Sunday, October 6th, 2013. 11:05 PM PDT.
Seattle, Washington
"I hope you both appreciate this. It's one of the first bottles of rosé Cristal ever produced, and I've been saving it for a special occasion."
Max held the champaign flute out, smiling lightly as Davies poured it half full, before filling up two more for herself and Rodriguez.
"Right then, what shall we toast to?" Davies asked.
Max took a long, luxurious breath through her nose, inhaling the scents of sandalwood and cooking spices that permeated the penthouse apartment she now shared with Rodriguez. It was like heaven, after five years of stale, dry, reprocessed air in the bowels of Zion Control. Turning to glance out the window, the whole of Seattle spread out before her, like a necklace of sparkling jewels.
"To freedom." she finally murmured. "Or at least as close as I'll ever get to it." She glanced down at the separate band locked onto her wrist. Fortunately, they hadn't tried to integrate a tracker permanently into her lifeclock or, God forbid, implant it into her. Yet. It was probably just a matter of time, but at least for today, she could fool herself into thinking she had a life entirely under her own command.
The other two women nodded, each taking a sip; or rather, Max sipped, Davies took a larger but still measured amount, and Rodriguez slammed back half of it in one go.
Max laughed, leaning against the giant picture window, glancing up at the reflection of the lavish loft, the upper half of which was now hers. She wasn't sure how long the arrangement would last, but Rodriguez practically begged her to at least start out rooming with her.
"It'll be a good way for you to transition you know? Like, how in a real way, you're getting out of prison, and you have to get used to the outside world again."
She hated to admit it, but the woman who'd become a self-styled big sister to her had one hell of a point. It was a major transition. She never thought the day would come, and she still lived in fear that it was all going to be taken away from her. But then they finally let her go out. Alone.
It was glorious, and it was terrifying. She was equal parts fearful and elated when she went out on her big shopping spree earlier today, purchasing a whole new wardrobe, decorations, furniture. Even got her nails and hair done.
And, oh God, finding out how much money she had to her name now!
"Shit! There...there's almost a million and a half bucks in this bank account. This...this is mine?!"
The US Government paid generous tax-free salaries and benefits to their Specials; given their abilities and scarcity, it made sense, but she'd never seen so much money before, let alone ever contemplated having that much herself.
Five years of back pay was a lot. Not to mention her yearly wage was going to get boosted up, now that she was a field agent.
They made her talk to a financial advisor first, before giving her the debit card and checkbook. The ones that now bore her new name, the one she picked out for herself.
Artemis Maxine Salinger.
Okay, maybe it was stupid, pretentious. Weird. But she was thrilled to bits to be able to keep her own first name - sort of, kind of - and went a bit crazy with the rest. She was pretty surprised they let her go with the last name, since it seemed like an obvious connection, but clearly the the appropriate departments weren't staffed with literary buffs. At any rate, the falsified - although if the US Government is producing them, are they really fake? - documentation was going to be in her hands in another day or two.
Before the accounts were fully unlocked, they made her attend a full day course on fiduciary responsibility, investments, and so on. Apparently in the past, a few new employees went a little crazy when they saw how much they were making, and got themselves into trouble. She had to admit that without the sobering discussion, without being made intentionally mindful of her future finances, and how much a dollar really bought, or how quickly money could be mindlessly spent, she might easily have gone out and bought a fancy new car or...
...oh my God! I could totally buy a fancy new car! Seriously, what the fuck is a quarter million dollars? That's less than a year's pay for me now! Just one big purchase, that's all I'd want! Or maybe a motorcycle. Maybe a motorcycle _and_ a car. Then I'll need to get a new outfit to go with both...
Shit. Okay. She was going to need to watch herself after all.
"Are you alright, Max? You seem rather...pensive." Davies asked.
Coming out of her reverie, she shrugged, giving a slight grin. "I'm fine. Just...still getting used to it all. Still can't believe I get to go to bed tonight, in my own place. Wake up, take a shower, have breakfast..."
