So you are lying unconscious in a van while I drive us into the horizon, right? And I can feel getting more and more paranoid. So the next town over I go into a drug store and get a bunch of things to give the van a makeover. I get creative with some paint, I bust it up and scratch it real good, and then take duct tape and a black marker to the license plate. No fugitives here! Just new age artsy hippies in a shitty beat up van. Turns out to be such a dumb waste of time, you'll see.
All the while you're out cold inside, you're passed out for hours and hours. By the time you come to, we're in a truck stop somewhere in frikkin' Idaho. Happiest moment ever when you call my name. Even then you're desperate to know if I got hurt, you're fucking incredible. I talk you into taking some painkillers and not to worry about a thing, and you're pretty out of it so you don't argue too much. I get some stuff so we can sleep in the van, and we keep going for as long as I can stay awake.
Late that same night Helen Briar finds us, because that's what she does. But she's alone. She wants to talk.
I wasn't at my most receptive and I nearly shot her, which...maybe would've been the smart choice? Staying ahead of these guys would be a lot easier without her. But hey, we're not murderers, right? You see, Helen's as much a prisoner as we ever were, she's secretly desperate for a chance at freedom...and she'd just watched from a distance as you got rid of eight trained men and women in a few seconds. She knows you can time-travel and Prescott's making such a big deal about controlling you that there must be a really good reason for it, so...if there's someone out there that can get her out, it's you.
You seem barely there, so I do most of the talking while you listen. I'm asking questions and boy, does she have an attitude for someone that's asking for help. She keeps staring at you like I don't even exist—she's this world-weary Scottish thirty-something, she's "read our profile" and she's acting like we're just clueless teen girls playing with fire. Even after what she saw you do to those guys, she doesn't seem concerned at all that we might decide to get rid of her right there and then.
She says that Prescott gives her cash and training, but "keeps the sword of Damocles" over her head at all times...or rather, her sister's whole family. She's proven her loyalty over and over for years, so she doesn't really get questioned anymore. And if she wanted to fuck us over she didn't even have to tail us, because the van's got a GPS tracker and how could we be so dumb to stay in it. Sure made me feel like an idiot.
She could've been a good lapdog and stayed away, she could've come in here pointing guns and demanding things...but instead she's approaching us in good faith. She's unarmed and she's going to tell us how to evade her powers, so that she can later truthfully say that she lost us. She'll share everything she knows and help however she can as long as it doesn't give her up. All that we need to do is kill the man when the opportunity comes.
I'll admit...I only needed one glance at you to know I was all for it. I still am. Someone hurts you like that, I'm gonna see red until they pay. There's nothing else to it.
You're just sitting there, head down, listening. Then you calmly reach for your bag, fish out your camera and take a photo of yourself. You shake it and put it away, quiet like death. Then you look up at her...and disappear.
Here we go again, right? A moment later you're standing behind her with a gun to her spine. You speak in this low, furious rasp: We helped you, and you dare betray us?
I'm seeing her terrified face, and it's probably something like my own. A fuck-bomb is going off in my head, and I'm already lining up questions to ask future-you, but you're rather busy at the moment. You're tearing into her, saying how we treated her as a friend and yet she double-crossed us at the first setback—how you're a fucking time-traveler so of course you'd see her coming. You were angry like I've never seen you before, or since. I admit, it was...pretty scary.
I remember your words so well. Get this in your head, you tell her. There's no middle ground, you can't play for both teams and see who wins, betray us...no, no, wait, wait, you went, you have one more chance. Betray us again, and I will come back to erase you from existence.
She looks rattled like you wouldn't believe, but to her credit, she just takes a minute to process what you're saying, and then she nods. Helen starts telling you things but you shut her up and tell her to skip to the end, since you already heard everything she has to say. And apparently skipping to the end means shooting her in the leg and taking her bike?
No, no, it's her idea—she claims it's no big deal, that she's gone through much worse. She knows how to treat a bullet wound, just don't shatter her kneecap or something stupid like that. What she's afraid of is getting caught helping us, so she'd rather appear incompetent, say that you used your powers to jump her because she underestimated us and got sloppy. All of which is true, considering.
So...I volunteer to do it. You've shot enough people already. I thought you'd argue, but you simply nod at me, like you get it.
It was no fun at all, to be honest.
