Happy Halloween 2

 Previously on Halloween...

Morganfokker and Max's Costumes (version.Hannibal)

Maggie's Costume (version.Vikings)

The Dragons' Costumes (version.Vesperia)

[Trump, Goner, Suki, Max, Maggie, Simon, Angst, Frank]

v.Thespian

It's almost time for the Annual Morningstar Festival of One-Act Plays and the Jones Heights community theatre troupe Noo Media Productions needs a hit. For the last five years they have come in last in the competition, while popular (and well-funded) groups like Legacy Stage or The Angus Mode Players take home the trophies. It's all supposed to be a fun, friendly contest, but it's theatre and that means a lot of feelings and a lot of egos are involved...

So how are NMP looking this year? Well, the Board decided to bring in a first-time Director, Mallory Magrielle. And she decided to mount a production of a notoriously difficult play called 'Maxed to the Third Power'. Will great risk bring great reward? Except that the Set Designer Miguel Rogen and the Costume Designer Charlotte Stang are constantly arguing over what period the story is set in, while the Director refuses to weigh in because she feels that "conflict is essential to the creation of great art". Which has left Suki Fujimoria, the Stage Manager, over-worked and highly stressed - and Suki is known for her temper. No one has seen the Musical Director (and local DJ) Vlad Tiamook in over week; apparently he is furiously remixing the entire soundtrack to a create a "meta-temporal vibe" that will fit with whichever setting wins out, Rogen's or Stang's.

As for the cast... Ms. Magrielle gave the Lead Female role to Jones Heights' only (semi)famous citizen, Marnie Waters, who had a (semi)successful stint as a pop diva. Pandering or a subtle critique of celebrity? And instead of giving the Lead Male role to the long-standing, well-respected, troupe mainstay Frank Thamin - who thought the part could be his Prospero, but will instead be playing the Narrator - Ms. Magrielle cast THREE unknowns. That's right, she's having one character played by three different actors! How exactly Marshal Montgomery, Simon Light and Mick Scribe will split up the dialogue and action remains a closely-guarded secret.

Will opening night bring triumph or tragedy? Rave reviews or farcical folly?

Simple Simon

Simon sat in Barren's Cafe sipping his $8 latte. Four morning newspapers were sitting at the table with him and he had his tablet opened up as well. He kept his eye on the ticker scrolling past. BEXT had taken a serious hit; he was glad that he had gotten out of that one.

RDAQ  85.6^.... 1.78% | LING  123.8^.....6.32%| BEXT  44.6_ .....44%| EAV...

He checked in on some of the other stocks prior to getting in the office before the bell rung. He liked doing research in a place like this; he was a hunter by trade, and a very damn good one at that. He scanned through the news articles as well, stories about businesses, corporations, wars and natural disasters, to see what he should do with the billions of dollars that his clients and corporation had entrusted him with.

"Morning, Mr. Light," a woman said as she approached him.

"Ah," he replied, recognizing one of his clients, a strikingly beautiful woman with red hair and dressed to kill in a red jacket and skirt. "Ms. Morningstar, it's good to see you as well," he lied with all the conviction of a shark.

"Fancy meeting you here in a place like this," she said coyly.

"I've been coming here for years, before the bell opens," Simon said with a smile. He knew she was up to something; much like a super-hero who had senses tingling when trouble was near, so were his. "It's the first time I've ever seen you in this place."

"Oh, I like to keep an eye on who's doing what with my finances," she replied. She sat in the comfy chair across from him.

"No need to worry," he assured her. "I know what I'm doing."

His phone alarm chimed, the old 80's song 'Eye of The Tiger' sounded off.

"That's my cue to go, Ms. Morningstar," he said as he turned off his tablet and gathered up the papers. "Let's see how much money we can make you today."

Channel Plex: Under the Weather

Q: So when the Chakra Secrum Project disbanded, why did you three decide to stick together? 

Frank: I guess old habits. We had played together for so long that I guess we were afraid to branch out. 

Dexter: When we lost our lead singer it was like The Doors going on without Jim Morrison.

Frank: He was a crazy cat, that Jim. 

Q: So you guys knew Jim? 

Dexter: Of course. Back in the day at the Zombie-A-Go-Go's we performed before them. 

Frank: Chakra Secrum Project was Simon's baby. We didn't feel it was right to go on... The Doors did, but look where that got them - a crappy project called American Prayer.

