# Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)



## talien

This story hour is an ongoing account of our D20 Modern conspiracy game.  It follows the missions of Majestic-12 agents battling Lovecraftian horrors in a world rife with conspiracy and the occult.  I also write a column about action horror gaming in general at RPG.net titled The Horror! and I'm the National RPG writer for the Examiner. If you're waiting for updates and want to read more from my gaming group see the completed 3.5 D&D story write up: http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/103252-arcanis-gonnes-sons-treasure-runs-completed.html.

UPDATE: I didn't create the below video, but the fact that we both chose the same name for our campaigns is a kind of awesome synchronicity that deserves to be recognized here:

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3OoN1VN4pQ"]YouTube- Delta Green: The Beginning of the End Teaser[/ame]​
*Rules Systems*

*D20 Modern:* This is our primary rules set.  We’re trying to stick to just the core rulebooks for now.
*Character Statistics:* The characters' statistics in all their ugly glory.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0786926392/michaeltrescaA/]Call of Cthulhu d20[/ame]:* I created a cultist advanced class, which covers most of the bad guys.  All the monsters and spells have been converted to d20 Modern.
*Delta Green:* Many of the scenarios the agents encounter are Delta Green or Cthulhu Now scenarios.  However, in this universe, Delta Green has merged with Majestic-12.  Majestic-12 is now a lot like Delta Green, broadening its scope to include “preternatural phenomena”.  
*Alien Invasion:* The structure of Majestic-12 has its roots in the organization I created for Alien Invasion.  And of course, there will be aliens.  I’m the author.
*Conspiracy X:* Since the agents work for a much larger organization, I use many of the “pulling strings” rules from Conspiracy X to represent what Majestic-12 can do for them. 
*Blood & Blades: The Profiler’s Guide to Slashers:* We’re using these insanity rules from this book as well as some other bad guys as the mood strikes me.
*GURPS Black Ops:* This book provides much of the background for the agents’ training. 
*Dread:* I use a variant of Dread with Jenga, which I like to call the Pillar of Sanity.  I basically require all PCs to pull from the Pillar when sanity points are lost.  This keeps sanity-tracking to a minimum, means only one investigator will go completely nuts in a scene at a time, and keeps the tension high.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000GBA60W/michaeltrescaA/]Jenga[/ame]:* Jenga's wooden blocks hold up well, despite having fallen in a couple of full glasses on more than one occasion. 
*Setting*

*Blacknet:* Our wiki for the agents. 
*Delta Green:* Because Delta Green is THE place for conspiracy fiction. 
*Black Ops:* GURPS Ops took Men in Black, gave it a dose of steroids, threw in the Colonial Marines from Aliens, and then set them loose on the worst the paranormal world has to offer.  
*Bureau 13:* If occasionally this game gets a little silly (*cough* Guppy *cough), I blame Bureau 13.  This took the concept of stalking supernatural entities and made it fun and funny, because...because "preternatural" can also be pretty ludicrous when you think of it. In a laugh out loud, oh my god my head is going to explode Joker kind of way.
*About the Agents*

*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*: A licensed private detective and master of the mystical arts, Archive wanted to be a priest once.  He freelances for X-investigations, a glamorous private detective agency that specializes in the occult.  When he crossed paths with the Traveler and mistakenly identified it as a body-hopping demon, Majestic-12 recruited him for some much needed mystical backup. 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by * Jeremy Ortiz*: A former British SAS and PISCES agent, Jim-Bean lost his partners to what can only be called "brain spiders."  Although he's also psychic, Jim-Bean loathes his abilities and considers the majority of supernatural events to be bunk. He's also a wiseass. 
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*: An American-born Indian, Guppy was abducted by aliens once, or so he believes, on an expedition to South America.  He has never recovered, losing his girlfriend and his promising degree.  Majestic-12 sprung him from the Van Dyson Institute for reasons known only to them.  Guppy's the first one to panic, but fancies himself a kind of McGyver. 
*Kurtis “Hammer” Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*: One of the agents who had a former government affiliation, Hammer was on a mission for the CIA when he encountered the "brain spiders."  He lost both his partners.  Hammer's the most level-headed of the group, and the only trained investigator among them. 
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*: A Native American bruiser and former Ultimate Fighting Champion, Blade is the only famous agent on the team.  Unfortunately, he's famous for all the wrong reasons: his romance with the woman he was assigned to protect, Christine Dee; the birth of their child, Alex; his subsequent divorce and spiral into alcoholism.  Blade is desperate to get visiting rights to see his son. Stephen Alzis has an unhealthy interest in Blade's family dynamics as well. 
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*: An American engineer, Caprice is the closest agent who was "normal" before he joined Majestic-12.  His fast thinking on his feet has proved useful on more than one occassion, especially when hunting down body-hopping aliens.
*Inspiration and Ideas*