When the deed is done we gather everything we can carry and leave her swearing like a sailor in the van, with all the medical supplies she could ever need until they come for her. We're walking to her sweet-ass Harley, and you're leaning on me like you're about to pass out. I'm desperate for answers before present-you takes over again, so I start whispering questions. You look up at me with this smug little smile on your lips.
I didn't use the photo, you tell me. It was just obvious I needed to scare the shit out of her. Pretty sure it worked.
Yep.
That's right! No photojump at all, just a badass performance after a whole bunch of rewinds. You basically owned her ass.
Uh-huh, you're so full of shit. You can be devious and you know it, Max. Don't feel ashamed, it's something to be proud of. Anyway, I'm practically carrying you by the time we get to the bike—rewinding around her bullshit wiped you out for good. We dig through her bags for suspicious shit, and then off we go into the road again. Everything's so fucked up, but it'd be a lie to say it didn't feel awesome to ride off together like that.
This whole thing finally lets us catch a break. By the way, the main trick to fooling Helen's power is "trail saturation." We just need to mail our stuff all over the country and make sure it ships on ground. The more it's in contact with us, the better—so I hope you're not too attached to that outfit yet. We always wear gloves, and we don't touch anything we don't have to. Aaand I know it's gross, but you'll be saving your nail clippings from now on, sorry. They're great decoy fodder.
We didn't have to worry about any of that stuff then, though. The hound is out of commission for a good while and a regular search doesn't have much to go on anymore. So we turn South because why the hell not and keep going for a couple days, way down into Nevada. You're quiet most of the time. Holding on tight, sorting out your thoughts I guess. We talk a bit here and there, when we stop. It's so easy to see you're growing...harder. More jaded and bitter. Not at me, but, you know, at the world, at all this unfair bullshit that we've had to deal with. It's a little heartbreaking, but I also feel the same way. So we kind of feed off each other, you know? Get this attitude of "fuck everything, at least we're together."
We focus on that a lot, actually. We always stay close. We touch constantly. We hold each other at night and we kiss a lot, more for comfort than anything else.
And a couple days later you ask me...what will happen to you when the Max that got captured takes over?
Yeah, it dawns on us for the first time. It's not dying, of course not. But what you've done those few days, this person you're becoming...that'll be gone like it never existed.
Part of you is relieved, because obviously. But it's still awful, right? Or...weird, at least. And who knows the kind of trauma that the new Max will have? Who knows what she'll want to do? And how will I take the change—will I simply go with whatever she wants? Will I love her just the same? I mean, think back to our first week together. It was only five days, but we came out of it completely different people. The more we talk about it the more convinced you become that the new Max will be someone else entirely.
So with everything that's happened...you sort of go off the rails a bit at this point? You don't go crazy or anything, you just kinda stop giving a shit about taking shortcuts. Everything starts feeling like one fat cruel joke, like fate itself is toying with you. Might as well start laughing with it. So the universe wants us to fuck around with time travel again? Fine, you got it. Want to ditch the bike and get a new car? Fuck it, here, right off the lot, zero down, no monthly payments. That other car's license plate will do, they won't miss it, right? And who the hell needs money for groceries? It's like a magic trick, we're standing there in the S-Mart parking lot and things keep popping out of your coat. Boom, deli sandwiches, boom, half-gallon of chocolate milk, boom, whole bags full of fruit and snacks and maxipads because you'll be starting pretty soon, and I just can't stop laughing. Running low on cash? We're in Nevada, let's tear through the Vegas Strip like there's no tomorrow...which isn't that far from the truth, after all. And then it's easy to sleep on a real bed when the front counter "forgets" they checked you in.
Well, it felt good at the time in a rebellious and destructive kind of way, but honestly...I think it was our lowest point ever. We were getting to a place in our heads where nothing mattered to us but each other. I don't feel proud of it, I embraced it way too easily—I should've tried harder to keep you true to yourself, to help you rise above the tide of shit crashing down on your head. Instead I let myself fall back to the Chloe I never wanted to be.
And at night...well, you can imagine what we do at night. We get over the whole "it's too soon" thing in a hurry. We don't even talk about it, there's this...force, pulling us close, and we're not fighting it anymore. Zero restraint.
