According to my badly discolored birth certificate, I was born as a human in the year 2013. That means, all total, I have been "alive" for about 182 years. And, as a result, I know more about this world than almost anyone. Moreover, not entirely by coincidence, the anniversary of my rebirth is the same as the anniversary of the Great Destruction. So, this world and I share a birthday—August 6, 2045.
But before I get ahead of myself, I would first like to describe the world, as I remember it, before the Great Destruction.
In every age, there have been those who believe everything that can be invented has already been invented. Historically, these people have always been proven wrong. And this was certainly the case as the world approached the middle of the Twenty-First Century.
The "Information Age", as it was called, dragged on from the late decades of the Twentieth Century into the mid-2030's. And it was not without its significant achievements. Throughout its duration, computers continued to become faster, smarter, smaller, and more pervasive. They could and did do virtually everything, and powerful pocket computers such as Heliogistics’ popular "Soulman" became as commonplace as wallets and telephones. Perhaps the most impressive achievements of the Information Age, however, were holographic simulators and androids.
Hologram Rooms were developed early in the century with the promise of immersing users in true "virtual reality." These devices initially met with significant enthusiasm and rave reviews, primarily because their "infinite landscape" technology could successfully create the illusion of range and long-distance travel, within a very small space. In retrospect, however, these rooms really weren't much of an improvement over old-fashioned movie projectors. Ultimately, even with haptics and motion-restriction, because nothing was actually solid, nothing seemed truly "real."
The solution arose when an insightful entrepreneur combined the existing Hologram Room technology with the technology behind the recently developed food replicators. These food replicators worked by altering nutrient-rich paste into virtually any texture, taste, and shape, thereby creating an illusion of food that could actually be eaten. It really wasn't much of a leap to modify this technology to reconfigure generic "matter" into virtually any shape, size, and texture. These solid objects were then enhanced with existing hologram technology so that, depending upon the quality of the simulator unit, the creations would be almost indistinguishable from the "real" things they represented. Additionally, by constantly reconfiguring the generic matter, the simulators could create fluid and convincing motion. Most simulators even incorporated tanks of nutrient paste from their ancestor systems so that, within a virtual environment, users could actually eat real food and drink real drinks. And, with this, virtual reality finally became "real."
Simulators immediately came into great demand by all aspects of society. They were not only useful for entertainment, but also for training, planning, and risk management. Soldiers and police officers could realistically test their plans and tactics before executing them. Sports teams could train against realistic opponents. Athletes could test themselves against historic legends. People could relive treasured memories. And any lustful human could enjoy the company of his or her perfect mate, no matter how unlikely the match.
By 2045, simulators had become almost commonplace. They were too big, bulky, and expensive for most households, but you could find one in almost any corner strip mall. Of course, I had my own.
Even today, I am frequently astonished by how convincingly certain companies were able to mimic human appearance, human movement, and human speech. More than once I have been fooled by what looked like appealing prey, only to find myself biting into rubbery polymer and insulation. But, again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
As computers became faster and more powerful, it became increasingly possible to program truly convincing artificial intelligence. In comparison, the robotic construction was simple. But, once the first shiny-skinned, glassy-eyed androids rolled onto the market to the delight of consumers everywhere, the suddenly booming android industry quickly evolved from science to art. As with the simulators, the goal was to make the end product as "real" as possible. And, following years of advances in synthetic flesh and micro-servos, the android manufacturers achieved their goal. High-end androids had become superficially indistinguishable from real humans.
Interestingly, the android army horror stories foretold by many anti-android activists, proved to be mostly unfounded. Human replicant androids were too expensive and fragile to make cost-effective soldiers. In fact, specialized, non-anthropomorphic robots (like warbots) were much better suited to combat roles. Nonetheless, there were some problems—mostly arising from the ability to replicate important officials. But even this was more of any annoyance than an actual problem. Androids were very good at fooling humans, but they were terrible at fooling electronic screening systems.
In the end, by the mid-2030s, the information technology wizards had successfully created their own worlds and their own people, causing the general public to once again wonder whether there was anything left to invent. Then, as always, someone answered the question with a resounding "yes."
Throughout history, brilliant men and women had theorized there might be infinite dimensions in which the physical laws of our world would not apply. And, in 2036, these visionaries were proven correct.
As under-funded but innovative scientist, Heinrich Torgler, dialed the tuning knobs of his home-made portal generator like an antique radio, he progressively opened doorways to dozens of parallel universes (now commonly called “dimensions”), which he meticulously cataloged but could not begin to describe. Finally, however, he tuned into something with which he was very familiar. His laboratory walls smoldered, and his portal generator melted to slag in seconds—but the results were encouraging beyond his wildest imagination. This unknown and unappreciated scientist had tapped into a dimension of pure, powerful, and seemingly infinite energy.
Suddenly, the wealthiest and most powerful corporations were showering money upon a man they had theretofore considered a mad scientist. In short order, Heinrich Torgler's brand-new, highly insulated and carefully regulated portal generator was streaming more energy than his available power cells could store. Through further research by the companies to which Torgler licensed his patent, it was discovered that the total voltage of the dimensional output was directly proportional to the size of the dimensional portal. Moreover, while it was extremely expensive to construct long-lasting large portals, it proved surprisingly inexpensive to construct tiny ones.