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1934506192/michaeltrescaA/]Fall of Cthulhu[/ame]:* The league of Cthulhu super villains that “Mister Arkham” put together will make an appearance for sure.  
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000W3ODBW/michaeltrescaA/]Lori Lovecraft [/ame]:* That’s right, Christine Dee is based off of Lori Lovecraft.  Many of her misadventures will find a place in my story hour.  She’s the ex-wife of one of the agents, after all.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0312868677/michaeltrescaA/]Titus Crow[/ame]:* Probably the closest parallel in fiction to heroic characters fighting the minions of Cthulhu. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0747240590/michaeltrescaA/]Cold Print[/ame]:* Because I met Ramsey Campbell at World Fantasy Con and he kicks ass.  His concept of horror is truly terrifying and modern in ways that traditional Lovecraft sometimes lacks. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000QUEQ4U0/michaeltrescaA/]The Dresden Files[/ame]:* The inspiration for Joe "Archive" Fontaine.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000QDLSR0/michaeltrescaA/]Heroes[/ame]:* Jim-Bean talks just like Takezo Kensei (and looks like him too).
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000AP04L0/michaeltrescaA/]Office Space[/ame]:* Guppy is a lot like Samir Nagheenanajar, only less angry and more terrified.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000MR8W92/michaeltrescaA/]24[/ame]:* Curtis Manning is the inspiration for Hammer.
*Reaper:* To get Stephen Alzis down just right, think the Devil from Reaper.
Welcome to the show. Get ready for a wild ride...


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## talien

*Chapter 0: Welcome to the Show - Introduction*

This scenario uses Delta Green and Delta Green: Countdown by Pagan Publishing as sources. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by * Jeremy Ortiz*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis “Hammer” Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*
After the birth of my son, I took a three-month hiatus from role-playing.  During that time, the fourth edition of Dungeons & Dragons was announced at Gen Con, which made me glad that we decided to go in another direction and this time play a modern conspiracy game.  The game is a hybrid uniquely tailored to our tastes: we use d20 Modern rules and the campaign setting is as an unholy combination of the Black Ops GURPS supplement and the Delta Green setting.

This setting follows what seems to be the general consensus on the Internet: the cell style structure of the Delta Green conspiracy would never last in our post 9/11 age. Instead, Delta Green infiltrated Majestic-12, co-opting its resources and broadening its scope to include all “preternatural phenomena.” Enter our heroes.

What’s refreshing about these characters is that they all eminently flawed.  Hank was committed to a mental institution, while Jake is divorced from his wife and estranged from his son.  Kurt and Jim both lost their partners, and Joe struggles with the flashy glamour of his pimped up paranormal detective agency.  I will of course exploit these flaws to their fullest. There are scenario seeds in all these backgrounds that will be much more relevant to the campaign in the future. 

In addition to the background fiction, I compressed the training outlined in Black Ops into torturing the PCs with Project Outlook and a danger room style free-for-all that helped warm the players up to getting back into a d20 game after three months.  I’ve got a good feeling about this story hour.  I hope you’ll join us for the ride!

