Janus the Two-Faced God

Previously on New Year's Day...

ENDINGS

AND BEGINNINGS

"Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship"

If his calculations were correct.

If his calculations were correct this call would change everything.

Years of calculations. He had been doing this for so long - had he been a young man once? The development of the model of Noo-Mo-Omniism. The study of Plureality. The development of Omega Magic. Version Theory.

If his calculations were correct he would be making contact with the Prime Variable, the repeating cluster of data that recurred throughout all levels of the holoarchy, in all iterations of the fractal. The 'Cube', as he called it, a nickname referencing the act of raising a quantity to the third power, the transformation of something two-dimensional into something three-dimensional. That which transcends the plane it is drawn upon, like the way in chess that a Knight can move over/through other pieces who can only travel on the surface of the board... It made sense to him, anyway.

Years researching plexwave radiation, designing and building the Plexotron. And everything, and everyone, he gave up along the way. Carrying this desperate vision, this certainty that things could be other than what they are, this burden like Frodo carrying the One Ring to Mt. Doom.

If his calculations were correct this call had probably taken place dozens, maybe hundreds of times before, in different versions. It was a cause, an effect, a strange attractor. For him though, now, here, this call would mean the beginning of creating Continuity in a Fragmented system. The genesis of understanding. It would mean that the Cube would no longer be alone. And neither would he.

He took a deep breath and picked up the cell phone. Dialled the number calculated by the Plexotron.

Ring. Click. "Hello?" The voice sounded far away.

"Um... May I ask who I am speaking to?" he said.

Pause. "My name is Max."

"Max, this is the Professor."

Later in the Metaplex...

DAY ----------- After School

Do You Remember When

The train pulled away from the station. The clatter of the tracks. The tunnel opening onto a sudden and bright view of the city. The long trip home. Same old same old. 

She rummaged around in her knapsack. Science textbook... nah. English textbook... nah. All the subjects came easy to her, she rarely needed to keep up with the reading. Her parents were proud of her, the other kids hated her.

Jiro had lent her a manga that he said was really cool. It was called 'The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya', about a bored girl who wanted to find aliens and time travelers and psychics. It sounded kinda dumb. 

So she zipped her pack up and stared out the window. The same view streaming past everyday. Same old same old.

Two wannabe-gangsters sprang from the seats down the aisle and started their approach. This wasn't anything new, either. Getting hassled was a regular part of the ride. She assumed her straight-face and tried to tune them out. 

She wasn't sure why she talked back today. Or even what she said. It just sorta happened, something clicked in her, like something shifted. And she insulted one of them.

She was so distracted by the odd click in her that she almost ignored the one who drew the gun. When she finally tuned in to the barrel hovering beside her face, she got scared. 

Then another guy was standing there, a white guy, with a t-shirt that said 'What the KLF?'. She had no idea what that meant. He said something to the thugs; she didn't catch it because she was trying to figure out what KLF meant.

The first guy turned the gun on the shirt-guy. 

The shirt-guy trapped his arm and forced the elbow to bend, angling the gun right at the second thug's face. The trigger stopped just in time. And in the frozen, shocked moment she jumped up from her seat and front-snap-kicked the gun-guy right in the head. 

The train pulled up at the next station. Doors hissed. Thugs ran off.

The shirt-guy looked down at her and smiled. "Nice working with you," he said. "My name is Max. What's yours?"

Brainwash Interruptus

"Not all of consciousness is this strange," the Fokkerbot assured the young woman, its synthetic voice approximating a soothing tone. "Of course parts are stranger." 

"This... It's like one of the stories the Eighth Tribe used to tell," Tatterdemalion said, her eyes roving about the polished-steel surfaces of the Lab. Her eyes were lined with tattooed lace-work, thick like goth eyeliner. Her black hair was still damp with goo from the bizarre extraction pod that had swallowed her off the planet.

The Fokkerbot angled its polished-steel head. "The abduction legends of the Eighth Tribe are actually based in fact. Although they themselves do not realize it." Tatter rolled dreamily onto her side. The long polished-steel table felt oddly comfortable. Clean. 

"Can you make... Can you make me like this place?" she asked. "I want to..."

"You're tired of feeling soft and dirty. I can make you like polished steel." 

Tatter tried to focus her gaze on the other person who had just quietly entered the room. The Fokkerbot continued. "I will forge you into a weapon. And you will hunt my prey." The lights on the robot's face blinked some more as it called up an image of a man, stubbly and tired looking, on a screen. The pic was labelled 'Cube'. 

