All In The Dice 2

Max slid across the tile floor with both guns blazing, bullets flying like carrier pigeons to their new homes. He only had a few more rounds left and he had to make them count.  

Dan looked down at the sheet and he only had 13 rounds left for "Pain" and only 12 for "Joy". 

"So, how many are left in the room?" he asked Tim.

Tim was in the middle of taking a sip from his coffee; he held up his left hand signalling one second.

Wraith popped up her head to do a quick glance and dropped it as soon as bullets began to rain down upon them again.  Control had told them this was a "Milk Run", nothing major was going to happen it was just a "verificaton" check. Boy, did Control get this wrong. 

Angie looked at the graph paper before them; it showed the warehouse they were in and a bunch of x's dotted about it like a football diagram. "From my count there looks to be 16-17 left," she said as she looked up.

"If they were Mooks this would be easy as pie," Dan replied. "But, no, they all have to be Named."

"You know, Dan," Tim said. "We could always play Little Fears."

All In The Dice

Max dropped down from the upper ledge and onto the platform, landing like a cat leaving no sound whatsoever.  He headed for the door and punched in the key code he had been given and the door unlocked and opened. A guard stood there at the door...

"A guard?" Dan asked. He picked up the dice from the table and held them in his hands, glancing down at the character sheet before him. "Shouldn't Max's sixth sense have warned him of the event before the door opened?"

Tim looked up from behind the GM screen and grinned. "He has his back to the door."

Max lifted the butt of the gun to conk the guard on the head but he hit the side of the door.

"FOR FUCK SAKES," Dan said. "A one. Come on, that should of been an automatic hit! I got the surprise on the Mook."

+ PLEX TOURS .7 The Bookstore

• The Bunker
• The Lab Level Two
• The Cast
• The Bookstore
• The Brownstone
• The Subway
• Metafesto
• The Diner
• Chronoplex
• The Lab

There was a lot that Susanna liked about Good Times, Good Tomes. 

For starters, it subverted the typical tale of small, local, independent businesses being bought up and assimilated by massive chains. In the case of Good Tomes, the building used to belong to LEGACY, one of those vast corporations whose name covered billboards and computer screens throughout the city but no one could tell you exactly what they did. Economic consulting? Technology development? Research? Production? Marketing? They still had dozens of offices and factories but one less than they used to, after that strange night last year when a blackout, a meteor shower and an earthquake had hit the city all in one night. The next day the building had been abandoned. Within a week, after a blitz of renovations, the bookstore had opened. 

Susanna liked the mystery of it all, too. Anyone who knew what (obviously wealthy) entrepreneur was behind the store's launch wasn't talking. Apparently the folks who staffed the place were hired on through a recruiting agency; they all seemed happy with their jobs and well-compensated. The cashiers, clerks, and cleaners were from a variety of ethnic backgrounds and gender identities, some had physical disabilities and some were developmentally delayed; diversity was clearly a priority for the owner. It was a welcoming, friendly place. 

She liked the way that they categorized the books on the shelves – not by subject or genre, but by which tarot card the book most reflected. The aisle of The High Priestess might contain fiction by women authors or biographies of female politicians. The aisle of Justice might contain crime fiction or legal texts. The aisle of The Moon might hold books about astronomy or dreams. If you got lost or confused then the staff were sure to help, but the odd layout turned each visit into something of an adventure. 

Not to mention the decor, the music playing softly, the selection of teas and coffees, the comfy chairs. Or the discount that Susanna received because she was a teacher. And the community notice board by the counter was where Susanna had found the ad for the woman she now took guitar lessons from.

Most of all, however, Susanna liked the stories. Not the ones in the hundreds of novels that lined the shelves. The ones that the Book Club told. That was her nickname for them, the odd group of friends who would gather, usually on the second floor, and exchange tales. She was never sure if they were recounting books that they had read (maybe movies they had seen?) or if they were all writers work-shopping their latest ideas, or perhaps even actors rehearsing. And she was never sure when they would meet, but on the days they were here, Susanna would get herself a tea and try and find a chair nearby so she could listen in. 