Rodriguez interrupted her, "Hey, I usually don't eat breakfast here, so you know. It's free at the cafe at work, so I figure, why bother?"
Max laughed brightly, "Yeah, you can eat the same old Starbucks every morning, but Zion food is pretty much everything I ate, day in and day out for the past five years, so fuck that. I'm going to learn how to cook, and make my own stuff. I mean, you cook here sometimes, so obviously you can teach me."
"If you like really spicy shit, yeah, I'm your woman, Max." Rodriguez laughed.
She finished up her drink as Davies walked over to her and said, "Well, it's getting late, so I'll eave you two be. See you bright and early tomorrow. But not too early, yes?" She gave her a warm hug, and added, "I'm very happy to see you finally coming into your own, poppet. Stop by my office around noon, and we'll go over crafting the final details of your new life story."
Max smirked. "I thought I already had that taken care of: I'm a supermodel-slash-MMA instructor-slash-champion horse rider-slash-competitive ballerina. I grew up in the Swiss Alps, my parents were minor Maltese nobility, and..."
Rodriguez burst out laughing, while Davies waggled a maternal finger at her. "You can have precisely none of those things, Agent Salinger." She paused, thoughtfully. "Well, not true, I'm willing to talk about the mixed martial arts. Owning your own cover business isn't a bad idea, and you certainly have access to startup capital."
Max hugged Davies back, and bid her goodnight as she saw the other woman out the door. Then immediately flopped onto the couch, stretching out to her full extent.
She was still there an hour later, blankly staring out at the city. There was so much out there for her now. She'd paid her dues, suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. She could finally make an exciting and intriguing life for herself.
Riiiight...?
But it felt like that life was strung together betwixt the thin walls of a soap bubble - a S.O.A.P. bubble? - ready to pop at the slightest shift of the breeze. She wasn't convinced that Martinet wasn't looking for some way to take it away from her, lock her down. And do it soon, since the longer she was out here, having her own life, the harder it was to make her disappear.
Or so she hoped.
"Heading to bed. You need anything before I go?" Rodriguez asked, clearly dressed for sleeping, if you could call the red satin demi-chemise she wore 'dressing'.
Max half-turned away feeling a confusing heat creep over her face.
"Nah. I'm-I'm good. Fine. Sleep well, Alanna."
"You too, chica."
Max rose up, gazing out the window. It had a southward facing view, and she couldn't help but ponder that somewhere, as the crow flies, Chloe Price was probably out there. Assuming she hadn't moved in the last year and a half. With her blue hair! And new friends, and...
...she didn't forget about me. Oh God, she still thinks I totally blew her off, but she never forgot.
She couldn't see her again. But maybe she could send her one last message. A parting coda, to the life that was Max Caulfield. She wasn't sure what to say, other than...than what?
I'm okay. I miss you. I'm not sure when I'll be able to see you again, but always remember I'm your friend forever. Have a wonderful life.
Seemed rather cruel though. To both of them. Maybe it was better to let what existed between them lie still, over and done with at last.
She clenched against the tight ache in her chest, tried to push it down, and turned, trudging her way to bed, still partway convinced that she was going to wake back up in her quarters at Zion, the past few days but a dream. Wake up and discover that nothing was getting any better.
Max didn't sleep well, but for the small price of just a few hours off her life, she could fix that up in a jiffy. Even catch an extra hour to take her time, with the eggs, waffle and coffee. Figure out what to wear. Maybe do up her face. Get ready for work, like so many normal people did across the world.
It wasn't even like she'd need to go to headquarters each and every day, especially over the next few months, as she did whatever she needed to lay down the groundwork for her new life. Maybe not MMA, but gym ownership. She could do that. Pretend she inherited some money, open up a gym, hire competent managers to run the place for her. She could come and go as she pleased, the mysterious, oh-so-young owner, who seemed to know a jillion forms of martial arts.