And sure, the sex is grounded in love, deep and sincere love, but...all this anger and frustration that's been piling up inside? It's like a flood breaking through a levee. It feels a bit messed up, and awesome, but kind of...twisted? You want me to keep you awake for as long as I can, there's some real wild abandon to it. Some...desperation. It just—I don't know, I remember it fondly, but I'm aware now that it wasn't...it wasn't healthy. None of it was.
We're complicated people, I guess. We were dealing with things in our own way. Or maybe we were sick of dealing with things, so we stopped caring for a while.
I know! Not romantic at all, I'm sorry. I wish I could say there were candles and slow music and coy giggles with longing looks and all that shit, but no, we went wild at each other. We let it all out. We made love and then we fucked, and everything in-between after that. God, I'm sorry, it sounds awful when I put it that way.
Shit, is this too much information? I forget you're not used to talking about sex stuff with me anymore.
Well, hey, in my defense, I can barely think of anything else right now, what with you being practically on top of me. I don't think you realize how distracting it is.
No, don't move! I didn't say that, stay right there. It'll be a grueling test of will to keep going like this, but I'll manage.
We get into a fight on the last night, actually. I'm trying to bring up some kind of long term plan, trying to figure out what the hell are we going to do to keep ahead of this guy and eventually turn the tables. You don't even want to think about it, you're like, what's the fucking point, let's keep moving and let the real Max deal with the problem. I'm frustrated because I'm feeling the guilt, I'm thinking about my mom and my dad and what they'd say if I don't learn from the thousand mistakes I've made. You taught me that we can't give the finger to the world and expect problems to solve themselves.
It's the wrong thing to say to you, though. You tell me that I've no fucking clue what guilt really is. So I say a bunch of crap that I don't mean, and you do the same. We were barely hanging by a thread by this point, you know? It doesn't take much for it to become a full-blown meltdown. Lots of yelling, lots of tears.
No, it was just angry self-loathing bullshit that doesn't help anyone, I'm not going to repeat it. We weren't even angry at each other, why would we be? We just needed a target. Fifteen minutes later we're already hugging and blubbering apologies and feeling like assholes. I always feel like a total bitch when I get mad at you.
We...you know, we kiss and make up pretty thoroughly, and that's how we fall asleep. Exhausted. Holding each other. We thought we'd have time to talk in the morning, but...the change happens in the middle of the night. I'm asleep and I'm the big spoon 'cause that's how we roll—and suddenly you're waking me up, holding on tight enough to choke me, weeping and laughing, saying my name over and over and oh my god Chloe we're naked. I hadn't seen you that happy since we were kids, it was great.
So...yeah, welcome home, BetaMax. You take some time to settle down and properly blush, and I take some time to get used to how weird it is. And so the questions begin!
I try to fill you in on everything, which leaves you far less shocked than I thought you'd be. Helen's a pleasant surprise and our descent to petty crime is not so pleasant, but you get it. Also, the wound on your arm hurts like a motherfucker, which is weird, because you weren't complaining before.
You give me the barebones of your end of things, and it's so obvious you don't want to talk about it at all. I ask how'd you get out. You answer that you did "whatever was necessary." The way your voice drops when you say it...let's put it this way: I don't ask you about it ever again. I can imagine, and you'll talk if you ever want to. Which you never did—but I'm pretty sure it's in the journal, if you want all the morbid details.
So I go back to what we've done, and all the while you keep inching closer and closer. I'm yapping away about Helen's attitude or something like that when you up and kiss me, just like that. And it's not just an "I'm so glad to see you" kiss, if you know what I mean. You look at me for a moment, you touch my cheek...and then you lean in for more. You're so nervous that you're trembling, but there's absolutely no question as to what you want.
I'm like, holy shit, are you sure? You just went through hell, maybe take some time to adjust or whatever? Don't push yourself to do something too soon, or for the wrong reasons.
You tell me you've been living a nightmare where all you hear from me is pain and misery, where you live desperate to be with me, to make it better. And now none of that is real anymore, it doesn't exist. You woke up into a wonderful dream that's everything you want. So you're going to make the best of it, because it could all end any moment.
Words of wisdom, as far as I'm concerned. Hey, you're naked and smiling right in front of me, there's only so much restraint I can muster.
