The
Professor addressed the latest team. The newest Dragons. It wasn't
the first time the roster had been replaced, or recombined. He
had worked with so many of them throughout the strange non-years of
the Metaplex, the liquid time of plureality. All of the lost and the
found, the warriors, the outcasts, knights and assassins, witches and
spies. The different teams gathered and sent on their missions, and
always The Professor there to guide them, to never really be a part
of them. Except the times that he had been, or the times he was never
there at all - though most of those he couldn't remember...
Dexter,
Wraith, Darius, Callan. Frank, Goner, Angst, Suki, Aqua. Akimoto,
Tatterdemallion. Cromwell, Bern, Caden. Siltailus, Falador, Rickson,
Cloak, Nurendemyr. The Kat, Misfit, Silver. Odin, Merlin, Kele-De.
Mick. Marshal, Michelle, Nick and Jonas. Nick, Pat and Charlotte. Soma and Heresy. All the Travelers, the Blueberry Hill Gang, the Shelter Team. Bishop, Twofeathers, Trump. Pretty George. Maggie
Magenta.
And
now, Stone and Riveta, Donnelly and Mayganne, Scorpio. He had
explained to them as much as he could, what he was allowed to, what
he was able to. And what the plan was. Desperate and uncertain, but
the only way the Professor could think to turn this situation around.
It wasn't safe to contact Simon Light in any local versions - the
Professor had had to quarantine him. But maybe if they went far
enough around... Find him, some version of him, somewhere else...
There
was no telling if any of them would make it, or who they would be. If
they would remember or understand anything. If they would find him
and reach him. If that would be enough of a convergence to change
things. If this would save things or end them.
The
Professor had briefed them. He had taught them all the mantras and
visualizations that he knew for transferals. Had exposed them to
specifically modulated energy fields. Had read them modernist poetry,
shown them certain movies. Tried anything he could think of to help
them.
And
now he was going to send them into another world and hope that they would
somehow return...
20140102
Threshold Days
He
felt exhausted.
Last night he had injured a classmate during self-defense training.
This morning the sun was red. Crows lined the road on his drive into the office.
He had yelled at people he was trying to help. He was stuck on a level of the videogame he had been playing. He could only lie to his co-workers and his friends and tell them everything was fine.
Last night he dreamed of killing a man named Morganfokker and of a great feeling of change and relief coming over him, but in the morning the dream made him feel uneasy and scared.
Alison was dead and no one seemed to care. His cellphone would ring and he would answer it and hear only static.
Last night he had injured a classmate during self-defense training.
This morning the sun was red. Crows lined the road on his drive into the office.
He had yelled at people he was trying to help. He was stuck on a level of the videogame he had been playing. He could only lie to his co-workers and his friends and tell them everything was fine.
Last night he dreamed of killing a man named Morganfokker and of a great feeling of change and relief coming over him, but in the morning the dream made him feel uneasy and scared.
Alison was dead and no one seemed to care. His cellphone would ring and he would answer it and hear only static.
Breakfast of Champions
"Good
morning," he said.
Alice looked at him. He was blond-haired, thirtyish and looked a little rough around the edges. She had just finished pouring him a cup of coffee.
"Hello," she replied with a smile. "What can I get for you this morning?"
"First of all a name would be nice," he stated with a smile of his own. It was a warm smile, a smile that was shared between good friends guarding a personal secret.
Alice looked at him and chuckled. After all she was wearing her name tag on her shirt.
"No," he said. "I was wondering if you knew my name."
Alice looked at his face and into his eyes. They were like pools of liquid, of warm emotion. His face seemed familiar but she attributed that to being a customer. She knew he was here a few times before. "Can't say that I do."
"Damn," he muttered. He took a sip of coffee. "They only reason I asked is that I've been going about seeing things and little flashes of recognition would just spark then die out. For some odd reason seeing your face and seeing something familiar about it sparked something in me."
Alice smiled and knew how he felt. Sometimes she just had an urge or feeling that things happen for a reason. Lately she'd been getting a lot of them. Like yesterday when she took the subway and she thought that she had entered the last car on the platform but when she got on and looked at the back window she saw another car, and in this other car she saw people. People's faces and clothing that seemed out of place and style, and there was this one cheerleader who looked familiar and...
"I suppose I will have the special this morning," he said.
Alice looked at him. He was blond-haired, thirtyish and looked a little rough around the edges. She had just finished pouring him a cup of coffee.