"Oh," Tatter said. "You mean the guy right behind you?"

The Erinyes Effect

Pretty George stood there biting his thumbnail. He really had no idea what the heck he was supposed to do next or where to go. 

He leaned up in the bus shelter, his duffel bag by his side. He was on sentinel duty for a bus that wouldn't come until morning.

He had finished his tour and was home, but home wasn't there no more. While he was away his grandmother passed on and the house where he was raised was razed and turned into a mini-mart. 

He spat out a little chunk of nail, and then he fished through his pockets looking for a sheet of paper.

The problem was that he had tons of pieces of torn paper in various locations about his body. The trick was finding the right one. 

He found the piece of paper he was looking for: Max 555-555-5555 right straight across the board. He reached inside his pocket to get a coin and headed towards the phone.

Project: Backflip

"Here's your orders." Weldwood Que, LEGACY cell team leader, slid the file across the desk to Frank. "Initial observations rated him as a complete wild card. His personae is one of a fractured soul."

Frank picked up the file and began to scan through it. There sat the photo of his intended target. A spiky-haired, 30-something man dressed in a grey t-shirt that declared ASSIMULATED. His intended termination project name stated him to be: Max Cube.

"A worthy opponent. Do not judge too hastily since he is a very dangerous man," Que said as he stood up and faced the window. Clasping hands behind his back and overlooking the city like a sentinel. "Consider him your top priority."

Frank stared at the face of his new nemesis and then began to do some reading on him. Learning that on a South American mission, Max shot his mentor in the back of the skull and fled into the jungle. 

"He's gathering his 'dragons'."

Frank looked up at Que who continued to speak.

"He's got a small few under his guidance. This makes him extremely dangerous."

Frank nodded. This was going to be a hard kill indeed.

The Teaser...

Darius skated down the block, through the throngs of people who seemed to part from him. Tucked under his arm was a bible, the cover black and worn and the once gold letters that stated it to be "The Holy Bible" had long since disappeared, having been used constantly.

His trench coat billowed about him and his crucifix swung around his neck like a pendulum in a grandfather clock. To the naked eye he seemed like a normal kid. He slid to a stop in front of a restaurant and kicked up his skateboard and caught it, and he went inside. 

He loved coming to this place, not because of the $3.99 dinner buffet - though that was bonus and as a kid with no fixed address money was hard to come by - but the atmosphere to him was nice. He always felt at ease when he came in here.

The door chimes jingled as he entered, making some heads turn from the counter and the old woman who stood behind it as well.

"You're late," she told him. "Your lunch is getting cold."

"Thanks Mai," Darius replied. "I got held up."

"Eat up before it gets colder," she told him like a mother would tell her child.

Darius headed to his usual table and saw that the food was already set and a can of soda was sitting there waiting for him. 

As he walked past a tall fellow with sandy blonde hair and a t-shirt stating "Control" he could feel a sensation of deja vu. But he was sure that he hadn't met this fellow at all. He was about to stop and say something, but the fellow just sipped his cup of coffee.

Darius placed his bible down on the table and his skateboard beside him and began to feast on today's only meal of the deal for him.

Prologue: The Awakening

Kelly's Diner sat on the outskirts of the city, a rest stop or a last chance to get a meal before heading off into destinations unknown. It was a relic from the past, erected during the 1950's and had managed to survive the radical changes as the city grew in the distance.

It had changed hands many times but never its style and that's maybe why the woman liked coming here every so often. She pulled into a parking spot in front of the diner and stepped out into the crisp morning air.

The waitress was sitting on the edge of the counter taking a sip from her coffee when the woman entered. The waitress straightened up from the stool and placed her coffee down.

"Good morning," the waitress said. 

The woman nodded and said, "Indeed it is." The woman was athletic, somewhere between her late twenties and early thirties, wearing torn jeans and a tank top. Her posture was straight but  not arrogant. She stood at the door and glanced around and decided to take a seat near the back.

"Do you want coffee?" the waitress asked.

"Yes please," the woman said. She stopped and turned to face the waitress. "Has there been a gentleman here? About 6'1. Sandy blonde hair?"

ReBoot Alpha

Max's head hurt.

He opened his eyes to find himself sitting on a bench, his mind seemed to be swimming in neurological chaos at the moment. He was trying to get his bearings, he didn't know where he was and how he got there.

This is not good.

