A Chance Meeting

Desmond Hill sat at the table reading the paper as he waited for the breakfast special to arrive. He had been doing this routine for the past six decades now and it was good to know that some things never change in life.

"So what's the scoop for today?" Marley Bishop asked him as she approached with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Oh, the same thing that went on yesterday," he replied and slid his cup over to her.

Marley topped it off and dug into her apron and put two 11% creamers and a packet of sweetener on the table. Then she wandered off to the next table to see if the two truckers wanted a top-up and Desmond went back to scanning the obituaries.

He saw that George Neilson Jr had passed away the other day and he was hit with a wave of sadness. He got to wondering when the last time was that he had chatted with George. Maybe it was a little over two years, but they had constantly waved when they passed each other on the streets or highway.

"Damn," he muttered. He made a note to attend the wake tomorrow. After all, it was the least he could do for an old friend.

The restaurant door opened and set off a jingle as the chimes were activated, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the door to see a young lad enter and his mind went to a spot of recognition but it was blurred by time. The fellow was in his late 20's or early 30's, white with a thin frame. His dirty blonde hair was spiked up some; Desmond thought the 90's were coming back again - it seemed it was the style back then.

But by gum he thought he knew this fellow from somewhere, or perhaps he could be the son of someone he knew but he couldn't exactly place it at the moment. The young fellow spotted him and Desmond could see the look of recognition in the fellow's eyes as he saw him and he let out a smile.

"Desmond Hill!" the lad said as he approached. "There ya be!"

"Here I be," Desmond replied. Desmond didn't want to ask the fellow his name; he wanted to see if his memory would kick in. "So what brings you here?"

"I heard the news and I had to come," the fellow said. "He's being waked tomorrow."

Aha, Desmond thought, he's George's grandson. Though the fellow could be just a close friend of the family, as well. Still there was something about him that was familiar.

"I just came in to grab a coffee and was about to swing by your place," the youth said. "Just wanted to see how you were doing as well, since it's been a while."

"It's been more than that," Desmond bluffed. His mind still trying to pin a name to the fellow.

"Yeah, you're right," the man said with a slight nod. "I knew that you and George grew up together and ended up being in the same unit..."

The unit he was talking about was in Viet Nam back in '69 when the robotic rebellion...

"Yo Max!" a Japanese girl called out to him as she entered. "The gang is waiting for you!"

"Cube?" Desmond asked. Then it dawned on him; the fellow in front of him was Sgt. Cube. How the hell was this possible?

"Look Des, I got to hit the road - there's a matter of importance that's not too far from here and I will swing by tomorrow and we'll get caught up..." Max said. He got up and headed for the door leaving Desmond stunned and wondering how this was possible.

C2IP - WaveAnomalyEcho Cubed

The sound of static fading...

“Hello Max,” Control said.

“What do you want?” Max asked.

“Relax for a second. It was very hard for me to reach you, but we have time now. Have a coffee. I don't mind if you smoke.”

Max poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn't sure that he smoked anymore. He took a sip. “It was really hard for me to get here, too. What's going on? Things feel stranger since...”

“Purgatory,” Control said. “Max, I need you to consider the possibility that you are still in Purgatory.”

Max had considered it. He took another sip of coffee.

“Max,” Control said. “I need you to consider the possibility that you are still in the motel room, with the laptops.”

Max had considered it. He took another sip of pop.

“Max,” Control said. “I need you to consider the possibility that you are still in the Lab.”

Max always considered it. He took another sip of tea.

Control glanced at the screens on the wall. “Alright then... Max, it's time that... You need to be made aware of something called The System. It is an organization that seeks to govern plureality. Using advanced Neo-Linguistic Programming, Noo Media techniques and Omega Magic it attempts to participate in the versioning process in such a way that allows it to direct and exploit the possibilities of Noo-Mo Omniism in accordance with its own agenda, the main goal of which is to sustain itself at all costs.”

“They sound like Legacy.”

“The System is what agencies like Legacy, MJ-13 and MK-Omega aspire to be. It operates on an entirely different level. Its activities can manifest as overt authoritarianism or subtle forms of oppression. Its operations are both visible and invisible. It created the Subway, the Elevator, the UFO and the XXXXXXXXX using technology stolen from The They. A great deal of the information that travels between versions is controlled by The System.”

“And you work for them...?”

“There is another organization, designated the Counter-System. Its agenda is even less clear, but it often acts in ways that mediate or even contradict the workings of The System while using many of the same methods. It is suspected that the Counter-System may be involved in maintaining key elements of Continuity as a form of resistance to The System's ultra-colonial goals. For instance, locations such as the Diner, the Bookstore, and the Brownstone. Or items such as uniforms and weapons. It is the likely source of the Metafesto. It may also be behind a pirate data broadcast known as 'Faux News'.”

