RB RPG: Responses to questions and comments

Rhoadan, your proposal for a Mage game really got me thinking. How would the Technocracy respond? This is THE nightmare scenario for them, a Code Ragnarok that goes to eleven. Do they go psycho-killer on the Reality Deviants or husband their forces until they identify the threat? To be decided in game.

Has the Event altered consensual belief so that Mages can operate with less fear of Paradox? Yes, but that may not be obvious right away.
Has the loss of the RTC's (excellent tools for control) affected their hold on world affairs? To be honest, RTC's are better tools for the Weaver than the Technocracy. The Weaver only cares about order, any order. The Technocracy cares about a specific kind of order that the RTC's reject. Still, that doesn't mean that there's no effect.

What relationship did Nicky Appalachian and Stonagal have with The Syndicate? As noted in my original recruiting post, I'm not using the exact characters from the books, but rather analogs. Nicky White Mountains analog is definitely NWO although he may have Syndicate advisors.

One other thought on the Mage game. The Event was a supernatural attack resulting in casualties that are best measured in gigadeaths. EPIC FAIL. Heh. I've figured out why they failed. It's their own bleeding fault and I'm even using something from the White Wolf canon to explain it. What I haven't figured out yet is how I'm going to handle the reveal and whether or not it's too late to fix the problem. It didn't come to this overnight and it's not going to possible to fix it instantly either.

The entire raison d'etre of the Technocracy is to prevent that sort of thing. Yep. But it's one of their prevention measures that set this up.
I'd expect a lot of traumatized Technocrats to resign, go the John Courage route and carry out their own agenda by any means necessary. Wouldn't surprise me if some of them went rogue, but I don't get the John Courage reference. Could someone please enlighten me?

Even if Control hunkers down until they get a clear target, there will be plenty of agents attacking whoever is "clearly responsible" for this disaster. Let's just say that Control's response will have an impact on the action.
Which would be a common, human reaction even if you weren't using a suave, sophisticated, ultra-now, super-tech conspiracy of global defenders as a setting point. True, that.

Thoughts from Inge: Nicky Harz: If I were GM I'd probably make him a rogue NWO agent who is taking advantage of the Event to implement his ideas. There are red herrings pointing to him as a reality deviant with delusions of grandeur (crossover potential here), or (of course) a Nephandus. Nick is playing a double game, he uses the war of the Powers That Must Not Be Named against humanity to further his ascent to power, yet he knows that in seven years the Powers will come and eat him alive until Earth can fight them off. He has to get Earth ready for war, he has to ferret out and destroy enemy agents but must not be obvious about doing so, and the player characters could even be on his side... if Nicky wasn't batshit insane to boot. Bear in mind that at most, I'm using analogs of the characters from the books, not the characters themselves. Yeah, if Nicky Blue Ridge were actually a character in the game, he would be nuts. His analog, however, need not be. Of course there's always the option that this whole thing is some Marauder's Quiet and the PC's have been pulled into it.

From TechnocracyGirl: Another Mage-esque question...what happened to the children and/or clones under 13 out on Darkside Moonbase, Copernicus, and the other deepspace stations? They weren't on earth, so would they have been raptured? Heck, the entire apocalypse is earth-based -- could the mages in deepspace bunker down, cut off all contact with earth and ride the Apocalypse out? Well, the way I figure it, if it's inside the Horizon, it was affected, ergo Darkside could've been hit, but the Cop wasn't. But then the Cop might have problems of its own. How much communication can there be between Earth and the deepspace stations? That leaves plenty of room for the Deep Universal Constructs to be under siege by something.

Frankly, I'm ruling that there are no children at Darkside Moonbase. Too hazardous, no one would bring them there, and anyone who became pregnant would either terminate the pregnancy or transfer off the base.

Clones are a bit more complicated. A clone being held in storage in case the original person dies has no soul, therefore it is of no interest to whatever caused the Event. A clone that's housing the soul of someone whose previous body died will get grabbed based on the beliefs of the occupying soul, not its age since it's effectively an adult. A clone made for some other purpose, e.g. to replace a Tradition mage for purposes of espionage, I'm going to treat the same way I'm treating bioconstructs. If it has more than 95% human genetics, and a soul (i.e. the capacity for Awakening/Enlightenment) then it's human for the purposes of the Event. Bioconstructs don't generally start with any kind of sense of self and will start out with some kind of programming. Such an entity would get raptured. Once it develops a sense of self and becomes a moral agent, its beliefs come into play. The probability of a bioconstruct becoming an RTC is vanishingly small, so it's probably a safe assumption that if it's a moral agent, it won't be raptured. Bioconstructs are generally created as adults, and I assume would take considerably less than 13 years to develop a sense of self if it does so at all.

Edit: Okay, I've been reading the NWO convention book. Evidently John Courage was an NWO op who went rogue in the Victorian era.

Answered Prayer, Part 3

"You know, Dawn, I've been in some crazy places," Rob said as he filled two bowls from the
pot on the stove, "But I don't think I ever thought I'd be eating Spaghetti-O's in a mansion while a dead televangelist's girlfriend holds a gun to my head." He slid one bowl across the wide island to where she was sitting.

She giggled. "It's a crazy world, isn't it?"

"Crazier than it used to be, that's for damn sure."

Dawn put the .38 down on the counter next to his Glock and picked up a spoon. "So what's it like out there?"

"Totally crazy. I hear it's far worse outside the cities, where there were a lot more more people who disappeared, but it's like some people just gave up living, some people panicked, and some people decided to take advantage of the survivors."

"Which one are you?"

"None of the above," Rob offered a half smile, "I guess you could say I'm one of the runners."

"What are you running from?"

"A little bit of everything, I guess. It's a brave new world, I figured I'd be able to make a new start."

"Here?"

"Wherever. What's it like here?"

"Not so bad," Dawn shrugged. "Chicago's kind of taken everything over. But the mayor has managed to keep the power on and the gas flowing. Most of the time."

"Is he planning on starting his own little country out here?"

"No," she shook her head, "At least I don't think so. He's just trying to keep all the services going. The towns and counties are all pretty short staffed, between the disappearances, the people who aren't coming back to work, and all of the new people showing up out of nowhere. At least that's what I hear on the news. And they almost never tell us what's going on in the rest of the world."

"Some places are better than others," Rob said. "I hear the coasts are mostly okay. The government is still mostly up and running and I've seen the Army and National Guard out trying to restore order."

"That's good."

"Yeah. I talked to an Army guy in Missouri a few days ago, though. He says that the U.N. is trying to use this to leverage a One World Government thing."

"So? We don't hear from our own President. What's the U.N. gonna do?"

"Jack shit, probably. Isn't that what they always do?"

"Yeah."

Rob shrugged. "Anyway, things are starting to come back. I hear most of the oil refineries and platforms down on the Gulf coast are back online. But the planes are still grounded, since most of the airports took heavy damage."