Funny part is...it was so different. All tenderness and...almost reverent. You're so careful and gentle, like I might break if you touch me the wrong way. And you fumbled a lot because, you know, it's your first time all over again, which was a hilarious thing to realize.
I said it felt unhealthy before, right? This is the opposite of that. It feels...like you're healing. Like I'm giving you the world. All I need to do is be there, be happy and enjoy myself, and I'm giving you the world.
Catharsis in orgasm.
Haha, c'mon, it's not smutty, it's deep! I'm being deep and insightful. What, you'd rather I skipped all the sexy bits?
Yeah, I didn't think so.
Seriously though, it was fucking magical, I'm not even joking. When I feel the insecurities creep in and I need to remind myself that it isn't all in my head, that you love me just as much as I love you...I look to that memory. I think of how happy you were to be there with me.
Alright, I knew I'd get sappy again, enough about that.
We were utterly aimless before, but that's over. BetaMax means business. She's got a plan, and holy shit is she hell-bent on revenge. I've seen anger in you before, but I had never seen actual hatred for someone—even with Jefferson you were always kind of...conflicted? Like you couldn't decide whether to hate him or just pity the sick fuck. Getting him arrested was good enough.
But Sean Prescott, though...you don't want to just kill him. You want to crush him. You want to see him ruined.
I think that's the weirdest part of it all. I know you, it's not your nature to hate anyone like that. This man broke something inside of you, Max. He changed you. Of all the reasons I have to want him gone, that's number one.
But you were in no hurry to get it done—well, let me rephrase that, because you became crazy focused after we got up in the morning, nearly every goddamn second was suddenly precious to you. What I meant is that you didn't rush off to go find him or whatever; instead, you go to work on giving us the means to do something, something big and meaningful to fight on his turf. You're on a mission like there's a clock ticking. Come on, tell me why, you get three guesses.
First try! Yep, you'd already figured it out. At some point all your memories would be gone, and it could happen any time because somebody forgot to mention how long she went before using a certain butterfly picture. Bit of an oversight there, huh?
Yes. I demand more information the next time you travel back in time to save my life.
So anyway, better get done as much as possible since the Main Max might turn out to be useless, right? Which...you kind of did. No offense.
Good. Things got pretty quiet and boring for a while, actually. We hole up in a hotel in Glendale and you go all out. By the way, you'd be surprised how insanely easy it is to get a bunch of new identities online. It's kinda gross.
What, me? I was all for it. You were a bit scary, sure, but it was also great to have actual goals. I was losing my mind with all the running and hiding, waiting for disaster to strike again. I wanted to fight back, and that was exactly your plan.
So what can I do to be useful? Well, the Spokane incident was a disgrace, so I'm going to work out until I can carry you for miles if I have to. I don't get do-overs like you, so I better learn to throw a damn punch and aim a damn gun. I need to understand everything you're doing so it's not just you managing all the finance and computer stuff. And you know what? Taking care of you whenever I can...it makes me feel really good inside. Like back at the beginning, bandaging your hands. Or driving you around, or watching over your sleep. And I guess I've something of my mom in me after all, because I enjoy the shit out of keeping you fed. I get why she liked doing that for us so much.
Well, somebody has to, because whenever you're not working, you're training. Your wonderful stay at the Prescott Spa and Resort showed you that you can get way better with your powers. I don't get to see a lot of it because you're constantly rewinding, but you make it a point to explain what it's like. Apparently none of it is nearly as fast and awesome from your standpoint, huh? You're always exhausted and drenched in sweat by the time you reach the final timeline, often woozy with migraines.
Eeh...you're somewhat worried? But not enough to stop you. For the record, nothing deadly or violent has happened since the storm. It's like reality flipped out once and now it's gotten better at handling the changes. That's how you put it, at least.
Either way, it isn't much of a choice, is it? You either use everything you have, or we end up getting caught and the powers get abused anyway. That's why we started taking daily photos for the archive, so there's always a last-ditch measure to stay ahead of whatever happens. In fact you were so single-minded about all this that helping Arcadia Bay didn't even cross your mind before I mentioned it to you.
Yeah, that's exactly right, I'm getting to that. It doesn't take a genius to see that not all is well in MaxLand. Why would it be? This Max went through worse than all the others, and it's like you're dealing with it by working non-stop. More than once you drive yourself far past any sane threshold, and I mean pushing yourself until you literally collapse. It's no fun to watch you do that to yourself.