The human race had finally found the infinite energy source of which it had long dreamed. Dimensional generators were easy and inexpensive to manufacture and, once supply met demand, they became easy to afford. In fact, the basic principles of portal generation were so simple that virtually every manufacturer of electronic devices started turning out universal generators or incorporating power portal technology directly into their electronic devices—creating so-called "non-universal" power supplies. The overwhelming feeling of freedom we all experienced is hard to describe, and probably impossible for you to appreciate.
As with all things, however, people soon took infinite power for granted . . . and it is surprising how little society actually changed.
While Heinrich Torgler rose to world fame solely upon his discovery of the energy dimension, the next logical step for his successors was to study the other, more enigmatic dimensions Torgler had cataloged in his early research. Ultimately, one such dimension proved to be almost as valuable as the energy dimension. It is, of course, the dimension we have come to know as the transporter dimension. But this one was nowhere near as easy to understand, and much more difficult to harness.
The first interesting experiment with this dimension involved a radio transmission being projected into the dimension, with several receivers tuned to the same frequency and linked to similar portals around the globe. Every remote station reported successful receipt of the signal with no degradation. More interestingly, however, the measurable delay one would generally expect from a signal carried on radio waves was completely absent, as if the signal had been simultaneously broadcast and received. This surprising find resulted in significant debate and many additional experiments. Ultimately, the scientific community accepted a theory that this strange dimension was the long imagined "warp" that simultaneously connected everything in the universe. And the possibility of instantaneous travel to any location became immediately apparent.
The problem was, once you sent a physical object into the dimension, how would you get it back out? Many objects were eternally lost in an effort to answer this question. But ultimately, scientists developed an effective process. Upon being inserted into the dimension, each object was tagged with a unique electronic signal. Very basically, by locking onto these signals, the receiving transporter station could "pull" the object out of the dimension, seemingly as good as new. Further studies revealed an object could remain in the transporter dimension for an extended period of time without suffering any adverse effects or any signal degradation. So, while human transportation would still require years of testing, the transporter dimension had found its first commercially viable application—the Dimensional Banking and Storage System.
But human transportation had been the real goal, from the very beginning. No sooner had the first successful object recoveries been completed than scientists started planning animal tests. Just like objects, animals would be inserted into the dimension, tagged with unique electronic signals, detected at another location, and pulled out. Perhaps the greatest surprise was that it worked perfectly—on the very first try. The animal went in. The remote portal would detect the signal. And the animal would be pulled out, perfectly intact, down to the molecular level. The reaction within the scientific community was jubilant.
The next logical step, just as it had been with objects, was to study the effects of prolonged exposure to the transporter dimension. This time, the results were not as encouraging. Animals left in the transporter dimension for even a few minutes, while physically unaffected, showed myriad psychological symptoms, including increased aggression, depression, and paranoia. And the symptoms seemed to worsen with prolonged exposure. Animals left in the transporter dimension for a few hours demonstrated pronounced emotional disturbance, albeit without any signs of brain damage.
Still, animals snatched from the transporter dimension after only a few seconds of exposure demonstrated no adverse symptoms at all. Even animals passed through the system hundreds of times appeared to be perfectly healthy, provided each such exposure was limited to less than one minute. As a result, the solution seemed obvious. Tagged signals would be communicated to multiple receipt stations as a failsafe. The intended arrival point would activate first, and the other stations would automatically activate in succession—theoretically ensuring a subject would arrive at one receipt station or another after only a few seconds of exposure. This system proved so effective with animal testing that a mountain of data was soon available to justify human testing.
And the rest is history. For years transporters operated world-wide, in ever-increasing numbers, with hardly any significant incidents. Ultimately, “DimTrans” travel became so widely accepted that fear of such travel was defined as a phobia. If you could be anywhere in the world in a matter of seconds, it was crazy to travel by any other means. So everyone thought. And, by 2045, DimTrans stations had become so commonplace that, during any given second, tens of thousands of people were inside the transporter dimension, waiting to be pulled out.
Dimensional technology also significantly revolutionized communications. Through a fairly simple process, an electronic signal could be projected into the Transporter Dimension through a tiny dimensional portal within a handheld communicator and instantly received through a similar dimensional portal within a recipient communicator. This breakthrough eliminated the need for telecommunication towers, satellites, service providers, etc. Not surprisingly, this new, virtually free method of instant communication rendered all previous options obsolete. Within months, landfills sparkled with the screens of discarded “smart phones.” And, while the most common dimensional communicators lacked the computer-like capabilities of their predecessor devices (being most often limited to transmission of voice and text), similar dimensional technology was also crafted into computer modems, giving birth to a free and unregulated “Dimensional Internet.” Of course, most dimensional communicators and portable computers were also powered by non-universal dimensional generators, making them truly self-sufficient. And many such devices continue to function to this day.
While the basic principles of killing have remained exceedingly simple, the techniques by which those principals are applied have evolved in fascinating ways throughout human history. The early Twenty-First Century was no exception.
By the third decade of the twenty-first century, the worldwide anti-firearm movement had reached an unprecedented level of popularity. Eventually, the public pressure became too great and all significant world governments executed an international treaty banning firearms for anything other than military use. Even police departments were subject to the ban and were forced to explore less-than-lethal alternatives to their traditional smokeless powder weapons. Most small firearm manufacturers folded immediately. Larger manufacturers were able to survive on military contracts, but even they had to tighten their belts. Then, with the advent of dimensional energy generators in the late 2030s, every advanced fighting force refitted its troops with energy weapons (lasers mostly), which, while expensive, had the undeniable advantage of infinite ammunition. Because there could be no civilian market for the obsolete military firearms, they were systematically destroyed—and the last of the firearm companies either converted to the manufacture of energy weapons or closed their doors entirely.