Channel Plex: The Method

(the following clip is an excerpt from the Behind the Scenes documentary to be included on the upcoming digital release of The Passion of the Cube 2: Max Cube Must Die. Simon responds to a question on the press tour about being the second actor to play the titular hero…) 

"Well, I did a lot of the obvious things to prepare for the role… Spent some time on the firing range, got some instruction from a guy who’s pretty much a real life version of the character Frank. And I took some martial arts classes from another really great guy named Dave Wright. I meditated, and read a lot about the Tarot and other occult ideas. Did a few pagan rituals, which were very… moving, really. I even had lessons in piloting a helicopter – I figured Max would know how to do that, even though it doesn’t happen in either movie… 

"The really neat stuff though, the stuff that got me most in touch with what I think Max was about… It was when we started filming, and, well I had heard all the rumours about Suki as a director, that she tried strange stuff with her casts, to get these really interesting performances out of them – like Kiera had told me that on Passion 1, Suki had her and Jason volunteer on a help line during pre-production… So Suki gave me a cell phone and would have people call me on it at, like, well any time, at all these weird times, sometimes even during shooting… I think some of them were PAs, and some were even buddies of hers… And they would have these assignments for me, these little sorta missions… Once I had to leave set and go to a local café to pick up an envelope and deliver it to a hot dog vendor – I have no idea if he was in on it or not. And there would be a lot of late night calls, one AM, three AM. So I’m routinely getting out of bed – actually by that point I was sleeping on the couch in my clothes, like the clothes from wardrobe… So yeah, it got intense… Really, say like in the scene in the LEGACY parking garage, when Max trips and starts to cry and he’s fumbling to try and reload his guns… Well, there wasn’t a lot of acting happening there… So hopefully that all comes across in the film, and everyone enjoys it."

Channel Plex: Darkness In The Light

Max liked the anonymity of his job. He had walked through the convention doors and no one had turned their heads or given him a second glance.

He was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. He strolled past a group of Naruto warriors and past a group of Hollowed before making it up to the registration booth. He actually stood in line right behind a fanboy dressed up like the character he voiced. 

Max smiled; he had hit the pinnacle of voice-over actors. For the past three years he had been the voice of "Simon Light" in the anime series Bold Gun Crew Votillard. It was his bread and butter after spending a few years lost in the Saturday morning cartoon world, and he probably would be still if it wasn't for his agent who called him up and told him that the US company who had picked up the distribution rights to BGCV and a producer wanted the guy who had voiced "Chem Finder" in that CGI movie Citadel. They figured it was the perfect vocal tone for "Simon". 

The line inched ahead at the registration desk and Max didn't mind. It gave him a chance to hear what manga/anime fans were chatting about and it also gave him fuel for his discussions. He didn't like writing a prepared speech and spouting it out like an automaton. 

"Name," the girl at the desk asked. 

"Cube," he leaned forward in doing his best Sean Connery. "Max Cube." 

The girls eyes widened when she heard the name. "Omigawd!" 

Her partner at the desk stopped what he was doing and said, "Mr. Cube! Holy crap it's you!" 

"In the flesh," he said. "I'm supposed to be speaking in an hour. What room will I be in?"

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."

Channel Plex: Mahjong

Max stood on the promenade deck; he was leaning with his back against the railing. His hand holding a red pen, writing along the margins of the script. 

Damn, these hacks couldn't write worth beans. He was constantly changing things, adding colons, fixing up the words here and there, and changing the details to make things more cohesive and clearer for the audience. 

"Finished yet?" Simon said as he approached. He was carrying two cups of coffee and offered one to Max. "You've been out here for over an hour. I figured you needed this." 

"It's not easy turning crap into gold," Max replied as he put the cap on the red pen and clipped it to the page he was editing. He accepted the cup and took a pull from it. 

"What's the scoop?" Simon inquired. "We shooting this scene today or not?" 

"We're three days late as it is," Max replied. 

"Logollos is dancing around the producers," Simon said. "He's working his magic in order for this movie to be finished on time." 

"Christ, we're over budget as well," Max said. "I hope to hell this doesn't end up as another Heaven's Gate fiasco." 

The ship chugged along the river as Max took another pull of the coffee. "Here comes The Professor now," Simon said under his breath. 

"Are you finished with the changes, Max?" The Professor asked. He was dressed in a windbreaker and had on a baseball cap that read Cube Productions. "We need to shoot the next few scenes now before the weather changes again. The lightning and the weather is a good mood-setter for this."

