MORGANFOKKER SAYS THAT SILENCE IS THE ONLY ANSWER THAT DOES NOT LIE

Knight Awakening

The sensation of being poked by a stick is what woke him. Max's body felt like it was on fire, his joints ached and he was disoriented. His mouth felt as dry as a desert. He cracked open his eyelids and the bright sunlight bored into his brain, bringing another bout of great pain.

"Are you dead mister?" a little voice asked.

"Maybe undead," a boy added. "He could be a zombie."

"That's gross," a girl replied.

Max's eyes cleared to see that several children had gathered around him. His mouth was too dry to say anything. He was in some park, lying underneath a picnic table. The kids had gathered round to see the strange man; one of them held a stick like a warrior.

"I think he's a bum," a little girl said matter-of-factly. "My dad says they sleep outside a lot."

"Well, your dad sleeps outside a lot," one kid told the little girl.

"Does not."

"Does too."

Max sat up and hit his head on the bottom of the table. His body was sore and tired. He looked at the 7 kids standing around him. Max saw his clothes were torn and tattered; he had to find some suitable attire.

He brought his hands up to his face; they were still shaking. He really didn't know what was going on but he felt uneasy; he felt that this thing had happened before, maybe once or twice.

"You okay, mister?" a little boy asked. "My dad is a doctor and he can fix you up."

"No doctor," Max said with a dread undertone. He felt that seeing a doctor would cause him greater pain then he was in already.

Max paused for a moment and took in the scenery. His memory fleeting, as if pieces of it were hidden behind a thick curtain. He didn't know what was happening.

"What's your name?" one of the girls asked.

Max had to think about it sometime before answering. "Cube. I think my name is Cube."

A Leaf in the Wind

Max looked up at the sky; it was a different hue, a light yellowish colour. The sky was clear, a cool breeze blew, the sunlight bright, hinting that summer was around the corner. He turned around and paid the cabbie with a huge bill, then walked away without waiting for the change.

Ever since Tuesday, he had had a compulsion to be here. So he took the journey without knowing why. He had learned not to second-guess his impulses. He walked into a corner store and purchased a coffee. He drank it black.

His attention was triggered as he passed by a house on his left. The windows and doors boarded up. Long since abandoned. He paused, putting down his styrofoam cup of coffee on a post. He lit up a cigarette and let the smoke drift from his mouth like a California hill fire.

"Interesting," Max muttered, walking up to the front step.

He didn't know why he was doing this, just that he had this feeling he should. The porch steps creaked under his weight, hinting that they wouldn't take too much longer before they succumbed to old age.

He walked up to a window where the board had slipped and peered inside. The place had been long abandoned. Graffiti covered the walls declaring mulitple slogans of the day: 

You Did It

I Love You All

Dan You Bastard!

Max pulled the board loose and climbed in. Looked around as he strolled through the first floor of the house.

He crouched and butted out his cigarette. "What now?" he asked no one in particular.

A small wind blew through the house and the door to the basement opened up.

Prelude to a Beginning

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of the helicopter as it flew just above the jungle below. He sat there, bolt upright, eyes closed, as sweat rolled down his forehead like a runaway train. He didn't even bothered wipe it.

They were moving in under the cover of the false dawn, like Santa but instead of gifts they were bringing death.

Morganfokker sat across from him, smoking a shitty smelling cigarette, reading a dossier. Raising his eyes from the file, he said, "Max."

Max opened his eyes, looked over at Morganfokker.

"You okay?" Morganfokker asked him.

"Yeah, just the sweat," he lied. 

He didn't dare say anything about the recurring dream he had been having for the past three days. If he did, this mission would be scrubbed. He was a good solider, and like all good soldiers he obeyed orders.

The problem was that Morganfokker knew Max better than Max knew himself. He had spent the last four years subjecting Max to various tests and treatments. The project was coming along according to plan. Morganfokker was pleased that he was going into the field with his star pupil on this one. He would get to see him in action.

There was a low buzzing sound, the sky was blood red.

"We'll be over the LZ in 3 minutes," the helicopter pilot called back. 

Morganfokker tapped Max's leg and handed him a brown envelope. "This is our assignment."

Max ripped the seal and slid the glossy photo out. The picture showed a scene of a small native community, several people sitting about a campfire; a red marker had circled an elderly man who stood there. It named him Muronki, Witch Doctor.

The shaman was the target. He had been classified as a threat and, like all threats, had to be dealt with. Max looked at the photo. He studied the face of the man and then he looked at the surrounding people in the photo. His eyes taking in each person around the shaman.

The door to the copter rolled open and lines were dropped. Max and Morganfokker slid down into the thick tangle of leaves and vines. They checked their gear as the helicopter disappeared overhead, leaving them alone in the jungle.

"The village is just a few miles this way," Morganfokker said. "Let's get this done, quickly."

Max checked his handgun and brought the weapon up behind Morganfokker's head and pulled the trigger. Strawberry pie flew forward.