She looked at herself in the mirror, smiled at what she saw.
Then frowned, darkly.
Don't get so comfortable. Don't enjoy it too much. Never forget what they did to you. What they might still do.
She caught a ride with Rodriguez, and checked in at the security office promptly at nine, handing over her tracker wristband. Maybe it was pointless, but it was an act that mattered. If she was going to be a slave in the base, she at least wanted one less piece of slave jewelry to be wearing at the time, since there was pretty much no place in the base for her to hide anyhow.
Unsure what to do until her noon meeting with Davies, Max wandered over to the quartermaster's office, asked if he needed help. She didn't consider Johnny Moreau a close friend, but he was a kind enough older gentleman who occasionally found an extra bar of chocolate or some makeup, on days when she really needed a pick me up during her...protective custody years. Inventorying crates of guns, ammo, and medical supplies was simple enough, and it'd keep her busy for a couple of hours, easily.
Indeed, an hour and a half flew by when Rodriguez came running in at a fierce clip, a look of absolute horror etched on her face. She flung herself, and it was all Max could do to remain upright, and hold onto the other woman.
"Alanna! What the...are you okay?"
Holy shit, she's trembling like a leaf!
It was then that Max noticed the tears down the Latina woman's face, making a mess of her mascara "Oh God...dios mio...It's New York. Oh...shit...it's gone. It's gone, Max!" Her voice was shrill, on the edge of hysterics. "I had a brother, he lived in Brooklyn, and it's all fucking gone now!"
Max's head swam. The words she was hearing seemed impossible. Not to mention Rodriguez, how absolutely devastated she was acting. Not once in five years had she seen anything crack that devil-may-care facade of hers.
Not until today.
"C-c'mon, Alanna. I need to see what's going on, okay? I've been here for over an hour, haven't heard anything."
She led the other woman to the nearest display panel, just outside the office. What few staff she could make out in the halls were all gazing at them, transfixed by the scene playing out.
Max approached slowly, her mind refusing to acknowledge what it beheld. It was unreal, like a movie. A nightmare. Too stark, too massive. A terror reserved for the most shocking of big budget summer films. It was out of place, here in the neat and relatively tidy quiet of Reality.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." the male reporter on the CNN feed began. "Let me warn you, the pictures you are about to see are shocking, disturbing. I assure you, they are live and real. At 1:12 PM, Eastern Daylight Time, a massive explosion suddenly erupted, destroying all of New York City, and much of the surrounding metropolitan area.
Lower Manhattan was little more than a smoldering crater, the sea quickly rushing in to fill the void. For untold miles around the blast site, buildings were smashed to rubble, entire skyscrapers lay on their sides, like so many children's toys carelessly scattered to the winds. That was when anything could be seen at all, past the massive dust clouds, mixing with the billowing, choking black smoke rising up from a countless number of fires that spread to the horizon.
Jersey City was in a similar state of ruin, and she could just barely pick out the remains of the Statue of Liberty, now solemnly drifting out to sea.
"C-casualties are predicted to be in the millions. There are reports that the swath of destruction extends as far north as Pleasantville and as far south as Asbury Park...there is no news yet as to the cause of the explosion, though many are assuming this was some sort of terrorist attack involving a nuclear bomb..."
The air around Max was punctuated by sobbing and moans. People clung to each other for comfort.
"Strangely enough, perhaps a small blessing, there appears to be no radioactive fallout. There was a massive gamma radiation burst, followed by an electromagnetic pulse, but beyond that, there are no other signs of an atomic blast. But what else could possibly cause devastation on this scale?"
Max swallowed hard. Her vision narrowed. The oppressive weight of destiny bore down, singularly focused upon her shoulders.
Oh...oh God. This is...I can fix this. I can maybe...help prevent...I'm the only one! Oh God! I'm the only one who can save those people! This is what everything has been leading up to!