A Word From Our Sponsor

It's a trap. 

Simon looked around. The voice in his head went off, sounding like a freight train. He had a sense of vertigo, a strange feeling of deja vu. His vision was askew.

"They're moving," Donnelly said. "I think they are onto us."

"Element of surprise is over," Scorpio said.

Don't do it. 

Simon's head was on fire, like a phosphorus flare burning white. Like the sound of dice rolling across the table, echoing in his mind.

Scorpio brought out his gun and stood at the door to the adjoining car.

Make a saving roll.

Underground Dramatis Personae

STONE - detective turned conspiracy theorist

RIVETA - detective turned metaphysical investigator

DONNELLY - ex-principal or maybe a priest

SCORPIO - geek turned double-agent

SIMON - mystery man

AKIMOTO - temporally-displaced norse samurai

TATTERDEMALION - strange girl from another planet

AQUA - teenage tiger-fist

FRANK - reformed LEGACY hitman

GONER - ex-mercenary

ANGST - cheerleader avec uzis 

To Be Continued

The Professor addressed the latest team. The newest Dragons. It wasn't the first time the roster had been replaced, or recombined. He had worked with so many of them throughout the strange non-years of the Metaplex, the liquid time of plureality. All of the lost and the found, the warriors, the outcasts, knights and assassins, witches and spies. The different teams gathered and sent on their missions, and always The Professor there to guide them, to never really be a part of them. Except the times that he had been, or the times he was never there at all - though most of those he couldn't remember... 

Dexter, Wraith, Darius, Callan. Frank, Goner, Angst, Suki, Aqua. Akimoto, Tatterdemallion. Cromwell, Bern, Caden. Siltailus, Falador, Rickson, Cloak, Nurendemyr. The Kat, Misfit, Silver. Odin, Merlin, Kele-De. Mick. Marshal, Michelle, Nick and Jonas. Nick, Pat and Charlotte. Soma and Heresy. All the Travelers, the Blueberry Hill Gang, the Shelter Team. Bishop, Twofeathers, Trump. Pretty George. Maggie Magenta.

And now, Stone and Riveta, Donnelly and Mayganne, Scorpio. He had explained to them as much as he could, what he was allowed to, what he was able to. And what the plan was. Desperate and uncertain, but the only way the Professor could think to turn this situation around. It wasn't safe to contact Simon Light in any local versions - the Professor had had to quarantine him. But maybe if they went far enough around... Find him, some version of him, somewhere else...

There was no telling if any of them would make it, or who they would be. If they would remember or understand anything. If they would find him and reach him. If that would be enough of a convergence to change things. If this would save things or end them.

The Professor had briefed them. He had taught them all the mantras and visualizations that he knew for transferals. Had exposed them to specifically modulated energy fields. Had read them modernist poetry, shown them certain movies. Tried anything he could think of to help them.

And now he was going to send them into another world and hope that they would somehow return...

Threshold Days

He felt exhausted. 

Last night he had injured a classmate during self-defense training.

This morning the sun was red. Crows lined the road on his drive into the office.

He had yelled at people he was trying to help. He was stuck on a level of the videogame he had been playing. He could only lie to his co-workers and his friends and tell them everything was fine.

Last night he dreamed of killing a man named Morganfokker and of a great feeling of change and relief coming over him, but in the morning the dream made him feel uneasy and scared.

Alison was dead and no one seemed to care. His cellphone would ring and he would answer it and hear only static.

Crisis Call

Simon snapped a few pictures of the dining room.  Baboor had the woman in the living room, Stockard was upstairs with the son.
Simon had been teamed with Karen Stockard and Asha Baboor on a number of assignments. They always got along well and their styles in the field complimented each other. On the drive over today, though, Simon had felt irritated by them both. Their voices, their conversation. Any time they asked him a question, always friendly, always polite, he bristled. They were talking about social stuff - they usually sorted and prepped all the work stuff in the office before leaving - but he felt so disconnected, so out of touch with the world and lives they were chatting about, it was almost painful. He wasn't surprised when they offered to conduct the interviews.

He snapped a few more shots then moved into the kitchen. He could hear Baboor speaking with the woman, her voice gentle, calmly drawing answers from her. The woman started to sound more tense, Baboor shifted her tone slightly to try and keep her grounded. It didn't work; the woman slipped into anger instead. Got defensive.

Suddenly, Simon found himself striding into the living room.