When the pendulum of public opinion finally swung back toward individual rights and self-defense, the international firearms treaty was abolished. At this point, the remaining firearms manufacturers and a collection of entrepreneurial would-be manufacturers assembled for an international convention that would forever change the future of firearm production. Rather than re-implementing the traditional calibers and gauges that had evolved mostly through experimentation and accident, the convention sought to identify and agree upon ideal universal ammunition types for every purpose. The result was the Generic Ammunition Series, which consisted of three calibers of handgun ammunition (GH), three calibers of rifle ammunition (GR), and two gauges of shotgun ammunition (GS). Having established these new standards, each manufacturer went to work designing marketable weapons. The resulting products met with significant market success and critical acclaim, even from die-hard, old-time gun enthusiasts. The convention had succeeded in designing the perfect round for every purpose. And there would be no going back.
Even the military was quick to readopt some more traditional firearms, having realized the disadvantage of over-reliance upon energy weapons (specifically when attacking targets clad in energy-resistant armor). Soon, the sound of automatic weapon fire on the battlefield became as commonplace as it had been in the Twentieth Century. The heroic rifleman of old had finally returned—and his weapon was better than ever.
The advent of dimensional energy also inspired more advanced powered armor designs, and the world's militaries were quick to embrace this new technology. In fact, for a time, powered armor was thought to be an essential of modern warfare and virtually every foot soldier in every significant army was assigned a suit. With the introduction and subsequent mass production of bio-toxic pulse (BTP) weapons capable of killing a soldier without punching or burning through his powered armor, this gradually changed. In fact, light troops armed with BTP weapons frequently proved lethal against slow, lumbering enemies in powered armor. Ultimately, tactics shifted so that specialized troops in powered armor made up only small segments of most successful infantries. Retired suits of powered armor were often donated to National Guard and police forces, in whose employ they were very effective.
From the first moment modern powered armor suits were introduced, however, purchasers demanded some assurance that enemy soldiers would not be able to capture the expensive suits and use them to their advantage. The solution, which was implemented into virtually every suit of powered armor, was a life sign monitor linked to a small explosive charge on the suit's interface relay. When the suit detected that its wearer was no longer alive, the charge would activate, destroying the central relay, and rendering the suit useless. In fact, in the days immediately after the Great Destruction, many such suits could be seen standing motionless on scorched battlefields. Most of them have since been claimed (probably for scrap metal), but a few still stand as lonely tributes to the very violence from which our world was born.
The most significant advances in Twenty-First Century medical technology arose in two areas, nanotechnology and advanced chemistry.
In the very early days of the Third Millennium, people dreamed of microscopic flying robots capable of self-replicating and transforming basic matter into almost anything imaginable. Needless to say, their hopes were set too high. Designing a microscopic robot sophisticated enough to build another microscopic robot proved to be so demanding, the robot couldn't do much else. Moreover, while it was possible to make a dimensional generator small enough to power a pen light, opening and containing a dimensional portal at the microscopic level proved to be an insurmountable challenge. As a result, microscopic robots had limited power supplies and even shorter useful lives. Ultimately, scientists opted instead to design portable "nano-labs," with which a nanotechnician could fashion whatever disposable nanites he needed, on the fly.
One major breakthrough, pioneered by NanoPlat Corporation, was the construction of nanites from platinum. This element proved to be the perfect combination of malleability and durability, and the NanoPlat NanoLab soon became standard equipment for all nano-professionals.
Ultimately, however, despite its many potential applications, nanotechnology was relegated almost exclusively to medical and scientific applications. And it was in these areas that nanotechnology proved truly miraculous. By 2040, using only a nano-lab, a medical nano kit, and a few grams of platinum, a medical professional could fashion one of three types of nanites (healing, destructive, and regulating) and program them to perform virtually any task within a living creature, from mending bones and healing serious wounds, to eradicating diseases, to stabilizing hormone imbalances. In fact, nanotechnology seemed like the greatest miracle of modern medicine—until a chemist invented the EZ-Stitch syringe.
The "miracle drugs" of the Twentieth Century looked like placebos compared to their Twenty-First Century counterparts. But the pinnacle of chemical advancement was the invention of the EZ-Stitch syringe. Based upon decades of detailed study into the principles of regeneration, this seemingly simple chemical formula could stimulate and exponentially enhance a body's natural healing abilities to repair even major wounds in mere seconds. EZ-Stitches were relatively inexpensive and became absolutely indispensable. Emergency room nurses used dozens a day, and no paramedic would be caught without one. In fact, anyone who didn't keep at least one EZ-Stitch in his or her first aid kit was an idiot, a religious fanatic, or both. Personally, I never had to use an EZ-Stitch, but I always kept several on hand. Of course, they are utterly useless to me now. Pity.