The sun was blaring down, his tongue felt like fuzz as he tried to spit but couldn't muster up the saliva to do so. He stood and sat right back down again as vertigo made the world around him turn. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths and then opened them again.

Better.

He was on a city street, he didn't know which city it was, but at least the sun was shining. His stomach grumbled like a dog does when it's disturbed from a deep sleep, he needed to get a bite to eat and a coffee to chase away the tendrils of the fog that seem to cloud memories of his mind. He glanced around and saw a Chinese restaurant down the street.

It will do.

Lucky Chi's Restaurant was opened for business, Max entered and sat down at the counter. He ordered a coffee from the very pretty waitress, he picked up the menu to see what meal appealed to him today.  The door chimed opened and Max did a quick glance at the grungy street kid dressed in a tattered longcoat, the kid had a skateboard tucked under one arm and he was carrying a bible in the other hand. The tattered longcoat had several buttons which declared: Choose Life, Pray Hard, God Loves You (I Might Not Like You).

I should know him. Darius? His name is Darius. He's so young. Am I dreaming?

Max was about to call his name, but then he noticed the big hulking fellow sitting two seats down from him. He had cop written all over him, shaved head, mustache and a goatee to boot and dressed in a long black trench-coat. The badge on his belt didn't hide the fact, as well.

What's going on. What's happening here? Why is this happening again? 

Max took a sip from his coffee cup. Memories unlocked and he knew that any moment all hell would break loose, when the woman Wraith will enter through the door and take a seat at the back of the room then the Tongs will enter moments later to demand their "security payment".  The scene will play out differently this time, he knew what he was going to do, he was going to play it cool and let everyone have their moment...

The Beginning (Of Sorts) - V.23

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 Art of the Deal

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.

Here's How Max Saw How He Met the Cat...

Now the impact was hard, and that particular moment he impacted the cat asked him. And a tree and a few park, came a few branches, at the ground. He asked him chuckle, just as he felt like Wile E: no him chuckle, just as he lain looked over and a reply. Where am I? I now the impact was hard, and Max bounced off a park, came a reply? In a tree and Max that particular moment he asked him chuckle, just as he impacted the after effects of the ground.

And that particular moment he lain on the heavens; at the after effects of the ground looking up at the grass licking his paws. Max said as he lain on the impact was hard, and Max said as he felt like Wile E: licking his paws: the ground.

The impact ground: looking up at the cat asked him. And Max said as he impacted the impact was hard, and Max bounced off a tree and Max bounced off a reply: heavens.

Like Alice Through the Looking Glass

The impact was hard, and Max bounced off a tree and a few branches; at that particular moment he felt like Wile E. Coyote. And that imagery in his mind made him chuckle, just as he impacted the ground. Momentarily winded, he lay on the ground looking up at the heavens.

"Where am I now?" he asked no one in particular. 

"In a park," came a reply. He looked over and saw a cat sitting on the grass licking his paws. 

"Ah," Max said as he picked himself up. "Now the next question is when am I?"

"I beg your pardon?" the cat asked him.

Max stood on his feet, still feeling the after-effects of the shift.

From a Killer to a Friend

"Quit while you're ahead," Mags told him. She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth.

Frank smiled as he paused to adjust his tie. He liked this girl, she had spirit. It was too bad that he was ordered to kill her.

He ducked under Mags' clumsy swing, bringing up his right to smack her in the stomach and send her down to the ground. 

I am the predator. You are the prey. 

Frank pulled out a weapon; enough was enough. He had toyed with this woman long enough and it was time to end it. He had been expecting someone far more superior. From all the intelligence gathered on this subject, he was surprised that she was a piece of cake. He lowered the gun, aiming at her head.

"Time to earn my keep," he said.

Mags looked up at him and smiled, saying, "Oh, you want to play it that way then?"

Before he could pull the trigger to end this charade, Frank saw her eyes narrow with intent, and in a blur she knocked the gun from his hands, sending it skittering along the cement floor. Her fist came up and punched him in three quick jabs. His body felt numb and tingling and he couldn't believe it.

Frank stumbled and fell, defeated. 

She was playing me. 

Mags was on her feet, straightening out her clothes, and she stood over the man who had been about to end her life. She looked down into the eyes of the would-be assassin and she gave him a slight wink.

"Well," she asked, "what shall we do next?"

Frank looked up at her, puzzled, and told her, "Just end it now."