Relevant Media

*Delta Green Countdown:* Jim-Bean and Kurt’s background are a revision of the short story from Delta Green: Countdown. This is also the source of the Outlook Group tests. 
*Delta Green:* Jake’s background draws on Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays.
*Uttati Asfet:* Sebastian’s background in the Sudan.
*The Stars Are Right:* Hank’s background draws on “Nemos Solus Sapit” and Jake’s is from “Love’s Lonely Children.”
*Unseen Masters:* Jake’s background is tied to “The Wild Hunt” and “Coming of Age.”  Hank’s background is tied to “The Truth Shall Set You Free.”
*Resection of Time:* Also Hank’s background.
*Ladies and Gentlemen:* by Saliva (AKA "Welcome to the Show").  It’s also the theme song to Last Man Standing.
*Mutants & Masterminds Beginner's Guide:* The Doom Room in this supplement served as inspiration for Satan's Playroom.
*The Rock:* Drake is pretty much Sean Connery from this film, only instead of being imprisoned in Alcatraz (that's just a cover story), he's been drafted into Majestic-12. 
*Extreme Encounters:* A great source for first-hand encounters of all kinds of torture.  I used it as a template to describe the awful things that happen as a result of the Outlook mental endurance tests.
*Ground Zero Radio:* Ground Zero Radio and Clyde Lewis are real, but he was gracious enough to be part of the Alien Invasion supplement.  Consider him a replacement for the Conspiracy X television show.  For the record, I actually did have a bizarre conversation with Clyde at 12 a.m. one night, just like Sebastian does (only it wasn't about my brother, it was an interview).
*Mad, Mad House:* Palmer is referenced in a conversation with Simon Magnus; I took the inspiration for Palmer from Don the Vampire on this show.
*X-Investigations:* Yep, it's a real agency.
*Fallen*: Joe's hair-brained scheme about the body-hopping bad guy is the plot of this movie.


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## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 1a – Kurt and Jim’s Story*



> _Ladies and gentlemen please
> Would you bring your attention to me?
> For a feast for your eyes to see
> An explosion of catastrophe_​
> --_Ladies and Gentlemen _ by Saliva​



 CORNWALL, UK -- Agents Young, Grange, and Yolanda encircled Edgar Coleman, father of Lee Coleman, like crows eyeing road kill.   

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Coleman,” said Grange in a voice that sounded like he was gargling gravel. “I hope you can tell us something more than what you told the U.S. Marshall.”

Edgar nodded.  “You’re here because of Lee.”

“We’re here to talk to you about the Army of the Third Eye.” Young flipped out a note pad.

Edgar forced a smile.  “Of course you are.  But I’m afraid that the government executed a search warrant.  All of Lee’s belongings and correspondence with his family was seized.”

“Surely you remember something,” said Yolanda.  It was difficult to resist a brunette with a husky voice like Yolanda.  Grange’s means of persuasion were much more painful.  But there was no need to tell that to Edgar.  Yet.

The old man leered at Yolanda.  He wasn’t THAT old, decided Grange.  “There was a phone call.  He escaped from the hospital after his self-trepanation.  Most of what he said was unintelligible, and the words I could understand didn’t make any sense.  My boy told me that he couldn’t come home until he had killed all the ghosts from space.”

Grange paused.  “Did you tell the U.S. Marshall this?”

Edgar shook his head.  “I didn’t tell the Englishman who accompanied them either, a Mr. Cotton. They won’t let me visit him, you know.  They cited security precautions—said that Lee is too violent and unpredictable to have visitors or maintain normal communication.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Yolanda.  “Thank you for your time, you’ll be appropriately compensated.” After Edgar answered a few more questions and Young took down a few more notes, they left the old man’s residence.

“His story matches Chief Inspector Alva’s account,” said Young.  “According to Alva, they were given a script to memorize by a man from MI-5 named Cotton.  They used it in their trial testimony.”

Yolanda’s cell phone rang and she answered it.  After a few nods and “uh huhs,” she slapped the phone shut.  “We got a fingerprint off of the tray we smuggled out of Lee Coleman’s cell at Dartmoor Prison.”

