Milton: Session 3

A group of modern day convicts are revived in the year 2043 to find they've been used as test subjects by the XCOM Project, in a failed attempt to thwart an alien invasion. A tabletop RPG campaign inspired by the X-COM/XCOM computer games. Savage Worlds (Pinnacle Entertainment Group)

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Milton: Session 3

Post by nemarsde »

The whole thing was very foreign.

Nate had been to some trendy street markets in New York in his time, and NYC was--- had been, maybe still was a very colourful town. But this was something else.

A summer morning, trekking down the street approaching the Shequoiya Mall, he'd expected it to be quiet, in before the rush, but it was already heaving. There were Africans, East Indians, Chinese, from all walks of life, but Whitey was in the minority here and he felt like he stood out in a bad way. Like he was a rich white Colonial, walking through a grand bizaar in fabled Zanzibar, his senses were nearly overwhelmed by the foreigness of it all.

Nate Nielsen was reminded that he wasn't actually rich as he stopped at a hot food vending machine. It was clearly out of favour with the locals. Good, no queues. And had no attendant. Good, no haggling. Junk and bags of refuse were stacked up against it, either side, but the chirpy, synthetic Mid-Atlantic voice emanting from the machine sounded like it was having a great day.

"Breakfast here, what will it be? The most important meal of the day! Breakfast here, what will it be?"

An impressive machine, impressively worn, it displayed its goods behind badly hazed plastic. Nate had no idea who ran it, and there was no-one attending it to ask. Unfortunate, because he had no idea how to use it either. The instructions were sun-faded, badly translated English, so he leaned in to read them.

"What can I get for you this morning?" The machine asked and Nate stepped back in suprise. Then realising a machine was talking to him ("Neato!"), he laughed and looked around, pointing at the machine. Nope, no-one even slightly interested. It was 2043, talking machines really weren't such a stretch.

"Aaand I look like a tourist." He muttered to himself, turning back to the machine.

"A tourist. I can recommend the coffee and Danish, for breakfast on the go." Offered the machine, and Nate's expression lifted.

A miracle of technology. Barely a minute and 5 bucks later, Nate was munching on one Pharoanic dry, pre-frozen Danish and sipping hot brown water. And swapping pleasantries with the Machine.

"You have a great day, and do come again!" It said.

"Why thanks. You have a great day yourself." Replied Nate.

"Thank you. Have a great day, and enjoy your breakfast."

"Will do, tastes like crap, but you're awesome."

"Thank you. Have a great---"

"You have an even greater day."

"You have a great day, and do come again!"

"Do you do karaoke?"

"I'm afraid that's not on our menu."

"Shit!"

"I'm afraid that's not on our menu."

But Nate was gone, hurrying through the crowd to catch up with Milton. The old African guy had been quizzing a street vendor selling hand-crafted drums. Now he was strolling up a side street, looking remarkably relaxed yet resolute in his direction. Nate did not want to get separated here. Bad things would undoubtedly ensue.

It was too warm. 24 degrees, only 8 in the AM. Being a bona fide New Yorker, Nate could drink his coffee at a jog without spillage. His seersucker suit was crumpled and damp with sweat, but was the only outfit he had. That was his motive for this trip. Shopping.

After their first visit, Milton had wanted to return to the mall and needed a phero-buddy. Needed to speak to "his people", apparently. Nate hadn't asked why. Nate's plan was to take one of the suppressed XCOM pistols, find an early riser on a quiet street, shoot 'em in the face and loot the corpse. Then maybe he could afford another suit and dry clean. An audacious crime, but one he'd probably get away with, considering neither he or the pistol officially existed. And if there was one thing the US Justice System excelled at, it was ignoring the plight of minorities.

But that morning, as soon as they tried parking the van, Nate realised the street-life was in full flow. And they'd only just stepped out of the van when a drone went speeding over their heads, humming with its alien powerplant. There weren't many surveillance cameras here, but good old fashioned blue murder would be a little too risky. He'd probably get hacked to death by Somalians and then arrested by a robot.

None of this seemed to deter Milton Samy. The ex-warlord strolled leisurely through the crowds, looking left and right, orientating himself, smiling and politely excusing himself if he bumped into anyone.

The side street was narrower and shaded by the tall buildings either side. No shop fronts here, but many trade entrances; workers slouching in doorways, smoking. Nate drew alongside Milton, waving to get his attention.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a friend of mine, about 90 years old, looks 60, retired genocidal maniac..."