She barely listened as the report continued, "President Obama is expected to address the nation in the next ten minutes. The National Guard from the surrounding tri-state area has already been mobilized. Rumor has it that he will declare a state of martial law for New York and New Jersey..."
"Alanna..." Max murmured, then held her out. "Alanna, I have to get to Cammie's office right now. I have to...don't you understand? They're gonna send me back. They're going to send me back, and I'm going to fix this. I promise you, I'm gonna fix this, and you'll never remember this day because...because it'll never happen. I promise you, I'm gonna save your brother!"
Rodriguez nodded fiercely, letting her go. Max flew as fast as she could towards Davies' office. Skidding to a halt, she found Martinet in there with her, the two of them conversing in tones that suggested they were doing their best to keep their calm, and barely succeeding.
They turned to her, Martinet waving her in. Max strode inside as she closed the door behind her.
"I'm assuming you've already seen the news feed, Agent?" Martinet inquired.
She nodded emphatically. "When do you send me back?"
He gave a fraction of a smile: grim, determined. "I knew that would be the first thing you'd ask. Davies is gathering up as much information as possible. I would...expect you'd leave within an hour or two?" He glanced over to the other woman, who gave a nod.
"We can't send her off half-cocked" Davies said. "But every second she's here, is one less second she can go back. I just need to dump the data feeds from PAN-Opticon, along with whatever other sensor and intelligence sources might be useful in helping us to analyze and prevent this from happening."
"Wait...why would you need data from P-O?" Max asked.
Martinet paused, wiping his glasses furiously, before placing them back on his face. "There were signs of an Emergence flare. Something incredible in scope, about a minute or two before the blast..."
"...which according to the data we've been able to gather so far, roughly correlates with...my...God." Davies faltered. "Um...at least fifty megatons. That's...that's right up there with the Tsar Bomba conceptual test back in sixty-one. The largest nuclear explosion in history."
Max was more determined than ever to make sure this day went down a completely different path. She'd go back as many times as she had to, reiterate as many passes of data as needed until Davies and the others found a way of stopping this. Whatever it was.
They had to. She had to. This day, this event...everything she suffered through, over the last five years. All the hurt, the hate and heartache. In the face of this overwhelming cataclysm, everything was justified at long last; finally made some sort of sense. If she could just save those people...
"Casualty reports are predicted to be at least five or six million. Almost as many injured. The only saving grace is that there appears to be no sign of nuclear fallout...like this was some sort of explosion of pure energy." Davies breathed out.
"I...I suppose I should report to the President and the UN what we know of the situation." Martinet said, with a resigned, dull tone in his voice, before leaving the office.
Max watched. Everyone went through the motions. Like this somehow wasn't going away.
I'm going to fix this, damnit! I AM.
"I'm...gonna suit up and get ready. I know this is just me going back in time, here on base, but I'm treating this like a serious field mission. So I'll be in Cargo Bay Ten. Just...just like everything we went over with the Storyteller Protocol, right? You come and give me the Edit Order token, and I'll jump immediately."
Max tore off at top speed once again, heading for her equipment locker. She stripped out of her civilian duds, and pulled on her custom-made field uniform, including the felt greatcoat. She then checked out a sidearm and a hold out piece, stuffed a large pocket with emergency nutrition packs, reviewed and re-reviewed Storyteller procedures two, three times over. Maybe it was overkill, preparing like this for what was only going to be a straightforward courier jump, but...
...but she needed to do something to distract her from what was happening. To push the pictures of what she saw out of her mind. To keep from focusing on the millions...millions dead or dying right this minute.
You're gonna take it all back, Max. You're gonna save them. Don't shed any tears, don't mourn, because...it's all going away. The world will be saved, and you'll be the only one left who'll even remember this day.
She also needed to keep her mind off the personal gain involved. The hope that maybe if she came through on this, they'd finally...give her room to breathe. Treat her like a real person, accord her some actual respect.
