Fallen Five

Whatever Frontline had been before falling to the Demon Army, it was now only ruins. There were echoes of great structures, baroque generators, fearsome towers, but now they were only more ash and corpses. Marshal wondered if that was somehow the answer to the questions that had driven him forth from the safety of Haven; that no matter what the stories said, it would all end in ruins. 

And yet Darius was still here, still alive. Wraith embraced him, the warm gesture sitting oddly on her lethal frame, somehow more honest and touching for it. She made the introductions and Darius led them below-ground, a bunker where he had hidden as the enemy had burned through the last line of hope. He spoke about conducting raids, stealthy strikes against the marching Demons, each kill one less creature that would reach Haven. Marshal couldn't see any weapons in the bunker, the tales were vague on how Darius fought. He made them tea, water boiled over a fire. Any gear sent by the Cups and Coins was gone, all of it poured into the last stand and washed away in defeat. Marshal gathered that Darius' grievous injuries were not recent; he moved deftly, prepping their drinks smoothly with one eye and one hand. He was smiling. There was a serenity in him, soft like a candle-flame. 

“I don't know,” he said, answering a question Marshal hadn't yet asked. “I guess once we all realized that we weren't going to shift anymore, that this version was our last one, I sorta made peace with things ending. I'm not saying that I gave up.” 

Wraith sipped her tea from a straw – the mask was never removed. “No you did not, my friend. You fought on.” 

“Maybe you could say,” he continued, “that I made peace with war. Some part of me always held out hope for the idea that we would all retire someday. Dex and Wraith would get married. Callan would buy the Diner. Twofeathers and I would get a cool studio apartment together, maybe make music. But the longer we were here, after everything that happened, I figured out that none of that would ever come true... But I also figured out that I didn't need it to. That the story of it was enough for me. How the idea of that version made me feel was enough to keep me fighting.” 

They were quiet for a time. Marshal said, “I don't follow what you mean by 'shift' and 'version'.”

Darius chuckled. “Speaking of stories, eh? This will be a long one, but I guess that's why you're here. And what better way to wait out the end of the world? Okay, let's start with-”

Fallen Four

Callan tensed atop the rubble. Dex took Marshal's arm. “We need to go, we have to keep moving.”

Marshal bent to retrieve his staff. “Wait, what about Darius?” In the stories of the Dragons there were always four of them. Marshal had wondered if there was some unconscious symbolism at work: four Dragons, four Agencies of Haven. The Staves, The Swords, the Cups, The Coins. Dexter, Wraith, Callan, and Darius. 

“He stayed behind,” Dex said. “He wasn't ready to leave.” 

“Could he have survived?” Marshal asked. Callan descended quietly from his perch, pointing to the left. Dex nodded at the gesture. 

“Like Wraith said, we're way past impossible. Now come on, there are more closing.” 

“No. I'm going to find Darius. I have to know.” 

“I'll tell you every damn answer to every damn question you have, once we've made it back to Haven. They have to be warned.” 

Marshal shook his head. “It's... It's not the same. I have to complete my mission. I have to see Frontline for myself. Especially if we are at the end of things.” 

Dex sighed. “Son, you will not make it there -” 

“I will take him,” Wraith said, returning from the shadows. “Callan can see you safely to Haven so they can at least be told what is coming. And you need to find out why the Arcana let this guy come out here alone. One final mystery.” 

Dex stared at Wraith. Marshal had the sense that her mask meant nothing to Dex, that he could see exactly what she was thinking and feeling. She made that same casual shrug. They both looked to Callan, who nodded. 

Marshal gave Dex his staff, an upgrade from the cane.

And so it came to be that Wraith and Marshal parted from Callan and Dex, and traveled for days through the borderlands, foraging for edible weeds and rainwater, hiding often, evading – as only a legendary Ninja could – the clusters of Demons marching towards Haven. Wraith said little. Marshal warned her that his dose of Cloak would expire soon; she began teaching him meditations that would shroud him from the Eyes. On the fourth day Marshal saw a frenzied burst of putrid colours on the horizon; Wraith told him that it was discharge from an active but corrupted Grid. By the journey's end Marshal felt toxic, he felt purged, felt broken and forged. 

