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"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."

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"I Am The Modern Man" [version.Upgrade]

Goner pulled back the hood. The side of his head was metal. The edges laced with fine-circuitry that flickered faintly, red, blue, green.

"Okay," Max said.

Goner unzipped his jacket and took it off. His left arm was also metal, highlighted with the same almost ethereal wiring. 

Max glanced at Goner's pants. "Is that everything?" he asked, lightly, trying to relieve the tension.

Goner smirked. It felt like Max hadn't seen him in a long while, but Goner somehow looked younger. It reminded Max of the time he first recruited him; or the time he first remembered recruiting him. It was a memory that they shared in most versions.

"What do I need to know?" Max asked next.

Goner cleared his throat. Looked around at the trees, leaves catching sunlight, casting shadows. They had arranged to meet outside the city, for safety.

"I chose it," he began. "It was my call." He looked down at his metal hand. "It feels sorta real, sorta... something else. Kind of like everything else has since that day."

Max smiled. The fact that Goner was remembering the same thing as him made him relax. 

"I guess I never felt like I had really committed to this. Even when I was a soldier, then working for the private security teams, I was never really all in. And after I died... Well, I still don't really understand everything about that, or how I came back, but I know I was scared for a long time, that it would happen again. And now, with whatever is brewing with this whole System revelation... I know things are going to get weird and probably bad. I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be able to help. To really make a difference."

Max nodded. "Thanks Goner." He gave it a moment. "Do I need to know how you got it done? Who you went to for the work?"

Goner looked briefly conflicted. Max noted that the circuitry on the cybernetic modifications didn't flicker in sync with Goner's reactions, which was good; it would be too big of a tell.

"No," Goner said. "Not yet anyway."

"Ok, cool. Let's try and get in touch with Frank and Angst. They missed you."

“I've Got Thick Skin And An Elastic Heart” [version.Upgrade]

“I miss the Bookstore but the food here is good at least,” Angst said as she took another bite of the curry.

Max sipped on his mango milkshake.

“So...” she continued. “If everything Control told you was true, about the weapons and costumes and the subway and all that, does that mean we were working for the Counter-System all that time?”

“I honestly don't know, Angst.” He looked at her. He still trusted her and knew that she trusted him but things were different now.

Crow entered the restaurant, looking like a young black woman with short pink hair. Max waved and explained to Angst that Crow had arrived; only Max could see her. Angst slid over to make room in the booth.

“I've got news,” Crow said as soon as she was seated. “Maggie was being held in a System facility. I don't know how They got her, but it does conform to her recurring Initiation arc.”

Angst watched a serious expression come over Max's face as he stared into the air beside her. His beard made him look older, more worn out.

Crow continued. “She got out though, like she always does. Apparently she was locked in a vault of some kind but she eventually escaped. By tearing the doors off their hinges. Big doors. Metal doors.”

Angst saw Max's eyes widen slightly, the hint of a smile.

“And when the guards opened fire on her... the bullets bounced off of her. She punched a hole in a wall and leaped into the sky.”

Now Max was smiling.

“No idea if They were experimenting on her or if this is the result of all that Angel/Demon magic she used to be into. And no clue where she ran to.”

Angst watched Max pull out his wallet and gesture to the server for the bill. He asked the space beside her, “Do you have the location of the facility?”

"What A Tale My Thoughts Could Tell" [version.Upgrade]

Max looked up at the moon then back at the door to the warehouse. A moment to centre himself.

Come on in, Max, he heard Frank's voice in his mind. It's okay. Max thought that his accent sounded stronger than usual.

The building was rundown, damp, empty. Frank was sitting in fractured moonlight on a stool in the middle of the cracked and stained floor.

Max heard his voice again. I need to figure out how to turn this off. Max understood; whether or not distance actually made a difference or not, being isolated was helping Frank cope.

"Are you okay if I come closer?"

I... I think so...

"No promises, I get it," Max said as he slowly approached. "What's the knife for?"

Frank's hand twitched slightly, the blade catching moonlight. I keep thinking I might need to stab myself in the eye if this doesn't settle down soon.

"Fair enough. Can you hold out for a bit longer?'

Frank's head tilted towards Max; he wasn't wearing his glasses but his eyes were in shadow. It's like... There's still this hurricane of synesthesia all around the edges. I can't let it back in or I will drown or implode or-

"Ok Frank. We can figure this out."

You've been psychic before, haven't you?

"On occasion."

I can't - well, 'see' isn't exactly the right word, but your head... I can't tell what it happening inside it. Hm. Sorry. Maybe you were hoping I could solve some mysteries for you.

"No worries, Frank. I like my privacy though, too. Speaking of mysteries, any idea what caused this?"

Maybe it's a leftover from LEGACY? Or maybe it's related somehow to that warning you got from Control? About The System and Counter-System?

"Well, if we can keep you from sticking that knife in your head this might actually turn out to be pretty cool."

"Everybody Need A Saviour, Baby" [version.Upgrade]

Max stood watch by the door while Angst laid out the tools. Survival knife for the athame, a coffee mug pocketed from the nearby cafe for the chalice. An air freshener, a book of matches, eye drops, a gift card for a grocery store. For the sylphs, salamanders, undine and gnomes. Lit the incense, wrapped a green scarf loosely around her neck and shoulders.

They exchanged a quick glance and Angst began the ritual. It was quiet in the motel room for some time, the sound of traffic from outside seemed to fade. Only the low whisper coming from Angst, seated on the floor in the candlelight.

"Thusa Bríd an stór, Thusa Bríd na cochaill, Sciath dom ó an toirmeasc de na sióga na tuláin, Na faeiries na tuláin..."

