Channel Plex: Fan Base

"... was a case like that of Neon Genesis Evangelion, where the creator's personal problems apparently affected the development of the story, but Season Three definitely saw a dramatic shift in the direction of the show and the way its stories were told." 

"No doubt, and many viewers dropped the show, there was the attending outcry online- " 

"And many other people starting tuning in as a result." 

"So Crisis ended up finding an equilibrium. I'm of the camp that thinks this was all planned, that Simon's supposed mental health issues were hype to coincide with the changes in the series." 

"So the production side of the show actually became part of the show..." 

"Well, the whole Man Behind The Glass character clearly evokes a 'meta' reading of the whole thing..." 

"And there are those who say that The Glass Man was actually the figure in the alleyway back in Season Two, where Max kept reappearing to Natasha..." 

"Whatever dudes, all I know is that Season Four is gonna kick ass!" 

"Thanks for sitting in, Colin..." 

"(sigh) Yeah, thanks Col."

Secret Society Part Last

Miranda pirouetted in the spacious, unfurnished living room, pale walls and carpet. Her hair gathered at the base of her neck, a pretty, white summer-dress like gossamer. Open-concept, steps leading up to the kitchen and the corridor leading to the bedrooms. The north wall was glass, overlooking the lush green crowd of conifers that sloped down and away into the ravine. A  New Modern villa, reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright without being derivative. 

"It's gorgeous," Miranda says. Something about it felt fresh. 

"You're gorgeous," Genevieve replied from the landing near the front door where she was inputting the new security codes through a small, imbedded panel. Gen was in black jeans and a navy tank-top. 

Miranda smiled shyly, playfully. "You're a sweetheart, Gen. I'm not the girl for you, though." 

Secret Society Part Four

The beige concrete block of elite condos looked like nothing grown, something that landed here, whole and finished, anchoring the surrounding buildings and the warm mid-afternoon street in a present that would only ever welcome the past. A blind watchtower overseeing the construction of an irrefutable history.

In the car parked opposite, Brae, in a dark suit and tie, and Simon, combat pants and a 'Home' logo shirt, his head shaved, finished assembling the components of what Simon conceptualized as the latest in demolition technology. The digital camera linked to the laptop, remote access to the net. Brae, on the driver's side, began shooting the irregular stream of people entering and exiting the building. Simon uploaded the images to the website where specialist artists and researchers they had never met - or perhaps they had - would make the modifications, add commentary and revelations, before casting them out into the ocean of data. A slow-motion global explosion, erosion.

"Hey, did you hear the latest from Infoborous?" Simon asked, finger tapping keys and tickling the mousepad.

Secret Society Part Three

Kimberly came to with a noise, a raw sound from the border of things, her trained hand serpenting from under the covers to slap the panel on the bedside table. A dozen buttons but only one left active overnight to ensure her fumbling fingers didn't launch the wrong sequences. The protocols and precautions of Perdieux.

Lights and speakers and recorders embedded in the walls and furniture of the apartment turned on. Patterns of sound and colour, programmed a decade ago by Perdieux and only now gaining cautious acceptance in the most edgy of the city's dance clubs. What they did to her senses, her lobes. Waking consciousness recoiled from the post-psychedelic display, barricaded from entering standard flatline perception. In the blurry visual and auditory fugue Kimberly began shouting out details of the dream in the evoked sleep-awake hybrid language.

"She is staring ate muself bright coallition her hair stream moment as we pass. I... surrounded by the street familiars new breed criminal intentions incongruous with her later betrayal collision distinct against that look, how can we have looked at each other like that it done it's done after what she'll do..."

Secret Society Part Two

Garner pulled the car over and slid out into the misty urban night, blurred like an electronic Monet print. Black pants and a wide-collar leather coat, thigh-length. Miranda stepped towards him from the diner's vaseline-on-the-lens window, beginning a wave hello then cutting it short, an edit of regret. She was in wine-colored pants, flared from the shin, a cozy cloud-cut jacket, trying to assume a casual but intent posture.

Garner smiled warmly, a relaxing expression, and gestured her into the diner.

"I thought we were just meeting here, to go..." She held the door open for him. Garner's smile shifted into teacher-to-student amusement, slightly patronizing. Miranda checked herself from pouting.

Seated at the counter, Garner ordered a coffee.

Miranda said, "I thought we were supposed to avoid caffeine."

"Different diets for different effects," he responded and she ordered coffee for herself. "Don't take off your jacket," he added, catching her in mid-motion. "We want the appearance of concealing things."

Miranda leaned forward. "Is this fieldwork?" The quiet excitement in her voice. Garner smiled again.

"Not yet. Relax."

Secret Society Part One

The phone rang in the study. It was like a reverse-time anachronism, the electronic trill out of place inside the wood paneled walls, the spines of centuries-old books like mummy wrappings, paintings like oil and canvas skin cells shed by the last millennium's monster. The threat-sense that death may only be hibernation, the way the room determined the interpretation of the ringing. It was too potentially symbolic of futility and the failure of subversion.

Garner followed Kimberly into the room from the noise of the party, where Coalesce electronic pop had won the day. "I hate it in here," he said.

"Then get out," she said, waving him away and reaching for the phone. He smiled sheepishly and exited, the black man in a dark green suit, moving like a lion moves.

Kimberly, shoulder-length blond hair with platinum highlights, sun-peached skin, slim black high-neck and skirt. She tapped the telephone panel to activate the redundant line encrypt, easing into the padded leather chair, cordless receiver to her ear. She hated it in here too, though she wasn't sure why, and hoped that Perdieux would return, someday, changed, with a desire to redecorate.

"Go ahead."