Mick opened the locker and removed the satchel, headed to the nearest washroom. The intercom rattled off train arrival and departure notifications in a bland, synthetic voice. A security drone hummed over the swarm of commuters. Mick had taken two capsules of Glamour before arriving at the station and run some invisibility mantras - he'd be cloaked from any surveillance for about an hour. Unless the Sidhe showed up, which meant things were fucked anyway. Hunkered in a stall, Mick unzipped the satchel. There was a hardcover book, one of the sourcebooks for the Aeon Triumph Gun MessiahsRPG. A pencil and a piece of paper. Mick used the book as a firm surface to write on, scrawling notes quickly with the pencil on the paper. Four System operations identified. Two Counter-System activities being monitored, plus one potential. Pretty George might be dead. Max has made contact with Dexter, Wraith and Callan - still not sure if they've joined the System or have been recruited by Counter. No contact with Darius (he's been running on a parallel stream ever since the Millennium Incident I think, which Max doesn't know much about, either because he wasn't there or can't remember). Max is still working closely with Angst and Frank. Goner's gone dark. Suki seems to be missing. Aqua disappeared with the remains of the Subway car. I've got some rumours on Akimoto to follow-up on. The name Summer keeps coming up...? No confirmed contact with Maggie. No clues yet to which one is the double-agent. Any idea what the fuck exactly is going on? Mick folded the paper once and tucked it inside the book. He noticed the page he had randomly opened to: the description and stats for one of the Vatars that players could summon once they reached level 13 as a Gun Messiah. 'The Void'. He shivered. Then sneered. Mick was not the superstitious type.
When the Legacy Corporation finally collapses – due in large part to the leak of top secret research by the underground hacker group Plureality – a war begins. It is a war of information, of data, of money, and just as often a war of bombs and bullets. Omegatropolis – the vast city that covers most of North America, including the 13 artificial islands along the Atlantic coast – descends into chaos as Legacy falls apart and the ravenous horde of MacroCorps begins fighting over consumers, resources, profits and power. The soldiers in this war, beyond the private security companies and in-house agents, are the Metas. Metas are hackers, gunslingers, thieves, smugglers, and spies for hire. They use the latest bio-mech enhancements and neuro-tech upgrades to out-sneak, out-fight and out-think the competition. The bravest and craziest use a drug called Plex that can boost their capabilities to borderline paranormal levels. Whatever their talents, motives, or personal demons, Metas need Contracts to work. And Contracts come through Fixers. And the best Fixer in Omegatropolis is Pretty George.
The new Order of the Dragon welcomes all wayfarers, wanderers and outcasts who devote their talents to helping the Free Folk. The Lady Dread fights for the Fae, who have been mercilessly hunted by the Ashen Tradition to be corrupted into vicious Ravagers. Her prowess in combat stems from her training as a Leafdancer. Freeman is a former Child of the Pyre. Maighread bested him in battle and gave him the choice to die or repent. He now lends his arcane powers to the cause of the Dragons and seeks redemption for the harms he has caused. The Faded Knight is the last surviving soldier of the Order of the Griffon. He had been imprisoned by the Red Cadre at a distant Keep. 'Fade' was rescued by Jorja the Fair and told to seek out Maximus if he wanted revenge against his captors. The Dragons are sometimes granted aid by a mysterious apparition that they call the Sage. No one knows the Sage's origin or agenda, but his riddles and secrets have often brought the Dragons good fortune.
Maximus is an orphan taken in by the the Order of the Crow and trained in combat, tracking and the bardic arts. Before Maximus can complete his training and become a Knight, the Order is attacked and destroyed by the Red Cadre. The wizards of the Cadre imprison Maximus and practice their foul magic upon him until a fellow captive, Jorja the Fair, uses her cunning and trickery to allow them to escape. The two part afterwards, for their safety, but vow to reunite one day. Maximus also vows to use his skills in the service of the Free Folk and to vanquish the Red Cadre.
She plopped her feet up on the desk, leaned back and took a puff from the cigarette. She had been trying to quit but like her father always said, "Only Quitter's Lose". She didn't mind the chaos about her, as officers walked back and forth, the phones constantly chiming in, and the clacking of an old typewriter in the corner.
That was George typing up a report. He was old school. She was going to ask him why he preferred that antique over the laptops but she guessed he was one of those 'can't teach an old dog new tricks' kind of guy.
"Yo, Riveta," said Lugerelli, "Put that shit out now."
"Make me," Riveta replied.