The military, of course, immediately fell in love with the EZ-Stitch and improved upon it in several ways. The first was a modified formula called the EZ-Stitch Max that was more than twice as effective as the original. The second was a sophisticated delivery system called the Autoinjector. This device constantly monitored the wearer's vital signs and injected EZ-Stitches (or any other chemical) as soon as certain preset conditions were met. Thus, a soldier could be near death, his Autoinjector would activate, and he would be restored to health, without the soldier ever taking his finger off the trigger. Of course, even an EZ-Stitch Max could not raise the dead; so, ultimately, every battle would end. But the combination of powered armor and Autoinjectors gave many soldiers a sense of invulnerability that wasn't far from true.
But enough about technology. My intention was to tell you about our world, and so I'll get to the heart of it. Before I do, however, I must confess that, while most of what I am about to divulge is based upon my own observations and memories, some is based upon the findings of certain fellow historians, not the least of which was the inimitable Hunter Chordato, the finest musician in all the lands. I don’t often consider humans my friends; but Hunter is one of the few. Again, however, I digress.
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. So too, for every blessing, there is a curse. And the curse that ultimately outweighed every blessing of the Twenty-First Century was Yellow Mike.
The disease was mysterious from the time it was first cataloged by CDC scientist, Dr. Yvonne Stein, in 2044, shortly after the first patient was identified in New York City. There has been some speculation as to why Dr. Stein named the disease "Yellow Mike"—but no one knows for certain. One theory is that Dr. Stein's sample was automatically cataloged under the alphabetical code "YM"—and this may very well be true. But it does not explain the name "Yellow Mike", at least not to my satisfaction. If anything, the communication code for YM would have been "Yankee Mike," not "Yellow Mike."
Rather, the theory I choose to believe came from a man I spoke to before the Great Destruction (but after Dr. Stein's lab had been mysteriously destroyed along with that original sample of Yellow Mike). This man said he remembered a campfire story from his childhood about an insane serial killer named "Yellow Mike." I don't know why but, as soon as he said it, I knew he was right. Dr. Stein named the new disease after her most frightening childhood memory, a mindless, merciless killer called "Yellow Mike."
But, despite the mystery and the intrigue surrounding this strange disease that literally reconfigured the DNA of its victims, almost no one was afraid of Yellow Mike—at least, not at first. Over the years, humanity had become too accustomed to pandemics and too complacent in our belief that medical science could save us from anything. There were bound to be some casualties, of course, but this new disease couldn't possibly cause too much damage. It wasn't the Middle Ages, after all.
Unfortunately, our faith in modern medicine was misplaced. Despite their best efforts, doctors and scientists were powerless to stop Yellow Mike's spread or even to treat its victims. Instead, when hospitals became overwhelmed, infected people wandered the streets, utterly mad from pain and disease-induced thought disorders. In time, their violent acts claimed almost as many lives as did Yellow Mike itself.
The few healthy civil servants that remained had no time to clear the corpses littering the streets. Instead, their efforts were focused toward maintaining order and trying desperately to stem the madness. Of course, as more and more of those in authority began falling victim, it was obvious their efforts would end in failure.
The endless stream of news reports showed us that virtually every city in the world was suffering a similar outbreak. This was hardly a surprise in the age of dimensional transporters. But it was nonetheless very discouraging. We had somehow expected there would be someplace safe to go. But there was no such place.
Rather, as the cities burned for no good reason, the world's politicians, who were too proud to be sick, began unleashing their own madness. Full scale military assaults were launched to redress imagined insults or ancient grudges. And, in what seemed like a day, all the worlds' militaries were at war. We received some footage of the early battles. Then most of the battlefield broadcasts stopped altogether.
No one knew exactly how Yellow Mike was spreading. It may have had something to do with human contact, or it may have traveled through the air. Either theory would explain why I was still healthy. I had always been a fanatic about environmental toxins, and had spent most of my life breathing only the purest filtered air. Similarly, for years I had all but isolated myself from human contact, with the exception of only a few servants and a very few business associates.
Desperate for information, I turned to the dimensional internet. On every page, I found ads for miracle cures—some sanctioned, others experimental, all highly suspect. It seemed the goal of these treatments was to modify a patient's DNA before Yellow Mike got the chance. But independent reports suggested none of these treatments were even worth the effort to acquire them.
Then, one day as I was reading a report that Yellow Mike had proven to be 95% fatal, I received a message from a screenname I did not recognize—"Endless Night." I remember the message said, "I have what you need. It is better than a cure. But the cost is high."
"What is it?" I typed with trembling fingers.
And the answer came immediately. "Eternal Life."
An unmarked package arrived the next day, without me ever seeing a delivery person or providing an address. Inside were two dark red vials and a card that said only, "For you and one other. Endless Night." There was no request for payment.
In actuality, I hadn't planned to tell you so much about myself—and I'm already starting to regret it. Suffice it to say, I found my salvation from Yellow Mike. And the cost was indeed very high.
Still, most were far less fortunate. By August 6, 2045, the world was in shambles. And then came the Great Destruction.
On the evening of August 5, 2045, I sent a message to my business partner and longtime friend, Bradley Westgate. I told him I had found a cure for Yellow Mike and that I would share it with him, that night, at my mansion. Bradley was more than a little distracted by several disasters, each of which threatened to destroy the company we had built together. Nonetheless, Bradley seemed excited about the possibility of a cure and agreed he would come to my mansion as soon as possible. As I waited, I read the note again: “For you and one other. Endless Night.” Bradley had recently married one of his young, impressionable assistants—a choice I considered well beneath his dignity. I wondered how Bradley would react when he learned I had no cure for his beloved Jessica. And, in fact, when Bradley arrived, just after midnight, that was the first thing he asked.