So I bring it up and brace for another argument, but you pretty much agree. It's necessary, we're not fucking around and blah blah blah, but you admit there's more to it than that. It's the only way to drop into a dreamless sleep, you tell me. All the fucked up thoughts stay away if your body hurts bad enough.
It's not like you're dumb, so it's easy to argue that there's no way you can keep up like that. Believe it or not, it's my idea to maybe go see a doctor. I mean, sexin' me up is awesome and all, but it'll only help you so much.
Aw. Got a bigger laugh back then.
I'd been thinking of David, actually. He was popping pills pretty hard for a long time. So I called him up and told him a few things—nothing supernatural, of course. Basically that we're not doing too well and asked if the drugs helped him much after Iraq. He told me they won't work a miracle, but they do help. Just gotta find out what works for you. He said that therapy at the VA was a load of shit for him, but that we should try anyway. At the very least, he said, don't bottle everything up inside, don't be like him before Joyce. Talking to her about his issues was the best thing he ever did.
It was still a bit weird to talk to him without yelling. We went back and forth about other small things...I tried not to lie, and he was real kind and understanding, no judgment about us leaving. "You grieve the way you have to," he told me. He sounded so exhausted. I said I was sorry about everything, and he was too.
It was a good talk.
So yeah, pills. Blah blah blah, long story short, I ended up on fluvoxamine, which isn't even supposed to be for PTSD but hey, it's working better than the other stuff. You started on something for a while but drugs really fuck up your powers for some reason, so...lots of long talks with Doctor Chloe and try to have happy thoughts, I guess. You got much better over time, so I'm going to take some credit for that if you don't mind.
Pff. That's very nice of you to say, and also a big fat lie. I was a mess before the storm, Max. It only got worse. I've been talking about you a lot, but I was dealing with a lot of bullshit issues inside my head, too. I'm not saying drugs fixed everything, that's dumb—but now that I can compare before happy pills and after...
I mean, you can tell the difference, right? There's no way you haven't noticed. I feel so much better now, I feel like myself. I don't have to fight down my own anger all the time. I don't have this voice in my head telling me I'm a fuckup, telling me I'm not worthy of being alive—not a literal voice, smartass, you know what I mean. And I can deal with all the bullshit anxiety about you, all these thoughts of...you know, what if you go crazy, what if they fucking kill you? Or the absolute worst, what if you get into your head that the only way to keep me safe is to leave my side, or to kill yourself? I could see you doing that, disappearing one day as some noble gesture of self-sacrifice that nobody wants.
I'm telling you right now, Max: rather dead than without you. I know it's corny as fuck, but it's the truth. What's the point of doing all this if we don't end up together?
Okay, alright. As long as you're aware.
God, this is starting to sound like another therapy session. It's basically what we do 'til the new year. We lie low, we move often, we gather information on the Prescott Empire. You pile on the bank on Arcadia Bay, we train, we test exactly how your powers work, we talk and talk and talk and squeeze in some sexytimes now and then because seriously, can't keep our paws off each other for long. You went on your solo adventure to your parents' a bit after thanksgiving, by the way. Boy, was that nerve-wracking.
I wanted to, of course I did, but you travel way faster by yourself. "Borrow" a car, rewind it back, rinse, repeat, no harm done. Hardly took you a day, there and back.
They took it...the way you'd expect them to take it. But hey, at least you were alive, right? If it weren't for the bogus postcards you'd sent, they'd have reported you missing right away. You had to redo the whole thing several times and get creative to avoid any possible surveillance. It was so rough on you. Broke my heart. I couldn't wait to drown you in hugs when you got back.
Of course! We stayed on the phone the whole the time, but it sucked so many balls anyway. I've become such a worry wart about you, it's sad.
No, no, we got rid of those and got new phones. We got new everything, Miss Frost. Even a place to live because eating out all the time and a new bed each night gets old fast. Pretty early on we had a small RV, very..."Frank-esque," as you'd say. It was kind of a shitbox, though—so we upgraded to TimeWarp HQ for Christmas. It was weird to realize that suddenly we could afford anything we wanted.
I wish. Sorry, but...Christmas sucked anyway. Like every Christmas since...you know. My dad. He used to love it so much, remember? It hits me so hard still. And now, with my mom gone too...it wasn't good.