"I quit," he said to the corpse. He crumpled the photo and dropped it onto the body. He headed towards the village.

The crumpled photo began to uncrumple. One of the faces around the shaman was that of a young woman; she looked like she was looking directly at the camera. Her eyes held a look of knowing, and her t-shirt declared: I [heart] U.

Max didn't know who she was, but he definitely remembered seeing her somewhere before.

... and on Monday Morning She Awoke

Maggie rose in the morning, thinking, as she often did, of what her main purpose in life was. For the past six months she had been recovering from a near fatal wound; now her body had healed as well as it could, and it was time for her to get back to work. And get back to Max. 

That's if she could find him. He'd been missing since the explosion had thrown her across the room.

She had come to in the hospital, listed as Jane Doe. She feigned amnesia. The police came in a few times to question her and all they got was just static. Some shrinks followed, a social worker. She played the role that was expected of her. 

It was determined that she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no charges where laid. The explosion in the abandoned factory was attributed to a gang turf war. If the police had really scratched the surface, they would have discovered a whole other reason.

She yawned and stretched, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reached for a wallet-sized photo of a man looking straight into the camera, more akin to a mug shot than a normal nightstand photo. The picture was crumpled and worn; it looked like it had been taken in the 1950's. It was the only relic they had found on her, and it wasn't a good clue whatsoever.

"How come I can't feel you?" she whispered. 

She wondered where he was; now he was a ghost that haunted her dreams, or were they other realities? She hadn't felt a shift in a long, long time. Maybe the war was finally was over, maybe this was a new life. To continue on as a mundane.

"That's crazy thoughts," she muttered to herself. She got up and headed to the shower.

Lip Service

"What kind of name is Mags, anyway?" the brutish man asked.

"It's my name," she said with a slight smile.

The big brute gave her a backhand, sending her head back in a violent jolt. She couldn't defend since her arms and legs were wired to a wooden chair.

He towered over her, 375lb, his eyes showing his anger at the smart-ass that sat before him. This was the person who took out 33 of his men on the docks, when the shipment of slaves came in. They said that this one girl came in and wreaked havoc and ruined everything.

It took him a ton of money, but he finally found the girl. And he was going to make her pay for the fatal mistake that she had made. She had interfered in his affairs, and no one did that.

"Careful, Bolo," a voice cautioned from the shadows. "They say she's an assassin."

"This chick ain't all that good," Bolo quipped. "We got her. No one is untouchable."

"Can't touch this," she said. And then she went into a musical riff, which sparked a nerve in Bolo. He hated that song.

Bolo punched Mags again, her body sagged, weakened from the severe beatings she had undergone.

"Hit me baby, one more time," she sang through swollen lips.

"Don't you get it bitch!" Bolo shouted at her. "You're as good as dead. There is no way in hell that you're getting out of here in one piece."

Mags chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"I've been through Hell a few times," she said. "When I get there I will have to deal with Lucy and right now, as of this moment, we ain't on speaking terms."

Bolo's fist balled up again. His anger was growing; he had controlled it for the past hour but now his patience was wearing thin. Any moment now he was going to go Mount St Helen's on this girl. He was surprised by her stamina, that she took the beating he dished out. Usually they would have been dumping her body in a shallow grave somewhere by now, but she had held on for hours longer than anyone else had.

"This chick ain't right in the head," another voice from the shadows said. "She doesn't know shit, Bolo."

Mags smiled again, "I know shit, lots of shit. Shit that you can only imagine."

Mags looked up to the ceiling, a smile widening on her face.

Bolo punched her again. Her body wracked with such force that Bolo thought he had killed her. A small satisfied smile crept across his lips, like someone carving a jack-o-lantern... which disappeared when Mags' head rolled over and she looked up with one eye and flashed him another toothy grin.

"Alright thats IT!" Bolo screamed. He grabbed one of Mags' guns from the table and pointed it at her. "Any last words bitch?"

"Yeah," she said. She spit blood from the side of her mouth. "It's about time you got her, hun."

Bolo looked at her in disbelief. He was just about to pull the trigger when a new voice from the shadows said:

"I didn't know what shirt to wear."

That's when all hell broke loose.

I Can't Get No Sleep

Max Cube and Gabriel 7 at a wild party.

Somewhere Beyond

The evening sky brought a chill with it. The stars shone brightly in the night like cold hard diamonds at the bottom of a mine shaft. On a clear night like tonight, you could see forever.

Up on the deck, Mags leaned against the railing and looked out over the ocean. She felt as if something wasn't quite right, but she couldn't put the feeling on it. She had felt this way for the past year. She had attributed it to growing older.

"Margaret," her nanny called.

"Yes, ma'am?" Mags said as she turned to face her. 

"A young lady out here unescorted is asking for trouble," her nanny scolded. "Besides, you'll catch your cold out here." 

Maggie let out a sigh.

"Your father is looking for you, young lady."