"There's been some bad weather, too," Dawn offered. "I did hear that we were supposed to be getting an aid convoy or something, but there have been blizzards out east."

"Couldn't tell you anything about that."

"Okay." She looked up at the clock. "Oh, it's time for the nightly news update." She picked up the .38 and used it to gesture towards another room. "Come on, the TV's in there."

He led her in to the next room and took a seat in an overstuffed chair. She plopped herself down on the couch and picked up a remote with her left hand. The gun stayed in her right.

The nightly news report was sparse. It was mostly a list of services which services were being restored and where, a weather forecast, and a reminder of the dusk to dawn curfew imposed on Chicago and the collar counties. There were no sports scores, no human interest stories, no lottery numbers. It ended with what the anchor called "A Moment of Hope."

That night's moment of hope was a quick story about how a group of neighbors in the north suburbs were taking it upon themselves to make sure that stranded Northwestern University students were getting fed and, in some cases, giving them rides home. "Remember," the anchor signed off, "It's all of our responsibilities to watch out for each other. So try to create your own moment of hope for someone tomorrow."

"It's not much," Dawn shrugged apologetically as she turned the set off, "But it helps make everything feel a little normal again."

"What's on the rest of the time?"

"Re-runs."

"Ah." Rob scratched his head. "So, uh, how did you end up here?"

"A lifetime of bad decisions, I guess," she shrugged. "I mean, I knew that all I had to do was pray that stupid prayer he was always talking about. I guess I thought...I guess I thought that he was just crazy and it would never happen."

"So you actually do buy that Rapture story?"

"What else could it be?"

Rob waved his hands helplessly. "I don't know. I've heard a lot of crazy theories. Seems like everyone's just sitting around trying to figure it out."

"Well, there's not much else to do. Just that and survive."

"I, uh, I met a guy on the road a couple days ago," Rob sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I stopped because I saw him lying on the side of the road. He, um, he told me that he'd been clean for six years, that he'd stopped drinking the day his wife told him she was pregnant. Said his daughter was finally the thing he found that gave meaning to his life. When she disappeared he broke in to a liquor store, stole as many bottles as he could and just wandered away."

"What did you say to him?"

"What can you say? All I know is that isn't the answer. We can't fall apart and we can't just sit around and wait for the meaning to come back in to our lives. We need to move." He gestured towards the TV. "That guy on the news was right about that moment of hope thing."

"You know," Dawn dropped her head back against the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes, "You know why I came here?"

"Nope."

"I told myself it was for the food, the supplies. But what I really wanted to do was sleep in his bed." She lifted her head and looked at him, a combination of shame and defiance in her expression. "Really. How pathetic is that? The whole world goes to hell in a handbasket and all I can think is, 'Hey, maybe now I'll actually get to sleep in his bed.'"

"Did you love him?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Yes...no...hell, I don't know." She paused. "See? I'm pathetic."

"No, you're not." He took a deep breath. "You're human. We all do crazy things for silly reasons."

"You know what the real shit of it is?" she asked. The answer came before Rob even had a chance to open his mouth. "I don't really think he ever cared about me. I've been sitting here by myself trying to figure out what I miss about him and all I can think about is all the reasons I'm glad I don't have to see him any more. I was just a thing to him, a toy. I could see it in the way he looked at me sometimes." She stopped and cocked her head to one side as a sudden realization hit. "Maybe that's why I never prayed his stupid prayer."

"Huh?"

She smirked. "He once told me that I should pray the prayer because it really wouldn't be Heaven if he couldn't bring 'his favorite lay' with him. I think I thought it was funny at the time, but it wasn't. He was just a selfish bastard. I couldn't imagine wanting to be in the same place as him for all eternity."

"So then why did you stick around with him?"

"I think," she closed her eyes for a second, then shook her head as if to toss a thought away. After a moment she looked back up. "I think I've always preferred to chase after things that I'll never be able to catch. It's easier, I guess, knowing that I'll never be happy but can always pretend I am than trying to hold on to someone I truly care about and knowing he might leave."

"Well," Rob shrugged, "You can't chase this Colin guy all the way to Heaven. And I really don't think you want to."

"Nope," she smiled, "I really don't."

"Give yourself a chance. Get out of this house. I'm sure you'll figure out that there's someone who's worth holding on to."

"I'm scared."

"We all are. It's okay."

She stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. "You might be right," she finally said, nodding.

"I am. Trust me."

"But you know, I'm kind of tired. I think I'll go to bed." She paused. "You probably shouldn't be caught outside after curfew, so if you want you can stay here. There's a guest bedroom at the top of the stairs."

"Aren't you worried about having me in the house at night?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm not. Besides, if you want to steal this shit, it's not mine. I don't care about it. And as for anything else, well," she waved the .38, "I sleep behind locked doors with a loaded pistol under my pillow. Just so you know."

Dawn disappeared up the stairs. Rob went in to the kitchen, cleaned up the dishes and grabbed the Glock off the island. As he started to go upstairs he realized the front door was still standing open, so he closed it and secured the locks. Then he went to bed.

* * *

A soft knock awakened him some time later. His hand found the gun under his pillow before he'd even registered where he was. The guest bedroom. Everything was softly lit by the light of a nearly full moon, so he knew it was still the middle of the night.

"Rob?" he heard Dawn's voice through the door. "Are you still here? Can I come in?"

He took his hand off the pistol. "Yeah, what is it?"

The door opened and she walked in. "I'm sorry to wake you." She walked across the room and sat down on the side of the bed. "It's just that...well, it gets lonely here."

"I understand. I've been on the road by myself a lot, too." He studied her for a moment. She'd traded in the lumpy sweatshirt and baggy jeans she'd been wearing for a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He realized that he'd been completely wrong. Dawn was definitely not a young girl. In the moonlight he wondered how he could have thought that at all.

"I, uh, I wanted you to know that I'm not scared of you."

"Good," Rob smiled, "You shouldn't be. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I also want you to know that, uh, well, it was nice having someone to talk to," she smiled shyly, "And I'm glad you didn't leave. Or turn out to be a psycho."

He grinned. "I'm glad I didn't turn out to be a psycho, too."

She smiled wider. Her eyes shone in the moonlight. "Um, I don't want you to think I'm, like, a slut or anything, but...well," she paused, "It gets kind of cold and lonely in this house at night..."

He nodded and pulled the covers back. "I've spent too many nights in an empty bed, too," he whispered. "I know what it's like."

She slid in next to him and pulled the covers tight. After a moment's hesitation she pushed her body up against his. "Don't try anything funny," she muttered.

He wrapped an arm around her and breathed a deep sigh. "I won't."

"Hey, Rob?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you stay tomorrow and do something for me?"

"Sure, what?"

"Take me out somewhere. Anywhere. I don't care."

"I'd love to."