I mean, they're getting there, but...but maybe they'll let me go back home, and talk to Chloe. Oh God, if I only got one thing out of this...no medals, no congrats, no praise. Just let me actually see Chloe. And my parents...leave them alone, and let me rebuild some memories with them.
There'd be time enough for her to bask in the expected rewards of a job well done. Now wasn't that time.
Here and now, there was only the mission.
Suited up and ready to go, Max made her way to the cargo bay, surrounded by a throng of expectant...she wouldn't exactly call them well-wishers, but she knew they were as desperate for her to succeed as she was. She tried to be as reassuring as she could. She made a few brief speeches. Gave hugs of support. Promised everyone that in the end, no one but her would remember, truly remember, this day.
Finally, Martinet walked in, followed closely by Davies.
"Agent Caulfield." he spoke, crisply, and immediately forgetting to address her by her new name. "You are hereby ordered to ensure the safe delivery of this data package to Head Agent Davies and myself, here at Zion Control, twenty-four hours into the past. You know the protocols. You've been trained how to deal with every possible contingency, but I have every confidence that you will arrive safe and sound; with the advanced warning you'll supply us with, we will prevent this from occurring."
Davies handed her the Edit Order token: a hard, black square block of metal, about two inches wide on each side, replete several rubber-sealed data ports. Designed to survive any number of punishing conditions and situations, with the ability to store up to five terabytes of encrypted and compressed data. They cost as much as several Tomahawk missiles for some reason, but if it saved New York City, then it was worth the price.
Max tucked the device safely away in one of her cargo pants pockets, and then nodded. "I...I won't let you down, sir. I'm ready to bring you back as much data, give you as many virtual days as I can, until this is...until this doesn't happen anymore."
He held out his hand, and she took it. He shook it firmly. "I know we can depend on you, Agent. Good luck, and Godspeed."
For a moment, Max was struck dumb; she should absolutely hate the man, loathe him. And under normal circumstances, she knew she did. But there was something about this, the all-encompassing awfulness of it. It was a universal, powerful pain, and however briefly, everyone was on the same side now. All grievances were made petty, all interpersonal disputes forgotten. Max was too young to really remember what it was like when 9/11 occurred; not even quite six yet, but she figured it had to be something like this. Even though October 7th was far more tragic.
Davies added her own words of encouragement. "See you soon, in time for tea, yes? And then later on, when it's all over, and we've saved New York City. You can tell me about it. What this day was like. When the only thing left is a new and curious entry for the Incident catalog."
Max took a deep breath, trying to chase back the continuing sense of surreality. She expected to hear a director yell "Cut!", as if this were all some action movie playing itself out.
She glanced out in the assembled group and noticed that even Nicole was there now. The other agent nodded to her once, stuck out her thumb.
"Kick the past in the ass, kid." Wright called out.
There was no point in belaboring the issue. No need for inspiring speeches. There was only the rewind.
She started immediately.
It was going to be a strain; she'd only pulled this trick off two or three times before, and it always left her weak as hell. Words and devotionals to fighting to get the job done were one thing, but if she had to repeat this cycle three or four times, it was going to be really problematic for her.
She peeled back the seconds, into minutes. Then into hours. One hour...two...three. She was starting to pass the moment the blast occurred.
New York City. Gotta save New Yor...
And then searing pain sliced through her. A jolt, like smashing against a wall composed of electric sparks and barbed wire. It lanced through her, boiled across her nerves. Physically she was undamaged, but the pain...
...oh God, the pain!
She felt herself falter, lose control of the rewind process. But she couldn't! She had no idea what the hell just happened, why it happened, but she had to go back as far as she could.
New York! New York City! Must...get back...help...save...
