The Chase Is On (Taken From: Mags' Day Out)

INT. SEDAN - NIGHT

There are three men and a woman in the car. JANKO and LOMAX are in the front, with JANKO behind the wheel. In the back sit ALICE and CARTER. They are all dressed in dark suits; ALICE is wearing a red tie. Lomax, Alice and Carter are making sure that  their guns are ready for combat.

LOMAX:
You think she spotted us?

ALICE:
With Janko driving she just put the mark on us.

JANKO:
Screw you.

ALICE:
I don't do apes.

INT/EXT. MAGS' CAR - NIGHT

MAGS glances back through her rearview mirror. She spots the car following her. She hits a speed button on her cellphone.

MAGS:
Yeah defenitely LEGACY.

VOICE:
Are they making a move yet?

MAGS:
No, they are still tailing. Trying to find out where I am going probably.

VOICE:
What you going to do about it?

MAGS:
Going to teach them a few manners about tailgating.

MAGS pulls the car to the curb.

And Now For Your Viewing Pleasure

He sits at his desk, shuffling through the data-films in front of him, finding the one he wants. He sets it down on top of the desk, taking a laser pen he begins to click on icons on the flimsy and they begin to open up. 

It's research that he's doing. While reading a passage he reaches for the ashtray.

He takes a lit cigar that is smoldering away, he puffs it back to the inferno it once was, blowing out the blue smoke into the room, the sweet smell of the deathbringer lingered for a bit.

Buzz.

Control leans forward and presses a button on the intercom.

"Yes."

"We have the feed coming in now, sir."

"Transfer it here,"

"Okay"

He swivels in his chair, he presses another button and the wall behind him begins to part like the red sea, revealing 13 television monitors. Images constantly playing out various scenes of life, death, love and boredom flood into the room. Control's eyes focus on screen 11. A frown appears on his face as the video feed comes in.

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....

Cheshire Dreams

The sun was bright and burning, Maggie sat in the shade of the rockface. Maggie scanned the area and could make out two dozen of them, hiding behind buildings, burnt out cars and other forgotten relics of the past.

"We're pinned," Trump said; he had tucked himself into a dark nook trying to keep cool in the heatwave.

"What do you mean we?" Maggie asked him. She shot him a glance and a wink.

"Well, you know," Trump replied.

"When they come, you stay hidden," she told the cat. "Don't do anything to let them know you exist."

Maggie reloaded the guns, preparing for the eventual assault that was inevitable. She stuck the katana in the ground beside her and knelt before it. She hadn't been in a good old-fashioned, no-holds-barred battle in a while. She feared that she was getting rusty.

"Why is that?" Trump wanted to know.

"Because you are a talking cat!"

Jared vs the Subway

"So what's the game plan?" Suki asked.

"Just go with the flow," Max told her. He folded the book he was reading and dropped it on the seat beside him. It was 'The Fly in The Ointment: 70 Fascinating Commentaries on the Science of Everyday Life by Dr. Joe Schwarcz'.

Max had found it left behind on one of the seats a few days ago and had started to read it; it was a fine read.

"Well, I could go for something to eat," Suki stated. She plopped herself down in the seat across from Max.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," he said. He had been feeling a tad peckish.

Suki seemed to be enjoying her new role in life, a guardian of sorts. She was confident in her newfound status as a Dragon. Though she was a tween, she had a good head on her shoulders.

Akimoto was sitting in the back of the car, looking out at the long darkness. He had been in deep thought, memories of a pleasant time when he was one with the universe, instead a universal pawn.

"You up for a burger, Ak-Ak?" Suki called back, breaking him from his trance.

"Sure thing, Maus... Suki," Akimoto corrected himself.

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.

> Tamar in Plureality

Morning Has Broken

Max was having a very troubled day. It had been one of those mornings where he wished that he had slept through this reality and awoken in the next. Things were off-kilter and it felt like he was spiraling somewhere, even when he was standing still.

He closed his left eye and he could see straight and that feeling of falling was gone, until he opened it up again. It seemed like his optic nerves had crossed wires. He happened to find a patch to place over his eye.

When he went out the door of the apartment complex he was staying at, a cab zipped by and splashed him with a wall of water, soaking him to the gills. 

He grumbled and went back in to change. On the way up the stairs, some kids were moving a sofa and it had blocked the stairwell up to the apartment. 

Max took it as a sign that he should go back, so he went outside to continue on his way. In the exact same spot that he had gotten soaked, it was deja vu when another cab came by and did the exact same thing.

Max grumbled to himself.

He stopped off at the corner coffee shop to pick up a coffee and that's when an old lady dropped her coffee cup, and the contents spilled on Max's boots.