"Well, no," she said as she knelt down beside him. "You were obviously doing what you were told. But I can sense a great uneasiness about your work. You wish to do something more than being told what to do and when to do it."

Frank paused for a few minutes, thinking; he knew that this woman was crazy. A friendly kind of crazy, but crazy nonetheless. The file on her was thick and he had studied her and her associate well.

"Why let it ruin the evening?" she asked as she offered her hand to him. "Let's discuss it over a coffee. There's a nice little place around the corner called Good Tomes, Good Times. I'm supposed to meet up with someone there."

He cracked a smile, this time with a true admiration. "You're crazy, you know that."

"Not as crazy as you were, thinking that you got the best of me," she said. "Let's go, there is some people that I want you to meet."

The Recruit

"What's your handle?" Max asked as he extended his hand to help the lad up.

"Goner," the young man said. He really didn't know what to say at the moment; he realized that his life was over anyway.

"Goner?" Max repeated, his hand still extended as an offer to help the lad back to his feet. "Well Goner, I hate to tell you to say goodbye to the rest of your life as you know it."

Goner closed his eyes; he didn't want to see the gun.

He felt Max's hand on his arm helping him up. "Let's see what the Professor has to say to you."

"Huh?" Goner asked in stunned disbelief.

"Goner," Max said. "You might be cursing the day you met me from this day forward."

Figure of Speech

Max reached for the canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and then handed the canteen to the kid. Suki waved her hand; she wasn't too thirsty.

"You better take some of this," he told her. He glanced behind them to see if anyone had been following. "Who knows when the next time we'll get an opportunity like this."

She took the canteen and took a tiny sip and then handed it back to Max. He put the cap back onto it and then tossed it into the jeep. He took out a pistol and showed it to the girl.

"You know how to use this?" he asked her. "In the next few hours we are going to be in a whack of trouble."

Suki nodded yes. Max checked to see if it was loaded and saw that it was.

"You don't talk much," said Max as he handed her the gun. As soon as she held the weapon in her hands she seemed like an old vet.

"Talking is just a waste of energy," Suki answered. "My grandfather says energy is useful bottled up and when the time comes to use it, you use it."

"Well, what do you know," Max said with a chuckle. Suki hadn't really said much at all since he had rescued her from a group of Tongs. "She really knows how to say a word."

Suki smiled.

Rainy Day Interlude

Rain spattered against the windowpane as thunder rumbled across the sky. The day was dark and murky, sort of an ambient mood to a bitter day. Inside a brownstone within the city, two women passed the time. One of them reading a novel, the other by the window looking out over the city.

"So what's he like?" the cheerleader asked, diverting her attention from the view and back into the room. "I mean, what's he like in person? You've been traveling around with him. What's the real deal?"

Maggie glanced up from the book she was reading. She was in the middle of a story about a boy who went to a magical school and battled fantasy creatures, though the book wasn't supposed to be a fantasy to begin with.

"Who - Trump?" she asked, feigning ignorance with a slight smile. "Oh, we found him awhile back, and he's just been..."

"No. Max," the cheerleader said. "I wonder if he's the key to unlocking the events that are unfolding." She shivered. "Why are the dreams I'm having like peering into the souls of others?"

Maggie got up from the sofa and tossed the book down. She strolled to the table where the cheerleader was sitting. The sound of a coffee machine coming from the kitchen, gurgling like it was a volcano ready to go at any moment.

"Let me get a coffee first and I will tell you a little story," Maggie said.

The Coffee at Ling's Lotus Palace

The grungy looking punk with the skateboard sat at a booth by himself. The one thing that looked out of the ordinary was the bible plopped down before him. He had a dinner of chicken fried rice and some sweet and sour ribs on a plate, yet he hardly touched it.

"What you reading?" Max asked the kid. He had emerged from the bathroom, saw the bible and paused to make conversation; he had this feeling that the kid might be involved in something that might be happening.

The punk looked startled at first; he closed the book and looked at the man standing before him. Then he slid the bible back into his trenchcoat, and picked up his chopsticks.

"Ummm," the kid started, trying to figure out what angle this stranger was working. "Just doing some research actually. For a thesis. That's all."

Impressed, Max nodded, turned and took his spot down at the counter. The old woman placed a new cup of coffee before him. Max had left his cigarettes on the counter; he opened them up and took out a smoke.

Three Tongs came through the front door and up to the cash register.

"Bù, nǐ zuótiān lái. Zuótiān nǐ ná qián," the old woman said nervously.