“Okay, so you work for them...?”

“Current analysis suggests that the Subway has been under the control of a Counter-System operative known as Bishop for quite some time. The System recently undertook a direct action to retake the Subway. It has also deployed a squad of agents to capture a team of Dragons, although that order appears to have been upgraded to kill.”

Max frowned. “So? So why are you telling me all this? After all this time? If any of it is even true.”

“The System is on the move, Max. It is reacting to something. Something is coming. A threat. I'm telling you this as a favour. 

"As a warning.”

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Echo Squared

v.Reunion

Please stop, Angst thought. There was only static coming through the cell phone now. The bathroom was still empty. Max was gone. Angst wasn't a quitter but she needed things to pause; maybe after seven years she was just out of practice with the violence and lunacy and chaos. Maybe I can't do this anymore.

But then she realized that things had stopped...

Thirty seconds earlier Suki shouted, "Here they come!" as the mysterious agents launched their final assault on the motel room.

Right when Goner and Frank finally returned, the stolen car swerving into the parking lot, crashing into one of the agents' vehicles, crushing one of the agents, the engine revving and tires squealing, Frank at the wheel ready to drive into more of the attackers. The car was the only weapon they had; the equipment cache they were hoping to find didn't exist in this version.

"Thatta boy Frankie!" Suki shouted, firing her gun, the agents firing back.

Frank spun the wheel and swiped two more agents but they were still outnumbered and outgunned. Bullet holes erupted in the front and rear windshields. Goner cracked his knuckles, knowing they'd have to jump out soon and go hand-to-hand. Frank had seen Suki returning fire but not Angst...

Then the damnedest thing happened. A stuttering flash of light, a sound like thunder, and a subway car tore into the parking lot, materializing out of thin air, crashing onto the pavement, sparks flying, slamming into and scattering a lot of the attackers. And before it had skidded to a stop, the doors slid apart and Aqua and Akimoto, her in her signature cowboy hat, him wearing his trademarked army jacket/tropical shirt combo, leapt out, Akimoto swinging his broadsword and Aqua throwing punches with her gauntlets.

When Angst stepped out of the bathroom her friends were gathered in the parking lot, in the calm after the carnage, the sound of sirens fading in. She looked at Aki and Aqua and at the subway car. 

Everyone was smiling.

"I guess things are about to get weird," she said, and joined them.

"Sing it," Suki said.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Anomaly Squared

v.Thespian

"Please stop!" Charlotte whispered harshly as she adjusted the costume. Mick was fidgety, more nervous than he wanted to admit. Marshal was in full-blown stage-fright but trying to deep-breathe it away. Simon actually looked relaxed, but he had swallowed two pink pills about fifteen minutes ago.

Miguel dropped down from one of the lighting scaffolds. "They're starting to get restless."

They all looked to Suki. She looked up from her clipboard. Frank could tell that they all wanted her to give the go ahead but he knew that she wouldn't until Mallory had called. The show didn't start until the director told them all to "break a leg", whether she was backstage or in the hospital.

The murmurs of dissatisfaction were growing louder from the audience.

Frank believed in the play that they were about to perform, but he also knew that it was a risky piece and that if they started off with a grumpy, hostile audience that it might not work. Something needed to happen.

Then Marnie stepped in - she always entered as if there was a spotlight shining on her. Vlad was flanking her, holding up a CD.

"He's got the music of To Be Continued," she said with a sly smirk. If she was bothered that Vlad had a copy of her only hit single with her vocals removed it didn't show. "It'll buy us four and half minutes, five with applause."

Suki grinned. "Sing it."

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Wave Squared

The dragon is discovered.

The transmission is received.

The powers are merged.

The grave is opened.

The object is decoded.

And Max doses on Plex and enters the Portal.

*

As Aqua was about to throw the first punch there was suddenly light coming in the windows on her right side - a station! But the subway car was not slowing down, in seconds it would clear the platform and return to the dark. 

In those seconds one of the windows smashed inwards, Aqua dropped into a crouch, the man turning in surprise, and Akimoto crashed into the car, thudding into one of the poles in the aisle, keeping his footing amidst the sprinkling shards of glass.

The man produced a pistol from inside his jacket and with a smooth, simple motion of his broadsword Akimoto chopped the man's hand off. The subway had passed through the station and was back in the dark of the tunnel. Aqua felt a strange pulse of emotions about having missed a chance to stop and exit the car, but she didn't let it distract her from launching a massive Superman-punch at the man as he watched his hand fall away from his wrist. He quickly joined his hand in a bloody pile on the floor.