“And?” asked Young.

“It’s not a match,” replied Yolanda with purse lips.  

“So whoever is in that prison isn't Lee.”  Young sighed.  “We don’t have any other leads.”

“We do have one other thing we can try,” said Grange.  

“What’s that?” asked Yolanda.

“I think it’s time to bell the cat.”


----------



## Son_of_Thunder

Woohoo! My popcorn is on the desk along with my beverage of forced choice, water. I'm looking forward to this.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 1b – Kurt and Jim’s Story*

Agent Jim Baxter waited patiently inside a land rover outside of the Cullen residence. 

“I dunno, mate,” said his companion, Agent Hugh.  “This seems like a bunch o’ baby sittin’ tah me.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” said Baxter. “What of it?”

“What’s so special ‘bout this Wade Cullen, anyway?” Hugh held one earphone to his ear. “He’s a wheelchair-bound invalid.  He’s not exactly going to run away.”

“It’s orders from The Gods,” smirked Baxter.  That was the term they used for MI-5 men with lofty positions in British Intelligence.  “And the orders are to catch whatever comes after our important friend here.”

“And just wot’s gonna come after ‘im?”

“Irish Nationalist Republic.” Baxter caught Hugh’s expression.  He shrugged. “Ours is not to question why and all that.”

Hugh snorted in disgust.  Before he could begin another sarcastic comment, he put up one finger to silence Baxter, even though Baxter wasn’t talking.  “The mics are picking up something.  They’re whispering in there.”

“People whisper sometimes, ya know.”

“I know that,” muttered Hugh.  “But three good-looking Americans walk into this guy’s house? Something’s up.”

Baxter tapped the mic on his headset.  “This is Agent Baxter. Rat is in trap.  Repeat, rat is in trap.” He listened for a second.  

Two men and a woman exited the Cullen residence.

“Well?” Hugh asked impatiently.

“HQ says follow them.”

The three people got into their car. 

“Follow ‘em?” Hugh was angry enough to toss his cigarette out the window. “Are you pissing me?”

“Nope.  The trap’s not finished bein' laid yet I guess.”

“Fine.”  He started the car up as the other vehicle passed.  

They tailed it for a while.  Hugh wasn’t good at many things, but he was great at tailing.  The foliage in the Cornwall countryside was so thick that it bent in an arc over the dirt roads.  Far from any city, lights were few and far between.  Even the sky was invisible under the heavy overgrowth. 

Baxter hated Cornwall.

“They’re turning off there,” said Baxter. It was the Hunting Fox pub. 

By the time they arrived, the three terrorists were already inside the pub. 

“Yah, I see it, I see it.”  He cut the lights and parked the car.   

The Hunting Fox was the only pub for miles around, so it was crowded.  

“Professionals,” said Baxter.  “They know what they’re doing.”

Hugh cocked his pistol.  “So we’re going in then, ya? Not waiting for backup or anything like that?”

Baxter grinned. “Hell ya we’re going in!” He gestured with his own pistol towards the front door. “You go take the front, I’ll go round back in case they try to run for it.”

“Aye.” Hugh winked at Baxter.  “Watch yourself mate. These INR chaps can be slippery.” He holstered his pistol and swaggered towards the front door.

Baxter, pistol low, snuck around the side.  Inside, a good time was being had by all. The place was loud enough that he doubted even gunfire would attract much attention.  

As he turned the corner, Baxter caught the metallic glint of a pistol aimed at his forehead.  He whirled and slapped the weapon aside.

No shot went off, which meant Baxter was facing off against someone who didn’t want to kill him.  Right away, anyway.

He rolled to the ground and came up to his feet before the man could react.  Baxter stretched one leg out, sweeping his opponent off his feet.

Baxter drew his SIG-Sauer P245.  He pulled out his ID card from a chain around his neck. “MI-5, ya terrorist bastard…” his voice trailed off as he realized the African-American man he had kicked to the ground was pointing another pistol, a Glock, at Baxter’s stomach.

