The Gaming Outpost

Your mind tricked you to feel the pain

Of someone close to you leaving the game of life

So here it is, another chance

Wide awake you face the day

Your dream is over… or has it just begun?

There’s a place I like to hide

A doorway that I run through in the night

Relax child, you were there

But only didn’t realize it and you were scared

It’s a place where you will learn

To face your fears, retrace the years

And ride the whims of your mind

Commanding in another world

Suddenly you hear and see

This magic new dimension

I will be watching over you

I am gonna help you see it through

I will protect you in the night

I am smiling next to you&

Artist: Queensryche

Track: Silent Lucidity

Album: Empire

March 2, 1999.

With one word my blood ran cold, shot through my veins and turned to ice, froze me in one spot with the sheer unreality of the what I had heard.

That and the horror of what I had to do. I faced the door that led to my basement with a knowledge that there was absolutely nothing that I wanted to do less that what I was about to. If there was single thing in my power I cold do to change my situation I would have. Anything on Earth. But I had no choice but to go downstairs and tell my brother what had happened.

A few months earlier my life was very, very different. I faced the very real prospect of becoming a husband and father of two. This was something that, at the time, I had wanted more than everything, having conquered my fears of my own incompetence. I had a reasonable, if dull, job, the love of a incomparably supportive, brilliant, beautiful woman and a happy relationship with her first daughter. We lived in a nice place in Queens, and despite the many difficulties and friction with both of our families, it was a time that I have more happy memories of than anything else.

I had chosen the Outback Steakhouse on Rt. 10 in Jersey as the place where I would tell my folks about all of my plans. Josh already knew, having heard about it back in the McDonalds on Queens Boulevard. Although I had already stumbled through explaining things to my parents, I felt another dinner was in order, just to get everything together. We had finished our meals, and everything felt right. It was probably the most solid night in my memory.

As Josh and my Fiancée, Hala, chased her toddler around the restaurant, I dabbed the last of the meal from my face and settled into my plushy vinyl seat. My dad peered out the window. My mom watched me with an obvious mix of pride and concern, and I hummed along with the relatively song that they were playing- Bright Sunshiny Day.

I can see clearly now, The rain is gone& I can see all obstacles in my way&

My mom leaned forward.

You know the words to that song?

I perked up, confused with myself. Yeah&I do. I dont know&why& Ive always known the words. Weird.

She laughed. Too freaky, Kiddo. You know, I was singing that when you were born.

Youre kidding!

Nope. I wanted to sing something else, but I couldnt think of anything.

You didnt have to sing to me, you know&The whole labor thing was enough.

Who says I was singing for you ? She laughed.

Touche.

I guess I was singing for both of us. And now its going to be your turn.

Yeah, I guess it is. But maybe Ill just prepare a speech, or something. Im not a good singer.

Tell him- or her a story, Sean. You tell stories, okay? Thats what you do.

Well, I dunno&Its part of what I do.

You do the office thing because you have to. I fly, you know? I toss planes around the sky. Thats what I do. Your brother does his computers and his bass. And you were meant to tell stories. I know we have disagreed about your ideas about your future, but now, Im happy for you, do you understand? I want you to do this, youll be a great dad.

My own Dad smiled at me but stayed quiet.

But I dont want you to lose track of what it is you do. Your Messiah game & the Religion thing, thats&Its good. Its a good idea. I wanna see you make that happen, okay? I think youll tell stories to the whole world, and you wont be happy if you forget that, kiddo. 

Hala and Josh approached the table, and Josh carried Halas daughter on his hip. She surveyed us with her brilliant, curious eyes and said something in her peculiar language.
Hala tapped me on the shoulder.

Her majesty is ready to go, I think.

How are you holding up?

Ughhh&sleep will be good.

My mom looked over at Josh.

I think she likes the piercings, kiddo. She said.

I know she does, but shes gotta stop grabbin em. Yo, you guys have gotta see the fonts I downloaded for the Last Ex pre-release&so good!

I stood up. How about I bring the van around?

As I walked out of the restaurant, beaming with confidence and pride, the song continued&

Look all around, theres nothing but blue skies&look straight ahead, theres nothing but blue skies&

Its nothing short of the raw, unadulterated cruelty of the human mind that replayed that scene as I stared at the door to the basement where Josh and his friends sat playing Nintendo. Hell for me will be that moment forever. It simply does not get worse. With a body of wet cotton clothed in lead I opened the door and walked down stairs. I had thought I would be crying, but everything was dry. So goddamned dry.

I walked down the stairs and looked at my friends. They seemed so alien.

Guys. I choked. Guys&.You know me&You all have known me for a while, and you know I would never say this unless it was friggen dire.
It is.

Get the hell out. All of you. Now. Ill explain later.

They all blinked for a second and weighed my words. Comprehension seeped in- I never speak to anyone like that. I was only home for the weekend. Slowly at first, but with increasing urgency, they filed past me out of the house. Josh lay snoring and comfortable, and for a second I hated him for making me wake him up in order to say what I had to say. Then I hated myself for thinking that while he was still living, or sleeping in a different reality than the one I had entered a few minutes ago. I walked over to him, bloodless and so completely dry.

Josh. Josh. Wake up.

Ahw&What? What&?

Mom& Theres been an accident. Shes& The police are here.

I will go to my grave having never forgiven myself for not being able to tell him what I wanted to say, to force him to rush upstairs and be slammed with the cold hard bullet of reality of hearing a police officer- some random jerkoff he had never met, rather than his own chickenshit brother- say the three words identify the body to my weeping father. He turned to and said the word no to me in my brain before he exploded.

No! No Goddamned way! NO! No way, do you hear me?!

I was still too dry.

My father wept openly. The first time I had seen him cry in my life- he had buried both parents, hell, his whole goddamned family, and took it with intrepid solidity. The camels back had broken like an earthquake. I held them both, and felt so Godawful dry. Dusty wind in my mouth instead of speech. It was nothing but dry.

My mother was dead.

A few hours later, I stood outside in our driveway noticing the horrible, horrible sky in a way I never had before in my life. It was huge- there was no escaping it. Anywhere I went it continued to loom over me. Josh sat dangling his legs over the stone wall on the edge of our driveway and looked up at the bright blue murderer with abject, inhuman disappointment.

Shell never hear my band again.

I stayed quiet.

Shell never see me make it- us make it, Goddamn it! Shell never meet her friggen grandchildren. Never see our book, its just so&so goddamned wrong.

Shell see it all, Josh. Shell comment as best she can. Shell be there. Shell see it all. And we will make it. This is about what we can do, now. 

He sat up. You have a game to write, Sean.

No, not exactly.  Some people write games, and thats all well and good&but Im not one of them. Not precisely.

 What do you mean? 

 I mean, if theres one thing Ive learned in my time with this industry, its that there are some people who are professional game designers, and they do all the cool gimmicks and new play styles and wacky system acrobatics. Im gonna have to get someone else to do that bit&the best. Mom would never forgive me if I settled for anything less. But Im not a designer. Im a professional GM.

He cocked his head, listening.

 I get it now. She nailed it. I dont have a game to write, per se. I have a game to run. We have a game to run. We have a game that we- me and everyone who picks up the book- need to run for the whole friggen world. We have a story to tell. But Im not a novelist. I want everyone to be part of it, to affect it and change it and live in it like I do. Some people wont like that- and you wont have to do it that way, but&thats the vision.

Metaplot.

I guess. I want us to run a game for planet Earth. Something solid and real and about life. Because thats what I promised mom I would do.

You know, they may not go for it.

I know.

The sky was no longer my enemy, It was just Moms new home. Where she had always wanted to live.

In my story, I would give her the Heaven she deserved.

Now, I hold the finished manuscript for this tremendous, cruel bastard of an RPG. It has cost me time, money, and health. It has cost me dear friends, close family, and true love. Its cost me just about everything, but it is my purpose. This is what I do, and what I have done.

There were tears in my eyes as I typed the last word in a Maplewood Café owned by a saint. I celebrated in Times Square- ground zero. I printed a copy of the manuscript and showed off that three-pound bastard to everyone I knew. And last night, I put that copy of the manuscript on the mantle with my mothers ashes and her favorite coffee mug, so she can sip and read at the same time, wherever she is.

I know it is far from done. And I know that not far away, Josh sweats and destroys his vision in front of a giant monitor, approaching this layout with the conviction and determination to do right by our very first fan that I did with every line of text. I know that it will be ripped into mercilessly by reviewers and posters to sites such as this one.(Metaplot haters especially will take issue with the Last Exodus.) But I will know that if this comes out how we wanted it to, theres at least one person who will be proud of Josh and I for seeing this through to the end, while all along she knew we would. Were not businessmen, were not just game enthusiasts, and were not just doing what we know.

Were making a dream.

And as I have told just about everyone I know, when I first see that thing on the shelves of my local game store, I am not ashamed to say I will weep like Nancy Kerrigan.
And despite all we have lost, when I first tear open that box full of copies of The Last Exodus, Its gonna be a Bright Sunshiny Day.

Feel the breeze, at times so near you can almost taste the freedom
Theres a warm wind from the south

Hoist the sail, and well be gone- by morning this will seem like a dream

And if I dont return to sing the song, maybe just as well, Ive seen the news,

and theres not much I can do&alone.

Artist: Queensryche

Track: Anybody Listening?

Album: Empire

“He who comes in second dies. This is a war. Lets treat it like one. Anyone
gets in our way, well crush them. We have the weapons and equipment, we have
the know-how, and we have the drive. We will win.”

-Admiral Maxemillian Stayne, when asked about the Dogma of The Regime

“Boom ! Ping! Buck! Pow!

Now whos the nigga with the different style?”

- Ice Cube, Wet Em Up

Shock. We all stared at each other like fools.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Benjamin Laudermilk and Im the
regional director of the Firm here in the Northeast. Im not really certain
why I was called here, but I do appreciate the chance to see you off. I hope
you go on to better things. Mr. Barron?”

Santiago Barron casually lit his cigarette and waved at the characters who
had congregated at the end of the pier. The Tontons Makouts pointed their
rifles.

“Sons and daughters of the Jaweh. Children of God.” He smirked. “Execute
them.”

And the Tontons Makouts opened fire.

And ten player characters died in about four minutes. Some who had been
around quite a while. Some who had been created that day…all were cut down
before the hail of gunfire, and while some of the wounded dove for the
debatable safety of the river, a well-placed match sealed their painful fate
in the flammable waters of the Hudson.

Like I said, shock.

I had tried. I tossed as many bones as I could, but I just could not help
them. There was nothing I could do while preserving what little integrity I
had left as a director to save them. The group had been dissonant,
uncooperative, wracked with internal strife and not particularly
observant…But was this punishable by such a complete massacre?

Yeah, I guess so. After all, The Sanhedrin would not cut any Messiahs any
slack for not being able to properly get their crap together. This was a
weakness to be exploited, and it was exploited to the best of the Sanhedrins
ability. The player characters, as somewhat new members of the Apostate, were
in grave danger and knew it. They gave their opponents an “in” and had plenty
of chances to cover their asses but failed. So when a squabble broke out in
the middle of brokering a deal with a highly-placed member of the Chain in
Manhattan, he elected to save himself some trouble and earn some points with
his superiors by having his guards mow them down. There werent a lot of
places to hide and the attack took the PCs completely by surprise.

I felt I should say something….this was a tense situation. “How could you
let this happen, you pack of absolute jackasses” probably wasnt it.

“Uh…. Jesus. Is …uh…anyone here still alive?”

They blinked.

“Bueller?”

They stared and continued to blink.

“Okay…I guess my next question is about your options…which would you rather
do? Start a brand new game somewhere else unrelated to this one, or would you
like to create new characters that would be your characters replacements
here in New York?”