Baboor was sitting on the couch facing the woman who was seated in a chair beside it. Baboor read his posture right away and stood up.

"Who do you think you are?" Simon growled at the woman. Her eyes widened in shock at his tone.

"Agent Light -" Baboor said, trying to cut in.

He didn't stop. "We're here trying to help you and you shut us out? You're lucky Agent Baboor is doing the interview - I'd be smacking the info out of you if you tried that tone with me."

The woman looked terrified and confused, pressed back into the chair, hands clutching the sides.

 Baboor realized that she had to meet his level, even though it meant showing dissonance in front of the woman. "Agent Light! Back into the kitchen right now!"

Stockard appeared at the top of the stairs. The son called down, "Mom, are you ok?"

In his mind Simon was yelling SHUTUP SHUTUP SHEISNOTOK YOUARENOTOK LEAVEMEALONE SHUTUP but he managed to stop the words from coming out. Managed to turn around head back to the other room. Heard Baboor and Stockard speaking to the mother and son.

Simon imagined drawing his pistol, firing randomly into the room, imagined surrendering to violence, the terrible freedom of it. Anything to get him outside, get him out of whatever he was trapped in. His hand rose up before him. He was holding his cellphone, not the pistol. It hadn't rang in days.

"Where are you?" he whispered to it.

Drowning

"It was stupid," Simon said. "I wasn't hungry, but I ate the whole thing. The whole bowl. I just kept eating and eating. And I was so stuffed. felt like crap." 

"Compulsive behaviour," Susan said.


"It's been like that with everything. Talking with my co-workers. Watching movies. I'm doing all these things but I don't know why. I don't feel good. About anything."


"Go on," Susan prompted.


"I tried writing about it, in a journal. Like you suggested. But... well, it hurt. Does that make sense? It hurt to try and put it into words. Felt so rough and jagged... I feel tired all the time. Plus I'm out of shape. I can't get motivated."


"You tend to be hard on yourself," Susan observed.


"Yeah, but when I hear stuff like that... I feel I'm not being hard enough. I'm not being the person I'm supposed to be."


"What about the person you want to be?"


"I don't know. I sleep odd hours. Go to the office. Put some time in the field. The cases I'm on don't feel like they matter. Any agent could do them, and it won't really matter either way if they ever get closed."

"What do you think you need, Simon?" she asked.

"You know I hate that. The whole 'getting your needs met' angle. Like we're these mechanical processes of exchange. Treating our feelings like an economy."

Simon sighed. They were silent for a while. 

When you feel like there is something wrong, how do you know if it's the world that's wrong or if it's you? How do you know what to change? 

"I feel like I should go home," Simon said. "But I know that when I get there I'll feel like I need to go out. Then I'll end up going out to the coffee shop. And when I get there I'll feel like I need to go home."

Alison Meets With Simon Part Three

Her cell phone rang. Simon suddenly felt panicked.

"Don't answer that," he said.


She had fished it out of her purse, beside her on the bench in the park.


"Why not?" she asked as she checked the screen. "It's just my mom."


She raised the phone to her ear. Simon almost grabbed her arm. His eyes wide, fear exploding in his chest.


"Hi mom."


A white van stopped on the street bordering the park.


"Alison," he said harshly. "We have to go." He stood up, reached for her.


She gestured to give her a second. "Yeah mom, Thursday is still good for me."


The window of the van rolled down and the rifle barrel emerged.


"Four o'clock," Alison said.


Simon stepped away, trying to put distance between them, to keep her safe, and realized too late, the knowledge crashing like thunder through him. He wasn't the target.


"K mom, see you then."


He reversed his momentum, shifting to throw himself on her. To cover her, hold her, save her. Too late.


The blood erupted from her head. The gunshot crashed like thunder through the park. He landed on her and tackled her off the bench. Her blood splattered across his face.


Too late.

Alison Meets With Simon Part Two

Alison and Simon used to go driving for long drives all the time. They would talk about all sorts of things - movies, history, politics. They would listen to music. He had hesitated when she asked him today. Made a few feeble excuses. She pushed. 

They were on a back road. Trees and farms and fields.


"You know, I used to think you were psychic," she said.


He smiled. "Really? That's... weird."


"You were a weird guy. Not psychic like on the talk shows. But you had these insights. These really neat takes on things. People and situations."


"Hm." Simon stared at the window.


"You don't seem angry," she said. "You seem sad."


"Both I guess, back and forth."


