“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.”
