Susanna closed the door gently behind her guest. “Please, come on in, make
yourself comfortable. You can put that…” She gestured awkwardly
at the sword the woman had slung over her shoulder. “Well, wherever
you’d like.”
Maggie
smiled a warm smile, hoping to put Susanna at ease.
A
short time later they were seated on the balcony of Susanna’s
apartment building, smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. Susanna had
started smoking socially after some of the local gigs she had played.
“I
really appreciate this,” she said.
Mags
exhaled a line of smoke into the warm spring air. “It’s no
problem at all. Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up?”
“I’ve
decided that pampering my bodyguard is a smart idea.”
Mags
laughed; she liked Susanna, she could tell right away. Some people
collapsed in a crisis, and Maggie had sympathy for them. Others let
fear become anger or bitterness, and Maggie had little patience for
them. And some, like Susanna, stayed strong when things went out of
control; Maggie always admired them. She herself had been each type of person
at different times in her life.
“Well,
breakfast-in-bed is always a classic form of pampering,” Maggie
said with a smirk.
Susanna came back quick. “It’ll be breakfast-in-couch I’m afraid.
Struggling musician means tiny one-bedroom apartment.”
Maggie
laughed again. It had been a while since she had felt relaxed like
this. Chatting. Fun. The balcony overlooked a wide park, trees and
paths, a fountain. Children playing, dogs being walked. It would be
easy to start pretending that this was her life, visiting with a
friend, having tea. Easy to let her guard down, to let the Professor
down and Susanna be taken by whatever enemies shifting had earned
her.
Maggie
asked her about her music, they talked about leaving teaching to
pursue her art. Mags called her Sue, and for some reason it didn’t
bother Susanna like when others had done so.
He
used to tell that she could have this, that it could be her life if
she wanted it. She would never be free of everything else, of all the
darkness and the fighting, but there could be room for this too. He
had tried, in his way, to help her find that. But of course he could
never make it work for himself…
“You
ok?” Susanna asked. Maggie looked at her. “You looked troubled
all of a sudden.”
“I’m
fine,” Mags said, fishing another cigarette from her pack. She
didn’t like it when people got a glimpse behind the armour.
“I
hope that sword is better at deflecting than you are, or I’m in
trouble,” Susanna said lightly.
Mags
felt the urge to lash out; she always did when she felt vulnerable.
Susanna had a sweetness though, that cooled the sudden fire. A crow
cawed from a tree in the park. Susanna saw Maggie look sad for a
moment, then focus. Summon a playful smile.
“I
could always practice my forms with it, if your apartment wasn’t so
cramped,” Maggie jibed.
They
kept talking and laughing, and for a while everything was peaceful.
20140101
Operation: Glass Vial
Morganfokker
got up from the table and looked into the eyes of those he had
summoned. The looks that they returned told him all he
needed to know. He gathered up the folders and slid them into his
briefcase before Ms. Morningstar stood up and walked toward him.
"Am I to believe that what transpired a few months ago has rippled outward?" she inquired. "That the very fabric of all existence is unwinding faster than a spool of yarn? That all of this right now will cease to be in a few years?"
"I told you that we were opening up a can of worms on this one. Yet you ignored the data in my initial report," he stated. "Things like this cannot be controlled. You of ALL people should know that." Morganfokker kept his cool.
Ms. Morningstar smiled. A bittersweet one at that made Morganfokker cringe inside. That smile was a smile that ate worlds for breakfast and spat them out.
Ms. Morningstar sat at the edge of the table; she looked straight into Morganfokker's eyes, leaned forward towards his ear and said in a sexy voice, "You know what you must do now..."
He damn well knew what needed to be done. Hopefully it isn't too late, he thought as he snapped the lid shut on the briefcase.
"Am I to believe that what transpired a few months ago has rippled outward?" she inquired. "That the very fabric of all existence is unwinding faster than a spool of yarn? That all of this right now will cease to be in a few years?"
"I told you that we were opening up a can of worms on this one. Yet you ignored the data in my initial report," he stated. "Things like this cannot be controlled. You of ALL people should know that." Morganfokker kept his cool.
Ms. Morningstar smiled. A bittersweet one at that made Morganfokker cringe inside. That smile was a smile that ate worlds for breakfast and spat them out.
Ms. Morningstar sat at the edge of the table; she looked straight into Morganfokker's eyes, leaned forward towards his ear and said in a sexy voice, "You know what you must do now..."