Mags nodded. Frank Bellows wasn't her father, he was her legal guardian. But she loved him like a father, and he treated her like the daughter he had always wanted. She couldn't remember much of her childhood; it was presumed that she had survived a horrendous fall of some sort.

She was heading inside with her nanny, when she heard the clang of a bell overhead and then someone yelled from the crows nest, "Iceberg. Dead Ahead!"

A Hidden Passage

Max had the crowbar in his hand. He was standing in an underground room that hadn't been used in what appeared to be four or five decades. The walls of the room were adorned with scribblings and writings. Maggie was studying them.

A subway car rumbled close by.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Have I ever lead you astray?"

"Yes. Plenty of times," he joked.

Maggie was studying the hieroglypics on the wall. She turned back and flashed him a smile. "I meant lately?"

Max let out a small chuckle. It was a rare show of emotion from him as of late. "So, is this the place?"

He watched as a mechanical bug scuttled across the floor. 

"Yes," Maggie replied. "There is a passage behind this wall."

"Why does everything have to be hidden?" Max said to no one in particular. "Always embedded in something."

"Now what fun would it be otherwise?" Maggie asked as she pointed to a section of the wall. "Hit it there."

Max stood before the spot that Maggie had pointed out and thrust the crowbar out, like a cobra striking. The section of the wall gave way, revealing a dark passage. It had been well sealed and air was being sucked into the room.

"Oh, this bode wells," Max said as he dropped the crowbar and drew Joy and Pain. 

Maggie shone a light down the passage. She drew her pistol as well, as what sounded like a roar of a beast could be heard, or was that just echoes of a subway train stopping?

Max eyed the corridor, his eyebrow arched. "You sure about this?"

"As sure as your Greatest Hits album, back four shifts ago," she replied.

Max gulped. 

MORGANFOKKER SAYS THAT YOUR DESPERATION IS VISIBLE AND PATHETIC

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."

Motel Along Route 666

Mags was in a run-down motel room. She was sitting at a small table, the lamp on, a pair of guns stripped on the table before her. She was in the process of cleaning them when there was a rap on her door.

"The winter winds are blowing," a feminine voice said beyond the door. "It's time for hell to freeze over."

Mags stopped what she was doing. Placing the gun on the table, she looked at the door. She got up from the table and grabbed the pump action shotgun that was on the bed. She brought that to the door and peered out. It was Lucy. Maggie unlocked the door and walked away.

"What do you want?" Mags asked, facing away from the door.

"Well now, isn't this a way to treat an old friend," Lucy said as she strolled into the motel room. Lucy, her hair a flowing red, her eyes with a reddish tinge.

"Since you're old and I ain't your friend to begin with," Mags said as she sat at the table, picking up where she last left off. "What can I do you for?"

Lucy looked about the motel room with distaste. "I see that your taste in rooms has improved... slightly."

"I did my duty," Mags said. "I called in once it had occurred. What needs fixing or changing?"

"Well," Lucy said. She sat down on the bed. "It's of a personal nature. I want you to kill my brother."

"And this will correct this alignment?" Mags asked.

"No," Lucy said. "But it will make me very happy."

A Shift in Time Saves Something Something

His body had that numb feeling, the feeling of millions of small needles jabbing into his skin. It was happening again. 

"Here you go, Max," the waitress said as she placed a ceramic mug in front of him. "Just the way you like it."

"Thanks Julia," Max replied. He paid her with a bill from his jeans. She smiled at him when he added, "Keep the change."

He saw the wave coming, as he sat in the coffee shop and brought the ceramic cup to his lips to taste the brew and savour it. It was the perfect blend of coffee and he didn't know if it would be same in the next few seconds. He could see the subtle changes, but the rest of the world was completly oblivious to the changes. One second a woman was crossing the street, with a child in tow. The next fraction of a second she was walking a great dane.

He felt a great sadness inside him, knowing that a life had been lost and the mother's memory of the child was wiped clean, like diagrams on a blackboard being erased.

He noticed that a pinky ring had appeared on his finger, materializing like a transporter effect in a cheezy sci-fi show. There weren't many differences occuring in the shift. After the wave hit and washed over him, he was sitting in a corporate coffee franchise, instead of an independent cafe. Could have been worse.

He placed the styrofoam cup on the table before him, the logo of the cup stating what company he was drinking from. He caught a reflection of himself in the mirror; he was wearing a purple suit, and a deep purple tie. He adjusted the tie. 

He glanced at his watch, it was a rolex now. He shook his head, a wry smirk came over his face like a December morning.

The sound of an elevator arriving made him glance back. Looking at the wall where old posters had once adorned it, there was a set of shiny doors sliding open. There was Mags. She was dressed in a business power suit, looking more like a corporate lawyer than the butt-kicking, pistol-packing badass that she was.

She spotted him and she shook her head as she approached, with briefcase in her hand. 

"Well, I wonder what this one will bring," Mags said. She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. 

"Don't know but be prepared," he said as he looked outside and saw several dark sedans pulling to a screeching halt. "I do think we are about to be paid a visit."