They opted for the latter. I decided that it would be my chance to really
finalize the character creation process, which actually appealed to me.
Having a week to finish this would really light the fire under my ass that I
needed. Up until this point we had fiddled with a somewhat half-assed
character creation system, based as much off of what the player wanted and
what I personally thought made sense… nothing rock-solid. Basically, as far
as I can tell, the only humans on earth who have ever run this game were
myself and Hala Winter, and both us have a firm enough grasp on what we
wanted to see to be able to do such free-from character creation. Still, it
would soon become necessary to create a more serious system. Monday, I went
into work with a new-found resolve.

After a week of sneaking game design in amongst all of my other stupid duties
as a game designer, I emerged with this simple list ready to play next
Sunday…

Last Exodus Character Creation Made Simple

(And given away here for free!)

Step 1. Determine concept, Millennium Religion, Soul order, Etc…

This ones easy…its the first step in creating almost any character. I have
been fiddling with the viability of creating completely random tables for
this for people who just cant get an idea (everyone gets blocked every once
in a while). “Lets see…Im a…Glass Elemental…of the Crush…who was
a…mechanic…before he found…Branch Davidianism.” I havent gotten around to it
yet.

Step 2. Allocate 15 points among four Qualities.

Again, pretty simple…Your four Qualities are Spiritual, Mental, Physical, and
Cultural. These are all the attributes youll need. If youre a
starting-level Scion, youll have fifteen points for these- three more than
regular people.

Step 3. Allocate Spiritual Score into three Deiform Quality Bonuses

Your Soul is almost always a bit stronger, faster, smarter, and/or better
looking than you are. How much so is determined by your Spiritual Score,
which josh argues is the most important stat in the game and Im inclined to
agree with him. Basically you take your spiritual score and allocate it
amongst Mental, Physical, and Cultural as your bonuses when in Eden.

Step 4. Allocate Physical, Cultural, and Mental score into Coil Proficiencies

Skillz what pays the billz. Characters in the Last Exodus are assumed to have
a lot of mundane skills here on earth, just like real people. An average PC
is assumed to be able to read/write, drive, turn on a computer and play a
game or type a document, do research, and extrapolate from there. Prof
iciencies are either skills outside the norm that the character has anyway
(Jet Fighter Pilot, Atlatl Use, High Pagan Ritual ) or things that the PC is
just good enough at to warrant some sort of a bonus when doing it . (Graphic
design, Journalism, Shoot)

Step 5. Allocate the Deiform Quality Bonuses into Deiform Proficiencies

Deiform proficiencies are a bit more bizarre. Anyone in Eden can usually fire
off a few halfway decent spells, pilot an Aethership, and telepathically
order out for Chinese food. Consider for a minute the casualness with which
Chewbacca fixes a wildly complex android or Gandalf zings off a spell.
These are powers with which the soul is proficient, such as things like
voodoo, psychometry, or cybernetics.

Step 6. Select Spiritual Scores worth of Soul Order Traits

Each soul order has a variety of power available to it. For example, some
Elementals can generate their element from thin air while others can teleport
through their element and still others can do both. The character looks again
to their Spiritual score to see how many Soul Order traits they can take.

Step 7. Select Positive and Negative Traits, make sure to balance
Coil/Deiform!

By this point the character is almost done, it merely needs the positive and
negative traits (merits and flaws, advantages and disadvantages) to round it
out. The trick, however, is that they must balance on an “X.” If you want to
make your soul really bad-ass, you have to make sure your Coil- human form-
has a lot of flaws. If your human form is gonna be more powerful, your soul
takes negative traits to make up for it.

Step 8. Select Spiritual scores worth of Miracle Communions.

The last step. Take your spiritual score and allocate it amongst the six
different communions. Remember to leave at least one in the communion taught
by your religion, if you have one.

Step 9. Play character

Youre done!

A week later I examined the elite cell that the Apostles had selected to win
New York back from the Sanhedrin and avenge their fallen comrades…not bad.
Three members of the Congregation, Franks Noble, (who was Dragomirs nephew)
Lauras Noble, and Joshs Order-like Bahai Created, Nicholes Dominion of
the Chamber, Gareths Primordial of the Order, @nubis(I love the name),
Rodneys big heavy Created of the Squad New Orleans Voodoo houngan, Fat Daddy
LaGrier (That one too), Mikes Neffalim of the Squad, and Peets Turncoat
member of the Firm who is a gambling addict (and the cerebral of luck.) They
were assisted by some human followers including a homeless thief and A cop
who has since realized his rightful place in the Divine Crucible of the
Alliance.

I liked these guys. I was impressed.

I decided to start them off at the funeral for the last batch of characters
in Potters Field. Before the coffins were cold they were beginning to plan
their attack:

“We need to find the survivors of the last attack”

“There were no survivors! What are you, a moron?”

“Ok, I think we should just blow up the financial district.”

“Thats good. Subtle.”

“No one told me to be subtle.”

“And why should I trust you again?”

I withheld the urge to sigh too loudly…

“Starting at the beginning is never easy.”

“Mephistopheles is a demon through and through. Hes synonomous with evil in

every layer of Ammerican pop culture, and his name can be switched with the
word “Satan” almost anywhere its uttered. His illustrious history of
cruelty, sadism, perversion and temptation of the innocent and just predates
Faust or even mankind. And as it turns out, hes a former hustler and junkie
just like me.”

“Madison Vaughn used to be a name that came up often around where my boys hung
out around Thompkins Square park or Christopher Street cruising for johns. He
first appeared in late 96, I think. Already had a look in his eyes like he
had killed a nation- desperate but somehow also in complete control. He would
show up sometimes, and despite being gutter trash just like the rest of us he
always seemed to have a clean rig (and a fresh supply), at least two
attractive lovers of either gender for the night, and a few bucks in his
pocket. He was king. Even then, he was the picture of the glamourous big-city
junkie that the kids from Jersey would come play at being before going back
to the safetey of Hoboken for the night.”

“Then The Last Exodus came, and it was his time to shine.”

“The devil as Rock Star. His eyes are glittering pools of sex.”

“Hes the prince of sin; hes what most people think when asked to picture an
antichrist.”

“The Antichrists antichrist, Madison is one part Crowley to one part LaVey to
one part Manson to one part Jim Morrison.”

“I am in love with Madison Vaughn and will be until I die. I am a constant
threat to the Apostate because I dont think I could refuse him, no matter
what he asked. But thats really not the scary part.”

“The scary part is that there are hundreds of us.”

-Gideon/Benedict, Cerebral of the Chain

“Evil comes and evil goes”

My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, Mr. And Mrs. Bottomless Pit

Okay, so Im staring into my ex-boyfriends eyes as he wrenches a girl to the
ground. His muscles, his face, and his rage are absolutely beautiful. Im
completely in love with him, and I am literally salivating in anticipation of
what we are about to do to this girl.

“Get your hands on the God-damned floor NOW!” he barks at her. She sobs.
Im tense.”

“Sean, can you help me with this?” He says, waving duct tape at me.

“Sure.”

God, hes beautiful. I find myself wishing I was a girl, too, so I could
please him better.

No, thats not what he wants. We are equals, we are men, and we are&
We are raping this girl for some reason. I recognize her, but dont ask me
where from.

Im suddenly confused. I love this man. Why is he doing this terrible thing?
Should I help him? Why am I excited? Whats going on?

Everything freezes.

A sacred heart rotates before me, Im about to touch it and then I think
better of it.

“Uh-oh. Its Jesus.”

My lover touches it, his blood bursts into flame right under his skin. I cry
but do nothing to help him. He dies in agony.

“I belong to you, I adore you, I wait for you to come home.”

Who said that?

“I came screaming your name.”

Who said that?

I stand up, Im covered in blood and other fluids. Im sure none of its
mine. The girls dead. My ex-boyfriends bones hold her close. So they made
up. Thats good.

And Im standing in a pit full of everyone Ive ever known.

Snap to my room as I sat bolt-upright and covered my face with my hands. My
nightmares are developing an ugly, ugly theme. I sat like that for a long
time before I reached for the phone and dial a number on the other side of
the country.

“Hello?” asked a groggy womens voice.

“Yes? Is Andrew there?” I croaked. There was a shuffling sound as she passed
the phone off.

“Hello?”

“Andrew? Its& uh&Sean. Are you&okay?”

“Im fine.” He grumbles a bit. “You know what time it is here?”

“I guess its pretty late.”

“Is something the matter? I have work in the morning&”

“Its hard to explain&”

Long pause. Too long. Wet noises.

“Whats she doing to you?” I asked.

“The only thing that will save you from me kicking your ass when next I see
you.”

(I should tell him.)

“Yeah, well, you deserve it, man. Thats a quality woman there.”

“Sure as hell is.”

I wasnt sure which one I was more jealous of. I looked at my clock. Two
thirty. In California it would be&

Yikes.

“Well, you enjoy that, man.”

“Think I will. When are you coming out here?”

“Whats my incentive?”

“What do you think?”

I smiled.( I should tell him. About the dream.)

“I could use that about now&”

“Bet you could.”

“Well& Ill let you enjoy the rest of that in privacy. Im not quite
desperate enough to sit around and listen to the two of you over the phone&”
But at this point they didnt answer. I hung up the phone and looked at my
messages: A call from Nichole, two from Nick, and one I dont recognize.
The air in my room was cold, the darkness was colder, and it bit me as I got
out of bed. I went over and looked at myself in the mirror. I noticed that at
night, white guys like myself turn blue until the lights go on. My tattoos
were black. I paused again for a goodly long time to examine myself in the
mirror.

I came to the conclusion that *something* was soundly kicking my ass, but I
cant put my finger on exactly what. I peered at my own eyeballs, assuming
thats where the answer would be. No dice. I needed to get moving.

I got dressed and walked out to my van, a battered and scraped green Aerostar
with a big red Autobot symbol on the hood and a “Dogma Buddy Christ” on the
dash, a birthday gift from Gareth that had been given to me while I was still
dazzled with pain from the fresh picture on the inside of my forearm& I dont
remember if I had been cordial or not, but just for the record, thanks, G.
That happy little Messiah rules.

It was just not a good night to be human. I popped some Thrill Kill into my
CD player and began driving. If I did hard drugs, now would have been a very
good time to start slamming a bunch of them.

Instead I started driving toward Tonelle Avenue in Jersey City. Now to best
describe this strip of road I would suggest you picture a large, well-
chilled tub of human vomit. Imagine the experience sitting in it, naked,
eating warm hard-boiled eggs.

Okay, now youre queasy enough to imagine Tonnelle Ave. Its a strip of road
that cuts through Jersey City (which joins forces with Camden to give all of
New Jersey our sterling reputation.) and is lined with hourly motels, grimy
bars, crackhouses, chopshops, car washes that have been abandoned since the
seventies and fast-food franchises that not even a Jaffe would eat at.

I should know.

If ever there was a place that needed a Messiah, it was here. I know
Palestine, Eastern Europe, and Central America could benefit as well, but
this is the one place Ive been.

It is so degraded, so foul, so soundly beaten by America that I found it
oddly inspirational. It seems warped, I know, but I feel that night was so
pervaded by evil, so impure and tainted and thoroughly corrupt that I had to
go somewhere where I was the best and purest thing around (that I was aware
of) in order to balance out. I parked in the Econo-lodge parking lot and
watched sirens flash.

Inevitably, my laptop beckoned. I cracked the thing and examined the desktop.
Miracles.

I hadt looked at this list for a while.

Spiritual Coil/Deiform Proficiencies: Miracles:

Benediction:

The divine art of Blessing and Cursing affects fate and luck, sometimes in
completely impossible ways. Studied by the Underground and the Firm.

Deliverance:

The tricky power of moving back and forth between Earth and Eden, and taking
followers, items and other things along. Studied by the Chamber and the
Horde.

Exorcism:

The complex ability to control, compel, and cast out souls of all types.
Studied by the Congregation and the Chain.

Scripture

The impressive capacity to create things from thin air, like loaves, fishes,
doorways, or ATM cards. Essentially re-writing the holy code of existence.
Studied by The Order and the Institute.

Smite:

The formidable might of a wrathful Demiurge, smite is just what it sounds
like, from the fist of God to creating new plagues. Smite is studied by the
Squad and the Regime.