He damn well knew what needed to be done. Hopefully it isn't too late, he thought as he snapped the lid shut on the briefcase.
+ PLEX TOURS .2 Chronoplex
- The Bunker
- The Lab Level Two
- The Cast
- The Bookstore
- The Brownstone
- The Subway
- Metafesto
- The Diner
- The Lab
A Celebration of Linear Time
by The Professor
“In honour of the wide-spread consensus belief that events generally move forward progressively, and that cause precedes effect (and intentionally ignoring the facts that plureality manifests as both a holarchy and a fractal), I have created a Timeline of Max Cube.
Enjoy, and Happy New Year!”
Origin Story
- as described in version.OPI8
- Max's involvement with the military, MK-Omega, the Cadre
- Max shoots and kills his handler Morganfokker
The Diner
- Max becomes involved in a global occult war
- Max meets the original Dragons (Dexter, Wraith, Callan,
Darius)
- Max begins to hear the voice of Control
(Cubed)
- Max begins to experience different versions of reality
- Max often perceives events as if they are a TV show
- Time/Memory fragmentation increases
- Max meets Maggie during his escape from the secret base
Atlantis
Version X
- Max experiences radical disruptions to his mental health, as described in version.X, and version.THERAPY
- Max encounters various gods and enters the Abyss
Plureality
- the return of Morganfokker
- Max is contacted by the Professor
- Maggie is revealed as Magriel and the demonic war starts
- new Dragons are recruited (Frank, Goner, Angst, Suki)
- Max reunites with Pretty George
- LEGACY becomes a threat
Subway
Metaplex
- other Travelers arrive
- Operation Control occurs
- the Remixes occur
- Tatterdemalion is rescued and joins the Dragons
[The Missing Season]
Realtime
- following a long and mysterious gap in the record, the events
of Project Realtime occur
- Max meets Stone, Riveta, Scorpio, Donnelly and Mayganne
- Max is reunited with an older version of Suki
- Max meets Simon
Fragmented
- the newest Dragons undergo Initiation
- Maggie returns and meets with Susanna and Crow
- the old Dragons are trapped on the Subway
Citadel
- a shift into a radically different version of space fantasy
- the adventures of the Guard and the climactic battle against the enemy
Underground
Iteration
- (the changes initiated by Fragmented, Citadel and Underground are processed...)
- Max and Maggie briefly reunite in Purgatory
- Max experiences Channel Plex
- version.Minus is revealed
- Max rejoins the Cadre
- A Reunion of the Dragons
- A Reunion of the Fallen
- Plureality undergoes a massive flux of versions (including GenderBent, Dungeons&, Super, Space, Cyber, Western and Thespian)
- Godmode begins
- The Professor undertakes the Defrag experiment
- Max and Maggie reconnect in Unparalleled
- The Dragons experience the Backbone of the Metaplex
- Akimoto performs an Invocation
- The Iteration crescendoes in Neo Static
- Control reveals the existence of The System and Counter-System
20131231
You See Me Don't You
Suki
was knee deep in shit.
She trudged forward down the sewer tunnel. Godhammer in her arms, lighting the way like a torch. She was looking at the walls, following the trail like Hansel and Gretel.
Click. Click. Click.
"Yes," Suki replied. "It does stink down here."
Click.
"Hopefully shortly," she answered.
She came up to a T-junction and studied the walls. She heard the splashing coming down the left tunnel.
Click. Click.
"I know," she whispered. "If it is though, I'm ready."
She trudged forward down the sewer tunnel. Godhammer in her arms, lighting the way like a torch. She was looking at the walls, following the trail like Hansel and Gretel.
Click. Click. Click.
"Yes," Suki replied. "It does stink down here."
Click.
"Hopefully shortly," she answered.
She came up to a T-junction and studied the walls. She heard the splashing coming down the left tunnel.
Click. Click.
"I know," she whispered. "If it is though, I'm ready."
23rd Century Party People
Today's
meeting was in a conference room in a downtown hotel. The Professor
had a laptop set-up at the head of the table. Beside it there was
another one of his strange devices - wires and winking lights and
whirring parts. No one had asked the rumpled old man what these
objects were for; there had been too many bizarre answers to other
simple questions already.
"Why isn't Susannah here?" Donnelly asked.