"Like before."


"But different."


They drove. Alison had a Blue Rodeo cd playing quietly.


"Sometimes," Simon said, "it feels like every case I get assigned to is the same case."


"How do you mean? It gets repetitive?"


"Yeah, but it's not only that. I mean it feels like there's really just one big case and every assignment I get is sortof one facet of it."


Alison wished she could ask more questions about the work Simon did. About the details. And part of her was glad she didn't have to know.


"That one last month seemed to take a lot out of you," she said, trying to support him from outside the walls.


His brow furrowed. "Which one?"


"That last big one. Whatever it was about, well, you sounded on the phone like you were on the edge. Like it was maxing you out."


Simon looked at her. "I don't remember."

Alison Meets With Simon Part One

Alison sat down. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

Simon shrugged. "I came pretty early."


"How long have you been here?" They had agreed to meet at the coffeeshop after the morning rush.


"Well... All night."


Alison sighed. "You're not sleeping again."


Simon sipped his coffee. "Yeah."


"Can you tell me what's going on?"


He looked around awkwardly. "It's... It's like before. I guess. Different though, too."


"I'm sorry, Simon. Do you know... I mean..." She struggled to find the right words, to be concerned, gentle, but persistent enough, otherwise she wouldn't reach him.


"It's frustrating," he said. "Things have been going so well." She was equally relieved and disturbed by his willingness to respond.


"How's the work?" she asked. Sipped her coffee.


"I don't know... It feels like a job. Everything's been about the office, about politics. About policies and paperwork. I've forgotten what the actual work is supposed to be about, I think."


"What's changed?"


"Some positions in management have shuffled around. I don't know. I don't think it's just me. Everyone seems disillusioned there right now."


"Are you upset you didn't get that other job?"


Simon shook his head. "I'm glad, I think. Given how I'm feeling, it probably wouldn't have been a good fit."


Alison fixed him with a look. "And how are you feeling?"


He didn't avoid the question, or deflect it. His answer surprised her.


"Angry."


"How come? At what?" Simon was always pretty laid back. She knew that the field he worked in was stressful; she had seen him work through burn-out a few times. He'd never been angry before. Or at least he'd never been open about it.


"I don't know. Everything."


She made her voice soften. "Are you feeling lost?"


"No," Simon said. "I feel found. And it feels wrong."

We Will Throck You

Simon awoke on the floor of his apartment. His phone was ringing but he never got up to answer it. His head swimming, buzzing with information or it could be the tequila. Was he drinking last night, he couldn't remember. Heck he couldn't remember what day it was. He lifted up his head and glanced around, trying to regain focus on the task at hand. His head still swimming, as if he was seeing through his eyes but from a distance. If that made any sense at all, he thought.

His cellphone rang this time. He made to move to answer it. His mind and his body ached and all he wanted to do was sleep now.


Homer sleep now.


He chuckled at that thought. A reference to a roughly drawn animated series had snapped him out of his sluggish state and he reached for the cellphone.

Different Name, Same Show

Simon sipped his tea. His head hurt, it had been hurting a lot lately. Migraines, powerful ones that felt like his head was going to implode. He remembered getting these headaches as a child, long ago. His grandmother would take him in her arms and rock him while singing a song.

He didn't know what to do. He had stopped taking aspirin, tylenol and other medications since they only seemed to pollute the body with chemicals.

But with these migraines it seemed he was being divulged with massive information, his brain processing images and events that seemed to happen, or didn't happen but he was remembering them as if they did. He winced again.

He picked up his tea and sipped, the liquid felt like heaven as it ran over his taste buds. Green tea was doing the trick.

"You okay, Simon?" Shelly asked. She took the chair opposite him. 

"Looks like you're in another world."

"Sometimes I feel like I am," Simon replied. He had closed the notebook in front of him with what looked like a list of items and events and dates, but Shelly couldn't make them out.

The Modification of Mu

Version Charlie Ten 1.9

Simon put down the paper; he had given the news a glance over and read only the stories that caught his eye.

The past few days were unraveling on a strange course and he couldn't remember what he did yesterday.

"Coffee?" the waitress asked him.

"No, not really," Simon replied as he flashed the young waitress a pearly smile. "I would like some more tea, though."

She smiled back at him and nodded. "Right away, sire."

'Sire', now that's an odd term, he thought. He was about to say something more to the waitress but she had moved on to another table to top off a couple of cups.

Coffee. You need coffee.