“Stand down!” shouted the man prone on the ground.  He spoke with all the authority of a man standing on his own two feet.  “I’m CIA!” His own ID badge was visible, hanging from around his neck just like Baxter.  

Baxter squinted.  “You’re pissin’ me.”

A pistol clicked at Baxter’s forehead. “He’s not kidding,” said Yolanda. “Put the weapon down.  Now.”

Baxter put his gun down. Grange picked it up as he got to his feet.

There was the sound of gunfire in the pub.  Hugh always was a trigger-happy bastard.

Young came puffing out.  “I think we caught our…”

“Tail?” asked Yolanda.

“I was going to say cat, but yeah,” said Young.

“Where is your vehicle?”

Baxter shook his head in disbelief.  “You INR boys are awfully cheeky, impersonating the Yanks.  They don’t take kindly to that.”

“I don’t have time for this.”  Grange walked over to the parking lot.  “Throw him in the car, he’s coming with us.  We need to straighten this out before we have an international incident.”

"BEFORE we have an incident?" 

Grange shot Young a withering glare. He ran off to get the car.  

“What are you doing?” asked Yolanda.  She still had her pistol pressed against Baxter’s head.

Young pulled the car up.  

“I’m going to shoot out the tires so there’s no pursuit.”

Yolanda shoved Baxter inside. “There’s got to be a dozen cars here!” 

Grange popped the trunk and pulled out a sub-machinegun.  “I know,” he said matter-of-factly.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 1c – Kurt and Jim’s Story*

“Do you believe us now?” asked Grange.

Baxter handed the diplomatic passports and federal law enforcement identification back to Yolanda.  “We were told that you were a group of Irish Nationalist Republic terrorists recruited from America.” He rolled his eyes.  “Great, another Whitehall wank-fest.”

“Who cut your orders?” asked Yolanda.

“I don’t bloody know,” muttered Baxter.  “Why?”

“Does the name PISCES ring a bell?” asked Grange.

“Again with the bell metaphor,” said Young over his shoulder.  

Baxter blinked.  “Maybe.  I’m surprised you know it.”

“What about the Army of the Third Eye?"

"Third Eye?" Baxter looked out at one of the endless farms that dotted Cornwall's roads.  "Nutty blokes, they go around trepanning people, something about exposing bugs in the brain to sunlight or something."

"Sounds pretty crazy," said Young with a straight face.

"If the Army is so harmless, why is PISCES targeting them?"

"Targeting them?" asked Baxter.  "Whatcha mean?"

Grange turned around from the passenger's seat to face Baxter. "We believe that the members of the Army who were captured are either dead or have been moved to another facility with some anonymous mental deficient left in their place." 

"And we believe that a Mr. Cotton is being controlled by one of these brain spiders," added Yolanda.

"What you trying to get at, exactly?" Baxter's tone was icy.

"What I'm trying to get at, Agent Baxter, is that your agency has been infiltrated by a foreign intelligence," said Grange.  

"Are you—"

"No, we are not pissing you," said Yolanda.  

"Well," said Baxter. "Seems you've got it all figured out, eh? What's next?"

"We're going back to the U. S. Embassy." Grange rummaged through the glove box.  "But we might have to make a stop along the way."

"For what?" 

Grange handed Baxter back his SIG Sauer.  "Because two land rovers are following us."


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show - Part 1d – Kurt and Jim’s Story*

"Get down!" shouted Grange.

Young hit the accelerator, lurching the car towards the U.S. embassy gates as the two land rovers tried to cut them off.  Machinegun fire raked the pavement behind the vehicle.

"What the hell?" shouted Baxter. 

"You MI-5 boys do things differently here, huh?" asked Yolanda. She pointed her pistol out the window. 

There was a loud burst and the car lurched to the side.  Two of the tires had been shot out.  

Blood spattered Grange as Young jerked in the seat.  "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, one hand clutching his neck.

