7 years.
It’s been 7 years since I started work on Babylon. Now that the Kickstarter for the final volume is here—and just $31 away from completion!—let’s return to the beginning. Let's return to where Babylon began.
The genesis of Babylon, like most of my stories, lay in an image seared fever-bright into my mind.
A man strides confidently down neon-drowned streets. His jacket swirls around him, his pants are cut for maximum agility, his low-pro boots combine performance and invisibility. He is a hunter on the prowl, searching for a darkness dwelling in the night.
A tentacle lashes out at him. He pivots on the ball of his foot, smoothly sidestepping the blow. Steel flashes in his hand. One cut and the tentacle flops at his feet. A second cut and the blade bites through a rubbery neck. A third motion, and the tip punches through the soft skin just behind an inhuman chin to penetrate a monstrous brain.
A twist. A release. A shove.
And it is done.
From this sequence came forth a hundred questions. Who was he? What was he? What was the thing he was hunting? How did this world come about?
His blade came first. At that time, I had been introduced to James Williams’ System of Strategy. So of course the hunter had to use this as his primary method, complemented by Systema. And of course, since Williams’ system was grounded in the ancient samurai military arts, the hunter’s weapon had to be a tanto.
Who was the hunter? He must be a man of East and West, the synthesis of two distinct traditions, not unlike the System of Strategy. So he had to be recognizably Japanese and Russian. And thus, his name became Yuri Yamamoto.
Why does he hunt monsters? Because that’s who he is. Not because it’s his job, but because it is who he is. It is how he defines himself. He does this because no one else can.
What did he hunt? A monster, of course. Ah, but what kind?
And while I was contemplating that question, another sequence surfaced in my mind.
Once more, Yuri Yamamoto stalks the night streets. But this time, he faces not some biological monstrosity, but a cyborg. A machine in the shape of a man, housing a mind gone mad. His knife is useless. Or is it?
The cyborg throws a right jab. Yuri slips to the left, shooting out his right arm. His knife appears like magic, held in the reverse grip. The edge slices across the cyborg’s throat. Fatal, for a man. Useless against a cyborg.
So Yuri digs the tanto’s point into the cyborg’s back, turning the blade into a hook and a lever. He reaches around the cyborg with his left hand, grips his right wrist and sweeps out the cyborg’s legs. Yuri bends sharply at the waist and spikes the cyborg’s skull into the asphalt.
It was an ancient jujutsu technique from the Sengoku period. A time when armoured samurai grappled hand-to-hand and to the death. This technique was meant to concuss the enemy, fracture the skull, and break his spine. Against a cyborg with a biological brain, it would surely have a telling effect.
I had to write both sequences, one way or another. I needed a world that would make that happen. The existence of the cyborg implied cyberpunk. So I needed a futuristic megacity. But the monster… the monster meant horror. Something fundamentally wrong, come to invade our world and drag it down into chaos.
What kind of setting would support both?
As I pondered this question, I encountered the music of Reol. Specifically Tokyo Funka, YoYoi Kokon, and Oedo Ranvu.
It was unlike anything I’d heard before. The music was unmistakeably modern synth, but the language was archaic Japanese mixed with English. The tunes were upbeat, but they described a spiral into decadence and dissolution. And in Tokyo Funka I heard the line, “okappiki babiron yowakimono abandon”.
In this Babylon of thief-takers, abandon the weak.
That line gave me the name and the philosophy of this city to be born:
Babylon. Babylon the Great. The Gateway of the Gods. And from Babylon comes Babel. The Tower of Babel. The city that reached for the sky and was struck down for its hubris.
In this Babylon, my Babylon, they quested for the heavens with the technology of gods. But these gods were false gods, intent on dragging all souls into doom and damnation. Having displaced the old faiths, they called themselves the New Gods.
In this hellmouth, Yuri Yamamoto was no mere monster hunter. No. He was a paladin, a crusader, a holy warrior, a light unto darkness, come to cleanse a fallen world and to snatch living souls from the jaws of Hell. In assuming this mantle, he elevates himself above the role of a mere mercenary and embraces fully an archetype out of myth and faith.
Faith, then, must define him. Only a man of faith could face monsters man-made and otherwise, over and over and over again, and emerge with his soul unscathed. Only a man of faith could resist the spirit of the age and embrace the transcendent. Only a man of faith could do what must be done, without himself being swallowed by the darkness of Babylon.
Now one question remained: how did Yuri Yamamoto get to that point?
Drawing from the SWAT and F.E.A.R. video game series, I developed his history. He was a member of the Special Tasks Section, a leader of the STS, come to make war on monsters and monsters in the shape of men. The STS would be a cross between the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team and the Brazilian BOPE, a militarized police tactical unit whose duties straddle the line between law enforcement and war. They were highly specialised, fighting the kind of threats no mortal men could face.
Why would a city ruled by false gods allow the existence of the STS?
Answer: the New Gods were powerful, but not all-powerful. They were locked in constant competition with each other. That gave space for the mortal government to found the STS. A unit that protected the people from monsters rampaging across the streets—and from the worst excesses of the New Gods.
Book 1 was meant to be the prequel. It was supposed to explain Yuri’s skills and background, and to serve as a proof of concept. Book 1 would show the heyday of the unit, and its struggles against the New Gods.
But the New Gods could not stand for the STS’ continued existence. They would plot to destroy the unit, or bring it down. And they would have to succeed. They were too powerful to allow mortals to challenge them. And it was the only way forward to the scenes I had imagined at Babylon’s beginning.
Think about it. Why would Yuri Yamamoto hunt monsters alone, with a knife? It’s iconic, but it is utterly illogical. A Spec Ops trooper would bring friends and firearms. Lots of them. A knife was for emergencies and extreme close quarters. It is not, can not, be a primary weapon in such a setting.
Why, then, would Yuri Yamamoto do this?
Answer: he’s been cut off from his networks. He is hunting monsters alone with a knife because that is all he has left.
So the STS had to fall. And, indeed, that was what happened at the climax of Book 1: Babylon Blues.
The rest of the series would be the story proper, with Yuri struggling against the New Gods. How would the story unfold? And, more importantly, how would it end?
For years I struggled with these questions. The answers were found in the successive volumes: Babylon Red, Babylon Black… and now, Babylon White.
I’ve worked on Babylon since 2018. Now, 7 years later, and the end of the series, I can only hope that I have fulfilled its potential.
Come and see for yourself at the Kickstarter here. You can pick up Babylon White as a single volume, or the entire series, or even my entire bibliography, both in print and digital formats. Plus, you can also gain access to an exclusive cross promotion with multimedia artist Jacob Calta, creator of 365 Infantry.
Thanks for reading, and for your support. Please share this story, and the link, with everyone you know. Together, we’ll bring Babylon to life!