And so Marshal came at last to Frontline, where he met the last Dragon, Darius. 

Fallen Three

“That's impossible,” Marshal said. 

“That's cute,” Wraith said. “Look around. Do you think that word has any meaning anymore?”

“Wraith,” another voice said, a new figure entering the scene. Elderly, stooped, using a cane. “Remember this version is all he has ever known.” 

Wraith made a movement like a shrug and faded into the shadows. Callan sniffed the air and perched atop a mound of rubble, keeping watch. The old man walked over to Marshal. Extended his hand. “My name is Dex. Good to meet you.” 

The stories about Dexter Washington told of a brave peacekeeper, a warrior and leader devoted to justice and willing to break the rules to achieve it. Despite the man's age and frailty, Marshal could immediately sense the accuracy of the tales. The handshake was strong in a way that transcended muscle and bone. “I'm Marshal, of the Staves. Is it true? About Frontline?” 

Dex frowned. “It is. The last of the Swords stationed with us fell two days ago. We fought for another day, until... Well, I know 'tactical withdrawal' is just a fancy way of saying 'retreat'. But it's better than 'surrender' I guess.” 

Marshal's eyes were wide. The people of Haven lived in fear of destruction by the Demon Army. They always had. The Swords were dedicated to preventing that fate. And much of the work of the Cups and Coins went towards supporting the Swords. The losses of the soldiers that never returned from battle were keenly felt and only served to reinforce how precious and fragile the sanctuary of Haven was. And yet the threat, so permanent and omnipresent, had become almost abstracted, another story to be told but not fully believed. 

Another story that was coming true. 

Dexter sighed. “I'm sorry, son. We failed you. After everything...” And Marshal sensed that he was talking about more than losing Frontline, more than the War, maybe even more than the Fall? 

“You just saved my life,” Marshal said. Trying to give them something. 

“Why are you out here?” Dex asked. 

“I was looking for you. I was... curious. I wanted to know... I needed to know...” 

“And the Arcana let you go? Alone?” Dex looked troubled. Exchanged a glance with Callan. 

Too much was happening. The stench of Demon's blood in the air. “How, sir? How did it happen?” As if understanding the cause and effect would make it more digestible. The same reason he was out here in the borderlands in the first place? 

Dex looked both sad and angry. “Well. It turns out that Max was wrong. Wrong about Control. Wrong about Morganfokker. Wrong about everything.” 

“I don't understand. Who is Max?” 

Fallen Two

The Staves kept detailed records of all the activities in Haven. They organized and directed, they administered. They assisted and coordinated with the Arcana Council to ensure that Haven continued. And when they could they researched what they could of the world outside Haven, like investigating a crime scene or performing an autopsy. They had learned about the Eyes, they knew something of the Gutters and the Grids, and they knew about the Demons. What was still a mystery was the Fall itself; how the world had come to be this way and why. Who built the Gutters and Grids, what gave birth to the Eyes, and what started the War with the Demons. There were as many theories as Staves, and the Cups and Coins had their own, as well. The Swords had little time or inclination to speculate, but the rumours they brought back from Frontline suggested that the Dragons had answers to these questions. 

And the Dragons were real, Marshal could now see. As real as the stories about them. Callan, chest heaving, claws dripping with gore from the slaughtered Demon. The first Demon; three more had appeared from the ruins. Callan adjusted his stance, a strange mix of grace and ferocity in his movement. The Demons, sharp edges and menace, slowly spread out as they crept closer, preparing to flank their prey. Marshal quickly looked around for cover. The pistol and his staff were shaking in his hands; he knew that he should drop the staff for a better grip on the gun but couldn't bring himself to do it. There were no mantras anymore, only the hissing and scratching of the approaching monstrosities. There was no visualization anymore, only the combat unfolding before him. 