Thank you. I swear to you, I want to get over it so bad, I'm so done with all this emo teenage bullshit. I want our next Christmas to be great. They wouldn't want it any other way.
You dealt with it like a pro, though. Didn't make me feel bad for moping, didn't try to crack dumb jokes or anything. You simply gave me space. And when I came to you...you held me. That's all I wanted. It's what I needed.
Yeah, you did rewind. You told me I wanted you to, after I blew up in your face just for trying to cheer me up. I was selfish and asked you to break the rules for me, and you did.
Oh man, I haven't even mentioned the rules, have I? It's just something to keep things real between us, we'd go bonkers without them. It's real simple: we don't take back arguments, or tears, or sex. If you had to rewind anyway for whatever reason, you tell me. Only exception is if we plan ahead for it, like right now.
Of course sex, especially that! Can you imagine the frustration? I'm all ready to go, but you're all gone—it's inhumane, I'm telling you. There was this one time...
Look, believe me, it can drive a girl crazy.
Fuck, it's five already? We gotta put you to work, let's wrap this up. A bunch of stuff happened between New Year's and now, but it doesn't add much to what you already know—it's more of the same, kind of. Well, except...
Alright, yes: the visions, you should know about that. You started getting visions again. It's early January and we've made it to California to poke around a Prism subsidiary in San Francisco. We're having dinner at this barbeque joint because we felt like it, and suddenly you go quiet and drop into this weird trance, just staring into nothing, catatonic. You didn't pass out—kind of the opposite, you start breathing really hard and gripping the table like you're about to flip it. You come out of it after a minute or so, totally freaked out.
You said the restaurant disappeared and then you were roaming inside this burning building, fire and smoke everywhere. There were screams all around you, loud and horrifying, children wailing like they were burning alive. It's some kind of office building and you come up to this daycare center, and it's the most horrific sight, kids banging on a glass pane as the flames eat up the room. Before you can do a damn thing the whole floor collapses, and the vision ends right as everything crashes onto your head.
It ruined dinner pretty thoroughly.
So obviously you're not going to let this happen, right? It's the tornado all over again, you've no idea what you did to cause it, but this time it will be different. Right away you're trying to come up with a plan to find where and how, and maybe you'll get another vision and you can find out from inside and yadda yadda yadda...and that's when it comes to me that you can simply cheat the system. I tell you, "Just take a selfie and let your future self tell me what needs to happen."
Yeah, I feel pretty proud of that one. Who said I couldn't think in four dimensions too? Not that I suggested it lightly or anything. A photojump means another forgotten Max, and it sucks to watch that happen.
But you do it anyway, and it works. The change after the camera goes off is as weird as usual, but at least this time you're calm and smiling. You say you're from a week into the future. It's an office building like any other downtown, hardly half a mile from where we are, here is the address—and guess what? Right across the street from the place we wanted to check out. The fire happens in three days, Tuesday at 11:15 AM. There is no stopping it: a gas leak deep underground coupled with an electrical fire causes an explosion and a massive power surge that sets off a huge fireball into the elevator shafts. As far as you can tell, you and your powers had nothing to do with it...but we're going to save those people anyway!
Best solution you've come up with is to call in a bomb threat three hours before. Make it serious and detailed enough and they'll evacuate the place completely; so hey, here's a phone number and the info on a dude that got fired recently from one of the law offices in there. It should work, glad to be of service and good luck, kiss kiss.
Well, your next vision hurts like a bitch but doesn't have children in it anymore, so that's cool. But you're still in there, and people are still screaming. I'm gonna skip ahead and spoil it for you right here: in the end it isn't you that goes in to get the stragglers and the dumb-ass skeptics out. It's me. You watch me through the feed, rewind all my mistakes and tell me what to do at all times. Lots and lots of trial and error. We don't save everyone, but...enough, I guess. Way more than if we hadn't gone for it.
Wow, is it that hard to believe? It makes way more sense than you going in. Sorry to break it to you, but you can't carry anybody for shit, Max. Try to kick a door down, see how far you get. And what's really important: if a rock or whatever falls on your head and you drop unconscious, it's game over forever. This is the way we do things: high risk or intel gathering? I go in. Stealthy theft without leaving a mark? You go in. Basically you only do it yourself if your powers are absolutely necessary to get everything done the way we need it.
