Mags, the smoke thick in the night, steps over Mode's corpse, the blood leaking from his gut reflecting the firelight, the flames thick in the night. She has the sudden thought that she's somehow killed this man before.
The citizens of Omega Canyon are screaming.
After shooting their way out of The Emperor, Dex ran for the schoolhouse, Wraith for the Star office, Cal for the old Hanged Man. They knew already, in their bones, that they were all already burning. People still needed protecting though.
Mags shoots another man who is about to shoot her. She's trying to size things up, make a count of things. Who started the shooting?
She can see, in the distance, the smoke parting like a curtain in the hot wind conjured up by the fire, that Que's manor is burning too. Glancing back, through more gunfire and screams, she sees that The Emperor is on fire.
War's come to Omega.
And then a figure in the midst of it, standing opposite Mags. She realizes that she's wandered into the main street, where Sugarcube and Logollos had drawn on each other. Do some things have beginnings?
Their hat is pulled low, a bandana pulled up high, face covered, thick duster and smoke and firelight making it hard to measure size, posture.
"You see what's happenin', Maggie?" they shout. Something about the voice. A knowing in it.
She thinks for a moment that it's Darius. Then she wonders if it's him, if Sugarcube's come back. She knows that she should know, that she should be able to tell, feels embarrassed that she can't. Truth is that things have never been quite right since the journey to the Horsebreeder's ranch.
"Tell me what's happenin', stranger!" Mags shouts back.
"Well, the bounty hunter was already there. She had rode in the night before, took a room at The Emperor. After checkin' The Hanged Man and learnin' it was shut down.
"So she's sittin' at the table in the corner with her rifle laid right out in front o' her, like she's darin' anyone to cross her. See, the clientelle was a lot o' hired guns workin' for the oil folks, mostly to guard shipments and the like, and sometimes keep the workin' folk in line. They were generally a fairly surly group, the kind you'd reasonably 'spect to trouble a lady sittin' by her lonesome in a Saloon.
"None of 'em troubled Mags Magenta though.
"And after a time the other three showed up and it was almost a reunion of the posse from the Incident last year, 'cept the Preacher wasn't there. The ex-sheriff, the ex-Marshal and the ex-gambler. They got to talkin' - I figures they were catchin' the bounty hunter up on all that had come to pass. The oil, the Mayor, the Law and the Wagoners.
"Part o' me woulda loved to been eavesdroppin' on that chat, just to know how exactly all this mess sounded in the tellin'. If any of it made any gorram sense or whether it was sense that died the day of the Logollos-Sugarcube showdown, if it was the corpse of normalcy and reason and right-thinkin' that they found in that coffin...
"The part left o' me though, if I'm to be truthful, is glad I never heard just what they said. They were an odd bunch, spooky and dangerous. For some reason, imaginin' what their conversation woulda been like makes me feel like when Pa would tell us ghost stories 'round the fire on cold winter nights.
"It wasn't long after that when the gents seated by the window began whisperin' that the Sheriff was outside.
Some say the War started way back when Sugarcube and Logollos had their showdown in the main street of Omega Canyon. Some say it started during the Incident at Judgement Grotto. They'll say it was already being fought when Mayor Weldwood Que appointed Angus Mode, a man of dubious reputation, as Deputy Sheriff (rumours had it that Dexter Washington had turned down the job). That the launch of The Omega Times newspaper, in direct competition with the existing Canyon Star and with a generous government grant, was a battle in that War. That another battle was the closing of The Hanged Man Saloon after its liquor license was revoked, leaving The Emperor Saloon to cater to the needs of all the oil workers newly arrived to the Canyon. The oil was flowing and business, for some, was booming. Trade coming through the Canyon was on the rise but most local shops couldn't compete with the merchants from the Coast and Temperance City who'd arrived once the drilling began. Most of the money, like the oil, was being sucked out of the Canyon. Farmers who had sold their land to the drills (rumours of strong-arming were plenty) found themselves living in the increasingly cramped town in shoddily-built houses (the building crews managed by Temperance businessmen who didn't even live in the Canyon). Much the same lot for the oil workers, who earned only enough to pay rent to well-to-do landlords and drink their troubles away at The Emperor. Folks resorted to a lot of black market trade, which the Deputy Sheriff was in charge of stamping out; when seen in the streets in his finely-tailored suits he would half-heartedly lament the lack of success on "poor cooperation from the community". The Mayor proposed consolidating the handful of small schoolhouses into one institution, in a new building funded by donations from the oil merchants, to "ensure a consistent education for the future leaders of Omega Canyon". The Hanged Man Saloon was converted into cheap rooms for oil workers. The Omega Times ran story after story about the dawning of a new age of prosperity for the Canyon. Battles fought? Some say the War didn't really begin until The Wagoners appeared...