In one doorway, a hobo sat up in his sleeping bag as they passed, half asleep, hands begging. Nate gave him his empty coffee cup, and continued his commentary.

"You know, if we get into trouble down here, I may not be able to protect you. Whoa!!"

A flock of sheep came barrelling down the street, driven by young African men in football shirts. The creatures swerved agilely around Nate and Milton, whilst the shepherds were engrossed in debate and ignored them. There were plenty of halal butchers and eateries back the way they came.

"Is that normal to you? That's normal to you, isn't it. Sheep in the street is not normal for me. It may even be Unamerican...

"Where are we going, Milton!?"

They left the side street, crossing a low rent shopping arcade that was adjunct to the mall, too ethnic to afford the rents in the main building. Up a flight of stairs to level 2, Milton in front and serene, Nate following and not serene.

"OK, you've hardly said a word all morning. It's a distressing time, I get that. When Nhut told us last night that they never finished Game of Thrones, I was lost. But we can still fit in here, you don't need whoever these people are."

They walked through a pet shop. Nate was distracted by the snakes and spiders, whilst Milton spoke to the shopkeeper then stepped through a beaded curtain. Nate was close behind. A darkened room. There was chanting, black people gathered for prayer, candles, here and there the trappings of Christianity. Some East African church?

"Oh God no, Milton!!"

Nate's jaw could've bounced off the top of his shoes. Milton reacted in - in his own way.

Above the altar, lit by spots, was a splendidly painted religious panel, depicting the saint-like figure of Milton Samy.

[ooc: Using his Streetwise skill, Milton found out about an Acholi church on his previous visit to the mall. But did not expect this.]
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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Milton's thoughts were with himself during the walk; Nate was busy hiding the shallowness of his soul with his innate babbling. He suspected that it would take a shock of greater proportions than being out of time to make Nate reconsider his life, to be made to be truly repentant for the unmitigated evil he had sought and done.

So he ignored him for now. He had greater things to attend to.

Seeing people drive sheep through the streets of this modern metropolis brought a small smile to his face; people still did the things they did in biblical times, even when there was technology everywhere, and humans were now second-class citizens on their own planet. It gave him hope that people had not changed fundamentally as a result of that.

Passing the beaded curtain, the familiar sounds of African Christianity made him feel happier again; religion had not been exterminated, as much as the aliens might want it. People still felt the need for God, to seek out his guidance, to pray for his forgiveness for the little (or not so little) trespasses they had committed. It made life possible for those in extreme circumstances; for the people not to lose all hope and give themselves to the Devil and his corruption. As far as he was concerned, it was irrelevant whether there were aliens or not. God was not some star traveller of great power; he was the Creator of everything, including these aliens, and as always, he brought trials and tribulations to the people to test them, and to show them the errors of their way.

What he saw on the other side of the beaded curtain stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh Lord!"

They had sanctified him? Had the Holy See began the process of Sainthood? It seemed inconceivable that they would do that; he understood that the Church, like any other organisation, was political in nature, and it didn't seem likely that his reputation could have been salvaged from the condemnation of the world. It had been a sacrifice he was willing to suffer for his people, but this? It was a kind of reward for his good works, for his determination to do the necessary things to achieve the right goals.

He had expected to be left in Limbo, while they weighed his sins against the purity and loftiness of his achievements and his goals. He had not expected to return to the Earth to be lionised by his believers. For the moment, he was uncertain whether this was wrong, or whether it was vindication.

"I do not understand," he said to the air, as he glanced around, looking for the priest in charge. "How is this possible?"
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by nemarsde »

"Because only the impossible is impossible, brother." A man said in Acholi, limping over to the newcomers.

It was dark in the room, cabalistic, but the man was African, younger than Milton and wearing a homespun kanzu and dark blue blazer. His gait was ruined though, perhaps by some old injury or illness.

"Father Milton said that The People would stand, like a fire against the ocean, but that our fire would be as the Sun and could not be quenched if drowned beneath a thousand fathoms."

He smiled, missing teeth, and gestured to the room.

"God spoke through him. Even his lies were truthes. And so here we are, the Church of the Holy Father by His Divine Agent Milton Samy.

"And as you see, the fire still burns."

Nate opened his mouth to speak. Tried again, but no, he was definitely speechless. The man's accent was thick, African, and spoke in a mix of Acholi and English, but Nate understood the gist of it well enough.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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He stared at the man for a short while, trying to take it in. They were his words, or at least, variations on the words he had used to galvanise his people, the Acholi peoples, against their enemies. He had made so many speeches, taken from the Bible, taken from Shakespeare's plays, taken from tribal histories, that he had forgotten most of them, but this theme he remembered.