She hated that creep with a passion; she didn't know what it was about him but she hadn't liked him from day one. He had that look about him that made her want to bash in that face of his.
"You're given me second hand smoke," he scolded. "And besides, it's office policy not to smoke inside."
"You gonna arrest me?" she asked him.
"Christ, Riveta," Monnette said as he walked past her desk. "You know that's a $200 fine if the shop steward sees ya."
"I know, I know," Riveta replied to him. She butted it out; all she wanted was a taste. Besides, it helped her relax some.
Lugerelli threw some nico gum on her desk, "Chew on these."
"You wanna chew on my fist for a while?" she asked at him. Lugerelli was about to say something but he saw George in his corner shaking his head at him. Lugerelli then went back to his desk and answered a phone.
"What's your beef with him?" Monnette asked her. He plopped his rear on the corner of her desk.
"I don't know," Riveta confessed. "It's just that whenever I see him I have this urge to spit."
Samsara Pretty
George sighed. "Honestly Suki..." Suki
took a sip from the tea. "I figured your place would be more
cluttered." She looked around at the small apartment. Dust in
the corners, stains on the floor. A fly buzzing in the kitchenette.
She had sent the reverend and her sidekick out for sandwiches;
Pretty looked like he could use a meal. He
sighed again. "You're trying to change the subject." Suki
looked squarely at him. "It's a reflex I have when I feel I'm
about to be disappointed." Pretty
held her gaze. She looked good, she looked
healthy. She had always seemed so aloof, cold even, when she was
young. Initiated so early. The edge was still there, maybe even
sharpened, but it was sheathed in something a little softer now. He
had no idea where Suki had been all these years, but it seemed to
agree with her. "Why
are you back?" he asked her. "Now
you're changing the subject." "You
haven't been in the game for a while now. I can tell. You look too
happy." "I
was happy when I was playing too," Suki said, perhaps a little
defensively. "That
feeling you felt, that wasn't happiness and you know it. That rush,
that charge. Purpose, yeah. Power, yeah. Strangeness, definitely.
Mana maybe. But it wasn't happiness." "Meeting
Max was the best thing that ever happened to me," Suki said. "Me
too," Pretty said. "And the worst." They
each took a sip of their tea. Pretty listened to the sound of the
buzzing. Suki glanced about the dingy room. Things felt heavy. "Fine,"
Pretty said. "I'll get it for you."
Countdown
To Eternity Suki
rapped on the door once again. This time a little louder, a little
more impatiently. Father Donnelly had donned a hooded sweater, looking
more like a homeless beggar than the regal priest that he was. "You
sure he's here?" Scorpio asked. He was constantly scanning the
alleyway. He didn't like having too many blind spots. "You trust
him." "With
my life on many occasions," Suki replied; she banged on the
door again. "Keep
your pants on," a hoarse voice shouted. "Yeah,
he's here," Suki said with a smile as she heard some movement
inside. The
sound of a keyboard, plus several bolts sliding from their safeties, as a
door opened up partial. "Suki?"
a gruff looking man asked. Looked like he was just getting out of
bed. "Suki! Sweet Jesus it is you!" "Sorry
to bother you, Pretty, but I need your magick touch," Suki said.
She looked over at the others in her party. "We need your help!"
The ticking of the clock made him nervous, each tick seemed to be
harping away at him telling his senses what his brain failed to
acknowledged.
His cellphone rested on his lap as he puffed away at
another cigarette; it was his fourth in a row and this one was down to
near the filter. He was thinking of lighting up another one when his
cellphone came alive.
"Yes," he said as he brought it up to his ear.
"We're in some serious shit," the voice on the other end told him. "We need Pretty and we need him bad."
"I will find him," he replied. "Is there anything in particular you need him to get?"
"Vinyl," the voice on the other end said.
"Vinyl?" he repeated the word.
"Pretty knows what it's all about," the voice said.
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.
Max looked up and smiled at the waitress as she walked away from the
table. She gave him a wink and he nodded his appreciation of not having
to call her for a cup of coffee.
"Still got the charm," Pretty said
as he slid into the seat. He was dripping in sweat and his long coat
seemed to be bulging with items. Though Max could see that Pretty was
pretty comfortable.
"Yep," Max replied, then he took a sip of coffee. "What have you got for me?"
"Something
new and exciting," Pretty said as he put a cloth bag on the table. He
pushed it towards Max. "Got it from a fallen LEGACY cell team. Got
there before the blue boys could make the scene."
Max didn't bother on opening the bag just yet. He had good judgement in Pretty's observational technique.
