the young woman selling occult trinkets from a stand by the intersection. He had bought a few since moving to the neighbourhood. Her name was something like Melancholy? Agony?
The sounds of traffic reminded him of dreams he couldn't remember. Billboards advertising the new action movie, MAGENTA.
Dropping some coins in the cup of the Veteran camped outside the bank. Young guy, the side of his face burned, missing an arm.
Into the lobby of the office building, pulling his lanyard from his satchel and draping it around his neck just in time for security to check it. The older guard who always wore sunglasses. It was policy at the agency that staff were not to ask the guards' names.
He gave him the nod and Max proceeded towards the elevators.
"Oh, sir?" the guard said, catching his attention. Passed him an envelope that had been left at the desk for him.
In the elevator, heading to the fifth floor, feeling tired, opened the envelope. Handwritten note, unsigned:
'Thank you.'
Cut through some back streets to avoid the crowds. Hot summer weather, low-orbit satellites visible in the clear sky between corporate towers.
Friendly wave from the young woman selling occult trinkets from a stand by the intersection. He had bought a few since moving to the neighbourhood. Her name was something like Melancholy? Agony?
The sounds of traffic reminded him of dreams he couldn't remember. Billboards advertising the new action movie, MAGENTA.
Dropping some coins in the cup of the Veteran camped outside the bank. Young guy, the side of his face burned, missing an arm.
Into the lobby of the office building, pulling his lanyard from his satchel and draping it around his neck just in time for security to check it. The older guard who always wore sunglasses. It was policy at the agency that staff were not to ask the guards' names.
He gave him the nod and Max proceeded towards the elevators.
"Oh, sir?" the guard said, catching his attention. Passed him an envelope that had been left at the desk for him.
In the elevator, heading to the fifth floor, feeling tired, opened the envelope. Handwritten note, unsigned:
'Thank you.'
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