Stigmata:

The disturbing ability to call up the divinity in the blood, Stigmatics can
shapeshift, bleed pure holy essence and boost their physical abilities beyond
human comprehension. Stigmata is studied by the Alliance and the Crush.

I knew I wanted all of these powers to work a certain way. For starters, they
work on both Earth and Eden. If fact, they are the only powers that work
tangibly on Earth at all.

Also, I wanted them to all be grossly-over-powered. Someone using Smite
doesnt just hit for a lot of damage- they blow their target apart and do
significant damage to their surroundings as well, like the Canaida freakout
scene in “Akira.” Smite killed the Nazis in “Raiders of the lost Ark ” and
the Egyptians in Exodus. These are huge, bad-ass God-powers. The Messiahs and
Antichrists are no joke. But how does one do this and have it remain playable?
Lastly, I wanted there to be two different ways for each power to work.
Stigmata, when wielded by the Alliance, would be a very different thing then
when wielded by the Crush. In the hands of the Alliance, it would be more of
a faith-healing thing whereas the Crush would find much more wicked and
hideous ways to use the blood of God to punish the weak.

I like the powers I have but something is missing.

I stared at the screen.

An ambulance pulled into the Starlite hotel across the way. Along with a cop
car.

I decided I had had enough wallowing in filth for one night.

I was thinking about that night while driving through Montclair and foaming
at the mouth. Nichole sat shotgun in my van. It was about five-o clock on a
Tuesday, and I had been in this seat since noon- I took Nikki to the doctor,
my dog to the vet, and now, I was running an errand for an old family friend
named Jeanne. Jeanne was a saint, possibly the best person I have ever known.
She had taken care of my grandparents- back when I had grandparents.

Opie and Anthony slung their derisive humor back and forth on the radio, low
enough that we could talk, but not so low that we couldnt hear them. (O and
A are to be heard at all times- its a Synister perogative. ) We were
discussing Episode Two and the Subway Series and I was getting more and more
frustrated, not because of the discussion but because I could not for the
life of me find this address. I slipped.

“You know, the other night, I had this dream that an ex-boyfriend and I did
something really horrible and then we died or something. I woke up and called
him, then I went out to Tonnelle Ave- you know, in J.C.- and sat and worked
on powers. I think Im blocked.”

She stared at me for a long time.

“You what?”

“Im blocked. I cant think of a good system for miracle powers.”

“The other part& You have an ex-boyfriend?”

“Sure&Dont you?”

“But Im a girl. You never told me you were gay.”

“Im not gay. You know that firsthand. Im just not straight, either. If I
was gay, I would be able to dress in a presentable manner and dance well. I
can do neither. But thats not the issue.”

She looked at the road a while.

“So whats the issue?”

“The powers& you know. I want them to be really cool. ”

“Make them harder to use&then they can be more powerful.”

“Yeah&thats true. I was thinking&Hey! 325! 325! Hallelujah, we found it!”

I parked the car and rushed up the stairs.

Jeanne answered the door smiling. Shes a sweet lady, Trinidadian, maybe in
her early fifties. She wore a white shawl and had her hair back in a bun, and
gave me a big hug as I approached. She smiled warmly as us, greeting me in
her spectacular accent.

“Ooh, Sean, who is this girl? This your girlfrien?”

I gave Nichole an uneasy look.

“Just a friend, really. She works with us on the books. Nichole, this is
Jeanne, Jeanne, this is Nichole.”

They shook hands.

“An how are de books treatin you? People buyin dem?”

“Well, one of thems out already- the one about the sewers and tunnels- and
the other is still on its way…”

“Im sure people will like dem. I read what you wrote for your mom, and oh!
I

t made me laugh so. Im sure she is laughing at de story too&” She looked
up.

“Thanks.” I smiled. “Oh, yeah- Heres the papers you needed from my dad.”

“Tank you, Sean.” She points to me and turns to Nichole.

“You stay close wit im. Hes one of the good guys. He and his dad and his
brother, dey the good guys. Theres no black and no white wit dem. Just
friends. You see.”

“I know.” Nichole gave me a slight smile. “hes a Jedi Knight.”

Good guys.

It had been ages since anyone had described me as a good person. I realized
had been on a downhill slide for almost two years, not caring about right or
wrong at all, and in some cases hurting people I cared about and doing
thoroughly atrocious things in my own self-interest. I had forgotten, amongst
all of my fervor and opinions and activism that the most important thing in
the world was to be one of the good guys.

And here, I was supposed to be writing about them.

And yet today I had done some very good things. And I was enjoying it. And
someone who I firmly believe should be up for canonization recognized me as
playing for her team.

It was the best I had felt in months.

We drove back past Essex Green, back toward Maplewood. I put my hand on my
lightsaber, the same one she had been ribbing me about with Jeanne. (Thats
right, I wear a machine-tooled lightsaber handle on my belt. A very expensive
one. You know why? Because I am an fn geek, thats why. An fn proud fn
geek.) Suddenly, I remember one of my favorite game mechanics of all time,
and I am inspired.

I pull over.

“Whats going on?” Nichole asks. I turn to her&I look manic.

“I GOT IT!”

“Got what?”

“Okay, check this out, right !? Youre a Messiah, right? You get one
miracle, ONE miracle, per Story Arc, but it is of dazzling power! I mean,
like punch through a battleship, rain down fire from the heavens, part the
seas level power! And if you use it, its gone for the rest of the Story
Arc- period. ”

“Okay&”

“Now, lets say you use it to save a bunch of homeless kids&Next story arc,
you get two miracles. And If you use it to save your own ass, you get just
the one back. And if you use it to kill your enemy in a really, really nasty
way&you gain one Unholy Miracle.”

“Become an Antichrist.”

“Exactly!”

“Nice&like the force points in the old West-End Star Wars game?”

“Yeah& thats where I got the idea. ”

“I like it. It imparts a responsibility to these powers. Good and evil.”

“Good guys and bad guys. Karma.”

We started driving again.

“I like it& Thats phat. But listen, you know how I wanted to have the powers
be mix and match?”

“Oh, yeah, of course! For example, in the Koran, when&”

“You know I havent read the Koran.”

“Fine… Remember in Demon Knight, how they sealed off that room from demons
with the holy blood? A mix of Stigmata and Exorcism&a simple holy miracle.
But When the demon poured blood on the ground and summoned monsters out of
it, that was Stigmata, Scripture, Exorcism and Deliverance&”

We drove on through the New Jersey dusk.

I like being a Good Guy.

“One of the most common questions that people have upon crossing the breach
is “How do the peoples of the promised land have such high technology with
considerably less time under their belt?” The reason we are so much more
advanced lies in three simple answers- First, Souls are just more powerful
that Coils. Period. We will always be capable of things that you are not,
like generating elements from thin air or shape-shifting. Second, we all
share one language, so there is little communication breakdown. But lastly,
and most importantly, we uncover fantastic technology not just through
research and development, but through our own archaeology. The Antecedents
were capable of things we still dont understand, but through reverse
engineering we were able to re-create such technologies as Hoverjets or
Repulsor Fields. Every single archaeological dig in Eden has a team of two to
two hundred engineers on site to figure out the devices that they discover.
This leads to some rapid and unexpected leaps in technology, as well as a
distinct corporate interest in Archaeology.

We are, in a way, starting over- fortunately, we can build on the backs of
giants. Every new discovery from Atlantis or Median or any of the countless
hundreds of other archaeological sites turns up more fantastic knowledge,
although some of it is not so well understood. It is safe to assume that the
peoples of the Antecedent Empire left behind such primitive systems as Magic
and Science in favor of new technologies that no one now has the education or
possibly even the genetic makeup to comprehend.”

- Program Michael 12, Chancellor of Sciences at M.C.U.

“Say goodbye to gravity and say goodbye to death

Hello to eternity and live for every breath!”

- Iron Maiden, The Wicker Man

Now Im warning you now, this columns not gonna be laden with quantifiable
game information. This experience had a lot more to do with the feel and
mood of The Last Exodus than The meat of the information, so If youre
looking for lists of keen powers and stuff, youll have to wait until next
week. But I promise I WILL deliver.

That said, Ill admit it.

Im an equipment goob.

Oh, I know that we are supposed to be so enlightened these days, in a world
where your character is more important that what he carries, but I LIKE
knowing my character has a pair of magnet-boots tucked away somewhere. Its
like running through a toy store with a zillion dollars of someone elses
money. And the only thing better than equipment?

Vehicles. Oh, yeah.

Thats right.

Something big and fusion-powered with wing missiles and proton cannons and
ailerons. Ailerons. I dont even know what they do, but man, they do sound
cool, hunh?

So this here, in a nutshell, is pretty much the main reason I freak out when
Last Exodus gets compared to Vampire or Unknown Armies or some similar
occult-in-modern society game. Yeah, sure, the Chain and the Chamber and the
Order and the Regime skulk around and undermine the government and try to
influence the media.

But thats now when theyre flying the latest model Templar Aeronautics
Aetherspace Superiority HALO-10 Gyroscopic Fighters on a trench run against a
half-mile long Eternal Reichship- RECKONER-class Mobile Bio-mechanical
Tactical Aetherspace Pacification Platform thats threatening our fair city
with Ballistic Hellfire Plasma!

Goob goob goob.

Id like to see your average Tremere Archon deal with that!

Yes. Star wars was obviously at least as much of an influence here as any
Vertigo Comic or the Old Testament, as I have been saying. But I feel that
theres another influence I should mention here thats probably more
pervasive than any other I have brought up.

Or at least, thats what I was thinking a few years ago when standing on the
tarmac of Lincoln Park airport with a parachute strapped to my ass. That,
along with “What the hell am I doing here? This is insane.”

My mom walked toward me and slapped me on my back and informed me that I
looked& well, like a turtle, which I did, but I didnt need to be informed of
it.

Mom, on the other hand, looked like a pro. She had on a deep blue flightsuit
covered with the various patches and insignias of all of the pilots
organizations to which she belonged. She pulled on her leather helmet and
pushed her goggles high up on her forehead.

“You still sure you wanna do this, kiddo? Josh got pretty sick last time.”

I nodded.

“Aerobatics isnt like flying around in the Stinson or a Cessna or something.
Theres no roof, youre outside. Its just you and the sky. Well be pulling
some pretty heavy Gs so make sure that youre breathing steadily. If you
think youre going to black out, let me know. ”

Ill assure you, no matter who you are, you have absolutely no idea how odd
it is to hear this from your mother. As I grew up, I learned that something
had gone wrong with my mom somewhere. According to television and movies and
the like, mothers were supposed to stand around in aprons and bake pies and
stuff. Mine rode around on a Harley until she had me, then sang in a rock
band before deciding to get her pilots license. Well, after that she was
addicted. And when simply defying basic laws of gravity was no longer amusing
enough for her, she took up the sport of Aerobatics, which, near as I can
tell, is a sport too extreme for any sort of mainstream audience. Quite
literally, Aerobatics is about pushing an airplane- a machine of already
dubious safety- to its absolute limits by spinning, looping, dropping, and
stalling the thing in a  get this- controlled manner.

Right.

So why was I doing this?

Three reasons. First off, I would have to turn in my guy credentials if I was
gonna let my mom do this thing that I was too chicken to do. Its bad enough
that my mom will always be a bigger badass than I will ever be, but I could
at least make a good show of it to assuage my own testosterone.

Second, she met Han Solo. No joke. The man is a pilot himself, and flew into
Lincoln Park once while puttering around the East Coast. Well, apparently
(other pilots have backed this up) she gave him a few pointers on Aerobatic
maneuvers that he later studied when making “Six days, Seven Nights.” Yes. My
mom taught Han Solo how to fly. I will never, ever top that, but, again, I
had to make a good show of it.

Last, I knew I wanted to throw some dogfighting and flying (after all, Eden
is all sky) into The Last Exodus and I figured the best way to write about it
would be to check it out for myself.

This seemed like a good idea until I saw what we would be flying in.