"You're a woman." Wraith stared at Brogan. "And you're not even white." Stared. "What I'm saying is, Ms. Wraith, is that your appointment as a Marshal was nothing sort of miraculous and I consider it irrefutable evidence of your dedication and skill. That you should have retired from the position is, to me, only another indication that your full worth is as yet untapped. And I believe that your journalistic endeavours will only serve to validate that suspicion." "Are you auditioning for a column in the paper, Mirk? We don't pay by the word, I'm afraid." He smiled. "Not exactly. I have been, however, urged to discuss the future of your publication by the new Mayor, who sees the value in a reliable source of news for the residents of the Canyon. So much so, in fact, that he is proposing that you and your partner receive a government grant to upgrade your printing equipment and a small tax exemption to offset the cost of materials. The goal being an increase in both quality and distribution." Wraith's eyes narrowed slightly. Brogan continued, "Now that the drilling operations have begun it will be even more essential for Omega to have a strong, clear voice..."
Previously in v.Western... * It was a dark time for Omega Canyon. A year had passed since The Incident at Judgement Grotto. The rumours about what had happened far outnumbered the facts and the townsfolk were content to let the tales be, as if telling them was like to summon trouble. While the certainties about what had transpired in the graveyard that night - and about how it had led to the ranch of a mysterious horsebreeder being burned down - were few, there were some details about what followed that were plainly agreed upon. Logollos and his corrupt ways were gone. Driven out or shot down, folks wouldn't offer a guess either way. He wasn't missed. The lawman Dexter Washington had given up his badge and taken up residence in the Canyon, opening a small schoolhouse. The marshal Wednesday Wraith had also unpinned her star and become a part-owner of the local printing press. She had began publishing a newspaper. Callan Lokk had won The Hanged Man Saloon in a card game, kept the original owner in his employ, and given up gambling. A new graveyard had been fenced-off and consecrated - the final act of the priest Darius Angelus before he disappeared. The last of the strangers who had ridden into town the day before The Incident had also disappeared, the bounty hunter Mags Magenta. Those were the handful of facts but out of the many, many rumours one was generally considered to be true: that when the grave of the strange drifter Sugarcube had been opened that mysterious night it was not his body they found inside. However odd, The Incident and what came of it had actually changed the fortune of the Canyon for the better. The reversal of that fortune, and the cause of the current troubles, began shortly after when the Office of Frontier Affairs arrived and announced the discovery of oil in the land surrounding Omega...
Tim said, "I'm really sorry to hear that." Dexter said, "Please don't take it personally, my friend. I've loved every minute I've sat at this table." "You've been a great addition to the group, Dex. Congratulations though! Getting accepted to university is a big deal." "I'm excited. And nervous. I've always wanted to get out of this town, but I'll miss it at the same time." "I get it. It's complicated." Dex smiled. "Very. Very 'metaplex' as Max would say. Not being able to game is another downer." "There will always be a seat for you here and the coffee will always be on." * "So, what are you going to do with Frank then?" Wednesday asked. Tim winked. "Now that would be telling. Actually, since Frank is Dexter's character I'm going to let him decide, and I will adjust the campaign around that." "This is maybe a bad time to bring it up, but... Well, it looks like my promotion might be going through." "That's great news!" "Except it means I will be travelling every other weekend..." "Ah." "So we may have to figure out a reason for Angst to be missing every other session... If you think that would even work?" "We'll make it work somehow." * Callan sighed. "I suppose I wonder if it all still works. The overall story, I mean. If Frank gets written out, and Angst only appears occasionally... Maybe it's time we start a new campaign?" "But what happens to Goner and Suki then? Are you tired of playing Goner?" Tim asked. "Not at all. The new cyborg angle has been really interesting. But how many changes can you make to a story before it doesn't make sense anymore?" "Games aren't stories, though." Callan smiled. "And we're back to the central question, aren't we? When we get together every Saturday night what exactly are we doing? Playing a game or telling a story?" "Or is it a magical ritual, as Max would say?" * Tim sipped at his coffee. "So it comes down to you, Darius. Dexter's leaving, Wednesday's only going to be able to play half as often, and Cal is having some doubts about the story continuing. What do you think? Keep going with the adventures of Goner and Suki and sometimes Angst? Start a new game?" Darius sipped at his coffee. "Actually Tim, I have some news..."