"Check on Bishop!" Aqua shouted - the noise of the train was louder through the broken window. She began searching the body of the man. Generic dark clothing, generic weapon and ammunition, no identification or markings. For some reason he reminded her of those agents that Jason Bourne was always running up against in the movies.

"He's breathing!" Akimoto reported. 

Aqua adjusted her cowboy hat. "What's going on, big man?"

"I'm on a mission from the gods!" the barbarian roared, a wild look in his eyes. "We have to rally the Dragons!"

"And how do we do that?" She looked at the unconscious body of Bishop.

Akimoto grinned. "Play your favourite song on that tiny music maker of yours and hold on." 

He looked at the emergency stop button.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Third Echo

v.Fallen

Dexter ordered two more salvos aimed at the latest breach in the wall, rubble exploding as the cannons' shells crashed into the charging bulk of the Demons, some of the creatures still slipping through to be met with the eponymous weapons of the Swords on the ground. Commanding the Haven forces in defence against the Demons' siege – the Arcana had unanimously elected him to the role – reminded Dex of conducting an investigation. You had limited resources - evidence analysis, witness interviews, confidential informants, suspect interrogations – or in this case the skills, talents and tech of the Staves, Swords, Cups and Coins, and you had to decide where to direct them and what to give attention to, what leads to pursue that would most likely lead you to the truth. Dexter's truth today was the survival of the people of Haven. Dex had been a decent cop, along time ago, and he was doing a better-than-decent job at directing the forces at hand, but the Demons were vicious, they were mighty, and they were many. It was not so different than the fighting he had endured at Frontline, but Frontline had fallen...

Dexter pointed with his staff to the northern tower. It was an order to Callan, who was down on the ground, in the thick of the fighting, but always watching for guidance from the commander. It was, based on the patterns of attack so far, where Dexter suspected the next surge of Demons would strike. The staff was the one that Marshal had given him, the strange man they had met in the wasteland. Dexter wondered in every spare moment what had become of him and Wraith. And he still wondered why the Arcana had sanctioned his quest – they said that they would explain once (and if) Haven was safe. Dexter was used to mysteries; the lifetimes he had spent adventuring with the Dragons had forced him to make some sort of peace with unsolved cases.

And he had made peace with death. He had certainly sent enough enemies to the grave, some more deserving than others. And since contracting the Sickness he knew that his end was coming sooner rather than later, regardless of how long he could fight off Demons. The people though, the citizens of Haven, they deserved a chance at a longer life, a better life, and so he would do what he could to give it to them.

Dexter trusted that Callan would be directing the Swords to the new position at the northern tower. He broke away from the scene below him to check in with his team. The Chief Stave gave him a quick rundown of scouting reports from the western wall. The Chief Coin rattled off a list of remaining munitions. The Chief Sword offered a brief analysis of troop distribution. The Chief Cup had a message – Arcana Seventeen wanted to see Dexter.

In her chamber in the central tower, the sounds of the battle outside faint whispers, the Arcana showed Dexter a device, a relic from the founding of Haven.

“I remember that,” Dex said. He felt tense, needed to get back to the fight, but had a sense that something important was happening here. “We had found it in the ruins, thought it was maybe a piece of a Grid.”

“And the first Seventeen kept it and passed it on to each of us who filled the role after her, as a reminder that there was a world, a world of possibilities that had existed before the coming of the Demon Army. That we may one day return to.”

Dexter nodded. He realized that he had long ago stopped dreaming of better worlds, only of survival instead, and he felt a great sadness.

The Arcana continued. “Less than an hour ago, Commander Washington, the device began receiving a signal. An audio message... I wrote down what she said, as best I could.”

Dexter took the sheet of paper, read the precise handwriting.

If I am right about what this is then the Arcana should have a similar device stored somewhere, from when Haven was founded...I have been trying to send that device a signal from this one, and now this one has received a transmission, so now I think I understand how it works... If I do and this is transmitting... Dammit, it's always so complicated... Here goes: It's Wraith, I'm with Darius... And we are at the Portal, where the Demons came from... And we received a transmission here, on our device... It was strange but he figured it out, Max did...

Dexter's eyes went wide. He kept reading, had a brief flash of memory, of reading a science fiction novel when he was a teenager.

Marshal was Max... I wonder if the Arcana knew, somehow? Max deciphered the message – he said it was from Control. That he needed to meet with Control. And then he went into the Portal...

'Of course he did,' Dexter thought with a smirk.

