Terminally

"Passengers bound for Whitecap City may now board at Gate Seven," the unemotional voice declared.

Max, who had his nose buried in a book by Gregory Bateson called "Mind and Nature", glanced at his watched and smiled. He closed the book and dropped it in his travel bag. Mags was lying next to him on the seat. He shook her; Mags eyes flickered open and her hand reached for her back. Then she smiled.

"That's us," Max said as he stood up. "Gate Seven."

Mags stood and stretched; she had fallen asleep 45 minutes ago, and now she was ready for action.

"You sure about this?" she asked.

"I am damn sure about this," Max replied. Both of them headed towards the Gate. On the way there Mags stopped and shuddered a bit.

"What's the matter?" Max asked. "A shift occurring?"

"I think so," Mags replied.

When the Morning Comes

His name was Max and he had perched himself, like a gargoyle, on the roof of the building. He knew that there was something wrong with him, but he didn't know what it was. He just knew that there was something beyond what he was seeing, if only he could reach the tapestry to pull it open.

Lately in life he had been living one day at a time, hiding in his bedroom away from the world. It was very rarely that he ventured forth, since his room was like a safe haven to him. On rare occasions he found himself on the rooftop, looking over the city.

He muttered, "What's the matter with me?" And waiting for the the city to answer, he felt that the city was like some entity that was waiting for the right moment to say something profound.

He knew something was happening, but he had attributed that to growing older, since growing older your body goes through some changes.

He had become invisible. Because Invisibles lived.

Max sat perched on the edge of the building. His fingers fiddling with a pencil, twirling it like a baton. He had a sketchbook in his hands.

The sketchbook was decorated with drawings of cities, faces, peoples, and other weird drawings. He began to sketch in the book; dawn was approaching.

"Time to snap out of it," Max whispered to himself.

The morning breeze swept over him like a mother covering a child. After all, he was 11 years old and his whole life was ahead of him.

Pilot

Max awoke in his apartment, a beeping sound emitting from one of the twelve TV sets that were on in the room. He sat up, grabbed a remote and turned up the volume on TV 3. 

He had been sleeping on the couch a lot lately; a bed didn't feel right to him anymore. Something was missing and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Not just yet. He turned his attention to the TV; Letterman was chatting with a contestant from "SpyGame". 

The contestant was a tall lad, bald, and sat relaxed in the chair. Max thought he had seen the man before, though he wasn't sure that he had ever seen an episode of the reality TV show.

His cellphone rang; he reached for it and tapped the pad.

"It's a go," the feminine voice said on the other end. "It's got to be good." 

Max taps the cellphone off and looks up.

He's startled for the moment, as he finds himself sitting around a table in Bunny's, a seedy strip-club owned by Fat Eddy. 

Around the table sits: a monk, Callan; an off-duty detective, Dex Washington; and a mysterious woman who just went by the name of Wraith. He knows these people, he has been with them a few times now, and they are starting to become a family.

Felix Gavin is coming back from the bathroom. He sees Max sitting there, looking distracted.

"What's the matter, Max?" Felix asks, slapping Max on the back. Felix slides into the chair next to him.

"How long was I here?" Max asks; he checks his watch to see that the time is 8pm.

"You walked through the doors about a half hour ago," Felix replies. He looks at Max, trying to read his face.

"15 hours," Max mutters.

Max looks down at his clothes: jeans, a neon orange t-shirt with the words "Pilot Episode" on it.

"Did anyone just feel that?" Max asks.

"Feel what?" Wraith asks. She is dressed in black clothing and her hair is shoulder length.

"Something," Max says. He realizes that the rest don't sense what he is going through.

Around him the others sit there chatting, waiting for their contact who has the information they need. Max's cellphone buzzes.

"Isn't this all too convenient?" Max asks Callan. "Us being here, sitting around all of sudden - like waiting for something to happen?"

Cellphone buzzes again.

"Life is mysterious, Max," Callan replies. "It's these mysteries that keep us alert and on guard."

Max brings the phone up.

"Make it look good," the voice says. "The teaser had them intrigued enough. The next scene determines the outcome. Do something freaky in a few seconds."

Hospital Occurrence

"Where am I?" asked Mags. She startled the nurse beside her, who was just doing her rounds. 

"Well, hello there Jane," the nurse said, regaining her composure; she hated when that happened. "How you feeling?"

"I feel fine," Mags replied, trying to garner where she was. "But I am awfully dry."

The nurse poured a glass of ice water and handed it to her. She cautioned Maggie on gulping it down. "Now, now, you have gone through an ordeal. Let's take it one sip at a time."

"How long have I been sleeping?" she asked.

"You have been here for thirteen days," the nurse replied. "You were brought in by an elderly couple who found you naked on the the side of the road."

"Naked? What happened?" Maggie asked.

"That's what we would like to know," the nurse replied with a fake smile. "I will fetch the doctor."

The nurse disappeared out the sliding door. Mags looked around and didn't recognize anything at all. That must of been some shift, she thought; a radical change it was.

She swung her feet around and sat up. She felt weak and tired, though she knew that she had been out for days. She brought up her right hand and looked at it, and smiled. 

"It's good to see you again pinky," she said. She watched it dance for a few seconds. Then she stood up. She removed the hospital gown and looked at her body. It was pocked marked with over a dozen old bullet wounds.

"Well, some things never change," she said. 

She walked over to the closet with the name Jane Doe on the label. Inside there was a nice dress, folded, and a note on it signed The Hendelsons. With that was a twenty dollar bill. Probably the old folks who brought her in; she would have to find them and repay them. 

She slipped into the dress; it was a nice light colour, and she was thankful that it wasn't a floral print. She looked at herself in the mirror and she smiled. She looked like a student out for a day at the beach. 

"Well now, Jane," Dr. Vestlen said as he entered. "It's nice to see you up and about, but I doubt you will be leaving us anytime soon."

Maggie looked over at the good doctor and smiled. "Just stretching my legs after being off them for awhile."

"Well, we have a few questions to ask you... When you came in you had 14 bullet wounds in your body, but no sign of any bullets. And it's amazing that you managed to survive," the doctor said. He motioned for Maggie to sit on the bed. Maggie moved to the bed.

She looked down on the scars on her body, and was quite shocked, since they looked like old scars. "You mean the bullet wounds were just recent?"

The doctor took out a penlight and shined it into her eyes; she turned her head as advised to do so, and the doctor looked inside her ears. That's when she noticed the flowers sitting on the stand.

"Who sent me those?" she asked the nurse. 

The nurse said, "You know, I'm not sure... They arrived this morning..." The nurse plucked the card from the flowers and opened it. "'See you soon, LEGACY.'"

That's when Maggie pushed the doctor aside and dove out the fourth floor window.

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.