"It turns out that she's not a part of this. Not exactly." Things had continued to cohere, to synchronize, since everyone had been gathered. Or reunited. Some memories had become clear, while others were still cloudy, and others still pitch black. At each meeting the Professor had new files that he had compiled from whatever mysterious sources he had. A picture had started to emerge, but it was one of wavering lines and shifting colours and impossible angles, like a Cubist painting.
"Where is she then?" Riveta asked.
"I don't have the ability to remove her from this thread; it's not part of what I do. But I have made arrangements for her to be kept safe."
Scorpio studied the newest folder intently. LEGACY was mentioned a few more times in some documents, but there was still no record of him being in contact with Greg Logollos. Each night Scorpio thought about trying to contact Greg. He hadn't yet.
Stone resisted the urge to question the Professor, to ask what guarantees he could provide that Susannah was safe. He knew that there were none. From all the sci-fi technology, mutant attack dogs, and psychedelic metaphyiscs it was obvious to Stone that there weren't any certainties anymore. His training as a detective told him to keep asking, to keep digging, keep trying to solve the mystery of it all. His training as a soldier told him to keep quiet and follow orders.
Riveta seemed to be dealing with it all fairly well. Maybe because she had been in contact with the Professor the longest. It was almost as if she had somehow learned something from undergoing all this weirdness. Stone was so glad to have her back. He knew that they could get through anything together.
"So what's next then?" Mayganne asked.
Donnelly looked at the teenager he knew from his school. She had always been a quiet girl, shy, a little gloomy. Now she came to the meetings smiling and eager. School had never seemed a good fit for Mayganne, but this - whatever it was - had opened something up inside her. Donnelly knew that he still had to have a stern talk with her about breaking into that bank, but for now he was using her enthusiasm as a way to stay grounded amidst the chaos. He had wondered a lot lately about starting to pray again...
"Well," the Professor said, tapping some keys on the laptop and glancing at the device. "What's next is that we're going to try and change the world. Or one of them anyway."
"Why isn't Susannah here?" Donnelly asked.
"It turns out that she's not a part of this. Not exactly." Things had continued to cohere, to synchronize, since everyone had been gathered. Or reunited. Some memories had become clear, while others were still cloudy, and others still pitch black. At each meeting the Professor had new files that he had compiled from whatever mysterious sources he had. A picture had started to emerge, but it was one of wavering lines and shifting colours and impossible angles, like a Cubist painting.
"Where is she then?" Riveta asked.
"I don't have the ability to remove her from this thread; it's not part of what I do. But I have made arrangements for her to be kept safe."
Scorpio studied the newest folder intently. LEGACY was mentioned a few more times in some documents, but there was still no record of him being in contact with Greg Logollos. Each night Scorpio thought about trying to contact Greg. He hadn't yet.
Stone resisted the urge to question the Professor, to ask what guarantees he could provide that Susannah was safe. He knew that there were none. From all the sci-fi technology, mutant attack dogs, and psychedelic metaphyiscs it was obvious to Stone that there weren't any certainties anymore. His training as a detective told him to keep asking, to keep digging, keep trying to solve the mystery of it all. His training as a soldier told him to keep quiet and follow orders.
Riveta seemed to be dealing with it all fairly well. Maybe because she had been in contact with the Professor the longest. It was almost as if she had somehow learned something from undergoing all this weirdness. Stone was so glad to have her back. He knew that they could get through anything together.
"So what's next then?" Mayganne asked.
Donnelly looked at the teenager he knew from his school. She had always been a quiet girl, shy, a little gloomy. Now she came to the meetings smiling and eager. School had never seemed a good fit for Mayganne, but this - whatever it was - had opened something up inside her. Donnelly knew that he still had to have a stern talk with her about breaking into that bank, but for now he was using her enthusiasm as a way to stay grounded amidst the chaos. He had wondered a lot lately about starting to pray again...
"Well," the Professor said, tapping some keys on the laptop and glancing at the device. "What's next is that we're going to try and change the world. Or one of them anyway."
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."
"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."
Who is Watching the Watched
3:55am.
Subject awakes with nosebleed. Subject goes into the bathroom and
washes up. Subject then proceeds to study face in mirror for 3:17
minutes. Subject looks into self's eyes and then heads back to sleep.
5:59am. Subject awakes before alarm clock. Subject reaches over and shuts it off before it has a chance to turn on. Subject proceeds in daily ritual of preparations.
