Episode 17: Powers to the People, For Better or Worse

"Starting at the beginning is never easy."

"Mephistopheles is a demon through and through. He’s synonomous with evil in

every layer of Ammerican pop culture, and his name can be switched with the word "Satan" almost anywhere it’s 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, he’s 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."

"He’s the prince of sin; he’s 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 don’t think I could refuse him, no matter what he asked. But that’s 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 I’m staring into my ex-boyfriend’s eyes as he wrenches a girl to the ground. His muscles, his face, and his rage are absolutely beautiful. I’m 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. I’m tense."

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

"Sure."

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

No, that’s 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 don’t ask me where from.

I’m suddenly confused. I love this man. Why is he doing this terrible thing? Should I help him? Why am I excited? What’s going on?

Everything freezes.

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

"Uh-oh. It’s 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, I’m covered in blood and other fluids. I’m sure none of it’s mine. The girl’s dead. My ex-boyfriend’s bones hold her close. So they made up. That’s good.

And I’m standing in a pit full of everyone I’ve 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 women’s voice.

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

"Hello?"

"Andrew? It’s& uh&Sean. Are you&okay?"

"I’m fine." He grumbles a bit. "You know what time it is here?"

"I guess it’s pretty late."

"Is something the matter? I have work in the morning&"

"It’s hard to explain&"

Long pause. Too long. Wet noises.

"What’s 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. That’s a quality woman there."

"Sure as hell is."

I wasn’t 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?"

"What’s 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& I’ll let you enjoy the rest of that in privacy. I’m not quite desperate enough to sit around and listen to the two of you over the phone&" But at this point they didn’t answer. I hung up the phone and looked at my messages: A call from Nichole, two from Nick, and one I don’t 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 can’t put my finger on exactly what. I peered at my own eyeballs, assuming that’s 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 don’t 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 you’re queasy enough to imagine Tonnelle Ave. It’s 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 I’ve 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 had’t 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 doesn’t 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 couldn’t hear them. (O and A are to be heard at all times- it’s 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 I’m blocked."

She stared at me for a long time.

"You what?"

"I’m blocked. I can’t think of a good system for miracle powers."

"The other part& You have an ex-boyfriend?"

"Sure&Don’t you?"

"But I’m a girl. You never told me you were gay."

"I’m not gay. You know that firsthand. I’m 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 that’s not the issue."

She looked at the road a while.

"So what’s 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&that’s 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. She’s 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 them’s out already- the one about the sewers and tunnels- and the other is still on it’s way..."

"I’m sure people will like dem. I read what you wrote for your mom, and oh! I

t made me laugh so. I’m sure she is laughing at de story too&" She looked up.

"Thanks." I smiled. "Oh, yeah- Here’s the papers you needed from my dad."

"T’ank you, Sean." She points to me and turns to Nichole.

"You stay close wit’ ‘im. He’s one of the good guys. He and his dad and his brother, dey the good guys. There’s no black and no white wit’ dem. Just friends. You see."

"I know." Nichole gave me a slight smile. "he’s 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. (That’s right, I wear a machine-tooled lightsaber handle on my belt. A very expensive one. You know why? Because I am an f’n geek, that’s why. An f’n proud f’n geek.) Suddenly, I remember one of my favorite game mechanics of all time, and I am inspired.

I pull over.

"What’s going on?" Nichole asks. I turn to her&I look manic.

"I GOT IT!"

"Got what?"

"Okay, check this out, right !? You’re 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, it’s gone for the rest of the Story Arc- period. "

"Okay&"

"Now, let’s 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& that’s 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& That’s 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 haven’t 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.