And the sight of another figure entering the scene. A woman, masked, brandishing a pair of tonfas. Marching calmly and quickly from the shadows towards the Demon on the left. By the mask she wore, carved in resemblance of the creatures she now faced, Marshal recognized her as Wraith. The Ninja. The Assassin. The left Demon halted and snapped its dripping jaws as Wraith closed, and suddenly Callan sprang forth, another growling leap, diving upon the distracted left Demon, another vicious attack. And Wraith moved in the exact same moment, launching into a series of precision cartwheels, passing directly under Callan in mid-leap and intercepting the middle Demon, catching it off-guard in the feint, landing upright with her tonfas spinning and striking. 

Here it was, happening before him, the tales of Demons and Dragons come to life. Brutal and terrifying. In a way they were easier to believe in when they were only stories. Seeing the combat before him shook Marshal to the core, his hands still shaking, the world suddenly more... Just more than he was ready for. But there was the third Demon on the right, starting to charge forward in the ruins, coming to tip the balance of the battle. Marshal dropped his staff and raised the pistol in both hands. 

The first shot was wide, the second high, and then it was too late. The distance bridged, the Demon pouncing at Wraith. Except right at that moment, Callan sank his claws into the arm of his opponent and dropped into a controlled roll that took the Demon off-balance, the roll continuing until Callan could plant his feet against the creature and kick out. Catapulting the Demon through the air to collide with the third one, knocking it off-course just as Wraith drove her tonfas into the eyes of her opponent. Tearing them free, Callan leaping, the Dragons descending on the left and right Demons, tangled and stunned. Killing blows. 

And Marshal saw that they were so much more than even the tales told of them. 

The War Mask made her voice low and metallic. “Hurry,” Wraith said, gesturing at Marshal. “We have to move. Frontline has fallen.” 

Fallen One

The zone between Haven and Frontline was quiet. Ash and the corpses of buildings. As a member of the Staves, he had never ventured this far into the ruins. If he had waited three days a Sword would have been able to escort him but for some reason he had elected to undertake the journey alone. The Arcana, after a brief and private deliberation, for some reason, had approved. He carried the staff, more symbol than weapon, his satchel, one pistol with two spare clips (a gift from the Coins). In the boiling murk of sky the jagged bulks of corrupted Eyes hovered and drifted; the injection of Cloak coursed through his bloodstream (a gift from the Cups), masking him from their cavernous gaze. He whispered the mantras taught to him by Arcana Five, wrangling his nervous neural patterns into docile shapes in case the Eyes peered into the psychic spectrum. The Swords said that they rarely did, not over the border zone, since there was little life left to see. 

It was quiet but not silent. Moaning winds, rubble settling, steel creaking. Too easy to imagine as the sounds of ghosts. He walked on, staff in hand, mantras in his mind. Until one of the ambient haunting noises became too regular to be random. Something was following him. If it wasn't a Sword patrol (still three days away) or a Coin shipment (none scheduled), then that meant it was... 

He drew the pistol, visualized the pattern that Arcana Eleven had taught him, and turned to face the direction of the noise. He had never ventured this far into the ruins. He had never seen a live Demon. The Swords were trained to fight Demons. If he had waited three days he wouldn't be alone. He wondered why he had felt the need to leave immediately. He watched the pocked and razored carapace of the creature lurch forth from the skeleton of a skyscraper. It was somehow shiny in the permanent twilight and giving off smoke like charred wood. He wondered why the Arcana had agreed to let him travel alone. He was sure that he was getting the visualization wrong, forgetting the mantras. He had read every account there was of the Swords' encounters with Demons, he had read every research paper written about them. When it moved it made a sound like poisoned lungs wheezing for their last breath. He pointed the pistol. It began to growl. 

Except the growl was not coming from the Demon. From behind him instead. Becoming a snarl, then above him, becoming a roar, and another creature leaping through the air over him towards the Demon. Claws and fangs flashing. There was a collision, the wheezing pitched up into a scream, blood suddenly erupting, a thick stench of infection. The new creature tearing and rending, smaller than the Demon but more savage, the shape of a man, almost. 

