(Untitled)

[23s_topreporter]

Edison yawned and rubbed his eyes. Crime drama was really boring. Or maybe it was just the author; he usually enjoyed it on TV. Either way, he was getting a headache from staring down at the page, and the silent television across the room was starting to get really creepy. He forced his eyes back to page, determined to at least finish the first

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[m_max_headroom]

Ever since Max's multiple personality shindig he'd been more scarce on the television, watching instead of interacting, talking only when the situation was interesting enough for it. He'd actually been more focused on finding Edison's room. He'd located it but decided to watch for a while. A short while. A very short while. Edison used to be a lot more interesting than this.

"Can can we go go go home n-n-now?" Max whined, fizzling in. He was still under the impression that Ed might have been trying to save him.

[23s_topreporter]

"That would be nice," he mentioned, looking up. He'd tried the doors; he'd tried throwing things at the glass; he'd even thought about going up to the roof and climbing down, but he couldn't find any stairs or ladders. "Murray's probably going crazy. Ratings took a dive when you left, and now I'm stuck here. Why'd you come here anyway?"

[m_max_headroom]

Max scoffed. "Well, it-t-t wasn't exactly the plan, the plan," he said, rolling his eyes.

"What IS that-t?" Max said looking at the book. Books weren't exactly the most immediately accessible memory. And reading them was even less accessible.

[23s_topreporter]

"This?" He held it up so Max could see the cover. "It's a book. It's what people had before they had TV." He made a face and tossed it on the nightstand. "It's giving me a headache; no wonder they invented television."