Max held out for as long as she could, her vision swimming, going black around the edges. The worst of the pain had subsided, but something was still wrong. She was...slowing down. For lack of a better word, she was losing her ability to continue rewinding, like a jet plane slowly but inevitably suffering from one engine failure after the other. It was just a matter of time before she was going to stop...whether she liked it or not.
New York...keep...focus...the city...the mission!
A terrible lurching completely disrupted her thoughts. She felt herself shatter into a million, billion fragments, as she struck another 'wall'. Felt her pieces swept up in an unrelenting quantum wind, and scattered to God only knows where.
She'd have found the entire process almost fascinating, had she managed to stay conscious for it
Sunday, October 6th, 2013. 11:09 PM PDT.
Seattle, Washington
"Are you alright, Max? You seem rather...pensive." Camilla asked.
Coming out of her reverie, Max shrugged, gave a slight grin. "I'm fine. Just...still getting used to it all. Still can't believe I get to go to bed tonight in my own place. Wake up, take a shower, have breakfast..."
And then she was gone.
Camilla and Rodriguez both gasped in shock.
"What..what the...the hell just happened?!" Rodriguez called out, trying her best to keep the shock and fear out of her voice.
"No clue." Camilla replied. "The most immediate thing I can think of that would cause her to just vanish is crossing back against her own timeline, and there's only one major reason why..."
Oh bloody fucking hell.
"We need to get back to base immediately, see if something showed up in the monitoring room. Or if Max has tried to contact us. There's protocols in place for this sort of thing."
They turned and ran out of the apartment together.
Twenty minutes later, Rodriguez was burning rubber, driving down the streets of Seattle at a frenetic clip, while Davies spoke on an encrypted line back to the Zion Control monitoring room.
"Kimmy, I need you to tell me exactly what you're seeing right now. Anything? Any Emergence events, any activity from the temporal sensors?"
Villanova's quiet voice was thin and reedy. "I-I'm not sure how to describe it, exactly. There's definitely anomalous readings coming from New York City; massive fluctuations of neutrinos over Manhattan, differences in their atomic clock readings compared to ours, just enough to be outside the acceptable tolerance range...ummm...uh...not sure, but I think their localized speed of light is off? Small but significant fraction, so that's something, right?"
Rodriguez grit her teeth, ignoring the police car that had started pursuing them.
Camilla glanced up at the rear view mirror and sighed. Just what they needed right now.
"And we're getting something more now, seismology readings." Villanova continued. "It looks like a pattern is forming. Small but repeated earthquakes. Not big, not enough that most people would notice yet, but...but there are shocks almost three minutes apart. Oh! And CFI is going up...mostly. It's spiking and dropping in a way that matches the earthquakes, but it's creeping upwards."
Camilla was thankful for the latest round of sensor and software enhancements made to PAN-Opticon. Damocles had learned a lot in the five years since Max's Emergence.
"Right then, I think I've heard enough. Kimmy, get on the phone with Wright, and have her assemble a team, then contact McChord AFB, and tell them to prep our transport. I want us wheels up in no less than two hours. If the Director happens to ask, tell him I'll be contacting him shortly."
She ended the call and then glanced over her shoulder. Another Seattle PD car had joined the chase. Beacons were now flashing, alarms sounding.
"I'll need to put in a call and have them taken off our tail. You just keep heading straight for Tacoma and don't let up." Davies instructed.
Rodriguez flashed a predatory smile, weaving through traffic as she sped up towards the highway. "Oh yeah. This is my favorite part of the job." She paused and then asked. "So what the hell's going on? What happened to Max?"
"Still not sure." Camilla replied. "But I suspect all of our answers are in Manhattan."
Sunday, October 6th, 2013. 11:09 PM PDT.
Arcadia Bay, Oregon
She suddenly appears. Face pale, hair disheveled. The felt greatcoat wrapped around her, offering its protection against the bitter chill of the early Autumn air.
She's unsure of her present location A...a junkyard? Someplace refuse is cast aside, left, forgotten. It reminds her...