He had read all of the accounts from the Swords who had travelled to Frontline and back to Haven, their stories of the guardians there who led the forces against the Demon Army. Most of them were likely embellished, understandably exaggerated, fables for morale. The Dragons, they called them. Exactly who he was searching for. So he recognized who stood before him, over the corpse of the Demon, by description, which turned out to be true and not a tall tale after all. The Mystic Warrior, the Tiger Man. 

“You're Callan,” he said. “My name is Marshal.”

Reunion Part Final

Suki was driving. “Their eyes didn't look right.” 

Angst was in the passenger seat. “I didn't recognize those weapons. I think they were partly psychic.” 

Goner was behind Angst. “This is unbelievable.”

Frank said, “Get to the highway. We have to get some distance, figure out if they can track us.” 

Angst saw the sign approach then recede behind them in the early morning light. “Goodbye Jones Heights,” she whispered. 

“What's the last thing you remember before this version?” Max asked. He was between Goner and Frank in the back seat.

“Shorelines,” they said. 

“Okay... I don't remember where I was before that, and I don't recognize some of those names, but you guys found me during the Event. We were together for a while after that.” 

“We thought the Event shifted us here,” Goner said. 

“What happened next?” Frank asked. 

Max looked down at his hands. “A lot. A lot of bad things.” He glanced at Angst, then Frank. “I don't know if I should say. Some version of them may still happen to you.” 

“To us? What's that supposed to mean?” Goner asked. “What happened to us?” 

“Do you know how or why you became Marshal?” Frank asked.

“No. Maybe I was hiding? Or maybe it was a trap. To me it feels like a lot of time passed after the Event. I feel like I was alone for a long time.” Max glanced at Suki. “I think I met some other versions of some of you. I don't know, it's all pretty jumbled.” 

“Well, it's good to see you again,” Angst said softly. 

Max smiled. Then he winced. 

“Max?” Frank asked. 

“There's just a lot going on up here,” he said, rubbing his temple.

“Try saying it,” Frank said. 

“I keep thinking the words Realtime, Fragmented... Citadel, Underground, Purgatory.” 

Goner chuckled. “What? Don't any of you follow pop culture? Realtime was the latest album from the DJ Mana Junkie, Fragmented is this season's big cable TV drama, Citadel is one of the hottest superhero comics out there, Underground is the best-selling biography of corporate whistle-blower Simon Light, and Purgatory is catching all the buzz on the international film festival circuit.”

“Shit, what is going on here?” Suki said. 

“Yeah, I forgot how weird and confusing things could get,” Max said. 

“No, I mean here, out there.” She pointed out the front window. They all looked outside the car to see the road start to blur, the trees start to shimmer, the sky start to ripple. 

“Can you feel that?” Angst asked. 

Frank said, “We're shifting.”

Goner sighed.

Suki smiled, tears in her eyes.

Reunion Part Five

The storage room of one of the businesses that Frank did record-keeping for. A laptop playing music. A cocktail of psychotropic drugs. A mashup of pagan ritual, Neo Linguistic Programming, and LEGACY brainwashing techniques. 

Marshal had seemed more confused than scared by the abduction. Once the trances had taken over he had become incoherent, then silent. 

Goner was on lookout. Frank was checking Marshal's pulse, pupils, whispering mantras in his ear at designated intervals. Angst was reading the notebook from the satchel – it was filled with poetry. 

The sun would be coming up soon. 

Suki finally walked towards him. Leaned in to look him in the eyes. 

“I don't know where you went. I don't know why you left. We never really knew all that much, I guess. When we found each other here we did what we always did: got safe, laid low, started researching, looking for ways we could help. We had done weeks before, not usually as quiet, but... Then it was months. And there were no calls, there was no sign of you. 

“And then Angst said, 'We need to start living in what's happening, not what might happen'. And she did, then Frank did, and Goner did. But I couldn't. Couldn't do it. I went crazy instead. Like my mind couldn't stop shifting, even though we had. I wondered if that was how you felt, all the time. 

“I took too many pills, too many times, I cut up my arms and legs, I ran away, got arrested. I think I was trying to make a shift happen, somehow. Or maybe I thought that if I got in enough trouble you would come and rescue me. 