"I see," he said finally, turning to Nate. "It seems that vindication is at hand. Truly, the best revenge is to outlive your enemies and see their works turn to dust."

He turned back to the conveyor of this news.

"Yes, it seems the fire still burns, and it might burn brighter yet."

He paused for a second, before continuing.

"Do you know who I am?"
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by nemarsde »

Nate looked around the darkened room, at the dozen or so worshippers.

"This should be good." He quipped, stepping out of the doorway to investigate some of the shinier decorations.

The morning sun fell upon Milton from behind, half illuminating his face and surrounding him in a nimbus of light.

The Acholi man before him was confused by the question, but then stiffened, as if ice water had been thrown over him. Recognition!

Shaking uncontrollable he staggered back.

Someone else, a woman, cried in shock.

"And He said - He said one day that he would walk free again!!" The man mumbled, ignoring her.

In all honesty, when Milton had said that, he was referring to imprisonment in the Hague, but...

The Acholi man collapsed backwards, his trembling knees giving out, and everywhere in the room, worshippers were crying, screaming in what, panic?

Only the impossible was impossible. It was one thing to say it, another thing to live it.

Nate laughed, "Milton, you rock star!"
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by brightlilim »

Milton ignored Nate and walked forward to the Acholi man he had been conversing with, and gently supported him, bringing him back up to his feet.

"It is true. Only the impossible is impossible."

He looked at the rest of the congregation. It would be a splinter church, but that was inevitable, given that the main church was no more.

"I said I would return," he said, "and so I have kept my promise. I said that The People would stand if united, as a fire as strong as if the very Sun had come down to Earth, as blessed by the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, for the spirit of the people, their indomitable will, is their strength."

His gaze swept the room, his demeanour somehow messianic.

"Rise," he said. "The fire still burns, and The People still stand, where others have laid down their spirit, their will, their freedom. But we will not lay down ours, for the fire still burns."
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by nemarsde »

The man stood unsteadily, but the others were rapidly throwing themselves at Milton's feet, or falling, wailing in shock, or kneeling, praying, worshipping him on the spot, tears streaming from their eyes.

"It is the Backdraft then," mumbles the Acholi man, "The burning of the Seven Seals."

"What is your will, Father!?" Cries a woman hysterically, nearby.

"Ask if you can borrow some money." Suggests Nate.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by brightlilim »

Milton ignored Nate's prattling.

"My child," he said, "there is time for passion, and time for calm. This is a time for calm.

"I need to know how The People are, how many are still around and faithful, how you survive in this new world, how you hide from those who would persecute you."

His eyes roved over the audience, looking for one, or perhaps more, who would be able to grant him the answers he sought.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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So the talking began. The people listened and spoke in awed, hushed tones, gathered around where Milton stood then sat.

They spoke mainly of the hard choices. The ardent desire to join humanity in forging a future, to be included, to be where their children had prospects. The lure of the Convergence. But then leaving behind their home land, their friends and families. They brought their culture and the Old Ways with them, but their Church was contraband, so they smuggled it in and kept it hidden. To be a citizen in this new world order, one had to adhere to the Elders beliefs.

The alien overlords claimed it was a choice that all people were free to make, like so many empires before them, like the Romans themselves. But it was the choice between prosperity and subsistence. Between being on the inside or the outside.

The Earth's fate was now decided by the Elders and organised religion was not part of their grand plans. Ultimately, the aliens intended to bury the worship of God and turn mankind into heathens. It was the return to Antediluvian times. Many feared that the Wrath of God would be unleashed and only the Righteous would survive. Some even yearned for it and amongst this mild-mannered, peaceable gathering, there was still talk of Holy Warriors and uprising.

If churches were found by the authorities, they were forcibly disbanded. Worshippers had their citizenship revoked and were deported to the Exclusion Zones. Worst of all, if they wished to stay, the aliens would "tutor" them. And everyone everyone who went through tutoring, came out of the programme a non-believer. It was nothing more than psychic brainwashing by alien minds. Those in the room generally agreed that the aliens were worse than demons, because even demons knew God.

For Nate, amusement had long since given way to boredom. He slouched in a creaky plastic garden chair, trying to drift off, but he kept sliding out of his seat. He finally took to reading one of the plain-covered books, piled on the table next to him.

More people appeared in the doorway and joined the congregation; one, two, then small, nervous groups. Word was spreading fast, and soon enough the small, makeshift chapel was thronged with excited Africans.