"Maybe we should be out looking for Darius instead," Dexter said. Wraith poured herself a glass of wine. "He can handle himself. You never really believed that, did you?" "It's the cop in me," he replied, a self-conscious shrug. Callan entered with a large cardboard box, placed it on the couch. Wraith had charged the suite to the media conglomerate she was currently under contract with. They thought she was working on a story about the latest Big Pharma scandal - a rash of medicines proving toxic after they hit the market. Maybe I am; maybe it's all connected, she thought. Callan said, "I told the girl at the print shop that I was working on my Ph.D thesis and needed a hardcopy backup. Hm, maybe I am; I could probably get a doctorate out of trying to explain Max." Wraith noted the similar phrasing: 'maybe I am'. This kind of thing tended to happen when Max was involved. "Is this so we can't get hacked while we're researching?" Dexter asked. "In part," Callan said as he started to unpack the file folders from the box, arranging them on the coffee table. "There's a different magic to paper too." It is like a spell of sorts, Wraith thought, taking a sip of wine. All the blog posts, all the letters and emails, all the writing by the man they knew as Max Cube that they could get their hands on. This was phase one; the next step would be to hit up all of their contacts for relevant police reports, psychiatric files, military records and so on. That, however, was a move that wouldn't go unnoticed. Dexter watched Callan laying out the documents. "The hardest part is going to be figuring out what are journal entries, what are essays, what are short stories and what are delusions..."
The ground shook again, dislodging more rubble from the bombed-out buildings. Shadows swept across the ground from the light of the flares in the night sky, voices hollow and fuzzy with static calling out over malfunctioning sound-systems, repeating emergency protocol directions that were very 'too-little-too-late'. Mick strolled down the centre of the cracked and scorched street as if all the lights and noise were a massive party; this wasn't his first apocalypse. In a lot of ways he felt at home in disaster zones; they were somehow more honest. His contacts were less brazen, with good reason Mick figured, given that of the ever-increasing number of factions in what appeared to be a cold-war-turned-hot-turning-nova most likely had capture or kill orders out on them. They signalled to him with a pre-arranged series of flashlight blinks from the shadows of a ruined hotel lobby. "Okay," Mick said, hunkered down behind the front desk. "First off, no I haven't gotten any leads on who the double-agent is. I don't doubt your intel, especially given the source, but there are so many variables in play right now... "Second, Goner's rejoined Max, Frank and Angst, so they're active again as a cell. Plus they've gotten a lead on Mags - sounds like she's changed too. "As for Suki, it looks like she's actually shifted along the Chronoplex - that's what we're calling it now, right? She seems to be in a much older version of herself. I know, it's not the first-time Suki's age has altered. No idea if or how she's going to intersect with the others. "The Diner crew... Things are still different with them too... Like they're on a different frequency from the other Dragons? I dunno, I feel like something's brewing there. "Max has got his spirit guides in play, the bird and the talking cat. Still nothing from Aqua. Oh, but get this - I found this weird urban legend about this strange warrior-monk type-guy who wanders the globe, actually walking, no planes or buses. He's this dirty bearded vagabond, stops briefly to debate about things like Confucianism or Norse Mythology. Sometimes does a bit of intervening on a street-level if there's some injustice happening, and ain't there always? There's versions of the tale where he seeks out a vision at holy places, the hidden Temple of the Sky on Everest, the sacred glass monolith at the centre of the Sahara Desert, the keystone of the Great Wall of China that contains the last essence of the demon Hrarchuta who sacrificed his immortality to save his love, the angelic Yuriti... It's great stuff; I wish I'd written it. But it's got to be our boy Akimoto, right? "And lastly, just so I'm keeping track, so far there's the Chronoplex, the Paraplex, and the Ultraplex? Now, how about you share with me: do we know yet what exactly has kicked off this whole mess between the System and Counter-System?" The contacts exchanged glances. Suddenly a swarm of sirens began wailing outside and the thunder of helicopters erupted overhead. Mick sighed. "I get it, 'to be continued'."