My moms aerobatic plane was a Pitts Special, N29GS. It was a one-seater, so
it wasnt gonna be of much use here.

The plane we would be flying actually made me gulp like a frightened cartoon
when I saw it. It was blue, a bi-wing open cockpit two- seater.

Let me repeat that in case you missed it. That was OPEN COCKPIT.

It was also a little smaller than a Volkswagen. I mean it. As I learned, an
Aerobatic plane is little more than an giant, emotionally disturbed engine
with a chair on it, and some wings thrown of for good measure. Its not the
kind of machine that makes one brim with confidence looking at it. When you
see that the only thing between you and a 10,000 foot fall at speeds in
excess of 500 miles and hour could, in a pinch, double as a soap dish, your
first instinct is to run like David Duke at a KRS-One show. But I had
something to prove.

I piled into the front cockpit (an embarrassing name for a hole to be stuck
in, I might add) and watches the propeller spin. The machine took off with a
surprising amount of grace and at speeds that most people will never get to
feel hitting them in the face in their entire lives. At six-hundred-plus
miles per hour, your mouth blows open like a cartoon if you open up too
wide, even with the windshield in front of you.

I tried to make a mental note of this.

“Okay!” Mom yelled, “Were gonna break and do a snap roll! You ready?”

“Well, mom, Id appreciate if we could dispense with words like “Snap”,
“Crack”, “Break”, “Smash”, or “crunch ” for the duration of this fli&-”

And then we did a snap roll. Or, the majority of me did. My stomach has
decided to stay put as the rest of the plane rolled around its axis, which
was the beginning of the trouble.

At this point I realized two things.

First of all, Rein-Dot-Hagen, Stolze, and Tynes had the right idea, because
near as I could tell, research into modern-occult supercool occult games
rarely progressed beyond hanging around smoky clubs hitting on white girls in
plastic outfits and had nothing at all to do with snap rolls. At least, not
with your pants on.

Second, the souls who pilot the HALO-10 and Eternal Reich Adjudicator
fighters were made of some sterner stuff than what I was used to. Adventure
is rough stuff, and theres a thousand concerns you never even considered.
I mean, think about it. Someone has just popped a missle off at you and you
swing up into a steep climb to dodge the shot.

While youre worried about things like not blowing up, are you even
considering the fact that the Gs could well knock you unconscious?
You had better be, or as moms buddy put it, “It could be a real short trip.”
But this isnt a concern for your character. As you sit around the gaming
table and defy the bad guys and beat the odds, youre not worried about the
strange secondary and tertiary concerns like blood flow and how tight your
helmet is or that your mouth should be more full of bugs than a new Microsoft
release with Jesse Camp as product developer.

No, youre there to save the day. And thats what you do, most of the time.
Why is that? Because your characters are larger than life. Theyre heroes,
man. Not like us.

As I zoomed back and forth over the fields of Lincoln Park, New Jersey, I
realized just how hard it would be to close that gap. But to stop trying
would be to admit a greater defeat Id want to face, and Id pack up the
games for good. Its important that you risk it, and try and blur the lines
between your characters and yourself a bit sometimes, because you can bet
that your character is at least in some part something you want to be. So go
for it. Try not to kill yourself.

Now the art of writing this message into The Last Exodus is gonna be
difficult indeed, because if its too subtle, there will be no point, and if
its obvious, some yahoo in Bobble-Yer-Yambag Arkansas is gonna socket-hump
his grandmother while fellating a billygoat and claim right there on the
bench that he did it because I, Reverend Sean Benjamin Jaffe of the Church of
Synister Creative Systems, told him he should try harder to be the Antichrist.

Ritalin, kids. Read it, live it, love it.

So we land. But not after doing snap rolls, loops, barrel rolls, and
hammerheads (a hammerhead is the single most insane maneuver in the Aerobatic
Pilots arsenal of potential suicide, wherein one pulls straight up until the
plane stalls than drops back into a straight line. To replicate this
sensation close your eyes and tilt your head back while bending your knees
slightly. Hold your breath for ten seconds, then have someone whack you in
the face as hard as they can with a dictionary.) I crawled like a dying
reptile from the cockpit and lay flat on the ground staring at the sun for a
long time.

A cluster of pilots gathered around and looked down at me, and one looked to
my mom.

“Jesus, Kathy, I think you broke him”

“Hell be fine. He just needs to walk it off. Right, kiddo?”

She smiled brightly at me.

Oh well. A mom is a mom is a mom.

“I choked on what felt like liquid light. My skin tingled, but the sensation
was like when a truly great piece of fiction or music causes goosebumps&
multiplied by a thousand. I lost my balance because for a split second there
was no ground. I stumbled and fell face first, staring at the asphalt.
It was green.

Not spray-painted green, but actual green asphalt, green tar holding
together shiny green pebbles.

“Angelica, DUCK!” Hobie yelled.

The first thing that I thought was that my name was not Angelica but
Antoinette, the Toygirl. I was the Toygirl; an odd realization.

I ducked anyway.

A rush of wind and a pressing sensation on my back, as if from magnetic
repulsion flattened me to the ground.

Getting up on my elbows, I looked up at the scene in front of me. Angelica
would have fainted, but The Toygirl just stared. Never mind the blue-skinned
alien leaning out the window of his flying green cab and cursing at me in a
bizarre language I understood for no reason, the city around me was
fascinating. All of the buildings were green glass and stood taller than I
could see. A green sunlight reflected from their surfaces along with a
viridian sky. I would have thought I had just lost the ability to perceive
other colors were it not for the billboards advertising everything from
tanning lotion to magical talismans. That and the hundreds of multicolored
floating cars buzzing back and forth, interspersed only by strange flying
creatures and even a floating carriage pulled by giant birds. The storefront
nearest to me beckoned with new and tantalizing dishes, the smell of
unearthly meats and spices mixing with the incense of the street vendor
across the street. Tall, beautiful, men and women of generally mixed ethnic
origin walked the streets with robots and aliens and demons and angels. On
the corner, a waifish girl that looked like the very picture of mercy chatted
with a chitinous insect. Closer by a cowboy and some sort of Nordic goddess
haggled with the street vendor, a bearded, wise-eyed old Rastafarian. It was f
antastic. It was beautiful. It was home. It was most assuredly NOT Washington
D.C.

As I got out of the street, a heavy-set robot centaur with the head of a
horse trotted up next to me and spoke with a digital version of Hobies voice.

“Welcome to Eden, Angelica. This is M City- The Emerald City of OZ as visited
in dreams and immortalized on Earth by Frank L. Baum in the last century.
Course he took a few liberties to make it a bit more kid-friendly. What do
you think?” he asked.

I was speechless. I realized that I was standing a good six inches taller
than Im used to. Only then did I look down at my body.

“These are not my boobs.” I said.”

-From the Journals of The Toygirl: Angelica Carpezio, Karmic of the Order

EDEN: TERMINAL CITY: DAY

“A pair of sleek Aethership Fighters skim past emitting their strange buzzing
whine. The city is a beautiful array of architecture, massive spires that are
a collision of the Vatican and Frank Lloyd Wright. Still, taller than all of
the other spires and dwarfing them for size is the Tower District- an island
created on the ruins of what was once the Tower of Babel, the largest
structure in Heaven- seven miles around at the base and over twenty miles
tall. It has since toppled into the clouds and provided an new foundation for
hundreds of other buildings that jut from the superstructure like spines.
Chief among these is the Capitol Monument, the last standing piece of the
former tower which serves as the base for a new city. Airships overhead and
Telebillboards below blare holographic neon advertisements: Kraid-Bleeker
Prayer Brokerage, Chum-Chums, Christ Chex Communion Chips, CokaPop, The
Church of Saint McDonalds, and the Temple of Chaise-Brinkley. The city is
massive beyond human comprehension. For that matter, human eyes have never
even seen it.”

This had got me thinking.

I write these little opening cutscenes every week for my big Sunday night
Last Exodus game. I make it a point to run the game as often as possible; I
remember the shock I felt when I asked another designer how often he ran his
game and he explained that he had run “a few demos once, but that was it.”

Not so this hard-drinkin stripper-lovin big-nosed game geek. I love my game
and I run it every chance I get. And sometimes I treat my players to a
two-to-five-page screenplay-style script detailing how their actions are
affecting the world around them. It helps to maintain a cinematic atmosphere
and give everyone a chance to ham it up by reading a villain role or
something. Best of all for me, I get to write a couple of descriptive
paragraphs about the Tower District, Avalon, or the flight deck of E.R.S.
(Eternal Reich Ship) Reckoner.

Now what caught me aback in particular about this little insight into
Terminal City was the Advertisements. In order to come alive, in order to
thrive, a place needs details. The knobs on a moisture vaporator on Tattooine
or the horns of a gargoyle in Greyhawk all serve to really bring the place
to life. Creating a world is basically a study in changing our own- you need
to start with what people can relate to. Suddenly it became clear that I
needed some of this in Eden.

If you remember my first diatribe on Eden then you will see that I had figured out
what the world looked like and how the physics and metaphysics of it all fit
together. It had become incumbent upon me to decide what it was that the
souls of Eden did with their time. And it looked to me like they were some
furious capitalists.

Starting from the top, the Kraid-Bleeker Prayer Brokerage. I really zinged
that one onto the page because it sounded good. But in retrospect it had
given me a fantastic idea. I figured that souls in heaven collected and traded
stock in various Earth religions like Brokers on Wall Street, with certain
bigwig souls maintaining entire Religious Stock portfolios. These guys would
constantly be checking their sacred market report to see how their
investments were doing- “Catholicisms down, Islam is up. Judaism seems
poised for a decline whereas now is a good time to invest in Hinduism&and
dont count out the Subgenius market share. ”

But what are they trading and buying? Prayers? Seems complicated and risky.
What could a Heavenly economy be based off of? Every idea comes back to the
most obvious choice: souls. The sale of the soul is a time honored
tradition&however, if everyones carting around trails of slave-souls to pay
for toilet paper and t-shirts, it sorta’ detracts from the “holy” feel of the
thing. But perhaps the value of an individual soul could be quantified
somehow? What do they all have in common?

Imagine the Tower Square Cornucopian, a sort of divine Seven-Eleven wherein
one can buy snacks like Chum-Chums or a “Big grab” of Christ Chex (the name
is taken from a stand-up comedian, Dane Cook, I believe- I wish I could claim
it as my own, but I gotta give him credit) for about one Halo Fragment, or
1H for short. All souls Halos indicate, essentially their relative wealth in
Eden. The Halo is part of a soul, and so when one sells his soul, hes just
helping the Edenic economy by using the standard currency. Nice.

These last really are the ones I want to talk about here, though: The Church
of Saint McDonalds, and the Temple of Chaise-Brinkley. See, Earth is a world
as much created by our collective dreams and memories of Edenic society as
anything else, so why wouldnt we bastardize the symbols and images we
remember from Eden into our pop culture? We envision those thing which have
the biggest control over our lives as being the most spiritually weak in our
escapist fantasy.

Consider for a minute who you think has more “power”- the district manager of
the local fast-food chain or an Innuit shaman? Really? Which one, O civilized
gamer, has a bigger effect on your day-to-day life?

McDonalds is a massive corporation, yes, but spiritually and morally
corrupt, whereas the Kalahari bushmen are in tune with the earth and
universally enlightened. Its easy to get caught in this mindset and forget
that both McDonalds and the Kalahari are both just organizations made up of
people like you and me, and there are individuals within who are both pious
and skeptical, loud and quiet, good and evil. These people are all
individuals and they all share the same dreams.

Dreams that I have indicated long ago all came from the same place- Eden.

So where am I going with all of this? I envision Eden- at least the Cities
(the big ones in particular, like Terminal City (New York), Shangri-La (Los
Angeles) Irem Zat- El-Emad (Bhagdad) Tuat (Mogadishu) or Jotunheim (Berlin)
as being both in the Heavenly and the Infernal regions, PLASTERED with
advertising. Maybe its that Im spoiled by New York, but its really
advertising that makes a city feel like a city to me. When every available
surface is competing for my attention, I feel that I am really in a true
city. (Hence my adoration for Las Vegas) Although, I see this as being more
important in Eden than a simple race for the almighty buck.