So if you are somehow receiving this, please get this message to Dexter or Callan or the Arcana, please let them know that something is happening... please tell them to keep fighting.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Anomaly Three

v.Reunion

Suki blind-fired two rounds through the window, glass shattering outwards and inwards, the attackers' weapons appeared to be using normal bullets this time, just lots of them, shredding the curtains, chewing up the bed, the opposite wall. She was talking with them, two shots like nodding politely during conversation, letting them know that she was still hearing them, still paying attention – Max once told her that gunfights were just another form of communication, usually an argument, but they could also be a debate or a confession or a lecture or even therapy, and that all the standard techniques of active listening applied. So Suki was listening and replying while she was also trying to puzzle out why they had reverted to standard ammo after using those weird mind-guns before, trying to understand the point they were trying to make... And she was also waiting for Max to come out of the bathroom, Joy and Pain blasting, a moment she had waited years for, except that Joy and Pain, like the Godhammer, had yet to manifest during any shifts and Max, despite the spectacular eruption of violence in the motel room, was still nowhere to be seen.

“I'm going to check on him!” Angst shouted from where she was crouched beside the bed, holding a scavenged hunting rifle instead of her uzis. Suki had missed this, when they all became borderline telepathic during combat. She blind-fired another three rounds, interjecting to change the flow of the exchange.

Angst had not kept up with her cheerleading but she could still round off a wicked one-handed cartwheel that had her at the bathroom door in a smooth second, then slipping through.

No Max.

And a pause in the enemy's gunfire, a moment of silence while they gathered their thoughts, prepared to articulate the real point that they were trying to make. Suki reloaded; she was pretty sure that she knew what they were going to say.

Angst looked at the empty tub. Her heart was aching. Her cellphone buzzed.

Suki shouted, “Here they come!”

The gunfire resumed, more intense. Angst answered.

A voice she didn't recognize. Bullets started splintering the bathroom door. “Beware the Morganfokker.”

“Who is this?” she asked. “Professor?”

Suki was shouting something. The voice said, “What the KLF is going on?”

“Max?”

“To be continued.”

Suki was still shouting, gunfire like thunder. Angst shouted into the phone, “WHO IS THIS?”

The motel room went quiet. The voice said, “This is Control. Is Max there please?”

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Third Wave

v.Cyber

“We found it. We bleedin' found it.” Trump sits down gracefully on the floor, cross-legged. “I don't generally like to do that much shooting, Max.”

“Simon. I'm Simon right now.”

“Yeah, 'course.” 

Three days straight of sneaking, spying, charming, cheating, meshes, meetings, double-crosses, demolitions and then one final quick-cut, hand-cam, techno-soundtracked gunfight. The mooks guarding the penthouse had been outfitted with Hades Cortexes running Guillotine and Plague mods, Spectrum Corp combat tech and that perfectly nasty mix of cold professionalism and crass thuggery. It was as tough as a dystopian, hypercore, noo-mo omniist mythical quest should be.

Who hired the guards, who rented the penthouse, who transported the target here on what occult schedule are all just figments, names and licenses of phantom businesses and agencies, made-up mixed-metaphors like a steady autumn evening rainfall of fabricated data spun like spiderwebs from secret agendas lurking deep in the Grid, whoever is really running things since the Fall of Legacy. All that matters is the object on the table in the middle of the tangle of corpses, a faintly glowing cube like from that old-time movie The Avengers, the port to the most powerful and sophisticated surveillance node in Omegatroplis and maybe the Universe, The White Room.

“You gotta wonder though, who did build it?” Trump asks while Simon stalks the room injecting each of the bodies with Entropeez, dissolving the Cortex links at the synaptic level, just to be sure none of them can be remote-activated. Zombies are in another cycle of popularity lately, and that extends beyond a third reboot of The Walking Dead franchise into some grisly paramilitary applications. “Do you figure it was Horsebreeder?” 

Simon, a designer Polysonae identity running in Max's head on the Horsebreeder-engineered Omega Cortex, shrugs. Simon is about completing the mission, solving for x, while it's Mick who's more about the y's/whys/wise. And it will likely take an appearance from Marshal for the final hack into the Room. Likely the toughest Mesh he's ever run, Tatterdemalion-level work, and for that to be anywhere close to a potential possibility then Max is likely going to have dose on Plex...

v.Western

Callan rejoined them at the table. He nodded. The scrape of chair-legs on the wooden floor as they shuffled to make room, Dex grabbing an extra seat from the table beside them, the prospector seated there nodding his assent. The man seated at the table Callan had left started to re-shuffle the cards. The bartender glanced at them, frowning. Everyone tense, these strangers in town, except the man with the cards who was grinning. Callan poured himself a shot from the bottle on the table, the scrape of the whiskey sliding down his throat.

“The gentleman's name is Mister Brogan Mirk, a man of property and interests in a number of businesses, resident of the Canyon for over a decade,” Callan said in a low voice, the music from the piano further masking their conversation. “Once I began buying drinks he started to relax, and once he started winning he started talking.” 