Cookie Monster Part 2

Previously our protagonist Sarah had witnessed Buck and Chloe making goo goo eyes at each other in the face of a global holocaust. This takes place about a week after that incident.

Sarah pulled down the security gate, Chip, Chip Hooray! had new hours as she didn't want to get home before it got too dark. She took a cursory glance around the small storefront, everything had been cleaned and readied for the next day. She took the till to the tiny room that served as the office and storeroom and began to count.

She didn't know why her thoughts kept returning to that couple but a prickle of guilt that had been constant since reminded her. She probably judged them too harshly, or at the least was hardly in any position to lay down judgement on anybody else. She wasn't supposed to be here.

Chip, Chip, Hooray! was an owner operated franchise, with the owner vanished the store should be closed. And it was, for a day. She had delivered the water to the EMTs and fled back to the storeroom to cry until her eyes ached on the day of The Event. Deciding to close she stopped in front of one of O'Hare's many TVs before exiting the airport.

Another scalding bath of panic washed over her as she saw it was global, as previously unflappable news anchors began to break down as they informed the viewing audience that no child under 12 seemed to be in existence anymore, and that riots were breaking out everywhere. Shaking with fear she started for home.

What was a 15-20 minute ride on the El took three hours as the El wasn't running and she had to walk. She passed more EMTs pulling people from cars and when she saw she could be of help she stopped. She ached to go home, to bury herself in her mother's arms like a little girl but she couldn't keep going. Not when there was a stretcher a pitifully lone EMT was trying to load onto an ambulance. Not when a man begged her to use her cell phone as his wasn't going through and knowing that the lines would be jammed and hers wouldn't either she gave it to him anyway.

The closer she got to home the slower her pace became and a gnawing fear that her mother was among the vanished began to overwhelm her. She walked up her block and saw her mother waiting anxiously on the stoop and she ran to her before her mother even had time to leave the stoop and meet her halfway. She began to cry again and her mother led her into the house and sat her down at the kitchen table and busied herself making hot chocolate.

Sarah tried to collect herself, she realized how insulated her life had been. Her father had left her mother when she was still a baby. Paying his child support regularly including an extra check at her birthday and Christmas. He had sent one for her high school graduation and that had been that. School had been okay, neither the pariah or head cheerleader she had enough friends, enough invitations to sleepovers, and a date for the prom not to feel left out. In truth her greatest pleasure was to be able to spend the lunch period in the library reading.

The worst ache had been when her grandmother passed away when she was seventeen. It had been a crippling blow to the family's fiances too, though her mother had tried to keep it from her. Her grandmother had fallen into dementia and required round the clock care. When her mother started mentioning that she might want to considering taking a year off before going to college Sarah realized her college fund was gone. The next blow came when her mother was laid off from her tech support job the following year. Sarah decided to forgo even community college classes and get a job.

She knew how unhappy her mother was at this and tried to assure her it was "just until things straighten themselves out", and her mother would smile wanly and pretend, "of course sweetie". Her mother had been temping as her year off from college was beginning to stretch into two. But even then they had managed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. And evenings provided plenty of time for reading, or even calling up an old school friend who was still around to go to a movie. Nothing had ever pierced that rock hard shell that there would always be a place to live, electricity, food to eat and clean water to drink until The Event.

As she watched her mother slowly heat the milk in the pot she took stock of where things stood. The power was still on for now. The contents of the fridge where a little a scanty but it would be better to start stocking up on canned goods. She knew she needed to be watching the news but she wanted just a few more moments of blessed quiet before reality had to be faced.

Her mind raced wondering if anyone would be calling about Jeanine, her boss. Money, she wondered if the dollar would mean anything after something like this and made a mental note to talk to Shanti. She worked at the airport's duty free shop and Sarah had a feeling that a bottle of good scotch would get more things done than a hundred in the coming days. She recalled reading an article couple of weeks ago about rumblings that there were serious moves being made to adapt a single global currency. A warm mug was pressed into her hands and her mother and she walked like mourners into the living room and turned the TV set on...

Answered Prayer, Part 2

He shuffled in to town, coat pulled tight but soaking wet and completely useless for keeping out the cold.

"What the hell was I thinking," he muttered to himself for the billionth time, "Heading north in the winter. Shoulda stayed in Phoenix."

Several little houses dotted the sides of the road. Empty. So many houses were empty everywhere he went.

Except for one. The front door to the house on his right opened. A gray-haired man stepped on to a broad porch, cradling a shotgun.

"Hello, friend," the old-timer called. "What brings you here?"

"Car broke down," the traveler turned and gestured vaguely towards the highway with his right hand, keeping his left covered as he dug in to his pocket for the Glock nestled inside. "Looking for shelter."

"It's cold out. Snowy, too."

"Yes," the traveler nodded, "Yes it is."

"Well, come on in," the old man half turned to the house and gestured inside with the barrel of his shotgun. "I was just making dinner and it's warm by the fire."

"Thank you."

The pair walked in to the cozy house. It was warm, lit by the roaring fire from a pot bellied wood burning stove. A pot of something sat atop the stove, bubbling and filling the room with a sweet barbeque smell. The old man placed his shotgun in a stand between a pair of hunting rifles and an AR-15.

"Hate to seem inhospitable," he said, patting the barrel of the shotgun, "But you know how it is these days." It came out as an apology.

"I've made introductions over the barrel of a gun several times in the past week," the traveler said, shrugging out of his overcoat. It fell to the floor, but he kept the Glock in his left hand. "That's why I've got this."

A slight shadow of fear crossed the old man's eyes. "I, uh, I don't have much, but..."

"No, no. No. Sorry." He set the pistol down on top of the rifle stand. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to pull anything on you. Really," he smiled, "I appreciate your hospitality."

"Good, then," the old man smiled. "I'm Ed."

"Rob," the traveler replied, sticking out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Ed pointed to a worn couch. "Have a seat, friend. Dry out some. Tell me where you're headed."

"Chicago," Rob said, plopping down on the couch. "Figured I'd be there today, too. Damn car broke down, though."

"Lots of people headed there these days," Ed laughed, "It's the only place that's still working. Who'da thought the Democrat machine would actually turn out to be a good thing?"

"Guess it's true," Rob smiled, "God doesn't like Democrats."

"Well, it's like they say. One thing god and the Republicans have in common is that they disappear whenever there's a crisis."

"Who says that?"

"Me, I guess."

"I'm not going looking for order, though. I could have gone to California if that's all I wanted Word has it that they've got stuff pretty much under control out there and it's a lot warmer."

"So why are you going to Chicago?"

Rob shrugged. "I really don't know. Guess it seemed like a good idea. I needed a change of scenery or something."

"I can understand that, I guess," Ed said, walking on stiff legs over to the stove. "Lots of people looking for a fresh start these days." He stirred the pot. "Hope you like beans. I still got a few hot dogs left, too. Cut 'em up and put 'em in the pot."