"You
let me know how it works," George said as he slid out of the seat.
"Sorry to make this quick but I got a deal going on the other side of
the river."
INT. GOOD TOMES, GOOD TOMES - DAY MAX, FRANK, PRETTY GEORGE and SUKI are sitting at a table by the window. MAX is sipping on a coffee and wearing a t-shirt that has a picture of the Queen whose skin is open to reveal that she is a lizard. FRANK is dressed to the nines in a black jacket and tie with a pink dress shirt. PRETTY GEORGE is sitting at the end of the table, and SUKI is playing with a yo-yo not really paying attention to the fellows. There is a strange weird item sitting on the table. Frank is peering at it but afraid to touch it. FRANK ... what is it? PRETTY Don't know as of yet. But it sure is funky looking. FRANK Is it safe? PRETTY I am not sure what the hell it is. So it's hard for me to classify it. FRANK You're insane. PRETTY Well, in my business you have to take some risks. When something like this falls into your lap you have to take the good with the bad. FRANK (turns to Max) And you trust this man? MAX He has my back. FRANK That's all I need to know.
The bunker was hot and
stuffy and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. There was a poker
game going on at a table with several of the troops playing off
some of their paychecks.
Broom broke off from the poker game
since he was tapped already and didn't want to loose what little money
he had left. He saw that Pretty was up and he went to him like a moth to
a flame.
"Hey Pretty, you got any cigs?" Broom asked. He stood at
the foot of the bunk. Pretty was reading a western novel and peered over
the book to see who had interrupted the best part of the scene.
"What kind you want?" Pretty asked Broom; he leaned over and dragged a locker out from underneath his bed.
"Le Morte's if you have 'em" Broom said.
Pretty opened the locker and moved a few things around and ended up tossing Broom a package of Le Morte's.
"Cool!" Broom stated. He tossed a couple of bills at Pretty.
"Pleasure
doing business with you," Pretty called after Broom. He turned over to
Max and said, "I can't see what you like about that mag."
Max glanced
over from his bunk; he was engrossed in an article in the Fortean Times.
Something about string theory and a paperclip.
"It's educating," Max replied.
"I've got something for yah," Pretty said. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a zippo lighter and tossed it.
Max caught the zippo and looked at it. The design on it caught his eye.
"Well, I'll be," Max said. "Where did you get this?"
"Ancient trader's secret," Pretty said with a wink. "Besides, I owe you man."
The train shunted along the tracks. An ambient sound which could be
heard from the inside of the car. Here they were like hoboes hitching
around, on a car with a side door open enjoying the country view.
"It's
times like these that make it all worthwhile," said Frank; his black
suit was dirty and he had tried his best to look presentable. He leaned
up against the open door, a smoke in his hands and he was watching
the starry sky.
Max was sitting on the ledge; he was in that
exact frame of mind that Frank was in. Though he was splattered with
enough blood to make a CSI happy. He didn't reply at all, content with
the knowledge that someone else was feeling what he thought.
The car that they were in was empty, except for Angst sleeping off to one side. She was using Frank's jacket as a pillow.
"Well, I hope Pretty can get that for me," Frank wondered aloud.
"He's
good," Max replied still staring up at the night sky, his eyes seemed
a million miles away. "He's like Felix The Cat - all he has to do is reach
into his bag of tricks."
Max stood amongst the crowd around the memorial. The sun had
broken through the clouds earlier and brought down a ray of light upon
the group. Both the sun and the clouds were dancing that tango, that
tango of a crisp Autumn day. Being thankful that rain wasn't showing up, although it would be fitting.
A bugle sounded off in the
distance and many heads were bowed in unison, out of respect for those
who had perished, from wars long ago and not long ago. Pretty placed
his hand on Max's shoulder. "How goes it pal?"
Max gave him a sideways glance. "Glad to have you here."
"Wouldn't
miss this for the worlds," Pretty replied; he had on his greys, with no
medals; he wanted to be part of the crowd. "My name would have been
carved in stone with Morris and Thandlerude if it wasn't for you."
Max
smiled upon hearing Thandlerude's name. He remembered when he was sitting
at post, and Thanderlude would be leaning back and playing his
harmonica, and old blues song. Max could hear the song in his head but
he had forgotten the name.
"Thandlerude," Max repeated. "What was that song he constantly played?"
Pretty
thought about it for a few seconds. "I really don't know. But it was a
haunting melody. I think it was an Otis Rush tune."