“Don’t worry,” I assured. “I have enough for her as well. But we’ll be the first to take the risk, just as we always have.” With that, Bradley and I toasted each other and simultaneously drank the contents of the two vials. Words fall woefully short of being able to describe the flood of new sensations. But it was clear Bradley felt them too. Despite his best intentions, as euphoria purged our minds of rational thought, we became entangled in each other’s arms . . . and that’s when Jessica arrived.
I remember lying on the floor laughing as Bradley chased after her, calling her name. To Jessica, his appearance must have seemed monstrous. But I’m sure the shock of seeing us together was even worse.
For the remainder of the night, I stood on my balcony, overlooking the lake which was as clear to me as it might have been in the light of the brightest day. I listened to sounds I had never heard before, like small animals moving in the forest. And I marveled at my new senses—until the sun rose.
Even as its rays began to appear over the horizon, I could tell something was terribly wrong. Then, as the damnable light banished the soothing darkness, there was only pain. I staggered back into the house and mindlessly stumbled down the basement stairs . . . once more into the cool, welcoming darkness.
And so, I actually slept through the Great Destruction.
When I awakened the following evening, I flipped through four separate civil defense alerts on my Soulman. In addition to those alerts, there were a few news feeds. The final reports described panicked citizens flooding public transporter stations by the millions, hoping to find shelter or sanctuary. But only those that had prepared in advance really had a safe place to go. For years, a company called Cold Stasis had been selling space in underground shelters and cryogenic “sleeper pods.” Anyone who pre-booked space in such a facility only needed to swipe his or her Cold Stasis card at any transporter terminal and he would be instantly transported to safety. Others at the stations were left to guess what locations might be both safe and accessible.
After those reports, there was nothing. No messages. No news feeds. Even the dimensional internet was silent. Was it really possible that the world I had always known was gone? Much later I had an opportunity to observe the Great Destruction’s effects firsthand. The warheads had transformed entire cities into craters surrounded by graveyards of twisted metal. And many of those ruins remain unchanged to this day.
So much happened to me in the ensuing fifteen decades that I can hardly hope to describe it all. Suffice it to say, it did not take me long to figure out what I had become. The heightened reflexes, enhanced senses, photophobia, and craving for human blood were pretty obvious clues. Fortunately for me, almost immediately after the Great Destruction, refugees began arriving at my gate seeking food and shelter. I welcomed them inside and I never found myself wanting for nourishment. For a time, I lived a reclusive life in my mansion, with only my victims and my ever-growing force of minions to amuse me. Eventually, however, I ventured into the world and embraced its wonder. After a time, some even came to consider me a legend.
One day, while I was still in my reclusive phase, a man arrived at my gate. I let him in, thinking he would be no different from the many hapless fools that had come before. But he was different. When I finally showed my true self, his reaction was something I had never seen. As he struck a defensive stance, a swirl of blue energy flowed around his hands. I immediately stopped, dumbfounded by what I was seeing.
“What is that?” I asked.
He answered with a single word. “Magic.”
Once the traveler and I worked through our life-and-death negotiation, we agreed we might each be of value to the other and we became friends. The traveler explained to me that, even before the Great Destruction, he had been a student of ancient magics, studying cryptic tomes and practicing archaic rituals, never with any results. When the Great Destruction happened, however, all the ancient spells he had come to doubt began working exactly as advertised. I begged him to teach me, and, after sufficient persuasion, he agreed. He proved to be an excellent teacher, and, from him, I learned my very first spells. The traveler and I eventually parted ways; but he had given me a gift greater than any I had ever received (except, perhaps, the gift from Endless Night).
As it turns out, the traveler was not the only person to discover that magic (like that described in myth and legend) had returned to the Earth. Would-be sorcerers experimented with the manipulation of “mana” and, eventually, guilds formed where the new devotees of magic could work together to hone their art. At the same time, alchemists learned to brew powerful potions, musicians learned to manipulate magic through song, and “true believers” found they could call upon the powers of their “gods,” almost at will. Today, of course, magic has become as commonplace as technology had been before the Great Destruction.
When I finally ventured into the world, armed with my unique abilities and my newly acquired magical skills, I discovered something else was becoming abundant in the world . . . mutations. While the surviving victims of Yellow Mike seldom showed any outward signs of their genetic corruption, their children certainly did. In the very first generation born after the Great Destruction, monstrous deformities and wondrous super-human abilities were widespread. Often such “mutants” were killed at birth or exiled by those humans that remained relatively normal (commonly known as “Zisters”). In other cases, the mutations of children within specific communities or among people of common heritage were so similar that they were easier for their parents and neighbors to accept. After all, if everyone’s child has two heads, there’s nothing unusual about my child’s second head. Over time, as these mutant children grew to have children of their own (usually with similar or identical mutations), these communities began to regard themselves not as mutants but, rather, as new “species” of humanity. Among the most common of these, in my experience, are the leather-skinned savages known as Gurnins (likely a bastardization of “Green Ones”), the towering brutes known as Taters (likely a bastardization of “Mutated”), and the hideous subterranean cannibals known as Morlocks. Of course, most Zisters shun these species, just as they shun other mutants. But at least those with species mutations have communities of their own. The truly unique mutants of the world remain outcast from most settlements, due in equal part to fear and to prejudice.