"Sounds delicious," Rob smiled. "I don't get too many hot meals."

Ed grabbed a couple plates and spoons from a cabinet next to the stove and ladled out the meal. He limped back to the couch and handed a plate to Rob before sitting slowly down in a threadbare armchair.

"So why did you stay here by yourself?" Rob asked between bites. "Or are there still people here?"

"Nope," Ed shook his head, "As far as I know I'm it. But it won't last long."

"Why?"

"They'll be back," he nodded sagely. "People are running to the cities, looking for order and protection. Once the food runs out they're gonna realize that someone needs to start farming again."

"So you think it'll get back to normal around here?"

"Normal?" Ed chuckled and shook his head. "Son, after something happens like what we've been through, you never get back to normal."

"I guess not."

"So, what are you planning to do now?"

"I don't know," Rob shrugged. "Probably find an abandoned car and take it the rest of the way. It's how I got this far."

"Figured as much," Ed nodded. "Tell you what. I don't like the idea of being generous with things that don't belong to me, but the kid next door has a real nice car. It's one of those Acuras and he's always working on it. Shouldn't break down in the middle of winter. If you want to start looking, you might go there. He's not going to be back for it any time soon."

"You sure?"

"Son," Ed leaned forward, "He was sitting on that very couch when it happened. One second he was here, the next, well, you know..."

"Oh."

"And let's see if we can't find you a dry coat. I've got a couple old ones down in the basement that'll probably fit you. They haven't fit me in years," he laughed and patted his stomach.

* * *

Early the next morning Rob pulled his newly acquired 2006 Acura RSX up behind a green Mustang on the shoulder of a snowy highway. The previous owner had been kind enough to leave the keys on an old man's couch inside the pocket of an apparently unneeded pair of pants.

He opened the trunk of the Mustang and pulled out a gas can and a length of rubber hose. There was no sense in leaving a half tank of gas sitting uselessly on the side of the road. He opened up the gas cap on the Mustang and began siphoning out the fuel.

Once the gas was flowing he began transferring the contents of one car to the other as quickly as possible. A duffel bag full of clothes went first, followed by a few boxes of carefully rationed canned and freeze-dried food and candy. A toolbox was next, then a bag full of batteries of various sizes. It quickly became obvious that the trunk of the RSX was a little too small.

The guns went in the tiny back seat. He placed a Remington 12-gauge pump action shotgun, a full milspec M4 Carbine and a pair of Smith & Wesson .44 magnum revolvers on the seat and carefully covered them with his new coat. Then he wedged four ammo boxes in behind the passenger seat.

Last, but certainly not least, he dumped a pair of completely frozen gallon jugs of water on the floor of the front seat and dropped a couple boxes of CDs and a half-empty bag of beef jerky on the passenger seat, then shoved a wad of bills in to the glove box.

Once the gas can was safely stowed in the trunk he put his prized copy of Dead Hot Workshop's 1001 in the CD player -- the signed copy he'd gotten from Steve Larson himself at a show back in the late '90s -- and got on the road. The previous day's storm was a distant memory and he shot eastward under a clear winter sky, his unofficial theme song blasting from the Acura's speakers.

I'm gonna get me some peace someday
Guess I missed the boat when the cradle started rockin'
From the womb come a newborn baby
Is the light of day
Any better than that?
Tell me I'm not alone

Answered Prayer, Part 1

It was a good house, the sort he looked for. A plaque above the door proclaimed "Praise the Lord!" but the murky darkness within claimed there was very little praising going on at the moment.

The door was locked, but that wasn't much of a problem. A few quick jiggles with his lock pick kit and he was in. A gentle push and the door swung slowly open. Nothing happened.

His Glock preceded him in to the house in steady hands at the end of extended arms. He tracked it slowly across the openings to the entry hallway and up the staircase with practiced ease. Still nothing happened.

The pistol continued to lead him, this time down the hall toward what he assumed was the kitchen. It was right.

He already knew that something was wrong before he saw the open cans sitting on the island that dominated the ostentatiously large space. There was no stench of rotted food. Someone had been there recently. Someone had cleaned.

Someone was still there.

Someone was watching him.

He slowly turned to his left, bringing the gun part of the way around.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The voice belonged to a snub-nosed .38 revolver. No, wait. It belonged to the hands grasping the .38.

"Don't you dare point that gun at me," the .38 -- no, the hands -- said.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know anyone was here." He dropped the Glock to his side. "I'll go."

"...Yeah. Maybe you should."

He noticed for the first time that the .38 was shaking slightly. The hands holding it were trembling. Hands that were attached to a pair of slender arms. And at the other end of the arms from the gun was a frightened looking woman. No, a girl.

There was no worse place to be than in front of the business end of a gun held by a terrified, threatened person. He'd learned that the hard way twice already, which was two more opportunities than most got. He began to slowly back out of the kitchen.

"Wait." The girl said, voice tight.

"What?"

"Put the gun down," she gestured toward the island. He complied. "Tell me something about what's going on. You know, out there," she nodded toward the front door. "I, uh...I don't get out much."

"I don't know much," he shrugged. "I've seen a few things, every once in a while I hear a radio broadcast. There are some shortwave radio operators, some CB, but nothing's really organized."

"Hey, it's gotta be more than I get sitting here by myself."

"You're by yourself?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Um, I, uh, I mean..."

"Look," he held his empty hands up, "I'm not going to hurt you. I understand why you'd be worried, but, believe me, I'm not like that."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll keep this," she said, shaking the pistol. "Now talk. Please."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Really, anything at all. How many people are there? Where are they?"

"All over. Everything's pretty much going crazy."

"So there still are a lot of people out there?"

He shrugged. "Depends on where you are. Lot's of empty towns out west of here. Don't know if it's because everybody disappeared from them or some disappeared and everyone left."

"You've been west?"

"Yeah. I was in Phoenix when it happened."

"Why'd you come here?"

"I guess I saw it as a chance to make a new start."

"A new start? There's no new start here. It's just the end."

He shrugged. "Maybe for some."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No. It's the end. The guy who used to live here, he was one of those TV pastors. He was always talking about the end times, how everyone who loved Jesus would disappear, then a bunch of bad shit would happen, then Jesus would come back."

"I haven't seen Jesus yet."

"No, we've got a lot more to get through first."

"So you figured you'd be safe here?"

"No," she smiled, "I knew there was a lot of food and supplies stockpiled over here. Colin...um, the guy who owns...owned...the place was pretty paranoid. I guess he worried that the Rapture would happen and he wouldn't get to go with."

"Why? Wouldn't a TV preacher be first to go?"

"Maybe the ones who didn't have mistresses."

"Ah." Realization dawned. "Wait, you? But you're..."

"Twenty-five," she smiled. "I know what it looks like, but he wasn't a pervert. I interned for his show in college. That's where we met."

"Cool. Um, I guess."

"I believe, though, that you were supposed to be talking."