“I'm not sure that directly questioning the locals is the safest route to our destination,” Darius said.

“Everyone here knows why we're here, preacher,” Wraith said, glancing at the glances they were constantly receiving from all the other patrons.

“So long as we can keep things friendly,” Dexter said. “For now,” he added with a look to Mags.

So Callan recounted what he had learned from Mirk. The tale as they had heard it was broadly true – Sugarcube had gotten into it with this Logollos fellow and had gotten gunned down. Mirk had known Sugarcube from prior visits to Omega – the drifter had even stolen one of Mirk's horses once but then done some gunwork for him to settle the debt. Logollos had been good for business though, so Mirk had been on the fence when the showdown approached, to the point where he actually refused to place a bet on the outcome. 

Another shot and Callan leaned in close to the table. “Now I reckon you'll agree with me that this is where the tale turns conclusively from tragedy to mystery...”

Mirk, one of whose business interests involved gunsmithing, claimed that the revolver Logollos used in the duel sounded different from a regular weapon. Furthermore, Mirk, who also had interests in the Canyon's funeral business, claimed that the corpse buried in Judgement Grotto was not Sugarcube's. The actual body was, apparently, delivered to an associate of Logollos', of whom Mirk knew very little other than that he was renowned for breeding horses.

“And now if someone could kindly lend me five dollars?” Callan asked.

“Excuse me?” Dexter asked.

“Now that losing is no longer profitable I need to win my money back,” he said with a wink.

Mags tossed him a wrinkled bill. “And we need to dig up Sugarcube's grave, and if he's not in residence then we need to track down this horsebreeder.”

v.Genderbent

Jiro answered the door and raised his Alien Revolver. The sights auto-scanned the figure standing there, analyzing for evidence of cloning, shape-shifting, holographic disguise, and other standard forms of deception. The gun beeped.

“Mostly normal,” Jiro confirmed and lowered the weapon.

Mackenzie smirked. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”

“I thought we were supposed to be Code White,” Jiro said, moving aside so Mackenzie could enter the apartment. 

“I wanted everyone to be safe, in case the object was what I thought it was,” she said, taking a seat on the old, ratty couch. 

Jiro sat down beside her. Despite his gruff posture, the kid had missed his friend. “So it wasn't? We're safe?”

Mackenzie looked at him. “On the contrary.” She began talking about the Plureality research that she had stolen from Omega Station 12, about a theoretical state of existence called the Metaplex, and how it had been hypothesized that objects and possibly even entities could originate from within this 'place' and travel to our universe. Mackenzie had suspected that what Magnus had discovered was one such object, and that meant there was an assortment of hypothesized risks associated with coming into contact with it – hyperdimensional infections, psychocellular mutations, and/or being tracked and targeted by Plex entities. That's why she had initiated Code White to keep everyone separated and hopefully safe until she could maybe figure out what was going on.

Jiro rarely understood Mackenzie when she talked about this Plureality stuff, or Omega Magic or Neo-Linguistic Programming. He knew though, and had seen enough weird things, to take her and it seriously. She had told him once about how she had shot and killed a man, part of her program, who had learned too much about it and had become too dangerous. So he listened closely.

“Now I was just going off the pics Mag had sent, and comparing it to diagrams and equations in the research, but I eventually discovered some patterns occurring in the geometry of object that were transcribable as a code.”

“Okay...”

“I think the object is a transmission from the Metaplex. I've managed to turn some of it into English...” Mackenzie pulled out her phone, tapped open a text file.

“And if it is, Macks, then it could be a danger? We could be in danger right now?”

She paused. “You're right, Jiro. I'm sorry. I was excited by what I figured out and wanted to share it with somebody. I shouldn't have-”

“Stop it, doofus. I'm glad you came by. Besides the bank account is almost empty and the landlord is finally starting to notice that there's never any adults around the apartment.” They shared a smile. “Alright, so what's this thing saying exactly?”

“It reads kindof like a mix of surrealist poetry and those bizarre junk emails... Like the first line is 'Beware the horsebreeder'.”

Jiro frowned. “Mackenzie, you know I'm a polyglot, right?”

“Yes, Jiro. You know seven languages. And you're ambidextrous and can play the trumpet and hold your breath for over five minutes.”

“The name of that man you told me about, the one you shot...” Jiro's tone was very serious. “There is a type of horse called 'Morgan', and the Dutch word for breeder is 'fokker'...”

*

Aqua stared at Bishop's unmoving body and watched as a man stepped out of the conductor's booth. Stepped over the body and turned to face her. 