While the world was reeling from Yellow Mike’s effect upon humans, no one seemed to notice its effect upon animals. In fact, it is entirely possible Yellow Mike did not begin affecting animals until after the Great Destruction. Nonetheless, affect them it did and, as a result, the modern world is full of creatures that once existed only in myths, legends, and horror movies. The variety of such creatures is nearly infinite and, as with humans, common mutations in certain animal groups created brand-new species able to produce nearly identical offspring. The most fearsome of these creatures seem to have one common trait: a ravenous hunger that leads them to prey upon any available source of meat.
Even considering magic and mutations, perhaps the greatest difference between the modern world and the world I remember from before the Great Destruction is that, back then, the dead tended to stay dead.
No one is quite sure what caused it but, almost immediately after the Great Destruction, those whose lives had been claimed by injury, radiation, or disease began rising again and walking the Earth as mindless zombies, driven by ferocious rage and seemingly insatiable hunger to kill, consume, and destroy anything that is not a zombie. Some believe the “zombie virus” is a mutation of Yellow Mike itself—and I suppose that’s as good a theory as any. What is certain is that, when any human dies, regardless of the cause, a transformation begins wherein the corpse’s central nervous system is reactivated. Approximately twenty-four hours after death, the transformation is complete, and the corpse rises as a zombie. What’s even more strange is that, while the skin of these corpses continues to rot after reanimation, their muscles remain perfectly preserved (despite the fact that no blood flows through their veins). As a result, the many millions that died in the world’s greatest cities still walk the streets, making such places extremely dangerous for any non-zombie.
While most zombies are slow, clumsy, and mindless, they have two notable advantages. The first is that their sense of smell is heightened to a superhuman degree, enabling them to detect non-zombies with ease (even at considerable distances). The second is that almost all of their internal organs (including heart and lungs) serve no purpose. As a result, a perfect rifle shot to the center of mass will, at most, stagger a zombie for a few seconds. The only part of a zombie that is really “alive” is its brain. And the only way to kill a zombie is to kill its brain.
When demons first started appearing in the world, it seemed unlikely they were simply another variety of Yellow Mike mutation. Their genuinely supernatural nature greatly exceeded what one might reasonably expect from genetic corruption. And, as it turns out, demons are something completely different.
When the bombs began exploding on August 6, 2045, a global blanket of electromagnetic pulses instantly disabled almost everything electronic. This, of course, included the world’s vast network of transporters. Worse yet, the sudden outage happened at a time when the DimTrans system was operating at capacity, strained to its limits by millions seeking to escape the cities and find somewhere safe to weather the storm. So, even though completion of the transport process ordinarily took only a few seconds, those few seconds were sufficient for tens of thousands of people to become trapped in the transporter dimension . . . and remain there for decades.
As had been discovered in the earliest studies, prolonged exposure to the transporter dimension had pronounced adverse effects upon a subject’s mental state. But the results of continuous exposure for decades were far beyond what anyone could have imagined. Over such long periods, those trapped in the transporter dimension were completely transformed in both mind and body. Moreover, many of those trapped in the dimension gained an awareness of the dimension’s true nature and acquired abilities far beyond what can be achieved by spellcasters.
All of this would likely have been insignificant to the world’s survivors, except that, one by one, those trapped in the transporter dimension began to escape. Sometimes, a transporter would be restored to working order and would immediately complete the process it had begun decades before. Other times, those friendly to the “demons,” as they had come to be known, would permanently open DimTrans portals, affording those inside a chance to “stumble” upon an exit. Others were summoned directly from the transporter dimension by the forces of magic. And some demons became so powerful, they were able to leave and reenter the dimension at will. As a result, it is not surprising that, in the modern world, the transporter dimension is just as commonly known as the “demon dimension.” Like mutants of similar ilk, demons often flock together, forming their own communities and working together to keep each other safe and achieve their nefarious goals. Other demons are more reclusive, choosing to reside in the “safety” of zombie-infested ruins, where few humans dare venture. Still others are difficult to distinguish from non-demons and are able to work their evil deeds while moving undetected among the residents of Zister communities.
In fairness, not all demons are evil. But “good” demons are such a rarity that it is generally wise to discount the possibility. In my experience, any person that underestimates the danger demons pose is likely to fall victim to unspeakable atrocity.
Such a savage world has, not surprisingly, bred savage people—and the most common of them are the ruthless criminals known as “thuggers.” These rough and merciless men and women usually group together into gangs. Thuggers make their living as highwaymen, not only stealing the goods of travelers—but often taking the travelers themselves as slaves. Even in more “civilized” settlements, half the population or more will often be made up of thuggers, trading ill-gotten goods for money or for drink, drugs, and other illicit pleasures.
In recent years, an interesting new element has been introduced (or reintroduced) to the world: sleepers and shelties. It is fair to assume that, in 2045, when a person entered a Cold Stasis sleeper pod, there was an expectation that, once the crisis was over, a signal would be sent to unfreeze the sleepers. Unfortunately for these individuals, that signal was never sent. Rather, the cryogenic stasis most sleepers had expected to last for a few years lasted for one and a half centuries. Only when each sleeper pod’s dimensional generator finally failed did the pods switch to backup battery power and automatically activate the emergency thaw process. The sleepers in these pods awakened into a world they did not recognize and were truly babes in the woods, unfamiliar with magic, mutations, or any of the new world’s deadly realities.