Lets rewind two thousand years. Jesus Christ, AKA The Nazarene, has just
made his prophesy of the Millennium Religions coming in two thousand years.
He has already returned to the Earth to rise from the dead as promised
before returning to Eden here he founded the Heavenly Government (Called the
Host), along with Moses, Gabriel/Mohammed, Siva, Visnu, Kali, Siddhatha
Gautama/ Bhudda, Mithras, and a host (get it?) of other important souls.
Still, He claimed that these twelve heralds of the Saviors from Earth (your
characters) will be a pretty diverse group, as previously stated: A
mercenary, a priest, A DJ, a child, a Gangsta, an artist , an addict, a
rapist, a psychopath, a tycoon, a scientist and a cop.

Now the souls had two thousand years to wonder and hypothesize about this.
Thats a long time. And as we know full well, here on Earth, that people can
get some pretty weird ideas, especially if left with a vague prophesy from an
important guy, like Jesus, Zoroaster, Nostradamus, Elvis, or Babe Ruth. So
perhaps our cadre of Millennium Apostles appear in Eden, not to twelve
strictly organized religions but instead to millions of squabbling sects?
Dexter Tenchi/Kintaro v3.3, The techie-artist DJ, for example, learns that
some of his worshippers think they can best venerate him by running a divine
internet. Other think the best way is through study and mastery of the
scratch table. Others believe that only Dexter himself should be allowed to
use technology and live as neo-Luddites. Others might run a computer software
business. Still others believe that they should kill him so that he may rise
on the 3.3rd day! Its not easy being a prophesized savior.

Somewhere in the midst of all of these thousands of religions in Eden some of
these images may have filtered down into human dreams and ideals& Coca-Cola,
The Medicine Wheel, McDonald’s, The Cross, MTV, the Sacred Heart Etc. All
have power over mankind in some way or another. And its up to the Players
and their Millennium religions to unite these cults under a common banner- or
take a branch sect and make it their own? After all, if the amount of Edenic
splinter Religions are infinite, its only a matter of time before you find
one that worships your characters as the true divine savior from Earth.

Its just an idea I was kicking around. Is that too confusing, or do you
think it could be fun? Let me know!

Taxis zip by, the faceless shuffle to and fro, the poor wander like lepers
and the rich glare. There are a few believers: the man on the corner saying,
“the end is coming” is one. Theres a guy in a bunker in Sacramento. Or
possibly Detroit. But hes there. Not much else. Times Square is putting on
its best face, possibly because of the coming event but more likely the
plunger-shaped lead -tipped enema administered by its elected Füher. Truth
is no one cares because its a hollow event. Its an even number. A once-in a
ten-generation event that will at best be a computer virus. We expected
better. How many movies and novels, cartoons and comic books, bedside stories
and television shows started with the fantastic, hi-tech, evocative line, ‘It
is the year 2000?’

We expected different. We expected a world war. Nuclear Armageddon. Wrist
phones. Lasers, unassisted flight, sex, clones, and mutants. Aliens.
Something, anything to make is older and wiser. Some nudge to all of
collective humanity to get us off of our collective asses and make the world
the better place we know it can be if we just apply ourselves. Were an
unsatisfactory student. We need a better place. What better gateway than the
infinite? The Millennium! A new world will awake the very next day! Better,
changed, more alive!

Sadly, this is a joke.

The next day, cars will still roll by, our watches, for the most part, will
still only tell time, The vaunted Internet will still be little more than a
glorified telegraph, babies will still need people who love them, and God, as
usual, will be casting an absentee vote. There will be no Second Coming. No
Reckoning Day. No Armageddon, No chariot of Elijah- Hell, well be lucky if
we get so much as a morning star.

Right?

What if I was wrong?

What if a thousand Messiahs woke up that day?

What if God showed, if only to choice few?

What If there was a better place- one that made us better people?

All around me lights zing by and flash. People mutter. I hear a siren. I know
I am still home here. The only proof I have of a better place is my ability
to imagine it. But I can cast my eyes on a million Electric Morning stars
here. I can be wiseman to a billion infant Christs.

I can dream amidst dogma.

Watch this space.

>From the first Messianic Manifesto by Nicholas Van Zandt, Times Square,
October 1999

Well, Im back.

I seem to have returned to Times Square.

If youve never been here, I really cant do this justice. Josh dragged me
out here at the absurd hour of 3:06 AM, claiming his usual argument.

“I cant write anywhere normal.”

I miss my office sometimes. I am literally sitting on a dirty island on the
middle of Broadway as the cabs zing by. A giant man in his underwear looms
overhead and Im typing by the light of a television that takes up the
entire face of a building. Theres a madman dancing to Latin music only he
can hear twenty feet in front of me and the incessant drone of a shoddy movie
camera filming something to my left is somewhat distracting. Humanity walks
by.

As I sit and work a VERY drunken foreigner approaches Josh.

“Yooah Ricker?” he asks?

Josh is gone. Hes typing Quality Control to my right, listening to DJ Crush.
He cant hear. Subsequently, it doesnt come up in his column& I know this
because Im reading what hes writing.

“Yooah Ricker?” The man asks again. His thick, hairy chest is complimented
perfectly by his thick, hairy accent.

“Just typing a column.” Josh mumbles. Over his head I can see the second
floor studios of MTV. In front of me, a mammoth Panasonic television. Behind
me, a giant coke bottle pops its top like it has been doing since the
seventies.

Humanity drives by.

Nick Van Zandt was sitting right here when he wrote his first Messianic
Manifesto in 1999.

Im considering that when two guys come up to us.

“Yo yo yo, you online?”

Josh and I look at each other, then at the city around us.

“Naw, we aint got that kinda of money, dog.” He smirks.

“What you all doin?”

Josh looks up

“Writin a column.”

“Yeah, Im down. What about, yo?”

I wave my hands as if to indicate “all of this.” Josh, more pragmatic, simply
hands him a Last Ex sticker.

“This game were making. Hes writing it and Im laying it out.”

“Word?”

I tell Josh to hand the guy a packet.

“Word life. This shit is ill! Can I keep this?”

“Please do.” I smile, and the guys smile and nod as they cross the street.

“Yo, peace out, man, Ill check you.”

“Peace!” Josh says.

This whole thing had been full of people waiting for& something to happen to
them come 2000.

They were disappointed, of course.

Scratch that. All but twelve of them.

Six messiahs and Six Antichrists were here on New Years Eve.

When the Ball dropped, at precisely midnight, eastern standard, These twelve
men and woman were blasted clean out of their human shells across the Breach,
up, into Eden. They were the first humans in centuries to feel their souls
before death. The Last Exodus began with them.

Ahura Mazda, the original God, the creator God, the God of Heaven, had six
children in the crowd. They were a strange lot- a mercenary, a priest, A DJ,
a child, a Gangsta, and an artist . The GODHEAD had six of its own there as
well- an addict, a rapist, a psychopath, a tycoon, a scientist and cop. Each
one learned in their lineage, and took the logical next step after learning
about their divine parentage.

They all started Religions- in a way.

The Millennium Religions are the most obvious, earthly aspect of the Last
Exodus. They were necessary to the story, and do give the whole thing a very
modern-underground-horror-neo-Goth-RPG patina if one does not know a bit more
about them.

There are twelve Millennium Religions. Six are Messianic, and comprise the
group called “The Apostate,” so named for their Apostasy from the faith and
world of the GODHEAD. Six are aligned with The GODHEAD- Antichrists- and are
called The Sanhedrin, naming themselves for the Council of Jewish Priests the
bible holds responsible for the Crucifixion.

The six Apostate Religions are:

The Alliance: Jed Bronsons collective of survivors, culled from any tragedy
or atrocity.

The Congregation: Father Srdjan Dragomirs assembly of the faithful. It
doesnt matter what you believe, so long as you believe.

The Chamber: Young Emily Vasquezs family for freaks, rejects and outcasts of
all stripes.

The Order: DJ Dexter Tenchis group of graphic designers, electronic
musicians, and techies.

The Squad: Maintanes gang of roughnecks, hoodlums, and disaffected
inner-city youth.

The Underground: Ursula Tangos all-inclusive cell of revolutionary artistes.

The Six Sanhedrin Religions are:

The Chain: Madison Vaughns circle of occultists and powermongers.

The Crush: Evan Powells cult of personality, hellbent on sexual exploitation
of the weak.

The Firm: Franklin Talbots multi-billion dollar salvation company.

The Hoard: Jude DiEches hive-mind of hatemongers ranging from white
supremacists to 5 percenters and everything in between.

The Institute: Dr. Alistair Stones research organization that will let
nothing stand in the way of the complete and utter measurement,
quantification and explanation of The Last Exodus.

The Regime: The Army of The GODHEAD under Admiral Maxemillian Stayne.

They still seem pretty run of the mill.

Thats the idea.

On Earth, these groups are very standard. Small, secretive, elite cells of
those who have been touched with some strange supernatural ability. But that
really isnt the whole story.

The bulk of the Last Exodus takes place in Eden, remember. It is the war
between Heaven and Hell.

And In Eden, the “Millennium Religions” are two thousand years old and have a
combined membership of over ten billion souls. They boast great Cathedrals
and hold sway over entire nations. They have access to military and political
power, massive scientific advancements, and magical resources like no other.

To make a long story short, the coming of the Sanhedrin and Apostate were
foretold in Eden by Jesus Christ during his time dead on the cross. So Eden
has been preparing for the triumphant return of these twelve souls (and their
consorts) for the past two thousand years!

Any character who might be a complete schmo on earth will find that their
coming has been prophesized and they are regarded as a saint or better in
Eden. They may be expected to lead an army or feed a nation with a couple
sacks of flour and a yam, but every member of the Millennium Religions from
Earth is important to the people of Eden in some way. No character in TLE
will be another cog in the wheel, so to speak. Members of the Millennium
Religions from earth are regarded as true greats in Eden, no matter what side
of the fence they happen to stand on.

Why?

Because as I sit and stare at every freak, every shuffling homeless wreck and
every limo-esconced cocaine-snorting Long-Island trust fund darling that this
self-proclaimed “center of the world” has to offer, it occurs to me they all
have a purpose. Everyone means something somewhere. The drunken foreigner,
the dancing madman, hell, even Josh and I all share dreams of a better place
where we really, really, matter without a doubt. Thats what religion is ,
was, and always has been for. And contrary to popular belief these days, that
s not a bad thing!

People often ask me if I am creating TLE as a slap in the face for organized
religion. Im sure it will be perceived that way by many, but thats not the
message at all. Quite the opposite. Believe in something. Care.

Well, Im tapped out, I think. Its getting cold and my stomach is rumbling.
Theres a 24 hour McDonalds about seventy-five feet from here- youve
probably seen it on TV. Ill be in there if you need me.

www.lastexodus.com

Nick VanZandt: So tell me more about the Promised Lands.

Emily Vasquez: Well, its Heaven and its Hell. And its both. Its the most
wonderful thing anyones ever seen. Its like& a world of true freedom,
freedom from the laws of science and magic! Freedom even from the bondage of
ones own body.

Nick VanZandt: What?

Dexter Tenchi: Cmon now. When freed from the constraint of physical matter,
you dont expect to still have that haircut? Or those clothes..?

Nick VanZandt: Umm&

Dexter Tenchi: After you Shift over, your soul no longer conforms to your
body. Free of those constraints, you show what you truly are. You might be a
bird. Or a robot. Or a monster, or a hero, or a God- or even an idea. I
myself am a neural intelligence in an auto-robotic housing. My designation is
Kintaro v3.3.

Nick VanZandt: What does that mean?

Emily Vasquez: Hes a robot.

Dexter Tenchi: Hey, Im a program. I use the robot for convenience.

Nick VanZandt: And you?