The atmosphere was hot, fevered, intense.

Nate was oblivious. He chuckled to himself whilst reading, then laughed out loud and held up the book, sighing through a smile.

"This is great!! Seriously, this is some of the best satire I've read. Better than Bierce, I think. What is it?"

The lame man who first greeted them, gave Nate a confused look.

"It is the Book of the Nilotes, the Words of Binding, the sacred text of our Church." He explained with a frown.

"Oh," replied Nate nodding, "Um, yeah, well it's really... a good... read."

Suddenly the crowd surged, a domino effect that started back through the doorway in the pet shop, maybe outside in the arcade. The bead curtain came down with a crash. A commotion quickly arose, shouts of alarm, and word carried through to the chapel in a dozen African languages.

Even Nate could pick out the one repeated word.

"Sirians! Sirians!"

The limping church-goer pushed through to His Divine Agent Milton Samy. By now Milton knew this man was a priest named Drew.

"The Cult of Sirius are here! We must go! There will be blood!" He said urgently.

[Pchan, read this and write a list of any questions you have about the Church, I'll answer them next session. Meanwhile, we'll continue with the action here.]
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by brightlilim »

He looked at Drew. The man had a look in his eyes that spoke of urgent action.

"Lead on. We will go with you," he said, "but you must tell me more about this Cult of Sirius on the way."

He turned to Nate, and nodded. "We follow him."

Without waiting for a response, he followed the priest.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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Nate fell out of his seat, knocking over several candles onto the tablecloth.

"I knew it! Killed. Stripped. Dragged through the streets--- Jesus Christ Milton, I'm still wearing that Army issue underwear from the base! My corpse will look like a complete redneck!"

The people were surging to get out, flee the chapel by way of the pet shop.

Drew was relieved when Milton agreed. Perhaps this was the End of Days and His Divine Agent had returned, but the man had not yet found his warrior spirit.

"The Cult of Sirius worships the aliens as gods, Your Holiness. Hah, the Government say they've tried to stamp out the Cult, but its adherents are often those they re-educated!" He yelled over his shoulder, explaining and he led Milton and Nate through the crowd.

"Come, Children of the Nile, His Divine Agent Milton Samy will lead us to salvation!" Drew said to those he passed, and they followed. To the rear of the chapel and behind a black curtain, where there was a fire door.

Drew pumped the handle of the panic bar and threw his weight against the door.

"FIRE!" Came a cry from elsewhere in the room.

"Allow me." Said Nate, his voice tight, stepping up and throwing considerably more weight against the door than Drew's. Being an amateur though, he shoulder-barged it, didn't tuck his head in, and so head-butted the door too. The door gave way, he fell through the opening in a daze and hit the floor with a thud. "Ow!"

"Is this man your disciple, Your Holiness?" Drew asked Milton with what may have been concern.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

Post by brightlilim »

"Nate!"

He didn't need the man behaving hysterically, and it didn't matter to him whether Nate was hysterical or not; hysteria was infectious in a panicked crowd.

Reaching the fire door, he was puzzled as to why it didn't open immediately when Drew pumped the handle. Was that not its function? He was about to add his efforts to Drew's when Nate decided to take more precipitous, and immeidate, action, and hurled himself through the door. He did open it though.

He stepped forward protectively over Nate, and waved the crowd behind him past. "Move quickly, but do not panic," he said to them. "God is with you."

He looked at Drew as he spoke.

"Nate is," he glanced down at Nate before returning his gaze to Drew, "unsure of what he believes in at the moment. I hope to be able to help him in some way."

He extended his hand to Nate to haul him to his feet, at the same time watching him for signs of unsteadiness.

"Thank you Nate. That was good work. Now, let's go."
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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It could have been a stampede, probably would have been on any other day. But that day, as the East Africans crowded through the open firedoor, they did so cowed by Milton's presence. They couldn't look him in the face, let alone the eye. They stepped gingerly passed him and Nate, though Drew gave way and urged his congregation to hurry.

Back in the room there were more shouts, angry shouts, the sound of rising commotion and smoke was filling the room from the ceiling downwards.

Outside the fire escape was built up the rear wall of the arcade, leading to a yard that other fire escapes fed into. The summer sun was almost blinding after the darkness.

A scream!

Two men hammered down the fire escape from above. They looked Indonesian, Malay perhaps. They were wearing a leather kuttes, dark jeans, sleeve tattoos, with prominent triangle and star motifs. It was the cheap goloks that really caught the attention though.