"Hello," she replied with a smile. "What can I get for you this morning?"
"First of all a name would be nice," he stated with a smile of his own. It was a warm smile, a smile that was shared between good friends guarding a personal secret.
Alice looked at him and chuckled. After all she was wearing her name tag on her shirt.
"No," he said. "I was wondering if you knew my name."
Alice looked at his face and into his eyes. They were like pools of liquid, of warm emotion. His face seemed familiar but she attributed that to being a customer. She knew he was here a few times before. "Can't say that I do."
"Damn," he muttered. He took a sip of coffee. "They only reason I asked is that I've been going about seeing things and little flashes of recognition would just spark then die out. For some odd reason seeing your face and seeing something familiar about it sparked something in me."
Alice smiled and knew how he felt. Sometimes she just had an urge or feeling that things happen for a reason. Lately she'd been getting a lot of them. Like yesterday when she took the subway and she thought that she had entered the last car on the platform but when she got on and looked at the back window she saw another car, and in this other car she saw people. People's faces and clothing that seemed out of place and style, and there was this one cheerleader who looked familiar and...
"I suppose I will have the special this morning," he said.
Flames
Susanna shook her bodyguard-slash-houseguest awake. Maggie gasped and sat up. “Where’s my sword?” she asked with a raw voice.
“It’s right here,” Sue said. She almost picked it up from the floor beside the couch but felt uncomfortable about touching the weapon.
Mags steadied her ragged breath. “What’s happening?”
“You were talking in your sleep, almost shouting. It woke me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Susanna brushed Mags’ hair back in a motherly gesture. “It’s fine, really. Are you ok?”
Maggie had dreamed of the cheerleader again, the one who reminded her of her old friend, Angst. Another lost friend. Except her cheers weren’t rousing, inspirational chants; they were dark, whispering rants. Cruel poetry, words that cut deeper than a demon’s claws. Maggie reached down to touch the katana; it couldn’t cut through ghosts but it made her feel stronger knowing it was there.
“If I say I’m fine will you tease me again about deflecting?”
Susanna smiled. “Let me brew some tea.”
As the woman she was supposed to be guarding for the Professor, and whatever bizarre scheme he was running now, moved into the kitchenette, Maggie shivered and pushed the last echoes of the nightmare from her mind.
“I hope you get attacked soon,” she said, “so this arrangement doesn’t feel so one-sided.”
20140101
Slow Train A Coming
The
car had moved several inches in the last few hours. The wheels
squealing on the tracks, as if pulling away from glue. Something was
definitely happening and he was glad for it. He didn't know how many
more days he could stay couped up on just a platform. A
prisoner lost in time and space. He could hear Bishop in the
conductor car yelling at the train, shouting for it to move forward.
"What's going on?" Aqua inquired. She was bouncing around in her seat, itching to get into combat.
"Looks like whatever is holding us here is trying to keep us here," Frank said. "It doesn't want to let us go."
"Could it be some demonic force? Like a life leech?" Tatter asked. She sat by a window looking out and saw people begin to mill about on the platform, their images ghostlike in appearance. Whatever was happening it was affecting the platform too.
Bishop continued to shout at the train, hurling verbal abuse at the Gods, the earth, the world, his shoes. It was the first time any one of them had heard him become so vocal.
The train lurched forward again, a sudden two feet, sending everyone in the car tumbling over. It was a violent battle that was going on and it looked like Bishop was finally winning. Frank stood up and glanced around at the car to make sure everyone was okay, then as he scanned the platform his eyes widened in shock...
"What's going on?" Aqua inquired. She was bouncing around in her seat, itching to get into combat.
"Looks like whatever is holding us here is trying to keep us here," Frank said. "It doesn't want to let us go."
"Could it be some demonic force? Like a life leech?" Tatter asked. She sat by a window looking out and saw people begin to mill about on the platform, their images ghostlike in appearance. Whatever was happening it was affecting the platform too.
Bishop continued to shout at the train, hurling verbal abuse at the Gods, the earth, the world, his shoes. It was the first time any one of them had heard him become so vocal.
The train lurched forward again, a sudden two feet, sending everyone in the car tumbling over. It was a violent battle that was going on and it looked like Bishop was finally winning. Frank stood up and glanced around at the car to make sure everyone was okay, then as he scanned the platform his eyes widened in shock...