The bugle was
done and then a little girl stepped forward and spoke into the mic. She
was repeating a poem that was written many years ago, about a field. A
field where flowers grew among the dead.
"I am going to look into
it," Max said. He felt the vibration of his cellphone, but he made no attempt to answer it. He could talk later, now was the time of
remembrance.
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.
Max dove for cover as the explosion consumed the room, barely beating
being caught up in the inferno by a mere scant seconds. It singed some
of the hairs on his head though, and that really got him more ticked.
He
hit the ground and rolled, and came up behind a barrier. He didn't know
what they were using but it was some futuristic gun that made things
explode. He got out his cellphone and dialed a number with his thumb.
"Pretty," Max said.
"I am," Pretty replied. "How can I help thee, Max?"
Pretty George stood in the rain, waiting. Like some rock'n'roll god
once sang, the waiting is the hardest part. He glanced up at his watch and could see that it was 1 minute past the scheduled meeting.
A
grimace appeared on his face, which was rare since he was always in a
jovial mood. That meant that one of two things had happened, and the first was impossible since there was no way in hell that someone
would not show up.
Once you make a call to Pretty, the wheels are set.
To
make matters worse, some thugs appeared from down the street and saw
him standing there with the duffel bag. Pretty George looked up into the night sky and whispered, "You're not going to do this to me now are you?"
He
glanced down the street and all his years of dealing and combat
training told him that they were going to cause some serious trouble.
"I
guess you made that random encounter roll," he chuckled as he reached
inside his long coat and pulled out a squarish device, much akin to a Rubik's cube.
Max, Maggie, Angst & Pretty stood outside the warehouse; they could
hear the pulsating bass of the music radiating from inside. Max didn't
know where he was at the moment, nor did her care; all he knew is that
whatever was inside had to be dealt with once and for all. He felt
Maggie's hand on his shoulder.
"You sure you want to do this now?" she asked with tenderness.
"Yeah," he replied, his tone as cool as the evening air. "It has to be done. Now is the time."
A
huge limo pulled up to the front of the building; two suits got out
with half a dozen bodyguards and headed towards the doors. They scanned the perimeter and noticed nothing unusual. Max's eyes narrowed; there was hate burning behind his pupils. It took all his
will to stop himself from pulling out Pain & Joy and going John Woo
right then and there.
"The information is correct," Max said. "There he is."
"Let's do this," Maggie replied. She turned to face Pretty and glanced over to Angst.
Angst
was moving with the music. Her body swaying with the beat, she was a
part of the rave generation and it showed. Angst nodded but kept moving
with the music, though you could see the expression on her face change.
She was transforming with the ritual of dance.
After a few more moments Max turned to Pretty and nodded.
Pretty dropped the duffel bag on the ground between them and unzipped it.
---
They
approached the door to the warehouse, Max forward, Maggie to the left and Angst to the right. The walked towards the bouncer, who looked
up at them and their clothes. The bouncer was about to say something but a kick to the groin by Angst stopped him.
Pretty
watched from his binoculars. Normally after a deal he would disappear
into the night because, once a transaction was finished, he wasn't needed
anymore. Tonight he stuck around, not only out of curiosity, but out of friendship to Max. He knew this time was as different as day was to night. He watched
Maggie throw open the steel door and saw them go inside.
From
his vantage point, he could hear the music and see flashes from elevated
windows and hear the sounds of combat.
Max stood with his hands clasped behind his
back, looking at the map of the world he had just tacked up. He was
still sweating from the morning workout. His wounds having healed nicely, it was time to add fresh new ones to
the fold.
The alarm clock radio was tuned to a station. And at
6am the station popped on in the middle of Billy Haley & The Comets'
' Ling Ting Tong'.
"Okay," Max said. "Phase one done. Now for Phase two."
He
didn't know why he subjected himself to this life.
He watched as a black fly crawled on the map. He was
waiting for a sign. Then there were three flies crawling over the map,
and shortly they were converging at one spot. His attention
was honed into the signal and he nodded.
"Well now," he said.
He
fished a cigarette out of the flattened pack and took a wooden match
out of a film canister. The container was decorated with a few symbols,
which were hard to make out since they were well worn. But Max knew
what they were.
He struck it and the stick lit up. He
brought the match to his face and looked at the blue fire with a
greenish tinge to it. He touched the match to the cigarette and puffed.
Savoring it's taste.
He picked up his cellphone and dialled a number. His fingers moving
like a leaf in the breeze.
"Hey Pretty," Max said. "Can you rustle up some tickets?"