The first man hacked at the screaming woman, the blade thunking into her face and sticking, as if it'd hit an unripe pineapple. The woman, about 10 years younger than Milton and wearing a kanga could only gasp in shock with the golok buried between her eyes.

The other man leapt at Milton, who was still straightening up. The golok swung down, a crude blow with no aim.

It slapped into Milton's upraised palm and the old man knew -- from his years of experience with machete wounds -- that he'd be picking his fingers up off the floor, if not half his hand. Or maybe, as he'd often seen, the cheap, stamped metal blade would just leave the bloody tatters hanging by a thread of skin.

But actually, no. His Divine Agent was holding the golok aloft, in the grip of the righteous man. Blood leaked from between his fingers, but he could feel the blade hadn't cut deeply. He had a vision of his flesh being as hard as African Blackwood, dulling the metal blades that hacked at it.

BANG!!

Hot blood splashed over Milton's face, as a something blasted through the Sirian's neck from below and obliterated the jawbone. The golok attacker jerked in his death spasm and toppled over the railing.

"Headshot!" Blurted Nate, lying on his side and pointing the .45 Automatic Colt Pistol upwards.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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He blinked as the blade swung towards him, and instinctively grabbed at it. It would take a tenth of a second to realise it was a terrible idea, and a full half-second after that before he felt surprise at the shallowness of the cut. By this time, he was thinking about breaking the attacker's neck.

His surprise was increased as the man's head inconveniently gouted blood over his face. A familiar, dangerous, almost fey mood took him, one he hadn't felt for decades. One which involved killing or maiming people, quickly, or slowly, mercifully or painfully, to deliver a message to the other minions of evil. Evil was always around, and if left unchecked, its tendrils would spread rot to the world and its people.

As his attacker fell, he wrenched the golok from his hand, and wiped his face. Seeing the other attacker, he charged him with the golok raised for chopping. No war cry; that was for effect. He needed to take him out, to find out who he was and what threat he represented, to cauterise the wounds the attackers were inflicting upon his people, and show them they could fight back against this evil.

Some time after this, he would have to thank Nate for his timely action.
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Re: Milton: Session 3

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A woman and her baby, wearing ethnic dress, pushed out of the fire exit, just as Nate was getting to his feet. He pointed the smoking Automatic Colt Pistol to the railing, where the dead man had toppled over.

"Headshot. You know that's +10 points in Battlefield." He said, and she looked at him as if he were a rubber duck giving birth to a fully-grown Giant Anteater.

Smoke was billowing out of the doorway now. People were coughing and spluttering, and the old woman was still screaming with a machete in her face.

For Milton, old instincts, old experience, rose to the blood-soaked surface.

If you hack with a machete you get a nasty gash. It's just a stamped steel blade after all. Milton needed a two-handed, downwards draw-cut. Straight across the sternum.

The Sirian was struggling to loosen his machete and didn't clock Milton. The cut made no noise, severing the subclavius, most of the pectoralis major and slicing into the ribs and intercostals. Not instant death, but the man gasped in shock and threw himself to the floor, curling up into a twitching ball of agony.

The people rushed passed him in a stampede. The old woman was carried away. Drew was already in the yard, staring up at His Divine Agent. He'd seen the whole thing. Now Milton stood on the fire exit, righteous, the morning sun shone down on him, picking out his gory head and shoulders in stark red. The rough edge of his machete glinted like a brand of justice.

"My God..." The priest muttered to himself.

"Holy shit!" Said Nate, nudging Milton, "That place was a serious fire hazard, look at it!"

Flames were licking around the doorway now. The walls had been hung with drapes.

"Oh hey!" There was another gunshot from Nate when he noticed the wounded SIrian, "+20 points!"

More commotion in the street adjacent to the yard, the narrow street running through the arcade. If anyone would've expected violence from the Sirians, it would be Milton. To Westerners, the idea of a frenzied mob of Hari Krishnas attacking a gathering of Jehovah Witnesses was comical. But where Milton came from, religious and ethnic violence had been a constant threat for decades.

For now, him and Nate had to vamoose, but Milton had wider obligations, didn't he? He could see the way Drew was looking at him. It was not the look one gave a minister or pastor. It was the look one gave a dream, a fantasy, he'd seen it in the eyes of cultists before. The losing of oneself, the forsaking of rational thought and responsibility for your own actions. The question was, was it something Milton cultivated or abhored?

A drone whizzed by overhead, propelled by some alien technology. Above it, choppers were circling lower, probably the media, and the sound of sirens finally rose above the cacaphony.
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