Emily Vasquez: I& Im a Nightmare.

Nick VanZandt: Is that like being an idea?

Fr. Srdjan Dragomir: Shes referring to her Soul Order. Her soul, or Deiform,
falls into a certain category known as the Typhonians, or nightmares, as they
are sometimes called. I myself am Dominion- an Archangel. Mr. Jackson is
Karmic. Miss Tango is a Cerebral. Mr. Bronson is Bestial. Mr. Tenchi is
Created. Its personal.

Nick VanZandt: And what is a Soul Order?

Fr. Srdjan Dragomir: Its a misnomer, actually. The souls of the masses are
as varied and as infinite as the universe itself. However, it would be
impossible to categorize such a thing, so the GODHEAD, when creating its
Concentration Camps- divided up the Souls into twelve distinct Types. These
categories spread to even the souls that had not been subjugated, and
provided solidarity where there had been none before. So the new names and
classifications stuck. Thus: the Soul Orders.”

- From a Transcript of a discussion with Uriel (Fr. Srdjan Dragomir),
Oubliette(Emily Vasquez), and Kintaro v.3.3 (Dexter Tenchi), 5/16/00

Kings Highway, Brooklyn, always seems to be the same quiet place in New
York. If I had to live in the city, my first choices would be split between
Kings Highway, Brooklyn, and Sunnyside, Queens, but both places hold far too
many memories that I would place in the category of tragic. I had never
gotten the chance to really enjoy either place on its own terms and in both
cases it was now far too late. Everything that had gone down in either area
was as irrevocable as death, and the unchangeable nature of the past is
murder on the present. There is a statuesque melancholy to the chaos of the
Brooklyn streets that is, was, and will always be there.
It was there when my family was still alive.

I had come to his place time and time again as uncle after grandparent after
aunt passed away, one after the next. Over the course of five years the
Jaffes ceased to be part of Brooklyn. My aunt had suffered a massive cerebral
hemorrhage, and now is a near-vegetable in a hospital in Belleville. We visit
her there sometimes- Im actually on my way there now. Of the remaining
members of her lineage, no one is sure why we go at all. Its not like she
knows were there. All thats left of a family that used to fill the
overheated, sweet-potato-pie and motzah-ball scented apartments and argue
over doctors and recipes is a quiet trinity of my father, my brother, and
myself. We go to that drab room in that urine-scented building in Belleville
where saints who really dont earn enough money to do the kinds of things
that they do try their very best to smile and say that shes happy and that
she smiled at them today, and we all know its a lie but thats just part of
the ritual. My brother and my father and I will then go in and try to match
the occasionally-flailing latter-day cyborg husk with the woman who was my
Aunt Rose, who made us Jell-O and talked in a high-pitched singsong voice
about her plans for Passover.

Ive never made the correlation, and I know that neither Josh nor my dad has
either. But the only thing that feels worse that doing this daily-to-weekly
ritual is not doing it.

But today was a bright, cheerful, beautiful Sunday. The three of us had
gathered (along with the recovering Nichole, who was boring me to tears with
her stories of her budding romance with Nicholas Van Zandt) to clean out my
Aunts apartment. Our bellies were filled with Roast Beef sandwiches from a
place called Brennan and Carr, a restaurant that had been feeding my dad
since his own childhood.

“You know what you should make a game about?” My father asked in his habitual
bemused tone. He asked the question at least twice a week.

“Whats that?” I asked between chews.

“Rather than having the&uh..characters in the game use arbitrary numbers for
their stats, they should have specific genomic codes. Its what determines
whos faster and whos stronger in real life. ”

Josh, Nikki, and I looked at each other and blinked. He had done it again.
My father is a former Senior Research Fellow at Hoerchst who is now working
as a Polymer Physics Professor at Rutgers Newark. His most recent coup is
somehow having convinced the scientific community in general and his
colleagues in particular of his expertise in the field of biotechnology and
biochemistry apparently completely by accident. Hes nightmarishly smart in
ways that Im not sure even qualify him as human, with a mind like a steel
trap and a love for sardonic debate that would leave Dennis Miller asking for
directions to the mens room. Needless to say all of the collaborated to keep
me on my toes throughout my childhood. The last thing a rotten kid needs is a
guy who combines Holmess gift for observation with Batmans knack for
criminal forensics. I rarely got away with much, although not for lack of
trying.

Once again, unfortunately, a light-hearted suggestion he had made flew over
my head, the arced back and got stuck in my brain. To be honest, the idea of
some simplified stat system based on any code, genomic, genetic, or secret
decoder ring, really appealed to me. I considered carefully between chews.

“Theres a categorization of characters that takes place at the genetic
level. Thats what the Soul Orders are- twelve distinct categories of souls
based on similar traits that the GODHEAD used to group souls for their
concentration camps.”

“I see.”

The statement had gone as far of his head as his had gone over mine.
As we ate the rest of the meal I considered the Soul Orders of the Last
Exodus.

If the Realms of Eden were borne of disappointment with this worlds
outstanding lack of the fantastic, the Souls were borne of a similar
disappointment with the frailty and inability of the human body.

When the Last Exodus was young, even before I had decided to work in the
religious angle that so neatly tied it all together, I had the idea for a
game where the players are simple, ordinary people here on Earth who could
shift over to some other world where they were fantastic things like dragons
and warlocks and cyborgs. That way, there would be the chance to do all of
the sneaky, nihilistic conspiracy stuff while on Earth, while still getting
the chance to wile out and fly a burning spaceship through a couple of
buildings while casting spells and chucking ninja stars (or whatever floats
your boat spectacular-wise) without having to cover your tracks. In my case,
I was a big fan of the WoD/In Nomine/Unknown armies vein of games but was
always disappointed by the lack of good dogfights you could get into. I have
been a fan of big, fast, flying things with guns going at it for quite some
time.

Essentially, it was all part of my “modern-day multigenre” plan. As I have
stated, I wanted to set a game in the modern age, and I knew that horror was
done (pardon the pun)to death, superheroes didnt quite fit what I had wanted
to do, and sci-fi seemed just a bit too limiting. I wanted to just sit the
players down and say “okay, invent something. Be whatever the hell you want.”

When it came time to figure out how to do this in The Last Exodus, frankly, I
had been stumped for a while. The human/Earth part of LE had nearly written
itself- The Millennium Religions and their apostles came as naturally as they
could. I had also realized that this bizarre, fantastic “second half” could
be the soul. After a fairly serous amount of research, I had learned that
there was only a scant few things souls had in common:

1: They dont die. At least, not often.

2: They are important. As the seat of someones spiritual being and essence
of their personality, they make great bargaining chips that just shouldnt be
used.

I dont quite remember where it had occurred to me that there really is no
hard and fast precedent on what human souls look like and what they do. Its
implied that the resemble ghosts, and they tend to be mellow and screw around
with harps and halos while never quite achieving angel status. This had
actually always struck me as kind of lame. As long as I was reconfiguring
Heaven from a bunch of clouds and some expensive gates to this vision of Las
Vegas-meets Coruscant as designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and Father Guido
Sarducci, it was time for the human soul to get a serious overhaul. The more
I thought about it, the more it made sense. When we were creating our legends
of heroes and villains and gods and monsters, we were talking about what we
knew. The creators of these legends were subconsciously talking about their
own souls locked within.
Unfortunately, for the Edenic part of character creation, I had been working
on totally exhaustive lists of potential character types, and getting nowhere.

It had been in a bathroom in Cape May, New Jersey where I had looked over the
lists and noticed a possibility.

Vampires, Zombies, Mummies, Liches, Wights, Ghouls& These could all be
grouped under one heading. I looked at the next list.

Dragons, Wyverns, Elves, Dwarves, Fairies, Griffons, Manticores, etcetera.
Ditto. These guys all had something in common. By the time I was done, I was
looking at a convenient dozen character types which could be extrapolated
into just about any character I could think of.

1. The Beastial Order: Animals, lycanthropes, and anthropomorphs of all stripes.
2. The Cerebral Order: Personified thoughts and ideas (Think Gaimans “Endless” and youre on the right track)
3. The Created Order: Anything that is &well&created by other Souls, from sentient computer programs to lumbering Golems.
4. The Dominion Order: Any religious game would have to pay special attention to Angels, fallen or otherwise.
5. The Elemental Order: Just how they sound, the Elementals are to matter what the Cerebrals are to thought.
6. The Enlightened Order: A tricky one, the Enlightened remain unchanged by passage to Eden. This is a blessing and a curse.
7. The Infernal Order: As with the Angels, Demons should get their own category.
8. The Karmic Order: Since theres no such thing as an “ordinary guy” in Heaven, (save the Enlightened, who are extraordinary for being ordinary) “normal humans” are the kinds of people we make movies about. Guys like Indiana Jones, Sherlock Holmes, or Prince Mordred.
9. The Outsider Order: How can human beings have alien souls? The invasion had to start somewhere.
10. The Noble Order: All manner of mystical creatures, the Noble order contains anything that would qualify as Fae, from Pixies to Dragons.
11. The Primordial Order: When Ahura Mazda shared a tiny piece of its essence with the leaders of Edenic society, it created a race of Gods that grouped into Pantheons that exist to this day.
12. The Typhonian Order: Not quite angel and not quite demon, the Typhonians are the monsters and mysteries that really make us fear death.

There is probably a Character Concept that wont fit into at least one of
these categories, but Id be hard-pressed to figure what it is. (Feel free to
take that as a friendly challenge- Im curious what you guys will come up
with!)

After we finished eating we made our way to my Aunt Roses apartment. What
had seemed like it would be a miserable and daunting task rapidly shaped up
to be interesting and far less hassle than we had anticipated, thanks to my
Aunts penchant for a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place
neatness. She and my Uncle had saved everything, and I mean EVERYTHING from
the past fifty-odd years, since his discharge from the Navy after World War
2. I stared in amazement at playbills and football programs from the early
fifties, and older. Although I wasnt expecting it, I was placed
face-to-face with exactly how much my creation was actually affecting my own
spirituality (especially in light of my meeting with Nick), I think, for the
better.

As one of the closets was emptied Nichole noticed a white box among the
shoeboxes and pointed it out to me. I picked it up and dusted it off, opened
it and noticed with a start the music and tiny dancing girl spinning in the
miniature mirror. It was filled with ancient yellowed pieces of paper. I
gently picked one up and unfolded it.

In a casual script it read:

“To Rose, The sweetest girl in the whole world:
It looks like I wont have to get any closer to Japan than this, and that is
fine with me. Still, it will be a few months before I can get back to the
U.S.A. I cant wait for the day when our souls can finally be together, and
we can hold each other again. ”

I folded the paper back up and Nichole gave me a warm, gentle hug. In my
minds eye I pictured those souls smiling because that day had come, and
because they were stronger than these crummy human bodies.

Aunt Rose will be okay.

“The fact that you have recovered this disk means that you have either agreed
to my terms or I am already dead. All of the information contained herein is,
as I have stated, completely true, gleaned either from my time with the
Millennium Religions or the time I spent watching them in my exile. I have
tried to take as impersonal a stance as possible and present each group in an
unbiased light.”

“As of now it is a safe bet that the Millennium Religions have saturated the
United States, where they began, and are beginning to spread to other
countries. In my estimation they will be worldwide by the end of the decade.
They have already begun pulling strings in the institutions of religion,
government, and business, and if you think they dont have some grasp on your
own august Church, you people are clearly more self-deluded that the rest of
the world believes. Still, I know you are a practical man, Cardinal
DAmbrizzi, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“By now you have seen me perform miracles and Transcend across The Breach, so
whatever skepticism you may have had about my own divinity will have been
erased. The rest you will have to take my word on, but that shouldnt be too
hard for a man in your position. After all, I am the Son of God. Maybe not
the firstborn, but we cant have everything, now, can we?”

“I dont know what you plan to do with this information, and frankly, I dont
care. The dogma of your Church clearly precludes most of the truth, and
theres a lot more going on here than you have any hope of destroying in some
retarded attempt at a cover-up. Another Inquisition would mark your own
suicide, as well you know. A lot has changed since the middle ages, but you
people can use this information to your serious advantage if you play your
cards right.”