"I know."

"Oh, hey, you hungry?"

"Always, these days."

She gestured at a cupboard. "There's a bunch of cans of stuff in there. The stove still works."

"Cool. By the way, my name is Rob."

"Dawn."

"Nice to meet you."

"Yeah. So far."

The End of the World, Epilogue

Jack stared down at the gun in his right hand, studied it, hefted its weight, turned it over.

He'd bought the .40 cal XD at the same time Emily got pregnant. She hated the gun, but he'd insisted she learn how to use it. So they'd spent Saturday afternoons at the shooting range putting holes in to pieces of paper with man-shaped silhouettes printed on them. He'd been so convinced that this was just one way he'd always be able to protect his wife and child. His wife and children.

He turned the gun, looked it straight in the eye.

With his mind's eye he followed the shallow notches of the barrel's rifling as they twisted their way down. He followed them all the way down to the hollow-point bullet as it sat their, waiting.

That bullet had a name on it. "Jack."

He'd written it there himself.

His finger tightened on the trigger. Maybe this time. He closed his eyes tight, ready.

No.

The gun fell limply to his side, loosely gripped in his rebellious right hand.

He looked up, eyes roving his son's nursery. He'd been sitting in the rocking chair where Emily had nursed their son with that lovely, beatific smile of hers since, well, pretty much since that morning when his world fell apart. At least, it felt that way. He barely recalled waking and sleeping, barely registered the daily visits from his or Emily's parents. He could see their pleading faces, hear their sobbing words. "We loved her," they all said, "We loved him. We lost a daughter, a grandson. Please, please come back to us. We can't lose a son, too."

He raised his left arm, studied the big, block letters, looked at the words, now beginning to scar over, that he'd carved there.

I HOPE YOU HAVE A LONELY LIFE.

Those words surrounded him.

Before he'd made them a part of himself he'd scrawled them all over the walls of his cell, written in marker, pen, paint, carved with a screwdriver. They covered the bright, happy clouds his and Emily's parents had so lovingly painted such a short time before.

The nearly empty baby book lay in tatters in the corner where he'd thrown it after tearing out the empty pages in a rage. A crumpled photo of Emily and Nate stared at him around the blade of the pocket knife he'd driven in to one of the posts on the crib after recovering it from the trash.

As far as he knew, nobody except his parents missed him. His boss hadn't called to ask why he wasn't at work. Not even the bills came any more to remind him that if nothing else his creditors cared about him. The world, he'd heard, had just kind of shut down. His mother had told him that signs of life were returning, but only since the news came that women were starting to get pregnant again.

It didn't matter to Jack. As far as he was concerned his world had ended on a nearly empty stretch of Iowa expressway. He lifted the gun again and studied it. His world had ended the day he learned he couldn't protect them.

The doorbell rang.

He levered himself up out of the rocking chair and shuffled towards the door, wondering why he even bothered, hoping they'd be gone by the time they got there. He opened the door, hoping to see an empty stoop.

A pair of strange, plasticine smiles greeted him.

He realized with a start that he was still holding the gun and shifted it behind him.

The smiling pair didn't seem to notice. They just stared at him, those strange, out of place smiles making them seem more like robots than people. Robots designed to look like a man and a woman. Robots programmed to smile and stare.

"Well?" he finally croaked out, realizing it had been a long time since he'd used his voice.

"Hiya, neighbor!" the she-bot chirped out. "We're just in your neighborhood going around and introducing ourselves."

"Why?" he asked, more from a sense of social obligation than curiosity.

"We'd like to invite you to church," he-bot said. "We just started New Life Resurrection Church right here in town and we want everyone to know the love of god before it's too late."

"Before what's too late?"

She-bot blinked. "Why, the end of the world, of course." The smile never changed.

"We've already received a most wonderful message from god," he-bot added. "When he took all the true believers and children to be with him."

"He took my Jeffy and my little Claire," she-bot added through her hateful double-row of gleaming teeth. "I'm sure they're happy in paradise right now. And we'll get to join them soon."

"But only if we accept god's love," the other added.

It was unbelievable, unacceptable, completely insane. But something stirred inside of him. He realized that this strange, improbable pair had brought him exactly what he needed.

"Nate," he mumbled, "Emily."

"I'm sorry," he-bot said, "What did you say? I couldn't hear you."

"I said," Jack cleared his throat, "I said that I got a message from god, too."

"Wonderful!" the she-bot somehow managed to smile even wider. "Would you like to share it with us?"

Jack slowly raised his left arm and pressed it against the screen.

He-bot's eyes flickered towards the arm. The smile faltered as realization dawned, then disappeared.

She-bot's smile shrank, then returned. This time, though, it was different, tighter.

Almost human.

They began backing down off his front step. "Well, uh," he-bot stuttered out, "We meet at ten o'clock on Sunday mornings. Um, we'll see you there. Maybe."

Jack pushed open the screen door and stepped out of the house. "No," he said, raising his right arm, "Stay. I insist."

The pair stopped in their tracks.

"When you see your god," Jack said, "Tell him I have a message for him."

"W-what?" the man asked, terror in his eyes.

"He took my son and it's his fault my wife is dead. Tell him he's an asshole."

Jack's finger tightened on the trigger.

The woman dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. "No," she cried, "Please, no."

He tugged the trigger. The man collapsed.

The woman fell on to him. "No," she sobbed, "God, no. Claire, Jeffy, oh, god, why you, too?"

For the first time Jack noticed that both were wearing wedding rings. The gun dropped to his side. He looked down at the sidewalk, hoping to blink the tableau away, hoping that if he looked up he would learn that he hadn't just become a monster. The shell from his shot had somehow managed to land by his right foot. His name was still on the shell, staring up at him.

His gun came up once more. He pressed it to his chin. This time there was no thought, no hesitation, no regret.

The holocaust was finally complete.

The End of the World, Part 6

Oooh, it's a tragedy
So completely, it's almost Greek

Jack opened his eyes slowly, drawn back towards consciousness by the tinny sound coming through a barely working speaker and the general feeling that something was not right.

And if I was to be hard pressed
I'd lie and say I could not care less

Through the shattered windshield the highway stretched out in front of him. Over his head. He was upside down.

Yeeeaaaaah, I hope you have a lonely life
Yeeeeaaaah, I hope you have a lonely life
A lonely life

His mp3 player swung back and forth across his peripheral vision, still attached to the free-hanging cable connecting it to that single working speaker. He ripped it free and stared at it for a moment. Local H, it said, "White Belt Boys," Twelve Angry Months. It didn't know what had happened. It didn't care. All his anger, confusion, and frustration focused on the impertinent device and he threw it at the asphalt.

The seat belt was biting in to his shoulder and waist, reminding him of the precariousness of his situation. He reached for the release and tucked his chin as close in to his chest as possible. As he began to press down, he closed his eyes tight and tried to brace for the impact.