“Finally they put me in a hospital. Put me on meds. Put me in therapy. And things eventually got to be okay.” 

Suki straightened up. A tear rolled down her cheek. 

“So why are you here now?” She screamed, “Why now?” She slapped him. 

Marshal heard a voice. Okay, we are a go. 

“I don't want to come back,” he whispered. 

“What did he say?” Frank asked. 

Alright Max, it's time to make things happen. 

“I want to come back,” he said. 

Goner shouted from the doorway. “Three vehicles approaching.”

Reunion Part Four

“This is the 'no-turning-back' conversation,” Frank said. “If we do this, at the very least we will be kidnapping a person, drugging them, and psychologically torturing them. We'll have to go on the run. Our lives in Jones Heights will be over.” 

“Or...” 

“Or we'll be waking him up.” 

“If he even wants to be,” Angst said. “We're happy, maybe he is too.” 

Frank looked at her. They were at their regular table at the cafe, regular lunch orders. “Marshal's not happy. I could tell that after one pint.” 

“What exactly did he say? How could you tell it was really him?” 

Frank took a bite of his sandwich. Sipped his coffee. “It wasn't any one thing. There was no code word or trigger phrase. There were no references he recognized. Nothing obvious. It was... It was as if Marshal is exactly the type of man that Max would have been if nothing strange had ever happened to him. If all the stories had remained stories and had never come true.” 

Angst looked out the window, thoughtful. “I never really could tell how much of what Max said was true. I'm not sure he could either. He taught me how to shoot, though. And to fight monsters.” 

“And sometimes he made you feel better when things were really bad.” 

Angst smiled and nodded. “Okay, let's go get him.” 

As they stepped outside, a car pulled up. Goner was driving. And Suki was in the passenger seat.

Reunion Part Three

“Hi Goner.” 

“Hey! Angst, how are you?” 

“I'm good,” she said. 

“It's good to hear you.” 

They spent some time catching up. Her quiet life in town, quiet job at the B&B. Let him know that Frank was good too. He talked about his busy job in the busy city. Investments, portfolios, boardrooms, deals. Money. He checked to make sure that they were both still receiving the monthly deposits – it didn't feel like charity, they had been through too much together to have any pride or shame attached to such mundane things. 

Goner was good at his job. He used to wonder if he was always suited for work in this field or if being initiated had somehow made him good at it. He had only joined the army for the education, and had only moved into private security for the money. Everything after that had been about survival. At first, anyway. He had been so young. 

“It's...” Her voice changed. 

“What's the matter?” he asked. 

“He's back, Goner.” Silence. “He's different but it's him. Frank confirmed it. His name is Marshal Montgomery, he's in town travelling. He doesn't recognize us. But it's him.” Silence. “He's here for two more nights. We... We're going to try and make him, help him remember. We thought you should be here.” 

“Why the fuck? Even if it is him... just leave him alone. I thought we were done with all of that. It's been seven years. Why the fuck?” 

“Goner...” 

“He did me a favour that day in the alley, and I paid it back a hundred-fold. It's over, all that is over. Just let it be. And don't you dare get Suki mixed up in all of it again. She's finally doing okay.” 

“Please.” 

“Fuck this. No way. It's over.” 

He hung up.

Reunion Part Two

Marshal Montgomery had booked a room for three nights at the Chambers' Bed and Breakfast in the town of Jones Heights. Angst's shift the next day started at noon; Marshal had already headed out by then. Theresa Chambers told her that he had been quiet and polite during breakfast and had taken one of the Walking Tour maps from the front desk when he left. When Angst was replacing the towels and soaps in his room she resisted the urge to go through his travel bag. She noticed that he had used the room's kettle to make a tea but hadn't used any of the packets of instant coffee.  

Frank followed Marshal for hours as he walked the streets of the small town, stopping in shops but buying nothing. Along the canal, sitting at a park bench for a while. Marshal wore a satchel over his shoulder and listened to earphones as he strolled through the Heights. Occasionally he would take a notebook from the satchel and jot something down. 