“This information has remained under wraps for several reasons. Lets pretend,
for a minute, one could convince society of the truth, and that this tale of
divine conspiracy was not the rantings of an atavistic, fanatical
institution. Public opinion would not favor the Apostate or the Sanhedrin in
the modern world, and both groups would be rapidly shut down, most likely in
a violent and bureaucratic manner by the masses. Fame on Earth has never
fared well for Messiahs in the past and theres no reason to believe that
this has changed. Press of any sort is at distinct cross purposes with the
new Apostles plans. There are operatives on both sides of the Last Exodus
ready to kill any story that may make it to light, and the Millennium
Religions fanatics havent had two thousand years of inactivity to diminish
their faith or conviction.”

“In closing, the information presented here is not for everyone. I trust you
to keep this information under lock and key, and I somehow doubt this is the
first time that it has weighed incumbent upon Vatican to keep a secret. To
utilize a particularly dreary cliché in this instance, I have faith in you to
do the right thing. And I expect to be well-compensated for my efforts.”

Yours,
Nigel Huxley ”

From a Letter to Cardinal Niccolo DAmbrizzi, Vatican City, 6/22/00

I was looking out the front doors of the Wyndham Milwaukee, waiting for a cab
and trying to clear the drunken haze from my spinning skull. Rain spattered
the glass in time with the knots in my stomach.

Peter was in the hospital.

Not two days after I had received the transcripts of Gideons information on
the Antichrists, two men cornered Peter and Clayton down by the Milwaukee
river. They spared Clayton, but Peter had been hit in the stomach so hard it
damaged his internal organs. They didnt ask any questions and didnt take
anything. This had clearly been a warning.

I had just gotten home from a drunken night at the Safehouse, laughing with
Gareth and toasting our Success. I stumbled into our hotel room to be greeted
by glum faces and quiet voices.

“What&?” I asked as my smiled faded.

“Peets in the hospital. He got jumped.”

“Youre kidding.”

“Jumped? ” Asked Gareth. “He got beat up?”

Delmar nodded.

“Why, what happened?”

“Dont know.”

But I knew.

I watched the crappy weather outside.

“Okay, get up. Were going to go get Peet.” Josh said from behind me.

But&I got a cab coming”

“No time. Let’s go.”

We sat in the cab and stared out the windshield as Milwaukee zipped by.

“So what have we got?”

“What?”

Josh sniffed. “The stuff you got. We should have all of the information, now,

lay it on me. What have we got?”

I closed my eyes.

“The Last Exodus.

Two Gods- the one who created man, who lives in Heaven, and the one who man
created, who lives on Earth – have been battling for supremacy since before
the Old Testament. In the past it has always weighed incumbent on certain
individuals to carry out the orders of these Gods- Guys like Abraham, Moses,
Jesus and Mohammed. Something went wrong with the final test, and the girl
chosen to be the Messiah was killed in the Bosnian conflict of the early
nineties. The powers that be panicked and chose to awaken every potential
Messiah and Antichrist (apparently, these Gods, collectively known as the
Demiurge, have been procreating like mad for the past century or so) for a
final war in the new Millennium. Each God chose six people to act as leaders
for their various Religions, which are brand new here on Earth, but have
existed in Eden for centuries. These Religions exist to find and awaken any
Messiah or Antichrist they can. ”

“And those are the Sanhedrin and The Apostate.”

“Yes. The Sanhedrin, which is based on Earth, is comprised of the Chain, a
cult of occultists and scholars, The Crush, a pack of rapists and perverts,
The Firm, a cadre of fatcats and financiers, the Horde, a swarm of fanatics
and bigots, The Institute, a cell of scientists and researchers, and The
Regime, a battalion of warriors and killers.

On the other hand, theres the Apostate, which is based in Eden, and consists
of The Alliance, a group of survivors and vigilantes, The Congregation, a
BaHai-like conglomeration of faiths, The Chamber, a collection of Freaks and
rejects, The Order, a faction Of Webheads and techno-artists, The Squad, a
gang of urban types and disaffected youth, and the Underground, a cell of
artistic revolutionaries.”

“So we got that right.”

“Pretty much.”

“Tell me about Eden.”

“This was a lot sketchier- Its where souls live, its where you go when you
die, unless you are a Messiah or Antichrist, in which case you can come and
go as you please . There is an infinite variety of souls, which can be
anything from angels to robots to elves to giant frogs. Souls eat, drink,
screw, piss and do just about everything we do except die- so Eden is a
little crowded at times. The locals break themselves down into Soul Orders-
twelve hazy categories into which all souls fit somewhere. Theres Bestials,
the animal souls, Cerebrals- thoughts and concepts personified, Created-
Souls crafted by other souls, Dominion- angels, Elementals, substances given
form, Enlightened, ordinary shmoes who are unchanged by passage to Eden,
Karmics- near-superhuman heroes and villains, Infernals- Demons, Nobles,
Dragons, elves, and all things Fae, Outsiders, alien souls from other
planets, Primordials, lesser gods, and Typhonians- mysteries and nightmares
somewhere between angels and demons. ”

“And everyone on Earth has a soul?”

“And very few will ever learn what it looks like.”

“So what is Eden like?”

“It a realm outside of our perception, built on clouds and brimstone, that is
both Heaven and Hell and everything else. In connects to our world through
dreams, so for example, the Midwestern United States is the Land of Oz,
Britain is Avalon, The Middle East is Samarkand, and Xanadu lines the Pacific
Rim. Theres all sorts of cool funky crap to screw around with in Eden like
flying cars and boats, flaming holy swords, magic and psionics.”

“Okay. Is it playable?”

“Well, were using the card-based system we talked about with Gareth to make
transition between live and tabletop play nonexistent. Character creation is
a breeze- there are only four Stats and the rest is all advantages,
disadvantages, and proficiencies. Id say yes. ”

“Is it worth Peter catching a shot to the gut that could potentially have him
crapping his guts again?”

“I hope so.”

Peter and Frankie Bonz stood in front of the hospital like a couple of war
heroes. I smiled sheepishly as we pulled up.

“Need a ride?” I asked.

“That SUCKED.” Peet groaned as he eased into the seat. “I feel like I ate
glass.”

We drove in quiet.

Finally, I snapped.

“Should we do as the say? Should we stop writing?”

Peet turned around and looked me in the eye.

“Sean, I got jumped by two guys for this book.”

“Yeah&?”

“SO if you stop writing NOW Ill have to kick your ass. And Ill have
everyone else in the town help me.”

It was what I needed to hear. I looked over Gideon and Nicks sheets again,
humming and making little notes in the borders.

When I got back to the hotel there was a message waiting.

“Sean.

Got to Jersey before Institute found Hospital with Nicole. She is safe now.
Were looking forward to having you back. Kick ass at Gen Con. Get home soon.

-NVZ”

I was certain I would return to find those two something more than friends,
an idea I didnt relish. Im sure jealousy had a lot to do with it, too,
which made me think for about how clear I was on my feelings for Nicole. And
for Nick.

Meanwhile, Josh, Peet, and Frank made their way upstairs while discussing the
relative merits of walking automatically the dogger and whether to or not to
decompose the yo-yo. I grinned.

For the time being, we were still the good guys.

I gazed under half-lidded eyes at the bustle of people moving back and forth
in front of the booth. The lightning domes and lack of sleep where having a
hypnotic effect on me.

“Wake up, knucklehead.” Gareth rattled my chair and my eyes popped open. The
flood of sensory overload returned me to the show floor.
Gen Con.

Gareth loomed over the tables like a gladiator, decked out in his UnderWorld
costume. Lord Steam. Goggles, vest, and gruff demeanor.

Well, maybe it wasnt ALL costume.

“Still&hung& over&” I mumbled. I knew it was no excuse, but there wasnt a
whole lot more I could offer by way of explanation.

“Yeah, and I had to sleep through your snoring like some kinda beached
animal. Cry me a river.” He smirked and re-shuffled the books on the counter.

“Sorry Im late!” Lisa , our newest initiate, hurried toward the booth. She
bears the dubious title of fashion designer for S.C.S. Most game companies
dont have a fashion designer, but most game companies arent us. We brought
her along last minute in an attempt to get people to associate Synister with
clothing as well and RPGs and music, and it seemed to be working. However,
she wasnt making it easy to concentrate.

“Is that& all& rubber?” I squeaked, trying to figure out where to look so as
to not betray the downright vile things I was thinking while looking at her
in that outfit.

I failed.

“Yes, its all rubber. Except for the backpack. Thats plastic. You know,
sci-fi Saturday?”

“Uh huh. What are you supposed to be?”

“Im the Mullet Hunter! ” She pulled out a toy raygun and snapped off a
couple shots for emphasis. “Rednecks and geeks beware.”

“Youre gonna be pretty damned busy. ”

Suddenly, I was distracted by a kid in a Slipknot shirt asking what was
playing on our radio.

“Method Man” I answered.

“Who?”

“Method Man! Tikal? Johnny Blaze? Hot Nickels?”

He looked at me like I was insane.

“Wu Tang Clan.”

This seemed to elicit a response.

“Oh. Thats cool., man. Thats cool. ”

He bought a book and left. I turned to look at Gareth who was wearing a grin
that seemed to start on the back of his head. UnderWorld was doing
Gangbusters, and despite being tired, he was to proud of his baby to let
anything so paltry as sleep deprivation bring him down. He Shuffled over to
let Lisa set up her jewelry rack.

“Howre we doin?” I asked. It felt strange, this being my second Gen Con
ever and I was here with a booth and a book and everything. I wanted to make
sure I was doing it right.

Gareth gave me a thumbs-up and pointed to the others who were coming into the
hall.

Clayton made a beeline for Lisa and obediently helped her set up. Peet, Josh
and Frank were sharing a joke, and Delmar came in behind them, towering over
just about everyone on the show floor.

“Show me somethin!” He quipped.

“I got you, man.” I retorted, holding up the sales sheet..

“Yuh!”

Meanwhile, Josh and Frank stood with Peet and Clayton, laughing at their
yo-yo. In Pennsyltucky (as Jersey calls it behind its back ) we had stopped
off at an all-night restaurant that also sold knicknacks and toys. Clayton
had found a Yo-yo that made noise when you spun it, but the real fun was the
packaging, which had some of the absolute worst English translations anyone
had ever seen, and provided nine-tenths of the amusement the entire trip. The
box promised that “this sporting yo yo brings happy time” and included
instructions on how to “Walk automatically the Dogger” and “Make inside the
triangle ok with hand.” However, there were ample warnings, for example, not
to throw the yo-yo without aiming and to under no circumstances decompose the
yo-yo.

A good time was had by all.

“SEAN!”

I jumped.

“Youre coming to my demo tonight, RIIIIIGHT?”

Startled, I turned around to see Graveyard Greg standing behind me. My brain
was still parsing the fact that this guy wasnt a cartoon who hung around
all day in a green and white Danskin with a wisecracking blue droid and an
unusually pert brunette. Also, he wore a hat. That totally threw me.
Outside of that, though, what youre thinking is most likely dead on. A ball
of energy in perpetual con mode with glasses and a obsession for all things
GAME. GG is almost a living archetype.

“Uhh..yeah! Yeah! Of course.” I stammered.

“Good! Good.”

I couldnt miss it, hed been putting the thumbscrews to my curiosity for
months.

Suddenly, I saw a familiar face from behind him.

Nick.

“Oh& Uh& can you cover for me here for a sec?”

“Sure,” he said, plopping down in a chair to take the weight off his bum
foot. I hurried out of the booth over to where Nick stood. He was grinning
like a fanboy.

Nick Van Zandt stood before me wearing his signature sportcoat over a
tattered old “Wraith” T-shirt. He held an open backback with D&D3, Pantheon,
and The Great Brain Robbery, as well as a somewhat rare Obi-Wan Kenobi figure
and a bootleg copy of Princess Mononoke. I handed him a copy of UnderWorld
and The Last Exodus promo.