She had picked up a bit about each member of the Book Club: there was Frank - who was a businessman, Angst – a cheerleader (for a team called the Dragons?), Goner – served in the military, little Suki – still in school, and Max – who seemed most like a writer. How they all knew each other was another mystery. 

A lot of their stories were violent, scary even. Most of them were science fiction. The thing was, Susanna didn't really care for sci-fi stories or violent stories, but there was something about the way that they told them... No matter what the story was about, or even if it didn't always make sense, she always felt it was really about something else. About things like friendship, or feeling lost, about trying to find your way. And there was something about the way that they told their stories, that no matter how weird and wild they were, somehow they sounded like they were true. 

Susanna kept telling herself that one day she would introduce herself to them, ask them if they were accepting members into the Book Club. On the subway ride to and from work she imagined what she would say to them. She imagined what stories she would tell them. 

For now, she listened, like they were music.

Interface Zero

Tatterdemalion's fingers danced over the keyboard. She was inputting code faster than her mind could come up with it.

"Dammit," she muttered.

"What the frak are you doing?" Gabriel 7 inquired.

"It's defragging!" she shot back. "There's only one thing to do!"

"Oh hell no," Gabriel 7 warned her. "You are only a watcher and not a participator!"

Tatterdemalion's fingers touched the screen and then she disappeared, as if she was beamed away by Scottie in that silly old sci-fi show she liked so much.

"Damn," Gabriel 7 swore.  

Crash Dump

COLLECTING DATA FOR CRASH DUMP....
INTIALIZING DISK FOR CRASH DUMP...

A problem has been detected and needs to be corrected.

DRIVER _IRQL_NOT_LESS_THAN_ZERO

If this is the first time that you have seen this message, restart the program. If this message appears again, follow these steps:

Check to see if any new equations have been added to the software.
Add ILLIK_NO_ZERO_ZERO_SEVEN_NOVEMBER to the coding
Restart again.

Spectrum

“Imagine the second time you watch an episode of your favourite show. There is the version that the writer had in their mind sitting in front of their laptop, the version that the director had surrounded by the production crew. There is the version that the actor had reading the script, and during rehearsal, and the one that they performed on the day of filming. The version that got recorded. There is the version you experience as you watch it for the first time, with all your own reactions and feelings added to the mix. The version of it that you remember afterwards. The reviews and fan responses online. Then the version you watch the second time, where nothing about the recorded version changes except that your memories of it, the time you've had to reflect on it, the knowledge of what already happens, changes it all. 

“And now there's also the version of you imagining all this. So it can get complicated pretty fast. 

“Or to put it another way... Trying to follow the relationship between David Bowie and Ziggy Stardust while trying to follow the relationship between Bowie and Stardust and Johnathan Rhys Meyers' character Brian Slade (a version of Bowie) in Velvet Goldmine, and his relationship to Maxwell Demon (a version of Stardust) in that film, and their relationship to Slade's fan and later investigator Arthur Stuart in that movie, and Stuart's relationship to the actor who portrayed him, Christian Bale, and Bale's relationship to Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Wayne's relationship to Batman. All at once. 

“And trying to have a conversation with one person who is constantly becoming all of these people and back again. 

“Would be one way to describe plureality, I guess.”

Mr. Clean's Team - Endnote

TOP SECRET

RECONNAISSANCE OFFICE

Washington, RC

Office of the Director                                                                              December 27th, 1999 AX

MEMORANDUM FOR: MS. MORNINGSTAR

SUBJECT: THE MAGENTA TASK

We sent a second cell team to investigate what happened to the first cell team.  

Pilot had inserted prime Clean team at coordinates 44 - 33 - 23. The prime Clean team hadn't returned to extraction point at the appointed time. When second team arrived at the coordinates there was no sign of the prime team ever being there.

Second team then went to the chateau to locate target. Target was never there. This is according to eyewitness reports from people in the chateau and waitstaff.