The candle was sputtering, the last of the wick about to drown in the wax. When another light blossomed in the room. Angst's eyes had opened and a soft but steady glow was shining from them. She was still whispering but Max couldn't understand what she was saying anymore.

Afterwards. He had made them a pot of coffee, put the TV on low. Made the space normal again. She had lain on the bed, cried a little; it had taken a lot out of her.

Then, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, "Brigid told me that The System sometimes smuggles data in the sub-quantum imprints of recurring toxic variables... I don't think They want to eradicate disease, just manipulate how and when it spreads? I had a vision that if we surveilled Angus Mode for a decent amount of time we would divine a pattern that would give us a clue to the circuitry of Their network."

Max frowned. "We can find Mode, but Plureality is a mess right now so who knows if we'll have the time we need..."

Angst nodded in sympathy, then yawned.

"Another cup?" he asked.

"Another nap," she said as she flopped backwards on the bed, already yawning again. Max moved back over to the door, the sightline through the break in the blinds out to the parking lot.

"Hey," he said as Angst scrunched a pillow under her head. "That was really great work."

She smirked, eyes closed. "You think I haven't been paying attention all the times you did that stuff? It wasn't much harder than learning the cheer we did for the Cannons/Yetis game."

"On The Road To Find Out" [version.Upgrade]

"It's a combination of psychoanalysis, cognitive behavioural techniques, Grofian holotropic breathwork, Celtic paganism, and Taoist sorcery. Sessions can run from an hour to three, usually no more than once every two weeks, maybe more often if the person is struggling. It's formal but fluid, like a martial art I suppose."

Max sipped his tea. "Are you accepting new patients?"

Callan smiled. "Now that would be a conflict-of-interest, but you know that."

Max smiled. "Who said it was for me? Are you suggesting I need some therapy?"

Callan smiled too and looked at Max. Max held his gaze. Their banter was a script, they both knew it, the rote exchanges that people performed almost unconsciously, but when two experts at communication were involved the artifice of it all was too apparent.

Callan was anticipating Max commenting that it seemed as if Callan was trying to prove himself, justify his new career path, and he had his argument ready, about the merits of slow and graceful change rather than the sound and fury of their action-adventure exploits, about supporting individuals in gentle ways, about how real change and real healing was a long process. 

Except Callan also knew that Max knew a comment like that could sound like a judgement, and that Max liked to pretend or at least perform that he was very non-judgmental. And furthermore, that by insisting Callan had nothing to prove Max would be implicitly positioning himself as the authority even as he explicitly denied the role. 

And Callan was also acknowledging that part of him did feel as if he had to prove himself, to validate this new approach to the kind of work that they had all been doing for so long; and Callan knew that his relationship with Max was in many ways a manifestation of that dynamic within himself, that Max was in some sense a spirit he had summoned into his life to challenge him and push him to be better. 

Callan knew too that Max knew all of this, and that Max was at the very same moment wondering if he should make the comment about Callan proving himself and if doing so would somehow prove that everything Callan was thinking was true. 

And somewhere within the swirling, tangled mesh of subtext and near-telepathic mutual understanding was the mystery of what Max really did think about Callan becoming a practicing psychologist... And what Callan really thought about what Max thought...

They both sipped their tea.

"Who Prophesize With Your Pen" [version.Upgrade]

"But you don't get to punch anybody," Max said with a smirk.

Wraith laughed. Warmly, not wickedly. Max blinked.

"You look surprised," she said. "I meant it when I said it."

"I believed you, I did." He took a sip of wine, the candlelight reflecting in the liquid, refracting in the glass. "I guess... I guess out of everyone I never thought 'happy' was a version you'd wear. Or that if you had to, you'd at least be unhappy about it."

Wraith kept smiling as the waiter cleared their salad plates and began serving the main course. "Maybe you never really knew me all that well," she said. "Or maybe you knew me the best, I could never be sure."

The chef of the restaurant had appeared on a Reality TV show that Max used to watch; he was excited to try the dish. He was thinking about what Wraith had said.

She started eating. They finished the meal in silence, but it was comfortable.

After dessert she said, "You thought Dexter and I might end up married, raising a family in a small town somewhere. Or you wanted us to - and maybe in some version out there we did - but in most versions it's not about happy, it's about the work."

Max nodded. "You're working now," he said, glancing at the other well-dressed patrons.

"The couple by the window overlooking the harbour; the CEO of a transnational corporation and the ambassador of a relatively small but controversial dictatorship. Their second meeting this month. By the end of the next I will have gathered enough information to publish an expose that will do them both a decent amount of damage for the rest of the year. No, it's not as dramatic as infiltrating their hotels and assassinating them, but..."

"No, I understand." 

"Besides Max, you were the one who convinced me that writing was a way to make magic happen."

"Things'll Get Brighter" [version.Upgrade]

Max looked around the classroom, movie posters on the walls, quotes from Toni Morrison on the chalkboard. The sound of the students playing in the yard; recess on a sunny, spring day. 

"It's great, Dex," he said.

Dexter leaned back in the chair behind the desk at the front of the room. Smiled and nodded. He had let his hair grow in; it made him look a little younger. Maybe he was younger, somehow, this time.

Max perched on the edge of one of the student's desks, looked at his longtime ally. His friend? 

"This wasn't a shift, was it? You chose this, made it happen."

Dexter nodded again. "I got too tired of too many folks with the same skin colour as me getting killed by too many folks with the same badge as me."

"Well, you've taught me a lot over the years; might as well share. They're lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Max. When I'm not at school I do a lot of community organizing, activist-type stuff."

"Those protests at the new LEGACY site downtown?"

Dexter smiled.