...reminds her of the weight in her arms. The body. The one wrapped up in oilcloth. Small. Smaller than her, but still large enough to be a...
"J-just...just like the rabbits." she breathes out, a distant, glassy look haunting her eyes. "Just like the rabbits" she repeats. Over and over again.
But not exactly like the rabbits. Bigger. Heavier.
She wanders this way and that, the length and breadth of the dump, looking for something. Some...place. Soft enough. Clear enough. Glances down when she think's she's found it.
She puts the body down on the ground and begins to dig away at the dirt with her hands.
"I-it was a really nice service, Chloe. Really nice service. Nice service, Chloe. It was...it was really nice. Nice service, Chloe. Your dad...your dad..."
She continues to ramble; despite her fugue state, she can tell that hands alone won't be enough. Amongst all the scrap and discarded pieces, it doesn't take her long to locate something that makes an effective shovel.
She digs for an hour. Maybe two. All the while, she expects to find...something? Treasure? Another body? She can't shake the notion she's about to add to the pile, turn the junkyard into the site of a mass grave. But ultimately, the hole is finished, and there's nothing in there. Nothing at all but a gaping cavity, ready to be filled.
Slowly, reverently, she takes the wrapped form, and lowers it down, six feet under.
"S...sorry. Sorry. So sorry...sorry. Just like the rabbits. Just like...the rabbits." Her voice is a melange of dead calm and near hysterics.
Another half an hour, and she's finished her self-appointed task at last. The ground is freshly disturbed, but flattened. She leaves the grave otherwise unmarked. Unceremoniously drops the shovel, and then starts to walk along, following the train tracks into town.
"Chloe..." she whispers out.
"The service. It was nice, Chloe. It was...nice."
She trudges along, her eyes unfocused, but her body clearly possessed of purpose and intent. Her feet know where to take her, even if what's left of her mind doesn't fully comprehend.
She tilts her head, listening to a question that only she can hear being asked.
"The future, Chloe." she says to herself.
"The future."
A/N: Hey there Swanketeers, it's Black Swan Saturday yet again. This concludes the second major story arc of the series, so it's a good place to take our hiatus. Arc Three begins in two or three weeks, and features one part Max, one part Chloe, and a hella lotta awesome together!
My promise to you is that we will publish again on Halloween, if not before. As I've mentioned before, life has been crazy and hectic for me, doubly so for Cory, but I'm actually managing to write again, and have another chapter done already this week. With a little luck, I might be back to six or seven chapters stored up in the buffer before we start publishing again, and that would be a big help, to be sure! As it is, all of Monday is written, and I'm about a third of the way through Tuesday, which is probably going to be the biggest day, in terms of things going on to write about. But we'll see. :-)
So again, I want to thank all the awesome, awesome support that you have been sending our way. I'm really pleased with how well received things have been, by and large. You've all been wicked patient and indulgent, waiting until we get our Gayngels together.
Anyhow, we all have the final, fateful episode of Life Is Strange coming up...I'm really, really hoping that something good happens, but not so good that I feel I have to somehow try to address it or deal with it in a way that makes me change a bunch of this series going forward *laugh*
Rowanred81 turned me onto this video of Chloe singing the chorus to Metric's "Black Sheep". It's so awesome!: rowanred81 . tumblr post/130775628194/surroundedbybluestars-summerfelldraws
(Just be sure to repair the link for obvious reasons. Also: did not realize her voice actress was Ash from HAWP.)
One final note: the few readers following Black Swan who also read my Once More Unto The Breach ME series may remember Artemis Salinger as the pseudonym used by a character faking her death. For the purposes of this chapter, it was originally a first draft placeholder until I thought of something better. But it occurred to me that this fake name was even better suited to Max. She's both a divine huntress of sorts and shares a name with JD Salinger's most famous charcter. So I decided to keep it.
Okay, now I'm just rambling. Have a great rest of the weekend!