“This is GREAT!”

“You are SUCH a geek” I said, pointing at his backpack.

“Bite me.” He smirked. ” I wanna get some In Nomine stuff. Walk with me.”

“In Nomine? Isnt that a little too close to work?”

“I have a Dominion friend who would pay through the nose for it.”

“I guess you would.”

He rifled through the Last Exodus Promo.

“Hey! ” he beamed. “You gave me credit!”

“Well, it was YOUR information. I just made a game out of it.”

“Still, it was nice of you. Lets cut through the castle. SJG should be over
here, by Atlas, right?”

“Right& Hang on.”

I walked over to the Gaming Outpost booth and covered my badge.

“Hey, Gaming Outpost!”

“Yeah.”

“Yer stuff rocks!”

“Well, Thanks! We try to&-”

“But fire that guy. That Jaffe guy. GAWD I hate him. He thinks hes so cool.
But Ill bet hes fat and lame and never talks to strippers or drinks or
listens to Kid Rock or anything”

“Well, we&uh&”

“And his dumb game is probably just an exercise in being offensive for its
own sake, which is really pedantic. I mean, yeah, right, “The Last Exodus.”
Messiahs and Antichrists, like that could really happen. The guy is a
sleazebag. Ill bet hes gay too. Axe him. I hate fags. Totally.”

“Well, I just work here& I dont&”

“Trust me, that guy is the worst thing that could happen to gaming. Like that
McCracken wanna-be guy.”

Nick grabbed my shoulder and yanked me hard.

“I like to beat my hecklers to the punch, so Ive been doing that all week.”
I told him. “Anyway, why the rush?”

“Because were meeting somebody.”

“Who?”

“Him.”

He pointed at a gaunt, rail-thin rivethead who stood near the concessions
stand with a coke and a cigarette. His platinum hair was meticulously braided
into fine cords, and he surveyed the convention with one green and one blue
eye. He wore an aged Machines Of Loving Grace t-shirt and vinyl pants. His
boots came up to his knees and he wore mirrored polish on his long, sharp
nails. His angular face dripped with sardonic cruelty, and a shudder came
over me as I spoke his name.

“Gideon.”

“You got it. Cmon, Sean. Time to meet your first Antichrist.”
Gideon radiated contempt, and his icy gaze settled on me as I approached. He
smiled like he was being approached by a lost child. As he opened his mouth
to speak, however, someone tugged his shirt and pointed.

“You seen Micah?” The guy asked.

Gideon threw his spidery hands up in defeat.

“How many times to I have to tell you people?! I am NOT with the Apophis
Consortium!”

Gideon turned to me as the guy hurried off.

“Pleasure to meet you, Sean. Im Gideon, Cerebral of the Chain, and former
servant of the Caliph.”

The sudden realization that I was talking with an individual who had MET
Madison Vaughn stuck in my throat as a solid lump of glue.

“Benedict, the Cerebral of Secrets. Judas goat of the Chain. Betrayer of the
Sanhedrin. I know all of your titles.”

I swallowed.

“Sir.”

“Wow, this dream suggestion thing actually works,” He smiled as Nick made his
best “I-told-you-so” face. “Tell me, “game designer”, do you know why Im
here?”

“Youre gonna give me the information you have on the Sanhedrin and the
Antichrists?”

“Hes a smart one, Nicholas.” Gideon withdrew a similar stack of papers from
his shoulder bag and handed it to me.

“There are people who would make you watch as they boiled your family in
their own bodily wastes if they knew you had this information. And thats if
they were feeling charitable that day.”

I took the papers as my stomach went into knots.

“Now I am going outside to finish my smoke. If I hear one more witty movie
quote I swear Ill kill every producer in Hollywood with an effects budget.”

I let him pass.

“Charming guy.”

“Waddaya want? The guys an Antichrist. Hes genetically configured to be a
dick.”

“But he comes through in a clutch,” I said, leafing through the papers.

“Theres some really disturbing shit here. The Tonton Makouts are all
genderless?”

“Snip, snip, stitch, stitch. Processing, it is a bitch.”

“Yikes.”

He watched me leaf through the papers a bit, then grinned his trademark grin.

“So, is Nichole here?”

“No, Romeo, she coulndt come. ”

His face fell.

“Why?”

“Bad back&slipped a disk or something, actually. Shes supposed to go to the
hospital so they can&-”

“Go to the WHAT?!”

“Hospital?”

“Damn! ” Pulled out a smooth piece of plastic that looked like a cellphone
and started barking into it in some foreign language. Seemed like he was
saying something about transportation.”

“She could be in BIG trouble. Im gonna go back and take care of her. You and
yours gotta stay here, Okay, Sean? Make like nothing’s wrong. And you never
saw Gideon.”

“Saw who?”

“Right& Ill let you know what its safe to talk about us again. Make sure
you dont lose that information, okay?” He stumbled as he walked backward for
the door. “I have faith in you guys- make sure you hold in to that info!”

And with that he bolted. I turned and headed for the booth, sweating a little
bit.

This was getting pretty hectic for only being my second Gen Con.

We sat quietly around Digital Creeks boardroom in Nutley, NJ, as Eminem
droned on the radio. Peet quietly mouthed the words, Del kept his head down
over his drawing. Frankie drummed his fingers on the table. The incessant
clacking of the keys on Joshs laptop continued over the beat, and Nichole
bopped out a little dance. Clay was asleep and my stomach was still in a knot.

11:57.

Hed be here any minute.

The room was still scattered with proofs, original artwork, and snippets of
text from UnderWorld. Gareth had left a few hours ago, all the way back to
Basking Ridge, NJ, where he had been living ever since his house was flooded.

Shudder.

11:58.

Frankie looked up.

“Who are we waiting for, again?”

“You wouldnt believe me even if I told you.”

“Nerd nerd nerd nerd nerd nerd nerd.” Mumbled Peet. “Its probably some game
guy none of us have ever heard of, and Seans gettin his nerd on. ” Guys ,
guys! Its the designer of the twelve-sided polyhedral wand of unintentional
celibacy! Hes coming to talk to US!”

I could be watching Cartoon Network now. You owe me, Jewboy.”

“Trust me, Mayor Mick-Peet, This is someone youll recognize.”

The door opened. And my heart jumped. If this actually happened, then I
clearly was not insane. I had to sit down as my legs gave.

A wet, disheveled men walked into the board room, shaking off the storm
outside. His light blonde hair reached to the small of his back, and he bore
glasses and a worn sportjacket over his “Trash and Vaudeville” T-shirt. He
was more broad-shouldered than me, but still had a slight build and small
hands. There was a gun under his coat and a grin on his lips, both of which
he flashed absentmindedly.

“I cant believe Im in Jersey.” He said, placing a huge stack of papers on
the table.

Nichole looked up and the gum fell from her mouth. She tapped Delmar , who
shook her away at first, but then looked up, riveted. Peets Jaw dropped, and
Frankie nudged Clayton, who remained asleep. Josh stopped typing and slowly
closed the computer.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Synister Creative Systems… Meet Nicholas Van Zandt.
Jackyler.”

“Youre kidding. This isnt real.” Said Josh.

“Karmic of the Underground, and Keeper of the Gospels of the most Holy
Apostate. Lorekeeper of Ahura Mazda.” Said Nick.

“Buh.” Nichole uttered.

“Thats the guy you asked me to draw, right?” Said Del. “You didnt tell me
he was a real guy.”

“I… didnt know at the time, Del.” I murmured.

Nick crossed straight to one of the proofs and picked it up.

“UnderWorld, hunh? Awesome!”

He picked it up and started flipping through it.

“Wait a minute.” Josh stood up. “You mean to tell me a guy we thought up
until now was totally fiction turns out to be real….AND hes a goob?”

Nick thwacked him on the noggin with the rolled-up proof.

“I was protecting you guys, you know.”

“From what?”

“From this.” He said, sliding the stack of papers across the table.

I picked up the stack as the others attacked Nick, demanding to see his
drivers license, Karmic of The Underground Tattoo, and Edentech gadgets, all
of which he quietly produced to even more gasps and raised eyebrows. I
flipped through the notes, sketches, photographs, and hastily-scrawled
reports. It was all here.

Nick looked at me over the UnderWorld print proof.

“Whats with second character sheet?”

I was looking into the eyes of the- sorry, A- Son of God, and Lord help me,
he was a Goob. Just like us.

“Josh put that in.”

“Yeah, I though it might be cool to have a Tagger sheet, and a subway sheet…

Something clicked in Joshs head.

“Do you know Dexter Tenchi?”

“Met him a couple times through Hobie Killian.”

“Hobie Killian? My…character? My character is real?”

“Sure. Asked to come by, but hes in Seattle right now on business. He wanted
to meet you.”

A new flurry of questions began as everyone jumped on Nick in the hopes of
learning about their characters, all of which, of course, actually existed. I
had to cut it short.

“Guys…Guys!”

It got quiet. Nick was grinning like a loon, clearly enjoying the attention.

I tapped the papers.

“This stack of paper is the culmination of all of Nicks work. We have here
all the information we need to create The Last Exodus as an RPG. We need to
get on the ball. You guys did an amazing job on UnderWorld, so lets put that
experience to good use here with The Last Exodus. Remember, we cant tell a
soul about …-”

“About what?” Asked Nick, sitting down in one of the swivel chairs next to
Nichole. She smiled at him and he threw his trademark snicker right back. I
could hear the girls heart pounding from where I was standing…an added
complication.

“About…this! About the fact that youre here, and all of you guys are real!”

“Why? Youre about to release a game about us. Plausible deniability, Sean.”

“What do you mean ?”Asked Delmar.

“I mean that no one will believe any of you if you talk about us anyway.

Tell people whatever you want…hell, write about this whole experience in your
column. Everyone will assume its just teaser fiction.”

“Umm…”

“Think about it… You guys claim to have met the actual characters and events
in The Last Exodus? You write it like a non-fiction report with a rules
system? No one will believe its REAL, but theyll taste the POSSIBILITY of
its reality. Remember White Wolf in the mid-nineties? Who didnt mess with
the possibility, at least once, that the Vampires put out the games
themselves to cover their own ass? Or Cyberpunk before that? Wasnt that
supposed to be a transmission into the past to prepare people for the future?
Presenting fiction as fact is nothing new, and in this case we present fact
as fiction pretending to be fact.”

“Real or not, me and this guy are gonna be fightin if he keeps talking like
that,” growled Peet. “Hes giving me headache.”

“No, I get it. I understand.” I rubbed my hands together. ” All hes saying
is that we can talk about this stuff freely, because no one will believe us.”

“I dont believe us, and Im right here.” Frank muttered.

“Wha..?”

“Go back to sleep, Clayton.”

“Yup.” His head returned to the table.

I picked up the sheaf of information. Incredible.

“Well, this half of what you asked for, so Ill be going now…” said Nick.

“Wait! Half?” I picked it up.

“Half. Ill get you the rest soon. You guys have a good Gen Con. UnderWorld
looks great…mind if I grab a copy? ”

“Waddaya mean, half? ”

“Gotta go!”

With that, Nick disappeared around a corner. Literally. The others searched
the entire office, the parking lot, not a sign of him.

I looked at the sheaf of papers as they scrambled and hunted.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus H. Christ. Call off the search.”

The others stopped. I held up the papers.

“Magnum Opus. The Sacred Rites of the Underground. No doubt this work is
Nicks Magnum Opus. We just watched him cross over to Eden. ”

We all shared a good shiver and got very quiet. A single slip of paper- a
napkin, by the look of it, dropped from the pile I was holding. It read:

“Dear Synister Creative Systems:

This is all about Messiahs and Ahura Mazda. Will get you info on Antichrists
and GODHEAD soon. After that, watch your damned backs. They WILL come after
you.

Thanks again- Nick”

I read the note slowly and quietly to my friends and co-workers, who didnt
talk much for the rest of the night.