As the seat belt withdrew it caught his left shoulder and he ended up hitting the ceiling hard on his right side.

"Fuck."

His left arm flopped out of the car and pain ripped through it as tiny chunks of tempered glass from what was once his side window ground in to his skin.

"Dammit!"

He pulled his arm back in to the car and rubbed his right elbow. Once he had his bearings, he turned to his wife.

Emily was lying on the ceiling, pressed hard in to the passenger side bulkhead, still clutching Nate's empty pajamas in her bloody hands. She was completely still.

"Emily?" Jack asked, reaching out towards her face. "Hey, babe, wake up."

She didn't respond.

It took him a moment to realize why she didn't stir, why her head seemed to be lying at a funny angle to the rest of her body.

"Emily!" He shouted at her, fighting back the panicked tears that were filling his eyes. "Emily!" He grabbed her wrist and shook it violently. "Wake up, Emily!"

She remained obstinately silent.

"It's okay, Emily," he said, withdrawing his hand. "I'll go get help. You just stay right there. It will all be okay. I'll be right back."

He crawled out of the broken windshield and climbed painfully to his feet in time to see a pair of military Humvees swing out of the eastbound lanes and bounce across the median. He raised his bloody left arm to signal them.

A sudden realization shot through him. He'd broken the curfew. They'd probably arrest him, maybe send him to Leavenworth. As the lead Humvee pulled to a stop in front of the wrecked car the image of a troop of stern soldiers with draw weapons filled his mind.

He imagined staring down the barrel of a loaded M16, imagined watching a finger tighten on the trigger.

Somewhere deep down inside of him he hoped that was exactly what would happen.

The Humvees' doors opened. A gray-haired, unshaven man climbed wearily down from the driver's seat of the lead vehicle. "Sir," he asked, walking slowly up to Jack, "Sir, are you okay?"

Jack stared at the man and slowly read the word Wilkins on his name badge. As the other six soldiers assembled, he noticed that none of them were aiming weapons at them. None of the soldiers were even armed. They stared at him and his ruined car with sunken eyes that peered out of haggard faces.

"Sir," Wilkins repeated. Jack realized he was probably in charge, but had no idea what his rank insignia meant. "Sir, are you okay?"

Jack finally found his voice. "My," he croaked out, waving his arm vaguely back towards the car, "My wife. My...my son."

Wilkins bit down hard on his lower lip and seemed to fight back tears for a moment. "Jackson," he said after a moment, "Check it out."

Jack turned and watched as one of the soldiers dropped to his knees and carefully crawled through the Maserati's passenger window. He emerged a moment later, ashen faced. He shook his head slowly.

A single tear ran down Wilkins's cheek. He reached in to the breast pocket of his fatigues and produced a picture of an adorable smiling blond girl behind a cake with nine candles. "This is my Carrie," he said. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Jackson reached in to his pocket and produced his wallet. "This is Johnny," he said, opening up the wallet to reveal a picture of an infant in a red stocking cap. "It's his first Christmas. My girl Jenny and I were so happy."

One of the other soldiers spoke up. "I got a kid sister," he said. It occurred to Jack that he looked young enough to be a kid himself. "After my dad died of cancer I pretty much ended up raising her myself. I don't know what's happened to her today."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Wilkins broke down and began crying. Jack and the rest of the soldiers stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then joined him in his grief.

The End of the World, Part 5

Twenty minutes later the western horizon began to brighten. "We're coming up on the Quad Cities," Jack said. "Here's hoping we make it through."

He worked the interchange between I-88 and I-80, shocked that there was no sign of law enforcement anywhere to be found. When they finally caught sight of the urban sprawl that made up the dense collection of river towns he figured out why.

The Quad Cities were on fire.

"What the hell?" Emily asked, clutching Nate to her chest. She'd managed to change his diaper, although necessity had forced her to chuck the used one out the window. It was rotting on the shoulder somewhere around Sterling. "It looks like a war zone down there."

"It is," Jack said, catching sight of a convoy of Hummvees and canvas sided trucks making their way down a street. "Looks like they've got the Army out in force."

As they drew closer he made out a line of fire trucks at the nearest edge of the giant fire flanked by what appeared to be more Army vehicles. They seemed no match for the huge conflagration gobbling everything in its path. He could see no activity of any sort nearer to the highway. The Cities' loss appeared to be their gain.

Jack opened the throttle again, worried that his window would soon close. The engine revved, the speedometer swept past 150 to 160. 170.

The Quad Cities were soon in his rear view mirror. He looked in to the bright splotch of the fire, amazed at how it seemed to light the horizon. With mounting horror he realized that it wasn't just the fire brightening the view.

"You know," he said, looking for a way to distract himself from the truth, "This isn't exactly the way I'd visualized my first road trip in this car."

"Me, neither," Emily said absently, bouncing Nate up and down on her shoulder.

"I mean, I kind of figured that I'd be putting on my sunglasses and cranking up the stereo. You know?"

"Yeah. I know."

"I, uh, I think I'll put on some music."

"Okay. Not too loud."

Jack plugged his mp3 player in to the stereo and called up Local H's Twelve Angry Months. Pushed by the music, the encroaching dawn, and his own sense of desperation, he pressed the gas pedal to the firewall and watched the Maserati's tach jump to the red line.


The end came quickly, unexpectedly.

They reached an anonymous leftward curve in the road followed by a shallow downward slope and an overpass. It was the sort of thing a Maserati GranTurismo S could handle easily, even at full speed, assuming the driver was capable and paying attention to the road. Jack was neither. A night of fitful, barely restful sleep followed by over an hour of mind-numbing speed under a cloud of gnawing terror had bent his mind nearly to the breaking point.

It didn't help that at nearly the exact moment the car reached that curve, the first ray of the new day's sunlight pierced the Maserati's rear window, filling the car with radiant light.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his baby's blue cotton jumper deflate. The world seemed to slow down as he turned toward his wife in disbelief.

Emily's eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open and her lips curled back as a look of pure anguish set in on her face. Her fingers snapped closed, clutching at the impossibly empty pajamas. Her jaw worked slowly, forming the shape of an unspoken word.

The car lurched. Time snapped back to normal.

Jack swung his eyes back to the road in time to see the too-quickly approaching shoulder. Panic took over and he jerked the wheel to the left.

Time slowed once again.

Tires screeched on dry pavement.

Eerie silence.

The horizon lazily rotated counterclockwise.

They were airborne.

An answered prayer

I knew as soon as it happened that it was God's doing. What was it, something like five percent of the adult population that disappeared, and that just happened to include Mom and virtually her whole church, that had been predicting this for years? No way was that a coincidence.

But just because God had proved he existed didn't mean I was going to fall on my knees and start worshipping him. I couldn't get my head round this idea of a supposedly loving God that would split families up the way the Event did. If I could have talked to Mom about it, maybe she would have been able to explain it, or maybe not. But that was the whole point: she was gone. Everybody that could have made sense of it for me was gone, and I had to try to put it together on my own. When I first went away to college, I thought I was pretty smart, but this was way beyond me.