"Yeah, we're going to disrupt the Mayor's press conference," Dexter said into the cell. "He's been dodging questions about the school closures all week. No more." "My sources are saying he's got a lot of corporate connections, maybe some occult ones too," Wraith's voice came back through the phone, a hint of static. Dex's brow furrowed. "You think there's another angle to this?" Wraith paused. "With everything we've seen, you have to wonder. And your town's not the only place where schools are being closed at an unprecedented rate." "With a disturbing lack of public outcry." "So...?" Dexter sighed. "You think we should call Max. Wraith, I... I was never sure whether Max helped straighten things out or whether he just made them weirder. I know we did a lot of good, and we still are-" "I know," Wraith interrupted. "Some days Max was Ragnar and some days he was Floki. Some days he was Longshot and some days he was Constantine. Some days he was Kirk and some days he was Picard." "Yeah, but was he the problem or was he the solution?" "Dexter, I still have the nightmares too, about the War. And I still wonder if any of that really happened. I guess... Well, I guess I don't really know." Dex smiled slightly. "At least we're not alone then."
Mick opened the locker and removed the satchel, headed to the nearest washroom. The intercom rattled off train arrival and departure notifications in a bland, synthetic voice. A security drone hummed over the swarm of commuters. Mick had taken two capsules of Glamour before arriving at the station and run some invisibility mantras - he'd be cloaked from any surveillance for about an hour. Unless the Sidhe showed up, which meant things were fucked anyway. Hunkered in a stall, Mick unzipped the satchel. There was a hardcover book, one of the sourcebooks for the Aeon Triumph Gun MessiahsRPG. A pencil and a piece of paper. Mick used the book as a firm surface to write on, scrawling notes quickly with the pencil on the paper. Four System operations identified. Two Counter-System activities being monitored, plus one potential. Pretty George might be dead. Max has made contact with Dexter, Wraith and Callan - still not sure if they've joined the System or have been recruited by Counter. No contact with Darius (he's been running on a parallel stream ever since the Millennium Incident I think, which Max doesn't know much about, either because he wasn't there or can't remember). Max is still working closely with Angst and Frank. Goner's gone dark. Suki seems to be missing. Aqua disappeared with the remains of the Subway car. I've got some rumours on Akimoto to follow-up on. The name Summer keeps coming up...? No confirmed contact with Maggie. No clues yet to which one is the double-agent. Any idea what the fuck exactly is going on? Mick folded the paper once and tucked it inside the book. He noticed the page he had randomly opened to: the description and stats for one of the Vatars that players could summon once they reached level 13 as a Gun Messiah. 'The Void'. He shivered. Then sneered. Mick was not the superstitious type.
"But you don't get to punch anybody," Max said with a smirk. Wraith laughed. Warmly, not wickedly. Max blinked. "You look surprised," she said. "I meant it when I said it." "I believed you, I did." He took a sip of wine, the candlelight reflecting in the liquid, refracting in the glass. "I guess... I guess out of everyone I never thought 'happy' was a version you'd wear. Or that if you had to, you'd at least be unhappy about it." Wraith kept smiling as the waiter cleared their salad plates and began serving the main course. "Maybe you never really knew me all that well," she said. "Or maybe you knew me the best, I could never be sure." The chef of the restaurant had appeared on a Reality TV show that Max used to watch; he was excited to try the dish. He was thinking about what Wraith had said. She started eating. They finished the meal in silence, but it was comfortable. After dessert she said, "You thought Dexter and I might end up married, raising a family in a small town somewhere. Or you wanted us to - and maybe in some version out there we did - but in most versions it's not about happy, it's about the work." Max nodded. "You're working now," he said, glancing at the other well-dressed patrons. "The couple by the window overlooking the harbour; the CEO of a transnational corporation and the ambassador of a relatively small but controversial dictatorship. Their second meeting this month. By the end of the next I will have gathered enough information to publish an expose that will do them both a decent amount of damage for the rest of the year. No, it's not as dramatic as infiltrating their hotels and assassinating them, but..." "No, I understand." "Besides Max, you were the one who convinced me that writing was a way to make magic happen."