Yes, of course you hate to be the one watching. But that's too bad, get over it. How do you think I feel when you take all the risk? I see you in pain every fucking day one day or another. You have to let me keep you safe when I can, Max. I know it's hard to watch me get hurt, I know exactly how awful it feels. Just be glad you can take it back at will. I don't have that privilege.
Can you tell we've had this conversation before?
And how about this: in the final timeline, when it was all said and done...I felt awesome. The shit I did was right out of a superhero movie. And those people will forever remember the hyperactive blue-haired devil that shoved their sorry asses to safety. We saved so many lives that day...I'd never been so proud of us. Isn't that worth the pain?
What do you mean?
But it's what ended up happening, isn't it? You had the vision because it happened that way. It happened that way because you had the vision. It's not the first time we get caught in a chicken-and-egg situation like that. Would we have gone to the lighthouse if you hadn't seen yourself there before the storm hit?
Chew on that one for a while.
Anyway, you keep seeing weird shit now and then, but the latest set of visions blows it all out of the water. It all came true two weeks ago. It's how you got that Prism keycard in your wallet.
Oh, Prism is the shady parent company that lords over every branch of the Prescott Empire. Lots of money in real estate, but they've got their tendrils in a hundred things. The family business started in Arcadia Bay, but the bastard's all over the west coast and mid-west these days. It's as Evil Corporation as it gets.
These visions, though...they come and go in bits and pieces. Usually you get to look around and puzzle out what's going on, but these are one-second flashes, sudden jolts of what's going to happen, one after another. Shattered glass. Blood on your hands. You flickering in and out of standstill mode. Your powers failing, then coming back, then failing again...and then you falling down a ten story drop in the black of night.
The kicker is that this happens in the run-up to the Big Heist. That keycard you've got? It's the master key, the back door buster for Prism headquarters and the Prescott estate. The admin of this one office in downtown Portland is Walter Hammond, Prism Vice President and Prescott's second, he's like the real hands-on man that takes care of the mundane stuff. He carries one of these cards in his pocket and has a backup in a strongbox right there at that office. The plan is to take that backup without anybody ever finding out.
Max...don't ask if you don't really want to know. Let's just say that many Bothans died to bring us this information.
Okay, fine, if you insist...you interrogated him at his home. He was tough to crack. You did whatever was necessary until he told you everything, and then rewound the whole thing. You didn't give me a lot more details than that, but do you really want to know more?
I wasn't kidding earlier, you know. That time you spent at their mercy...it broke something inside of you. Nothing was going to stop you from getting even. And you know what? I never blamed you for feeling that way. How could I judge? I was one-hundred-percent ready to kill Nathan after we found Rachel's body—I'd be willing to do much worse if I'd been in your shoes. I know that much about myself.
So yeah, we've got a plan, but these visions make it pretty fucking clear that the plan goes to shit somehow. We do the selfie cheat and nothing happens. Which means either the outcome of whatever we do is good enough, or...you know, you are too dead to use the photo, or the photo itself got destroyed somehow. It's not the best sign.
So obviously we abort, right?
Nope. One, you're still on the clock, don't think BetaMax ever forgot. This needs to be done and planning something else would take forever. Two, we're going to use those visions to prepare, because we've seen that the details aren't set in stone. And three...you're goddamn curious as to what the hell gave us away, because nobody but us knew what we were up to.
We never found out, which was another point for the "Prescott has some kind of oracle" theory. They seem to know only some very specific things ahead of time. Just like your own visions.
So, into the fray you go anyway. I admit I was sulking about it, not going to apologize for that. Middle of the night, standard "bomb your way in and rewind" strategy. Rewind a few times past security, take the stairs, another pipe bomb fun time and you're in. I've become so good at making those, by the way. I'd make such a great homebrewed terrorist. So you're in the storage room, opening up that strongbox, and the moment you stick your hand in there to grab everything you can, all hell breaks loose. It's like they were all hiding under the rug or something.
You're obviously expecting it, so the rewind kicks in faster than the darts and tasers can reach you. They're still trying to take you alive, which is a good thing. You go back an hour, and the ambush still happens. Two hours, three, four...they're always there, and you just can't go back anymore. I guess they've puzzled out how you operate after months of dealing with our shenanigans.