Eventually Frank came to feel that there was some sleight resemblance, but without Angst's prompting he never would have made the connection. But he was also less certain than Angst that there wasn't some need lurking there... He was, if not happy, at least content. Teaching guitar lessons, the occasional gig at the local pub, part-time work doing some record-keeping for a few small businesses. Dinners and movie-nights with Angst a couple times a week. There was a lack, though. There was the memory of his finger on a trigger. Even shadowing Marshal for the day brought back the rush, reminded him that once he had been a hunter. 

When Marshal stopped at the pub around dinner, Frank decided he would make contact. Frank was well-known there, it would be easy to create opportunities to start a friendly conversation with a tourist. 

Three hours later Frank called Angst. 

“It's him. He doesn't know that he's him, but you were right.”

Reunion Part One

“It's him. He's back,” Angst said.  

“But... I mean...” 

“He doesn't look like he usually did, but I know it's him.” 

“He didn't recognize you?” 

“No. Please. Please believe me,” she said. 

“Okay... Okay, tell me. You said he looked different.” 

“Older, like we are I guess. Heavier, bearded.” 

“And what name did he check-in under?” 

“Marshal Montgomery. License and credit card.” 

“And he didn't... He didn't recognize you?” 

“I know,” Angst said. “I know we always used to recognize each other, no matter what version we were in. Or we thought we did. How can we be sure? I'm sure about this. It was him.” She switched her phone to her other ear. “Do you remember how I used to sometimes have those dreams, and they felt true, and then they would become true... That's how it felt when I saw him. I know it's him. ” 

“Angst...” 

“Listen, I know how it sounds. I know it's been a long time. And I'm happy now. I like it here. I miss it sometimes but I don't need it. And I'm not stupid, most of it used to be pretty terrible. It was scary and violent and... So it's not that. It's not me needing it to be him.” 

“Alright,” Frank said. “I'll check him out.”

Disclosure

“Hi you.”

Max grinned. “Heya. How'd you get this number?”

“It was the decrypt key for the cortex-drives on these hybrid cyborgs that were terrorizing the city. Once I hacked them I noticed it was the same length as a phone number so I thought I'd give it a try.”

“Clever. So you're sorted?” Max asked.

“About to lead the reprogrammed cyborg army in a revolt against their corrupt creators, but it should go okay.”

“I miss you.”

“Me too, sweetie. How's things on your end?”

Max took a breath. “I've been thinking a lot. Mags... Maggie, here's the thing... I was never a marine. There was never an MK-Omega project. I was never part of any experiment, I never shot anyone. I don't really know how to shoot these guns I carry around, I don't know martial arts, and I certainly don't have any magic powers. I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“Max... It's okay. I'm not really an angel. I've never travelled in time. I have no idea how to fight demons. I'm making it up. It's all made up. Just like laws, and governments. And money and religions. And culture and even identity. It's all made up, it's all art. Everything is art. But that doesn't mean it isn't true.”

“Hm. Yeah...”

“You told me that, when we first met – or one of the first times we met – after we woke up in those weird tanks in that underwater base. Max, I gotta run – the borgs are getting restless...”

“Right on, have fun! Thanks, Maggie.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Sunsetters

Max had kicked off his shoes and felt the sand between his toes, and it felt good. 

A wave lapped up on the beach, nearly reaching his toes this time. He sat on a log watching the sun setting upon the horizon. He took another pull from his beer.

The sound of fire crackling behind him and the strum of a guitar made it all seem so surreal to him. It had been a long, long time since he had just sat with nothing to do but drink a beer at his own pace.

"This is grand, isn't it," Frank said as he approached him. He was holding out another bottle of beer. "It looked like you were just about running on empty on that one."

"Thanks man," he said as he took the new bottle and placed it beside him. "Really, don't want to move from this spot."

"Simply beautiful here, isn't it old friend," Frank said as he sat on the log beside him.

"That it is," he replied. He finished the last of the liquid in the bottle before chucking it out into the water.

"You know that's 10 cents you tossed out there," Frank chided.