Aqua felt very afraid. She stood up though, faced the man. There was something so strange about him. They faced each other in the aisle of the subway car, like a showdown.

“You're him, aren't you?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The one Max talks about. The one he shot and killed. The one who haunts him. Who chases us, who's always messing with us.”

The man stepped forward. Aqua reached down and picked up her gauntlets, began strapping them on. The man kept walking forward. The lights in the car flickered. From her headphones on the seat she could faintly hear a new voice speaking. The man approached, Aqua raised her fists, strained to hear what the voice was saying over the sound of the subway hurtling through the endless tunnel.

The man approaching, the voice repeating: This transmission is coming to you.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Second Echo

v.Super

Police Commissioner George stared at the screen on his cellphone. Tapped in the code to activate the custom application – the 'Shift-Signal' he called it. It played a muzak version of an old Crystal Method song while it transmitted the data, making a mash-up with the chatter coming in over the cruiser's radio, realtime reports of the disaster occurring only blocks away in downtown Plex City, the app recording those reports, adding them to the signal along with GPS and video from the phone's camera, sending them as a digital recon of the perimeter of A.T.T.A.C.K.'s attack.

An icon of a wing appeared in the corner of the screen, then a voice. “Thank you for the update, Commissioner,” Seraphim said.

George nudged the officer at the wheel, gestured for him to take a left, driving slowly through clusters of running citizens, rubble and debris. There was another explosion from somewhere up ahead, the ground shaking, more smoke rising.

George shook his head, spoke into his phone. “I need more info from your end, ma'am. I can't coordinate evac and containment if I don't know-”

“Hold on,” she said, that authority in her voice that comforted him and made him feel insignificant at the same time. The waveform icon appeared below the wing as Channel joined the call.

“Commissioner,” he said. “Please take a deep breath – I am preparing to transmit information from my optic nerve into your visual cortex.”

The Seraphim leaping from the Holo-Copter as The Channel links her to the vehicle's hover-technology and she descends into the pitched battle below where The Tower deflects a barrage of missiles from Mode's shoulder-mounted cannons and even bends the curve of his autonic shield to ricochet one of the warheads towards Ashen who is trading blows with The Silhouette who becomes incorporeal just as the redirected missile explodes and stuns the villain and leaves him vulnerable until Pyre's energy-emitters ignite a modulating protective circle around Ashen that blocks even The Silhouette except that The Seraphim glides in from above and manages to grasp the dazed foe with her autonic touch and immobilize them leaving The Heretic to charge towards Pyre only to be intercepted by the spinning and slicing sabres of Cadre while The Tower fends off another assault from Mode coupled with a neuro-scattering pulse from Clean and Pyre gets support against The Heretic from a squad of Acer murder-drones...

“You're outnumbered,” George said, realizing how stupid he sounded stating the obvious. “Where's The Shifter?”

There was a pause as Channel banked the Holo-copter to fire a blast of disruptor chaff at the Acers. “He never reappeared after he teleported from our base.” The situation was too dire for Channel to continue keeping the Commissioner at arm's-length. “He's been missing the entire battle. It's the longest he's ever been gone...”

“My God, what is going on? How are we going to survive this?” George glanced at the officer who was driving, Sgt. Trump. Trump hadn't seen the vision of the battle but he had heard what was said. He looked scared.

“Commissioner,” Seraphim said, still on the line even as she floated up over Pyre's barrier to continue the fight. “We are going to have to attempt the Dragon Protocol.”

George gulped.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Anomaly Two

v.Cyber

Pretty blinks in the way that calls up his retinal HUD. Fingers in the pocket of his fluffy coat scratching quickly, wearing the thimbles that sync with his custom Cortex. The streams and runes of the HUD flashing and flowing over the view from the back of the cab of the neon-baked slow-motion disaster that is Ruffo Street on a Friday night in Omegatropolis. Scratch, scratch, flash and Max's icon appears in the HUD. A tiny image of Dali's 'Corpus Hypercubus'. A squad of Corporate Security thugs descends on a herd of pedestrians for failing to have the funds available for a moments-ago-voted-in crowd tax. The cab takes a right to avoid the violence.

The icon becomes a tiny sim of Max when he connects. “Heya,” his voice sounds in Pretty's ear.

“One sec,” Pretty murmurs, scratching in his pocket, opening a second channel, tasking a Grid-bot to contact and hire a low-level Meta from his roster to start doing recon on the votes that secured this new tax. 

The sim of Max yawns. Gunfire and screams from Ruffo Street. Pretty shifts his jaw to adjust the volume, violence on low, the pings from the bot in the middle-ground, Max's voice priority. “Okay... It's bad.”

The sim of Max blinks. “I'm on my way.”