Grange, ducking down, held the wheel with one hand, pistol in the other.  "Aim for the gates!'

Young leaned into the wheel, half-falling onto the gas pedal.  The car shrieked sideways as they struck a car at the curb.  They were twenty yards short.

A dozen men in commando gear wearing black ski masks opened fire on their car.

"I'm Security Service you wankers!" shouted Baxter.  He waved his ID out the window and then screamed as a bullet pierced his hand.  "What the hell is wrong with you people?"

"They're not MI-5!" shouted Grange.  "Go, go!"

Agent Yolanda made a break for the gate.  She screamed as gunfire cut her legs out from under her, falling just ten feet from the gate.  

Yolanda threw her ID to the Marine guards at the gate. "I'm with the Department of State!" she shouted. 

Grange handed Young his pistol.  He was bleeding from wounds in his right arm and neck, saved only by his bulletproof vest. Young brandished a Desert Eagle in one hand and Grange's Glock in the other. "Lay down as much cover fire are you can!"  

Grange half-dragged Young out the door on the passenger's side.  Young blazed away with the pistols as they attempted to leave the cover of the car.

The commando opened fire.  Young's body spasmed as a half-dozen gunshots found their target.   Grange dropped Young's body and maneuvered to the front of the car for cover. 

Baxter was still there. "Back so soon?" He blind-fired several shots over the edge of the car.

"We're pinned down," snarled Grange.  He quickly cocked the sub-machinegun. "We've got to get to that Embassy."

Gunfire echoed all around them.  The Marine guards, spooked by the ricocheting shots so near the embassy grounds, also opened fire. 

"SAS!" shouted one of the commandos.  "Hold your fire!"

"Oh now they want us to hold our fire," muttered Baxter.

The Marines hesitated.  

Agent Yolanda, crawling her way to the Embassy gate, suddenly jerked.  She was killed instantly by a well-placed headshot.  

The Marines resumed their fire.

The battle raged for what seemed like an eternity.   Grange and Baxter did their best to return the SAS fire, but were pinned down as their vehicle was shot to pieces. 

Suddenly a smoke grenade bounced over the agents' car.  

"Go!" shouted Grange.  "Go!"

Grange and Baxter half-crawled from the car to the gate as the smoke billowed around them.  

"Don't let them in, you idiots!" shouted one of the commandos.  "They've got a bomb!"

Three of the SAS troopers rushed the gate, triggering another brutal exchange of gunfire in the smoke cloud.  They were cut down by fire from the Marines.  

Grange made it to the gates despite being hit in one arm. Baxter fell to the ground as he was hit in both legs.

"Cease fire!" shouted Hugh, who had finally caught up with the SAS commandos.  "Cease fire!"

The SAS CO turned and fired his pistol into Hugh's face.

"Cor!" shouted one of the other commandos.  "He shot Hugh!" 

The SAS commandos began firing on each other as the CO rushed the gate.

"Traitorous bastard," shouted Baxter.  He took careful aim with his good arm and placed a shot right between the CO's eyes. He fell down, dead.

As the CO fell, something flew out of his head.  It buzzed right toward a Marine private's face.  The Marine screamed, stumbling backwards as he clutched his head.

Baxter found his footing and rose.  "You all right, mate?"

The Marine straightened and turned his weapon on Baxter.

Grange slapped the rifle barrel out of the way as it went off, just missing Baxter.  Baxter killed the Marine with another pistol shot.

"Thanks for coming back for me mate," said Baxter.  "I think I'm deaf now in that ear, but at least you Yanks are good for something."

Grange pointed his pistol towards Baxter's head. "What the…?"

The thing that flew out of the SAS CO's head flew out of the Private's ruined face.   It was about to fly into Baxter's when Grange shot it out of the air. 

Grange and Baxter stared down at the three-foot long thing on the ground.  

"Looks like…" began Baxter.

"A brain spider," finished Grange.