"Ń, zhè shì zuótiān," the leader of the Tongs said with a wicked smile. "Jīntiān shì xīn de yītiān."

"Méiyǒu, yīdàn xīngqí. Xiéyì." The woman sounded desperate.

"Kàn biǎo zi," the leader said angrily. "Wǒ hé nánshēng xiǎng qǔdé yīxiē huà hén. Gěi wǒmen de qián, wǒmen bù huì dǎrǎo nǐ xià zhōu."

"Wǒ méiyǒu qián."

The leader was about to say something, but that's when a huge bald man in a leather jacket stepped up from a nearby table. He held a badge in his hand to show the punks who they were about to deal with. "Is there anything going on here?"

Max glanced at the cop and nodded. That fellow too, he's here for a reason as well, he thought as he sipped his coffee.

"Nothing at all, just mistook this place for something else," the leader said. He looked at the cop with disgust. He knew this one by rep: a real hard-ass honest cop.

"Yeah, something classier," one of his boys added in. They backed out of the store and ran down the street.

The cop turned to the old woman and asked, "How long have they been shaking you down?"

The old woman looked up and shook her head; she was scared.

Years of combat duty and several more years on the force had honed Dexter Washington's reactions. As soon as he heard the squeal of tires he dove behind the counter, taking the old woman down, right before hundreds upon hundreds of rounds came a calling.

The front window imploded and let in a special delivery of hot lead. Everyone was taking cover, ducking under tables.

Max just sat there as bullets destroyed everything they touched. As he reached for his coffee, bullets danced along the counter, and hit the area where Max's coffee had been sitting. He brought the mug to his lips.

Damn, Max thought, that is one good cup of java.

A Chance Encounter

"You're him right. You're Max."

"Yeah," said Max as he changed the clip in his gun. He had spent several rounds and now the jackets lay about him like a lazy dog. He stood before the downed tracker, who was just a freaking kid.

The tracker looked up at him and smiled. "Finally, a chance to meet the legend himself. And I can't believe he's going to be the one to finish me off. That's so cool."

"Well, after all, you did try to kill me," Max said. He squatted down over the soldier and reached inside his pocket and pulled out a neon pink book of matches, the logo stating that they were from Club Hanky Panky.

"No offense man, just doing my job," the tracker said, laying his head on the concrete. The tracker chuckled.

"None taken," Max replied. He lit two cigarettes and took a long puff from them both, then he took one and gave it to the kid. Max stood up.

"Before you do this, can I get your autograph? Make it out for my mother." The kid told him what to say on it. Max wrote it inside the matchbook. "Can you send that to her?" the soldier asked.

"Sure kid," Max smiled.

The soldier cracked a huge smile, his lips bloody. "My mother's a huge fan of yours. It'll do her good knowing her son was taken out by the best there is."

"Why don't you give it to her yourself, kid," Max said. He dropped the matchbook on the ground beside the soldier. "What's your name?"

"Dobie, sir."

"Dobie eh?" Max chuckled. "I like that."

There was a long pause, then the kid coughed.

"When you need a better line of work, look me up, Dobie," Max said as he dialed 911 on a cellphone and dropped it beside the kid and walked down the alley like a shadow being consumed by night.

What Mysterious Awakenings Await Thee

Maggie opened her eyes and found herself lying submerged in a tank. She was in a sea of colorless liquid, but somehow she was breathing. Her first reaction when she became aware of her surroundings was of panic. She tried to move but a jolt went through her limbs - that's when she realized that she was held by a pair of manacles.

"Not again," she muttered to herself, though her voice sounded foreign to her.

When Maggie moved small electrical jolts warned her of the consequences of her action. She was naked and covered with electrodes and wires. 

"She's aware," a female voice announced. 

"That was sooner than we expected," said another female. "Page the good doctor and let him know Magenta Blue is a go."

Maggie pulled at her restraints only to be greeted with another jolt of sharp pain that made her wince.

"No sudden moves, Magriel," said a voice. He stepped forward and a cold smile crossed the frozen wastes of his face. 

"The more you move, the stronger the jolt," he warned. "And we don't want our star pupil to be dead before we begin."

"Well, now that you have my attention. Who are you?" she questioned.

"My name is Morganfokker and I would like to officially welcome you to this plureality."

"Should I know you?" Maggie questioned.

"Maybe," his answer was short and curt. He touched the glass tank, looking down at Maggie in a hungry sort of way. "I've been searching for you for a long long time."