Shelties, as they are commonly known, are a slightly different story. When no “all clear” signal came from Cold Stasis, the inhabitants of many of the company’s underground shelters decided for themselves when it was safe to emerge. The residents of shelters that chose to open relatively early essentially joined the rest of the world’s Zisters and they and their children lived through the world’s many changes. The residents of other shelters, however, chose discretion over valor and remained isolated for generations, living and dying underground without ever seeing the sun. As was true with the sleeper pods, however, mechanical failures eventually forced even most of these shelters to open. Their inhabitants then ventured into the world, almost as naïve as any sleeper.
Sleepers and shelties are now commonplace and are generally accepted by most Zister settlements, where their advanced skills and familiarity with technology are often put to good use.
While most sleepers fit the mold described above (i.e., private citizen customers of Cold Stasis), Cold Stasis was not the only entity with access to sleeper pod technology—and some groups used such technology for non-commercial purposes. The best known of these groups is the “Combine,” a confederation of wealthy benefactors that created sleeper facilities all around North America, stockpiling them with the most advanced weapons and technology. Members of the Combine (the benefactors and their followers) were essentially high-tech “preppers,” confident humanity would one day face extermination from some source or another (nuclear war, disease, an asteroid strike, etc.) Provided they received ample warning, members of the Combine planned to retreat to these hardened cryo facilities, sleep through the worst of the aftermath, then reemerge to reclaim the world and shape it to their liking. The threat of Yellow Mike provided just such ample warning and tens of thousands of Combine members slept through the horror of the Great Destruction and the turbulent century and a half that followed. Upon awakening, the Combine took stock of its personnel and resources and set about achieving its dream of a utopian world . . . an effort they continue to this day.
Being a confederation, the Combine does not have a central seat of government. Rather, the Combine is made up of chapters, each typically named for the geographic region from which the chapter drew its members (such as the Greater Las Vegas Combine) or the location of the chapter’s primary cryogenic facility (such as the Grosse Pointe Combine in the region once known as Metro-Detroit). These various chapters correspond through dimensional communication systems and, while each chapter is largely autonomous, a central committee meets in virtual reality to address and resolve matters of policy and large-scale concerns.
Given its stockpile of weapons and technology, the Combine is enormously powerful. The return of magic to the world, however, was something the Combine had not anticipated and, accordingly, magic is perhaps the Combine’s greatest weakness. As a result, the Combine places a high premium upon the recruitment of sorcerers and other magic users. Such practitioners of magic can provide the mystical defenses (spheres of denial, spheres of disclosure, etc.) critical to the Combine’s survival in the modern world. On the other hand, because such practitioners of magic are most often “outsiders” (i.e., not original members of the Combine), their loyalty is often suspect. In fact, I have heard of Combine bases falling prey to attack when “trusted” sorcerers suddenly dropped their magical defenses.
And the Combine is always at risk of attack, primarily because of its technology and wealth, but also because of its defining philosophy . . . Loyalty, Purity, Prosperity. Specifically, the second of these words is what makes the Combine so widely disliked. Despite its embrace of sorcerers, priests, musicians, and techno-wizards, and its general support of Zister communities, the Combine, as a rule, despises all forms of Yellow Mike mutation (including psionics). Combine leaders are firm in their belief that pure humans cannot hope to coexist with semi-human abominations and that the Combine’s goal of a utopian world requires complete extermination of mutants, demons, and other “unnatural monstrosities.” Needless to say, the Combine and I have never seen eye to eye.
While there are now various mutant races throughout the world that are colloquially known as “elves,” an ELF is something completely different. Before the Great Destruction, as one of many scientists experimenting with dimensional technology, Dr. Samuel Tomlinson discovered an extra-dimensional force that could arrest the natural degradation of animal cells due to aging, effectively granting a subject eternal life. Tomlinson named this phenomenon the “enduring life force” or “ELF,” and held both the ELF dimension code and ELF process as closely guarded secrets. Unfortunately, initial tests on animals demonstrated a strange side-effect; ELF seemed to drastically amplify aggression in creatures that were naturally aggressive (predators). It did not, however, enhance aggression in creatures that were naturally passive (such as young rabbits). Tomlinson deduced the only way this force would be safe in humans would be if the human was truly “pure” (a rare thing). As a result, he developed a psychological test to ensure any ELF subject met two criteria: 1) Morally Sound, and 2) Pure of Heart.
Tomlinson identified a handful of seemingly eligible volunteers and performed the process. In almost every case, the previously “pure-of-heart” would immediately show marked sociopathic and sadistic tendencies—all but one . . . a young woman. Tomlinson poured over the data on the various subjects, attempting to identify the anomaly that allowed this single subject to resist ELF’s adverse effects. What he discovered caused him to add a third criterion: Pure of Body.
This last criterion presented a bit of a dilemma, as one known side-effect of the ELF process was sterilization. Thus, a virginal subject would essentially have to choose personal immortality over “immortality” through offspring . . . a decision that could only be made after serious consideration of the consequences. Thus, Tomlinson added a fourth criterion to prevent anyone from undergoing the process against his or her own free and informed will. As a result, Tomlinson’s final list of criteria for ELF candidates was: 1) Morally Sound, 2) Pure of Heart, 3) Pure of Body, and 4) 18 years old or older.