The last time that the drifter they called 'Sugarcube' - some stories said it was his sweet disposition, others involved a penchant for using treats to lure horses away from their rightful owners - had been through Omega Canyon it'd been a quiet, restful place. A good town to find a bit o' work or to lay low if need be, for whatever such reasons as a wanderin' soul with a knack for trouble-makin', or at least trouble-findin', might have. The folk of Omega were welcoming and not likely to inquire, so long as the trouble stayed out o' the Canyon. But, as is the way of things, the town had changed. A mysterious landowner had moved in and he had brought a lot of two things with him: money and bad intentions. Wasn't long before the man they called Logollos had bent the will and the ways of the Canyon to a murkier, downright poisonous, disposition. So when Sugarcube returned and voiced his distaste with the new cruelties he found in the former haven, well, it led, as it often does, to a showdown in the main street. Whether Logollos won the draw fair-and-square or whether there was some species o' chicanery involved was a truth kept hidden by the townsfolk. And whether that was outta spite or fear was another mystery in itself. But truth always has its seekers, and mysteries beg to be solved... And so it was that some weeks after Sugarcube was gunned down in the street that a misfit gang of gunfighters rode into Omega Canyon lookin' to avenge the death of their friend. A bounty hunter, a sheriff, a gambler, a marshal, and a preacher. And, to borrow a phrase, Hell followed with them.
Dan stopped before the next door. He was trembling. "I can't do this. This is ridiculous." Mark stepped up beside him. "Hey, we've got your back." Tim said, glancing down at his notes behind the screen, "Alright, so Dex's assist will give you a +2 on your Will save."
"Right on. Thanks Dex," Max said, smiling across the table at his friend as he picked up the 20-sided die.
Angie placed her ear againstthe old, wooden door. Ran her fingers along the edges to check for any draft. Wraith said, "I rolled a 7."
Tim said, his voice neutral, "You don't hear anything..."
Darius said, "Tim, I give him the copy of the book - I guess I'm hoping some of the buffs will transfer over to him?"
Chance handed Dan his copy of the Metaplex Role-Playing Game Rule Book. It was Chance's favourite game; he spent hours reading and re-reading it. He always told the rest of the group that, even though it was all made up by the writers from Plureality Studios, that it had a lot of guidance about living in its pages. "Alright Max, that will be another +3 bonus, with Dex's assist for 2, plus Dan's Meditation skill bonus of 2, for a total of +7. And your target number is... 23."
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."
By sunrise Wraith had stopped three random muggings, prevented a gang of drunken frat boys from assaulting two women, interrupted a corner-store robbery and scared off four street cops who were laying a beating on a young hood. She hadn't killed anyone.
There was an ache in her muscles from all the combat – not that any of her opponents had been close to her equal – but there was a calm inside her. A stillness that even her deepest meditations hadn't achieved. She was tired but for some reason she swung by the Diner rather than heading home. Mask off now, nunchakus hidden, walking on the street like a normal citizen.
Wraith wondered if any of the others would be there at this time of day. The monk made her uncomfortable – he had clearly studied in one of the ancient traditions, which meant that he was dangerous and that he may know more about her origins than she would like. They would have to have a conversation at some point. The cop was nice enough, tough as nails, not corrupt like a lot of his comrades. If she was being honest with herself, she thought he was pretty cute. The strange one was, well, strange – he was quiet, decent with a pistol, but he had a look on his face sometimes like he wasn't entirely here.
The kid was there, in a booth near the back. He waved her over when she entered. Wraith decided as she sat down across from him that she wouldn't share what she had been up to all night. Not yet.
“You're up early, Darius.”
“Shelter was full last night,” he said. “They let me stay here sometimes as long as I don't fall asleep or bother the other customers. Payback for chasing off the gangs, I guess.”
“You don't have a home?” Wraith asked.
Darius shook his head.
“Come crash on my couch,” she said, like an order, that peacefulness inside her.
Wednesday Wraith was the acting Chief of Tactical aboard The Dragon when Magenta took command. The two did not always get along personally but they challenged each other professionally in a way that inspired both of them to do better. When the evidence started to accumulate that the Legacy Project had ulterior motives, it was Wraith that pushed her Captain to dig deeper. And finally, when it was necessary, to go rogue. Wraith's tactical skills were unmatched and she was instrumental in helping The Dragon evade capture by the Project. She led a squad of five soldiers – known as her Shadows.
Dexter stepped down from the curb and crossed the street. He headed to the Diner and saw Wraith sitting at the booth, sipping what he presumed was tea. He hadn't seen her since the Brownstone incident a few months back and a smile cracked that face of his when he spotted her.
"Dex," Angst said as she approached him. "What's going on?" "Just got here myself, Angsty," he replied. "Don't know who put up the Bat Signal but it went out on all frequencies." "Well, whatever it is," Frank interjected. "We'll soon find out."
What is that shadow in the corner of your eye? Could it be Silhouette, altering the autonic field around her to become near-invisible? A master of stealth, enemies can not see her approach - even with the highest of technologies! Nor can any trap hold her, for she can modulate the autons in her body to pass through solid matter.