"I get it," Max replied to no one in particular. 

The old woman turned around with a look of shock on her face.

"I'm so sorry," the woman pleaded; she seemed frightened when she looked at the wet pirate staring back at her.

"Don't worry about it, ma'am," Max told her. "I'm just having a really off day."

The Cab Driver

The midnight hour was close at hand when Maggie stepped out of the cab. She paid the cabbie a crisp C-note and told him to keep the rest. The cabbie smiled and then checked to see if the bill was counterfeit.

"It's good," she told the driver.

"Well, you never can be too sure these days," the cabbie replied after tucking the bill into his front vest pocket. "You sure this is the place you want to be?" he asked.

"Yes dad," Maggie replied sarcastically.

The cabbie tipped his hat and pulled away, glancing into the rear-view to see what the girl was going to do.

Maggie grabbed the duffel bag and started walking towards the warehouse. She could hear the sound of music coming from within.

"Dancing," she muttered. "There's a time and a place for it... and now is not the time."

> Goner in Plureality

Supercharge is a code-word for a gravitational blindside, any number of planets may be involved as may any number of restaurant patrons, subway passengers, any conjunction of biology, matter, orbits (however erratic) really, it’s a wave that selects its own medium based on tables and rules that disappear so far back into antiquity or so far forward into whatever is next or so far inward it becomes indistinguishable from chance or for that matter fate, and not gravity exactly but the deeper thing that looks like gravity, gravity only in the sense that gravity is what pulls tears down your cheeks, or inevitability in the sense that there’s no going back from that step off the cliff, not that being supercharged is something that ever happens to us anymore, do we know for certain either way, or better yet can we select or at least take part in the selection process, nominations, secret ballots, debates, of the medium, be a supercharger, though all on the condition that a supercharged medium is indistinguishable from a natural hot or cold, high or low, spicy or mild.

The Wind Whispering Hints

Like pin-pricks in black velvet the stars began to show themselves in the twilight, magically appearing as the sun waxed away upon the horizon. The hum of streetlights began their chorus as they were programmed to do; night was approaching and the streets needed lights to keep the evil at a bare minimum.

Mags was standing on the balcony of her apartment; she was dressed in fine regal clothing, an evening dress, her hair pulled back into a bun. The scent of expensive perfume wafted around her like a delicate spark.

The breeze coming in from the north brought a hint of winter to come. But at the moment she didn't want to think about the near future or the past; it was the here and now that she was focusing on. It had been a long time since she had prettied herself up for a socialite occasion.

Right Here, Right Now

Cue Music.

EXT. SPACE - DARK
Blackness.

Fade in just as the vocals start, we get a POV from space and then the camera view is pulled in by gravity. It focuses in on a city, and then zooms right in on MAX CUBE.

POV as the camera orbits around MAX.

MAX is standing on the rooftop, a slight drizzle is falling, he is wearing a long coat, he has his guns out, and he is listening to the song that is continuing to play in the teaser.

His eyes are closed, his head bobbing with the music. A cigarette dangles from his mouth.

CUT TO 
Roof door as it opens up.

Knee Shot of feet stepping out onto the roof. 

Even though his eyes are closed and he is listening to his ipod he lifts up his right arm and aims towards the door, not pulling the trigger.

VOICE: (calling)
Showtime.

MAX lowers the gun and he flicks open his eyes.

Close up on MAX's Eyes.

They are cold and intense like diamonds on black velvet.

The Innocence of Time

"You got it?" Mark asked. He straightened up as he saw Max come around the corner. He was leaning up against the wall. He felt like he had just come into some big money, and didn't know what to do with it.

Max nodded and showed it to him, then he closed his fatigue jacket. He fished a package of smokes out of one of the many pocketst.

"Alright!" Mark replied in celebrated glee. "So are we going?"

"I think so," Max replied. He unwrapped the cigarette package and offered one to Mark who took one and immediately lit it. Max took one out and closed the pack of Morte and put them back in his jacket pocket. 

"Is Crew showing up?" Mark asked, took a long puff from the cigarette, held it in for a few more seconds then exhaled like a pro. "I called his place and his old lady said he was busy doing something or other."

"Beats me," Max said. He lit the cigarette and took a puff. 

"Would be a bummer, man," Mark said. "This is our last summer together. We should enjoy it while we can."

"Time is an illusion," Max quipped. 

"Lunch time doubly so," Mark added. 

A car drove by filled with young ladies, hooting and hollering with the stereo blasting the pop song of the day, some Canadian group with a pop syrupy sound. Max hated it, but the girls in the car seemed to be singing it with joyful glee.