They use an encrypted revolving code based on the Zodiac to determine which Diner to meet at depending on the day, the weather, and the current ratio of Cold vs Hot Wars occurring across the globe. Diners are expensive, the novelty of being waited on by mostly-flesh-and-blood servers, but it is a tradition with them, dating back to before the fall of Legacy.

When Pretty slides into the booth he can tell that it's Marshal sitting there; he can always tell when Max is running one of the Polysonae. Marshal's thimbled fingers trace patterns in the air, like many of the other customers as they dial in feeds, run searches, play games, send messages, everyday life in the Grid, except Marshal is weaving a Mesh around the Diner that erases his presence, and Pretty's, from the local Nexus. He wears display glasses to look lo-fi but they're actually designer scramblers to add an extra layer of security to what's going on in his Cortex. Pretty calls to Kelly – he knows every server at every Diner by name – for a fruit juice. Waits for Marshal to switch back to Max.

There's that subtle change and his fingers go still, then reach for his coffee.

“There is still no trace of Tatter,” Pretty says. “And now Aqua and Akimoto have disappeared too.” Scratch, scratch, transferring the data on their last Contract to Max.

Max frowns. Metas don't really have friendships but he is fond of the pair. And the disappearance of Tatter is eerie. Of course it makes him think of the time he tried Plex... “You want Marshal to start a hunt?”

Pretty accepts the juice from Kelly with a smile that disappears when he looks back at Max. “No more fucking around. I want Mick and Trump to get into The White Room and try and find some answers.”

Max gulps.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Second Wave

v.Western

Wraith reined in her horse.

“Why are we stopping?” Mags asked.

Some townsfolk had begun gathering at windows and doorways.

“And what's your plan?” Wraith asked her with a sneer. Marshal Wednesday Wraith was far from your typical lawbringer but she still didn't care much for bounty hunters. It was a matter of discipline, of dedication. But if Sugarcube had been friends with this one, well that counted for something.

Mags returned the look. “We ride straight on to Logollos ranch and settle up.”

Callan was studying the onlookers, trying to get a read... Were they nervous or relieved at the appearance of the ragtag posse? “I'm all for taking risks, but...” he said.

“But there's something more going on here,” Darius finished. The accounts of the duel that had lured Sugarcube's former companions to Omega Canyon, passed on by postal riders, cowboys and travelling salesmen, had all hinted at darker goings-on than a simple showdown.

“It'll take learning the truth to make this justice and not just vengeance,” Dexter said.

Mags shrugged, as if the latter was good enough for her. But she followed the group as they made for The Hanged Man Saloon.

v.Space

The Dragon suddenly lurched, the lights on the bridge flickered. The Captain steadied herself and looked to her First Officer.

“Recommend attack posture,” Comm. Washington said, his tone grim.

“Lokk?” she asked, one last time, looking for an excuse. The Lieutenant was furiously studying the transmissions from the unknown vessel, trying to interpret them, to decode them, to find any hint that they were an attempt to communicate and not a sign of aggression. With every pulse, though, their ship was taking damage.

“Chief Angellus, configure power distribution for combat mode. Commander, begin backing us off, slow and steady, with evasive manoeuvres in queue.”

Lt. Cube's voice broke in over the speakers. “Captain, the Legacy ship just one-eightied. Full-speed in the opposite direction. I'd like to take credit but we were only teasing them with target-locks.”

Magenta frowned. “Give me a full-radius Metawave scan.” It would mean diverting computing power from analyzing the mysterious pulses but Lokk obeyed the order without hesitation. His eyes widened as his screen registered the sensor sweep – the target vessel, Cube's Hangman, Wraith's Reaper, the retreating Judgement-class ship... and an approaching fleet of Ether-type Exo battlecruisers.

Before he could relay the result his peripheral screens flickered with new data. Another incoming transmission from the vessel, three-times the intensity of the last one.

v.Fallen

The Eye had eventually crashed but they had survived. The plan had worked. They crawled from the Gutter, out past Frontline, deep in the Wasteland, and saw the Demon portal.

The sky bright with falling stars. Toxic fumes swirling like dervishes. The earth itself heaving and crashing like the sea against cliffs. Orbs of green and yellow flame flickering then erupting.

At the centre of the frothing tumult, a hole of pure white, like a circular section of a painting had been scraped clean to reveal the canvas beneath.

Darius shouted over the howling, screaming winds. "Max, I'm having more of those visions! For a second we were all together again but we were superheroes! Could we be shifting again?"

Max stared at the chaos before them. There weren't any Demons, they had all marched to Haven. "I don't think so... Maybe it's a time distortion? Maybe the proximity to the portal is letting you see glimpses of our future?" He looked back to his friend, smiling. "Aw hell Darius, you know I don't really know what's going on most of the time! I just guess and try to sound clever!"