On my end it's 11 PM and you've just disappeared from the car mid-conversation. Most of the stuff I'm telling you is what you told me later. And before you ask, yes, it gets super old to plan ahead for all the possible time jumps and adapt to whatever the hell happens in the final timeline. It's a rough life, such is the fate of the trusty sidekick.
The feed is starting to show all the havoc; can't rewind anymore, so you're stuck with freezing time and walking in the standstill, which still fucks you up pretty hardcore despite all the work you've been doing. It's a crazy mess, you have to literally climb over the bodies, and you can't sustain the freeze after pushing the rewind so hard so you're skipping in and out, heading for a window. It's like they're not aiming at you, they're aiming at where you might be in a few seconds. You shoot the glass pane ahead and run for it, jumping hopscotch through space like you're fading in and out of reality...and something hits your leg. You stagger and crash through the shattered glass as fifty thousand volts make jelly out of your brain. Your scream is so distorted and unnatural, like you got thrown into a blender or something. Most bloodcurdling sound I've heard in my life.
Right away I'm peeling out of the parking spot and racing to the side of the building, and I can see you dropping like dead weight up there. I'm screaming like a maniac for you to wake the fuck up, there's this awful sense of impending doom clumping up in my gut. It's literally one second before you hit the ground that suddenly you slow down just enough not to splat, then drop the last few feet and crumple onto the floor. I get out, drag you into the car and get the fuck out.
You pass out in the passenger seat, so goodbye to rewinding the whole thing and not leaving a trace. And they obviously know you took the card, so they'll simply update the system and make it obsolete. The keycard is nothing but a worthless piece of plastic now.
Soooo...that's why you snuck in during the weekend and left a very discreet pen drive plugged into his computer.
Boom, plot twist! Was it good? Did you see it coming?
Ha! In the visions it was night time, get it? So we came up with something else. We don't need to hide taking the keycard if we have full access to a top-level clearance computer. The flash drive very quietly installs a Trojan horse, and all we gotta do is connect remotely and do whatever we want. And I happen to have learned leet haxxor skillz, yo.
Sorry.
You timed the rewinds down to the second. On a security camera, you would flash there for an instant, plug in the thing, then disappear. Hardly something anyone would notice.
I know, it's so damn tricky. When you take an object, it stays with you through the rewind, right? But if you let go of something and then rewind, it will go back to your pocket or hand or wherever. Only exception is anything that's part of you, your DNA I guess. Hair, fingernails...bodily fluids and solids, if you catch my drift. They stay unaffected, at least until they break apart enough not to be considered "yours" anymore.
You bet we tested it. You stared at your poop in the toilet while going back in time. It was very scientific.
Yeah, let's move on from that. So the pen drive is plugged into the computer, and because it was obvious what we were trying to do with the strongbox and the keycard, they don't suspect a damn thing. Ta-da!
Oh, it's ever so tempting to go all out, sell stock and property left and right, donate every penny to charities all over the world and fuck up the computer systems real good...but then we'd be tipping our hand. We want to make the keycard functional again when no-one's looking and then leave it alone. Everything's connected and remotely accessed so it's a total cakewalk.
It's okay, we couldn't outright ruin everything, anyway. It's a huge company, you don't leave the whole thing vulnerable to one hacked computer, that's crazy. Could've done some damage, but nothing all that significant in the long run. And that's what we care about. The long game.
Which brings us to...this morning, on our way to downtown Olympia and Prism Headquarters. Prescott would be there. We'd already rewound once to have Helen give us his exact location throughout the morning. You were about to get your hands on that man and make him tell you absolutely everything.
And then you were going to kill him.
Like we already established...the time you showed up was less than ideal.
I'm just teasing you! Dude, look...I know exactly what you're thinking, it's been at the back of my head the whole time. It's okay. You can stop fidgeting now, you are not disappointing me.
Max, seriously. It's okay. I get it, you don't have it anymore, that near-insane drive of yours is gone. I don't expect you to feel that way, I honestly don't want you to! Believe me, I'm glad you're not as fucked up inside, it's a huge relief.
But it sure brings up a pretty important question, doesn't it? It's the big fat elephant in the room.
What do we do now?