Either some ajfdjofijwoeiojeofjoejowjoijoijefojoeiohwoeiohfiopwjiojiowjfowejofjwioejwoejfewf 

ddjkfjdofjioejojfijejoeifjeifs  or it could result of  fsdklfjkfjasklfjsldjfklsjdfkljsdklfjklfjkl dkfjdkjfklsdjkljdkfjdkfjksdjfdjfldjflsjdfljsdklfjsdklfjsdklfjklsdlfjsdklfsdklfjsdkljfklsdfjkldlsjfdklj

Sincerely

Agust Blooom

Mr. Clean's Agency

Mr. Cube's Team

The door to the chalet opened up, letting in a flurry of snowflakes in the blizzard winds. Maggie glanced at the door to see two men walking in laughing up a storm, followed by a young lad who should have been skiing with his frat brothers and a very stunning North American native following behind with a strange look on her face.

"Mags!" Max shouted.

"What the hell?" Maggie asked. "I said I was going away for a few days to rest - how did you find me?"

"You can't keep secrets from Control," Max told her. "He's like your boss..."

Control could be her Boss, she thought. Though she didn't know how he was able to tap into streams and send a team to control them, to make sure they didn't unweave...

"I'd like you to meet Grimm, Percy and that sourpuss over there is Alannah X. I guess the X stands for X," Max said. Maggie could see that they had the markings of a cell team but here they were in the middle of a chalet and apparently socializing.

"Each scenario ended with death," Max told her as if she understood, but at the moment she was as lost as the trio he had walked in with. "I gambled and won!"

Max stood beaming like a snake in the grass. Maggie saw the look of a man comfortable in knowing what his soul purpose in these worlds was. A recognition of sorts.

She smiled as it finally kicked in with what he done.

Vactionius Interuptius

Maggie raised her feet and placed them on the ottoman; stretching out some in the chair she could hear her bones creak and pop showing their age.

"Where's the snap?" Colleen inquired with a chuckle.

Maggie let a laugh escape from her lips. She hadn't felt this relaxed in a long while and was glad to be amongst the company of strangers. Beings with no idea that their lives hung on a thread intertwined with other threads that could unravel.

Colleen got up from the chair. "Be right back, just got to powder my nose."

Maggie nodded as Colleen walked towards the dining area. She reached for the novel that she had been reading and flipped it open to the page she was reading when suddenly...

Mr. Clean's Team VI

Fists were flung and blocked; Max stood there looking bored rather than a fighter. It reminded Grimm of the movie where the hero had woken up in a dream world made by computers and the hero was unlocking fighting techniques. The fight was going on longer than Grimm had anticipated, much like a cat playing with its prey before coming in for the final blow.

"What the hell are you?" Grimm grunted.

"Your worst nightmare," Max replied and then a wry smile crossed his lips. "Or a new friend."

Spa Day

She really didn't know when was the last time she had a day to herself. Three or four decades to say least and she was glad to have a respite. Away from the hustle and bustle of the worlds around her and just take some me-time.

"So, where you from?" Colleen asked.

"Oh, from around here and there. I rarely stay in one place these days," she replied. She didn't want to go into details since if she told the truth Colleen might consider her 'unstable' and would end their brief friendship. But considering that Colleen read Kaye-Silence books her mind might have been open. "I'm not accustomed to relaxing like this, it feels nice to be doing so."

Colleen nodded.

"I say we crack open a bottle of wine and let our hair down for the evening," Maggie said. "Let's give these March Break kids a run for their money."

Mr Clean's Team V

Grimm had been around long enough to know that this fellow was as good as they get. They were rounding each other off, doing an informal square dance, sizing each other up. He didn't know how Max knew where they'd be and what their objective was.

One thing for sure was that his employer had a mole in his organization and he was going to get to the bottom of it, that's for sure.

Grimm feinted and Max wouldn't take the bait; it seemed he knew what Grimm was going to do and when.

"We've been through this dance many times before," Max said.

"What the hell does that mean?" Grimm said. He presumed Max was using some kind of psychological crap on him.  "I've never met you before."

"We've been here many, many times," Max told him. "Each time it ends the same."

Intiution

A shiver ran down Maggie's spine. Much like a Jedi she sensed that there might be a disturbance in the force, or that she was just getting colder.

"Brrrrrrr," Colleen said as a bunch of frat boys entered the lodge, leaving the door wide open. Snow was drifting in and she brought the shawl she wore tighter around her neck.

That's what I felt, Maggie thought. A bunch of morons enjoying too much beer and not enough senses. A waiting staff rushed to the door and shut it.