I tried talking to Dad about it, but he was coping in his own way. When he wasn't wallowing in guilt over all the times he'd come close to cheating on Mom, he was praying and trying to convince me I needed to join him. I told him how nasty and spiteful this God sounded, how I couldn't pray to any God who would do such a thing until I understood why, and the only reason he could give was that if I didn't kiss God's ass nicely, he might do something else even worse.

That might have suited Dad nicely, but it didn't suit me, so I didn't join in with his prayers. I did go to the church to see if the pastor guy could explain it any better, but he was too busy coming out with Bible geek stuff about how the weird preachers in Jerusalem tied in exactly with some prophecy or other. Dad just ate it all up, but it didn't come close to answering any of my questions.

I was praying though, kind of. At least, I was talking to Mom, as if she could still hear me, as if she could somehow answer me. We didn't always see eye-to-eye before, but now that she was gone I realised how many little things she'd done for me and how much I depended on her being there. I suppose I was putting on the rose-tinted glasses a bit, but the way she used to drive me nuts with her Bible quotes for every occasion didn't seem to matter as much as the fact that she was there for me and always had time to listen.

That was where things were at when we went to New York. Dad was meeting Hattie, the flight attendant he'd come closest to cheating on Mom with, and he wanted me along to prove how completely above-board everything was now. He wanted to tell her how God was behind the Event, and how she'd better get praying for the good of her soul, and he didn't get how creepy that was going to come across however I explained it. He was just utterly convinced that he was doing what God wanted him to do.

The scariest thing was, I thought he might be right.

Anyway, Hattie introduced Dad to Buck, this journalist guy who had been on his flight when the Event happened. For some reason I didn't really get, Buck wanted to interview Dad for the piece he was writing about the Event, which would have made Dad's day if he hadn't been so concerned about saving Hattie's soul. Buck and I cleared out to give him time to do that, and we spent a while wandering round the airport talking.

Well, Buck did most of the talking. I got the feeling he never really talked to anyone in depth: he seemed so grateful for the way I listened and let him pour it all out. And somehow we got drawn into flirting with each other, even though ... I mean, we didn't have a lot in common, apart from both being lonely. I guess the Event had thrown us both off a bit, and it was easier to hold onto someone else than to stand up on our own. Part of me felt like a bit of flirting was nothing to be ashamed of, but another part of me felt terrible at the way I was leading him on. Not to mention, how could I be thinking of things like that so soon after Mom...?

I didn't want to sit around listening to Buck interviewing Dad, so I sneaked away to the ladies' room. Hattie had the same idea, and we ended up standing awkwardly in front of the mirrors. Just looking at her, I could tell that however bad I'd thought Dad's salvation pitch was going to be, he'd somehow managed to make it worse. If this was what being on God's team could do, I wanted no part of it, ever.

But I didn't want to believe this was what God was really all about. I already knew how much power he had, and if he was that much of an asshole - I didn't want to think about it. But Mom had been on God's team for much longer, and she had never done anything like that. Maybe Dad was just making mistakes because he was new to the whole thing. You don't know how much I wanted to believe that.

So as soon as I had a minute to myself, I said another of my "prayers" to Mom. Asked her if she could sort of have a word with God, get him to send me some kind of sign. Just to let me know that Dad was wrong, that this wasn't the whole of God's will. And you know how sometimes when you pray, you get a calm, hopeful feeling inside as if someone really was listening? When I'd finished praying, that's how I felt.

There was still the problem of Buck. I still hadn't worked out whether I had anything to be ashamed of, but I felt like I did need to apologise for leading him on and make it clear that I didn't want things to go any further. The last thing I needed in my life was relationship drama. So I hung around after the meal to try to explain, but I couldn't find the right words. He seemed to think my talking to him meant I was interested, and I ended up giving him a vague brush-off about how he would have to look me up if he was ever in Chicago, which wasn't one of my better moments. He said something intense about how that would be sooner than I thought, which kind of gave me the creeps.

And when I got on the plane home the next day, who was sitting right next to me? I don't suppose it's a particularly impressive answer to a prayer, coming from someone who has the power to vanish millions of people in an instant, but maybe he couldn't be bothered to do more. After all, I was only the daughter of one of his believers. Besides, it got the message across effectively enough.

Slippery Minds

"Did you honestly think your pathetic half prayer would save you from my grasp Cameron?" Buck heard in his mind very clearly in the voice of Nicholia Carpathia, who was broadcasting his thoughts as he discussed petty politics with the men at the table. "I'll let you watch for right now, please, do not get up."

Every second next to Carpathia was toxic to Buck, like microphone feeding back directly into his brain. He wanted to plug his ears, or bite his lip, or jump out a window, or something to take his mind off the dull ring in his subconscious. He wanted to, but all he could do was watch. Anytime he made a motion to do anything other than sit and watch his mind filled with images of the security detail surrounding Jonathan Stonagal ventilating him at the slightest twitch.

"Now to the true business," Carpathia announced in a regal fashion, "Your promotion Mr. Stonagal, will see you far too busy to handle your usual business affairs. I will take charge of them from now on, please relinquish all your assets and files to me."

"What?" roared Stonagal, blood rushing to his face, fixing his eyes into a glare that would have killed its target had it not been directed at the  iron constitution of Nicholia Carpathia. "Have you forgotten whose plan this is? I've been pulling the strings for decades, you're nothing but a stepping stone, an errand boy. I will not stand down now that my work is almost complete."

"Please Mr. Stonagal," calmly replied Nicholia, smirking in the face of stare that withered the house plants behind him. "I would not want to have to abuse the great power that has been recently invested in me to deal with you."

Stonagal was shocked, anyone could tell that Carpathia was referring to much more than the powers of the UN, but Stonagal seemed to know exactly what he meant. Flustered Stonagal went into a momentary blinking fit, his eyes desperately darted around the room finally coming to rest for a brief moment on Buck. Quickly Stonagal's facial expression changed to a complete poker face, staring Carpathia straight in the eye. The only thing that could be gathered from Stonagals body language was that he was bracing himself for something.

"Guards, kill the pretender anti-christ," Stonagal thundered, making a violent gesture towards Carpathia.

Nicholia put up his hand, and the body guards made no move.

A single chuckle escaped Carpathia's curled lips, "Poor choice of words," said Carpathia then clenched his fist.

Stonagal's guards turned on their heels, and opened fire, going for clean body shots, minimal blood splatter.

Just before Stonagal slumped over for the final time, the feedback in Bucks head crackled and ceased. He could think again somehow, but he thought it was not a good time to make a move.