In the firefight at the embassy gate, three SAS troopers were killed, four were wounded.  One Marine guard was killed and five were wounded.  Agents Young and Yolanda were declared dead on arrival. In the minutes following the shootout, London Metropolitan police arrived on the scene, along with an army of journalists.  

The medic on staff placed Grange and Baxter on stretchers. 

Baxter was already unconscious from his wounds. 

"We'll take you to London hospital…" said the medic.

"No," growled Grange. "We are to be airlifted by Marine helicopter to the base hospital at RAF/USAF Bentwaters." He flashed his badge.  "That's an order.  Do you understand me?"

The medic stared at him for a moment.  "Yes sir."

"I also want the remains of that thing brought along.  It is to be kept frozen and stored as hazardous material. Do you understand me?"

The medic hesitated. 

"Do you…" Grange grabbed him by the collar. "Understand me?"

"Yes sir!" shouted the medic.

"Good," said Grange.  He promptly lost consciousness after that.


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## RC Hagy

Good stuff!


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show - Part 1e – Kurt and Jim’s Story*

Grange struggled to open his eyes.  They were crusted over. A man in a USAF uniform swam into a view. 

"How long…" he swallowed.  His throat felt as scratched as it sounded.  "How long have I been out?"

"Over a day," said the man.  "I'm Colonel Robert Coffey.  Nice to meet you."

Grange looked over.  Agent Baxter was on a bed on the other side of the room. It was hard to tell if he was awake.

"I've read the report about what happened at the U.S. embassy.  But I'd like your version of the story."

"About the bug, you mean?"

The man's eyes betrayed no hint of emotion. "What bug, Mr. Grange?"

"You know bloody well what we're talking about," croaked Baxter.  "The brain flea that was hopping from body to body."

"Brain spider," said Grange.

"Whatever," said Baxter.  "Can we see it?"

"That depends on the answer to your next question," said Coffey.  "Your IVs have been injected with a mild sedative, so please, don't try to get up."

Grange tried to lift one hand and found he couldn't.

"I belong to an organization dedicated to dealing with these…anomalies you experienced."

"Anomalies?" asked Baxter. "There were dozens of witnesses!"

"According to the papers that was a terrorist attack by the Irish Nationalist Republic," said Coffey calmly.  He fished a newspaper clipping out of the folder he was holding his hands and placed it on Baxter's chest.  "You can read it when we're finished here."

"A cover up," said Grange.

"I didn't say that," replied Coffey.  "If you wish to learn more, I will be happy to recruit both of you into a new organization, an organization of the highest level of secrecy. It’s a clandestine taskforce that deals with the elimination and obscuration of preternatural phenomena that pose a threat to our citizens and their country."

"And if we decline?" asked Baxter.

"Then we'll up your dosage, you will fall asleep, and in another day you will wake up with no knowledge of this event except perhaps a hazy dream of some fellow that doesn't exist."

"Why don't I believe we'd wake up?" asked Baxter.

Coffey said nothing.

"I'm in," said Grange.  "Those things killed my partners."

"Mine too," said Baxter.  "'sides, I don't think I want to go back home, all things being equal."

Coffey nodded.  "Good choice.  As soon as you recover from your wounds, you'll begin training." He started to leave and then paused at the door.  "Oh, one other thing.  You two are under a loose form of quarantine, because we don't know how far the alien contagion might spread.  Since you were both exposed, we can't risk other agents being infected. You two are now partners for the foreseeable future."

"Bloody hell," muttered Baxter.

"Yeah, great," said Grange.

Coffey smiled. "Welcome to Majestic-12, gentlemen." Then he closed the door behind him.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 2a – Sebastian’s Story*

CHICAGO, IL -- Sebastian was having dreams of a telephone ringing when he finally realized that it was actually ringing and woke up.

He shoved a tissue box out of the way to bathe in the scarlet illumination of his alarm clock. It was twelve in the morning. After fumbling with the phone for a minute he brought it to his ear and pressed the talk button.  "Hello?”

"Mr. Creed?" asked a deep, pleasant baritone.