No sooner did Tomlinson publish his results than he was flooded with applicants (usually rich parents applying on behalf of their children, whom they hoped to grant eternal life). Unfortunately, Tomlinson soon found he could not trust reported histories regarding the “Pure of Body” criterion—so he developed a fool-proof test to identify the previously unidentifiable “spiritual corruption” that would disqualify ELF candidates. This test resulted in rejection of most candidates; but a very few met all of Tomlinson’s criteria and to these Tomlinson granted the blessing of ELF.
When Yellow Mike began to spread, people quickly realized the ELFs seemed completely immune to its effects. Thus, applications increased exponentially. At the same time, people realized the “unsuccessful” test subjects (most of which had been committed to institutions for the criminally insane) were also immune. As a result, there arose some significant interest in using Tomlinson’s process, even by those that did not meet his criteria (believing a touch of insanity and sadism was a small price to pay for survival and eternal life). Tomlinson refused all such requests but, in the final hours before the Great Destruction, a madman that had been one of Tomlinson’s early test subjects somehow acquired Tomlinson’s technology. Over the ensuing decades, this man, known only as “Ironheart,” used this power to amass a fanatical army of would-be immortals, granting the gift of ELF only to those of his subjects that proved most loyal (who then became his cruel and sadistic officers). Such beings are now commonly known as Dark ELFs.
True ELFs (those that met Tomlinson’s criteria and underwent the process before the Great Destruction) were, of course, quite rare. And even fewer of these ELFs have managed to survive for the past one and one-half centuries. Nonetheless, a few true ELFs remain, and they too have amassed an army of loyal followers. This “army of the pure” has dubbed itself the Knights of Samuel Tomlinson or “KOST” and rumors suggest it too has recently acquired Tomlinson’s technology (including his “purity test”) and has continued Tomlinson’s work. KOST apparently believes a force of true ELFs, dedicated to the well-being of others, is the world’s best hope for peace and order.
Personally, I find all ELFs bothersome.
The constant threat of zombies, mutants, thuggers, Dark ELFs, and other horrors necessarily means any settlement that hopes to survive for long must be able to defend itself and, above all, remain vigilant. Unfortunately, such vigilance often evolves into a deep fear of strangers. More than anything else, I blame this fear for humanity’s failure to recover after Yellow Mike and the Great Destruction. Where the world before the Great Destruction was entirely interconnected, the settlements of the modern world exist in almost complete isolation. As a result, however, the modern world is rife with opportunities for the brave. Every settlement needs something, and every settlement has its problems. Those daring enough to meet such needs and solve such problems stand to profit greatly—not only in terms of material wealth but also in terms of fame and adoration.
And so, Dear Reader, I pose this question: Will you spend your life cowering with the pathetic, huddled masses in some walled settlement? Or will you risk everything for a greater and more exciting fate?
I certainly know which I would choose.
Yours eternally,
Monica Hercomer
Because the vast majority of people that died between 2045 and the late 22nd Century have risen again as zombies, zombies outnumber living humans many times over and can be found almost everywhere. The largest concentrations are in the ruins of cities and towns—but many zombies shamble aimlessly through the wastes. Of course, since the “zombie virus” has been a problem for more than a century, people have learned to take precautions, generally destroying the brains of any fallen human before the zombie transformation can occur (automatically increasing the corpse’s Injury Condition from “Dead” to “Destroyed” or “Obliterated”). Perhaps the greatest impact this has upon PCs, other than giving them plenty of combat opportunities, is that the friends of a PC that dies will have a very limited time to bring him back (as with a “Raise Dead” Ritual). Once the zombie transformation is complete, the character will be lost forever (see “The Silver Thread” in Section 12.21).
While zombies are often slow, clumsy, and mindless, they are nonetheless very dangerous—primarily because each zombie’s body is overflowing with a concentrated form of the zombie virus. As a result, even the smallest bite or scratch from a zombie can infect a victim and cause him to die in a matter of hours (see “Disease”—Section 9.10). And anyone who dies from such an infection will rise again as a zombie in less than 24 hours (i.e., the transformation will have begun at the time of infection, not the time of death). Moreover, while there are various treatments for disease in The Savage Soul™, the mysterious zombie virus is resistant to almost all of them. The rare exceptions are the “Cure Disease” ritual, the “Cure-All” chemical, and the “Cure Disease Tonic.” Thus, a character unfortunate enough to become infected with the zombie virus must either find one of these rare cures or abandon all hope.
While zombies spend much of their time standing still or shambling mindlessly about, zombies are extremely aggressive and will attack almost anything other than stationary inanimate objects or other zombies. At the same time, while zombies are generally blind, they have an incredibly keen sense of smell (“Enhanced Smell & Taste” at Level 2) and can easily distinguish zombies from non-zombies within the range of their Olfactory Targeting. This is even true when non-zombies attempt to mask their scent. For example: To a zombie, a human covered in zombie guts will smell like a human covered in zombie guts . . . not another zombie. Zombies can also hear and, because they are naturally aggressive toward anything that is not a zombie, they will alert to sounds unless they can identify the source (using smell) as a zombie. Thus, entering a zombie-infested area is generally dangerous for anyone and anything.
Finally, not all zombies are created equal. While most zombies (commonly known as “zombie shamblers”) are slow and clumsy, other zombies (commonly known as “zombie ragers”) possess surprising speed and coordination. There are even tales of “intelligent” zombies and zombies that possess superhuman strength and resilience.