Todd Cothran did not share the same reservation for action. Stonagals men turned towards him, and moving to cut the head off the snake, Cothran quickly un-holstered his Colt .45, drawing a bead on Nicholia. Far too late, impossibly it seemed as if Nicholia somehow had a gun in his hand the whole time, and shot Cothran through the heart before the Colts safety was off. Cothran fell inelegantly forward, and his corpse smashed into the table, letting the gun slide out of his hand on impact.

Brushing the debris from the fired bullet off of his suit and getting straight back to business, Carpathia addressed Stonagal's now former head of security, "Bring me his files, I want to make the transition as soon as... Wait."

Nicholia quickly jerked his head to his left and saw Buck Williams trembling, pointing Cothran's gun across the room at him.

"Don't move," Buck stammered as he slowly backed toward the door, directed more at Stonagal's men than Carpathia.

Carpathia didn't flinch, he knew Buck couldn't hit him if he was two feet away, let alone twenty. He raised his arm to order the Guards to fire, but Buck let out a shot before he could say the words. The bullet hit nothing but ceiling tiles, but it provided enough of a distraction for Buck to dash out the door. There was no point going after him, the hall outside was a maze of hallways that all lead to an exit.

"Remind me to repeal the fire codes as soon as I get back to my offices Plank," sighed Carpathia as he sat down.

"Sir, I thought that was a marvelous display of power otherwise," replied Plank obediently.

"Too bad it is all wasted, we can not let my inner council see this as weakness," said Carpathia as he buried his heads in his hands, the rest of the men in attendance sat in a silent stupor. "Apparently Mr. Stonagal freed Mr. Williams of the mind control just to spite me, it was all his limited powers could accomplish, how childish of him. I shall take this memory from them, in the meantime find someone who looks similar enough to Stonagal to stage this again. I think we can do without a Cameron Williams next time around, arrange for an accident to befall him."

"Yes sir," Steve Plank responded quickly as Stonagal's former security guards removed the bodies from the room and prepared for take two.

L.B.: Chekhov's GIRAT

To me the thing that's menacing about this scene is the leader who not only inspires fanatical loyalty to his eeeevil cause, but who is such a ruthless badass that he will kill his own guys at the drop of a hat just to make the point that he will kill YOU at the drop of a hat too, so don't ever every do anything that might make him even momentarily angry.

The only problem is that having intimidated all his followers he then gets them to forget it, and tries to claim public sympathy as "OMG, this guys friend just shot his other friend." That's more pity inspiring than sympathetic loyalty inspiring, though... not exactly what he needs here.

The other point is that in the movie Kirk realizes that the bible says the anti-christ will proclaim himself God... Nicky Rocklumps doesn't really do that at all here.

I would have played it something like this: Un-st. Nicky talks about the new heaven on Earth they're going to build.
"You are of course with me on this. It's important that you all believe in me. The work we are going to achieve here will take faith, devotion, and obedience."

Then when Stonagal and Cothran raise some minor type of objection, Rocksy ostentatiously ignores them and speaks directly to the body guard.

"You would be Mr. Otterness, no?"
"Yes sir."
"And your job here is to protect Mr. Stonagal is it not."
"Yes sir."
"You must be concerned that Mr. Cothran here is undermining the work of your employer Mr. Stonagal."
Exuding a blank professional stillness the guard said nothing.
"This is a cause we all need Scott. I can call you Scott, can't I."
"Sir." The guard shifted his feet.
"Scott, Mr. Cothran is a grave danger to the works of your employer. He is becoming an unreliable agent for the needs of us all. Only you can help now Scott. You know what you need to do."
The guard rocked on his heels slowly, and blinked twice. Then reached to his belt and removed a small blunt pistol.
"No, Otterness. Put it down." Stonagal chimed in. The gun raised. "I'm ordering you to stop Otterness! This is not the way."
"You know your duty." Carpathia demurred. There was a bang and Todd-Cothrane crumpled off his seat.
Stonagal turned white. After a moment he unfroze and turning back to the table, sat heavily. "You've made your point."
"Have I?" Carpathia pressed his palms together. "And what point would that be exactly?"
"We're all in this together." Stonagal hardened into a poker face. Buck was impressed at the composure he was able to pull together.
"Indeed."
"Moving on," Stonagal put his hands behind his head in a show of ease, though Buck was sure he saw them tremble. "What else is on the agenda today?"
"So now you're pacing our meetings for us are you Jonathan?" Carpathia moved and stood behind the man. "That's most kind of you to lend us the benefit of your authority. Is there anything else we can do for you? Can I perhaps help move along your vision of peace on Earth?"
Stonagal scanned the eyes of the other representatives, but seemed unable to return any of their gazes.
"Because we can't bring Eden back if we're all working at cross-purposes Jonathan. We have to be singing out of the same song book Jonathan. All playing our own parts. If someone plays the wrong part, then the whole venture fails." Carpathia lifted his finger tips from the back of Stonagal's chair, and took a step towards the guard. "And we can't have that can we Scott?"
Scott Otterness hadn't moved since he had released his trigger. He was still gazing just past the end of his extended firearm, through the smoke still curling from its muzzle.
"You wouldn't want to stand between the 6 billion people of this planet and paradise would you Scott? Personally, yourself? That would be a lot to have on your conscience now Scott, wouldn't it. I don't know how a man could live with such guilt. How can your professional duty stand in the way of your obligation to do right by the entire rest of the population of our lonely little planet?"
The room was so quiet that everyone heard the scrunch of Otterness' feet pivoting on the marble floor.
The first bullet missed. It burst through the back of the chair beside Stonagal's head, leaving a dark puncture in his black leather halo. Stonagal's only motion was to close his eyes. The second bullet hit its mark. Stonagal's cheek, marbled with its fine labyrinth of capillaries, exploded outwards, and he lurched forward, his head landing with a crack on the round mahogany table. And then he was still, as a red crown expanded slowly outwards, covering the smoky swirls in the wood.

Eventually Carpathia broke the silence. "We've all just witnessed a tragedy gentlemen. We are none of us safe in doing God's work. I believe I was talking earlier about genuine humility and faith in the cause. It's the only protection any of us have. Madness and enemies lurk in every false security that we seek." He turned easily to Buck. "Mr. Cameron, I'm sure you will see to it that the world hears of our plight here. It is important they know about these forces of discord and chaos that have struck such a blow to our noblest of institutions this afternoon. To all the rest, we have work to be done. I suggest you go prepare yourselves."

As Carpathia strode to the door, the rest of the room suddenly came alive. Security personnel dived to cover their clients, and Scott Otterness flew backwards in a hail of gun fire.

Two New Features

Sorry, a quick bit of housekeeping. I went ahead and updated the RSS feed links in the sidebar to the latest version and at the same time added a blog roll for those authors that I know have blogs (that one's down at the bottom of the sidebar). If you are an author on Right Behind and your blog isn't listed, just use the email link in the "About Exharpazo" section to let me know and I'll add it.