Crisis Call
Simon
snapped a few pictures of the dining room. Baboor had the
woman in the living room, Stockard was upstairs with the son.
Simon had been teamed with Karen Stockard and Asha Baboor on a number of assignments. They always got along well and their styles in the field complimented each other. On the drive over today, though, Simon had felt irritated by them both. Their voices, their conversation. Any time they asked him a question, always friendly, always polite, he bristled. They were talking about social stuff - they usually sorted and prepped all the work stuff in the office before leaving - but he felt so disconnected, so out of touch with the world and lives they were chatting about, it was almost painful. He wasn't surprised when they offered to conduct the interviews.
He snapped a few more shots then moved into the kitchen. He could hear Baboor speaking with the woman, her voice gentle, calmly drawing answers from her. The woman started to sound more tense, Baboor shifted her tone slightly to try and keep her grounded. It didn't work; the woman slipped into anger instead. Got defensive.
Suddenly, Simon found himself striding into the living room.
Baboor was sitting on the couch facing the woman who was seated in a chair beside it. Baboor read his posture right away and stood up.
"Who do you think you are?" Simon growled at the woman. Her eyes widened in shock at his tone.
"Agent Light -" Baboor said, trying to cut in.
He didn't stop. "We're here trying to help you and you shut us out? You're lucky Agent Baboor is doing the interview - I'd be smacking the info out of you if you tried that tone with me."
The woman looked terrified and confused, pressed back into the chair, hands clutching the sides.
Baboor realized that she had to meet his level, even though it meant showing dissonance in front of the woman. "Agent Light! Back into the kitchen right now!"
Stockard appeared at the top of the stairs. The son called down, "Mom, are you ok?"
In his mind Simon was yelling SHUTUP SHUTUP SHEISNOTOK YOUARENOTOK LEAVEMEALONE SHUTUP but he managed to stop the words from coming out. Managed to turn around head back to the other room. Heard Baboor and Stockard speaking to the mother and son.
Simon imagined drawing his pistol, firing randomly into the room, imagined surrendering to violence, the terrible freedom of it. Anything to get him outside, get him out of whatever he was trapped in. His hand rose up before him. He was holding his cellphone, not the pistol. It hadn't rang in days.
"Where are you?" he whispered to it.
Simon had been teamed with Karen Stockard and Asha Baboor on a number of assignments. They always got along well and their styles in the field complimented each other. On the drive over today, though, Simon had felt irritated by them both. Their voices, their conversation. Any time they asked him a question, always friendly, always polite, he bristled. They were talking about social stuff - they usually sorted and prepped all the work stuff in the office before leaving - but he felt so disconnected, so out of touch with the world and lives they were chatting about, it was almost painful. He wasn't surprised when they offered to conduct the interviews.
He snapped a few more shots then moved into the kitchen. He could hear Baboor speaking with the woman, her voice gentle, calmly drawing answers from her. The woman started to sound more tense, Baboor shifted her tone slightly to try and keep her grounded. It didn't work; the woman slipped into anger instead. Got defensive.
Suddenly, Simon found himself striding into the living room.
Baboor was sitting on the couch facing the woman who was seated in a chair beside it. Baboor read his posture right away and stood up.
"Who do you think you are?" Simon growled at the woman. Her eyes widened in shock at his tone.
"Agent Light -" Baboor said, trying to cut in.
He didn't stop. "We're here trying to help you and you shut us out? You're lucky Agent Baboor is doing the interview - I'd be smacking the info out of you if you tried that tone with me."
The woman looked terrified and confused, pressed back into the chair, hands clutching the sides.
Baboor realized that she had to meet his level, even though it meant showing dissonance in front of the woman. "Agent Light! Back into the kitchen right now!"
Stockard appeared at the top of the stairs. The son called down, "Mom, are you ok?"
In his mind Simon was yelling SHUTUP SHUTUP SHEISNOTOK YOUARENOTOK LEAVEMEALONE SHUTUP but he managed to stop the words from coming out. Managed to turn around head back to the other room. Heard Baboor and Stockard speaking to the mother and son.
Simon imagined drawing his pistol, firing randomly into the room, imagined surrendering to violence, the terrible freedom of it. Anything to get him outside, get him out of whatever he was trapped in. His hand rose up before him. He was holding his cellphone, not the pistol. It hadn't rang in days.
"Where are you?" he whispered to it.
Sometimes It's Just
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.
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.
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.
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