6:17am. Subject's cellphone rings. Subject picks it up and answers (recorded static bursts. have technicians see if they can hear anything at all). Subject hangs up phone and proceeds to head out door. Subject picks up phone and calls work tells them illness is a factor. Subject proceeds to leave.
6:45am. After subject leaves home. Subject walks a few blocks and heads for a coffee shop; Good Tomes. (research owners of establishment. check connections). Subject has a coffee and is chatting with a girl (received static on hand held mic). Interference bursters in effect. Subject definitely has been targeted.
5:59am. Subject awakes before alarm clock. Subject reaches over and shuts it off before it has a chance to turn on. Subject proceeds in daily ritual of preparations.
6:17am. Subject's cellphone rings. Subject picks it up and answers (recorded static bursts. have technicians see if they can hear anything at all). Subject hangs up phone and proceeds to head out door. Subject picks up phone and calls work tells them illness is a factor. Subject proceeds to leave.
6:45am. After subject leaves home. Subject walks a few blocks and heads for a coffee shop; Good Tomes. (research owners of establishment. check connections). Subject has a coffee and is chatting with a girl (received static on hand held mic). Interference bursters in effect. Subject definitely has been targeted.
20131230
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.
"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."
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."
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."
20131229
Shadows Full of Light
"Jebus!"
Goner said shockingly, making Frank jump up suddenly. His
heart picked up the pace a few notches.
Finally some excitement.
"What is it?" Frank asked. He came running out of the car, his hands went into his jacket and onto the pistols that were holstered there. Waiting for a chance to sing again.
"I think I saw Suki!" Goner said as came back excitedly. He had been standing by the exit. It was like a view screen on a wall; no matter what they had done they just couldn't step through it. But it was like the same thing with the vendors and the newspaper; each and every morning the view would show a different location.
"Suki!" Frank said. It could be a sign of cabin fever. "Did she see you?"
"No. Just when I was staring out the exit and looking at the faces going by, I could have sworn I saw Suki. But she looked older!"
Then the subway car hissed for the first time in what appeared to be a long while.
Finally some excitement.
"What is it?" Frank asked. He came running out of the car, his hands went into his jacket and onto the pistols that were holstered there. Waiting for a chance to sing again.
"I think I saw Suki!" Goner said as came back excitedly. He had been standing by the exit. It was like a view screen on a wall; no matter what they had done they just couldn't step through it. But it was like the same thing with the vendors and the newspaper; each and every morning the view would show a different location.
"Suki!" Frank said. It could be a sign of cabin fever. "Did she see you?"
"No. Just when I was staring out the exit and looking at the faces going by, I could have sworn I saw Suki. But she looked older!"
Then the subway car hissed for the first time in what appeared to be a long while.
Benched
Suki
passed by an entrance to the subway and had a flash of nostalgia for
her childhood. Old friends, strange places. No time for it now.
She stayed on the road-side of the sidewalk, so no one could pull her into a doorway or alley, or in case she needed to rush out into traffic to create confusion. Of course, whatever was hunting her could be invisible and ready to impale her any moment without warning. Hazards of the job. She had missed it. It felt different from when she was that schoolgirl - it was heavier and coloured with sadness now - but it still had that pulse.
Click. Click. Click.
"I know, I know," she whispered under her breath. That pulse is what had got her in this trouble. All these ambushes, all these strange attacks, and she met each one head on, Godhammer blazing. Just like the old days. Hide and seek with enemy agents, fatal games of tag with spooky beasts, Hong Kong cinema gunfights with mooks and Big Bads.
All thrilling and exhilarating and full of act-three, near-death goodness. And each one had kept her distracted from the real plot. Had kept her isolated. She was being set-up, sidelined. She was stuck in the lobby and the main show had already started.
She stayed on the road-side of the sidewalk, so no one could pull her into a doorway or alley, or in case she needed to rush out into traffic to create confusion. Of course, whatever was hunting her could be invisible and ready to impale her any moment without warning. Hazards of the job. She had missed it. It felt different from when she was that schoolgirl - it was heavier and coloured with sadness now - but it still had that pulse.
Click. Click. Click.
"I know, I know," she whispered under her breath. That pulse is what had got her in this trouble. All these ambushes, all these strange attacks, and she met each one head on, Godhammer blazing. Just like the old days. Hide and seek with enemy agents, fatal games of tag with spooky beasts, Hong Kong cinema gunfights with mooks and Big Bads.