Darius smiled back. Wraith stepped between them; she was holding a jury-rigged device that they had salvaged from the Grid when they first hijacked the Eye. Wraith had been convinced that she could use it to send a signal to Haven, to let them know that the Dragons fought on, but so far she had been unsuccessful.

"Did you get it working?" Darius asked.

"I... I don't know," Wraith said. "It suddenly started receiving a transmission."

*

Now Aqua's headphones began making a strange scratching sound. Akimoto's voice getting lost in static, then a high-pitched whine. She took them off. Looked back and forth in the empty subway car.

Sometimes their car was attached to others, sometimes you could see other people in the attached cars, sometimes the windows were blurry. And sometimes, like now, there was only darkness outside the windows. Until they reached a station. Aqua hoped they reached one soon, she had to pee.

Maybe Max or Akimoto or Suki, or one of the others would be at the next station. It worked like that sometimes. She was wishing right now that she paid more attention to how things worked, but it was all pretty confusing, and she was young, and mostly she just liked the action and adventure of it all.

The door to the conductor's booth opened and Bishop's body slumped out onto the floor.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - First Echo

v.Dungeons&

Maighread swung the sword in an arc that severed the hand of the first Ashen soldier and disarmed the second. Neither opponent stopped – the enchantments of their warlock masters were channeling their suffering into increased strength – and neither did Maighread, dropping into a crouch as the first threw a roundhouse kick, blood spraying out behind them from the stump, and the second smoothly drew a knife. Maighread tucked into a roll, trying to put some distance, but the soldiers pressed and Maighread straightened up but off-balance... 

Except it was all theatre, all a lure to move the Ashen soldiers into range of the Lady Dread's bow. As they lunged at Maighread arrows appeared in each of their necks. High in the trees above, the Fae Leafdancer silently skipped from one branch to another, looking for more targets.

Maighread returned to the temple where the Godhammer and the Faded Knight were dispatching the Living Statue that had awoken when the Dragons had tried entering. Freeman had warned them that his Scrye had revealed the presence of powerful arcane energies, but it was unclear what their nature was...

“Was that it?” Maighread asked the wizard, gesturing at the pile of rubble and dust at Hammer and Fade's feet.

Freeman shook his head. “There is still something inside... I've never felt anything like it...”

With a shared look the adventurers agreed to brave the ruins. From her perch in the trees, Dread watched her companions disappear inside. Some moments later she saw two more of the Ashen Tradition nearing the site but two more perfectly placed arrows put an end to them. She knew that there were many more still searching the woods – likely following the same tracks that had led the Dragons here - and it was only a matter of time before they discovered the Spider Temple as well. 

Suddenly Maighread stumbled from the entrance; she looked wounded. Dread was about to jump down to her, but Maighread raised her hands to her mouth and mimicked the cawing of a crow, a bardic technique taught to them by Maximus. A warning message... Three sharp caws then a fourth.

She was telling The Lady Dread to flee.

Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Anomaly One

v.Genderbent

Magnus swung the sword in an arc that severed the hand of the first guard and the gun barrel of the second. Neither opponent stopped – their brainwashing was routing all the pain stimuli through carefully crafted subliminal pathways that actually amplified their reflexes – and neither did Magnus, dropping into a crouch as the first threw a roundhouse kick, blood spraying out behind them from the stump, and the second smoothly exchanged the ruined firearm for a knife. Magnus tucked into a roll, trying to put some distance, but the guards pressed and Magnus straightened up but off-balance...

Except it was all theatre, all a lure to move the guards into the sight-lines of Francine's sniper rifle. As they lunged at Magnus their heads exploded. On the roof of the apartment building two blocks away, Francine began disassembling the weapon. Moving to the second perch to cover exfil.

Magnus was already inside the warehouse, after dropping one of the Professor's counter-security blankets. The presence of the two modified guards confirmed that this was an Omega site, so the first part of Trump's tip was true. Now, about the second...

Back in the van, pictures from Magnus' phone began appearing on the screen of Goner's laptop. She fiddled with some software to enhance the images. Tapped her earbud. “We got it, Mag. Head on back.”

“I have overwatch,” Francine's voice came in on the channel.

“Copy that,” Magnus' voice followed.

Angst was in the driver's seat. “So?” he asked, rubbing his hands together – it was a cold night.

“Just forwarded it to Mackenzie,” Goner said. “It's weird looking, whatever it is...”

Goner's phone buzzed. Then Angst's. Francine's, on the roof of the adjacent factory. Magnus' as he retrieved the blanket-emitter and slipped outside past the corpses.

A text from Mackenzie. 

CODE WHITE.