All thrilling and exhilarating and full of act-three, near-death goodness. And each one had kept her distracted from the real plot. Had kept her isolated. She was being set-up, sidelined. She was stuck in the lobby and the main show had already started.
Same Time Same Page
The
Professor circled the table, handing out the file folders.
"Hopefully some of the materials in these will start to generate trans-version connections," he said. "And you will all start to remember what happened."
Riveta began scanning the contents of her folder right away. Police reports from some recent investigations she didn't remember undertaking. Photos of a diner that looked familiar. A picture of a man who she didn't recognize, but who had the saddest looking eyes she had ever seen.
Stone sat beside her; he hadn't been more than a few feet from her since the night on the street, when he had found her again. When the impossible had started to happen. Except the impossible had started to happen some time ago, he was realizing now, as memories of certain crime scenes started to return.
"Who is this man?" Donnelly asked. He held up his own copy of the photo Riveta was looking at.
Mayganne studied her copy. "He looks familiar, sorta..."
The Professor had taken a seat at the head of the table. "His name is Simon Light. He is very important. Hopefully, you will be meeting him - again - very soon."
Scorpio tried to keep his breathing steady, trying one of the meditation techniques he was slowly starting to remember. Among the copies of police reports and photographs inside his folder, there were memos and press releases from the LEGACY Corporation. Many were signed by Greg Logollos. He glanced at the Professor... Did he know that Greg had been in contact with Scorpio? Recently? Or did they know each other already from before? It made Scorpio feel nervous, trapped. He wasn't sure who or what to trust.
Susanna stopped at a picture of an older woman holding a young girl on her lap. The older woman was holding a tattered pom-pom. The little girl was smiling.
The Professor spoke up. "Shortly I will be asking each of you to begin making notes on what the files mean to you, what you recognize, how they make you feel. My own picture of what happened is far from complete."
Stone looked at Riveta and smiled. He didn't care how weird all this was. She was alive.
"What we need to focus on right away," the Professor continued, "is the very grave threat facing each of you, and some other people who you may or may not know. Indeed, the very Metaplex itself is in danger."
"The meta-huh?" Mayganne asked.
"A threat from what?" Donnelly cut in.
The Professor adjusted his glasses.
"A man named Morganfokker."
"Hopefully some of the materials in these will start to generate trans-version connections," he said. "And you will all start to remember what happened."
Riveta began scanning the contents of her folder right away. Police reports from some recent investigations she didn't remember undertaking. Photos of a diner that looked familiar. A picture of a man who she didn't recognize, but who had the saddest looking eyes she had ever seen.
Stone sat beside her; he hadn't been more than a few feet from her since the night on the street, when he had found her again. When the impossible had started to happen. Except the impossible had started to happen some time ago, he was realizing now, as memories of certain crime scenes started to return.
"Who is this man?" Donnelly asked. He held up his own copy of the photo Riveta was looking at.
Mayganne studied her copy. "He looks familiar, sorta..."
The Professor had taken a seat at the head of the table. "His name is Simon Light. He is very important. Hopefully, you will be meeting him - again - very soon."
Scorpio tried to keep his breathing steady, trying one of the meditation techniques he was slowly starting to remember. Among the copies of police reports and photographs inside his folder, there were memos and press releases from the LEGACY Corporation. Many were signed by Greg Logollos. He glanced at the Professor... Did he know that Greg had been in contact with Scorpio? Recently? Or did they know each other already from before? It made Scorpio feel nervous, trapped. He wasn't sure who or what to trust.
Susanna stopped at a picture of an older woman holding a young girl on her lap. The older woman was holding a tattered pom-pom. The little girl was smiling.
The Professor spoke up. "Shortly I will be asking each of you to begin making notes on what the files mean to you, what you recognize, how they make you feel. My own picture of what happened is far from complete."
Stone looked at Riveta and smiled. He didn't care how weird all this was. She was alive.
"What we need to focus on right away," the Professor continued, "is the very grave threat facing each of you, and some other people who you may or may not know. Indeed, the very Metaplex itself is in danger."
"The meta-huh?" Mayganne asked.
"A threat from what?" Donnelly cut in.
The Professor adjusted his glasses.
"A man named Morganfokker."
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