"Yeah?”

"Mr. Creed, you don't know me...”

"Do you have any idea what time it is?”

The voice hesitated.  "What time is it there?”

"Midnight.”

"Oh, I'm sorry.  It's only ten o'clock here in Culver City.  The only reason I'm calling you at this hour is because it's about your brother.”

Sebastian sat bolt upright in his bed.  "You've heard from him?  He's alive?”

The voice was uninterrupted.  "When was the last time you saw Michael Creed?”

Sebastian rubbed his eyes with one fist, trying to clear the sleep.  "He was leaving to do humanitarian work in Darfur.”

"Is that what he told you?”

Sebastian was losing his patience. "Who the hell is this?”

"My name is Clyde Lewis.  I work for Ground Zero Radio.  Your brother was one of our freelancers. “

"What happened to him?”

There was a deep breath on the other line.  "Your brother was on assignment for us in Sudan when he disappeared.  He was investigating the supposedly cursed city of Napata. I'm concerned the city's curse...”

"What kind of curse?”

"In 1911, a Dr. Garstand from Oxford University began excavations in Karima, nearby to Napata.  He lost five diggers in a sandstorm and lost six more to disease within the week.  His hired labor abandoned the site and was forced to leave within thirteen days.”

"I don't see how--”

Clyde spoke more urgently.  "1938: Dr. Torok from the Budapest Academy of Sciences runs into similar hardships, losing three members of his survey team the day after he reached the site.”

"Look--" began Sebastian.  But Clyde wasn't finished.

"1968: Dr. Richard Kalkhe of the National Museum and two of his assistants were killed in the north of Sudan.  Napata may have claimed Michael Creed for its own.”

"Do you have information as to where he was last?”

"I do.”

"Send me an email with everything you have." He gave Clyde his email address.

Clyde's voice softened.  "I called you, Mr. Creed, to give you some closure.  What do you plan to do?”

"I'm going to go find my brother," snarled Sebastian.  Then he hung up.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 2b – Sebastian’s Story*

KHARTOUM, SUDAN -- A few international airlines served Khartoum, but none directly from America to Sudan.  Sebastian connected through London.

Khartoum was a large city with a downtown center designed in a curious mixture of "Soviet nouveau" and commonwealth colonial.  However, the streets along the Nile had wide sidewalks and large shady trees, and were actually peaceful places for a morning stroll.  There were many mosques with large, spiraling minarets from which the call to prayer was broadcast five times a day, starting at four in the morning and ending at eight at night.  Sebastian was staying at the Safa Hotel, which was similar to the national hotels only dirtier, with less service and more bugs and lice.  Each morning, he would visit the major hotels, as well as the American and British embassies.  He posted the same announcement everywhere: "Attention! Missing Persons Alert! Michael Creed of the American Associated Press was last seen on Northern Desert Road.  Reward offered leading to the whereabouts and safe return of Mr. Creed.  Please contact the American Consulate in Khartoum.”

Sebastian continued on his way to his next lead: the Sudanese National Newspaper Office.  There was a slim chance that a freelance journalist like Michael would be in contact with the local newspaper.

The SNNO was located in a large, drab-looking concrete building near downtown Khartoum.  Sebastian entered and was immediately greeted with suspicious glances.

"Hello.  I'm looking for someone...” he said in Arabic.  Sebastian was a little rusty, but he had a knack for languages.  He flashed a picture.  "Do you recognize this man?  Has he come by here?”

The demeanor of the staff softened immediately when they heard him speak Arabic.  The man at the front shook his head.

"He was journeying to Napata.  Do you have anything on that area?”

More shaking of heads.  Sebastian flashed American currencies and the head shaking stopped.

"Speak to Mona," said the man in clipped English, a way of letting him know that his American currency had changed their opinion of him yet again.  He indicated Mona's direction with a nod of his head.

Sebastian made his way through the stacks, the maze of offices, to a secluded part of the building.  The name on the door indicated Mona Yassin.

An older woman greeted him with a copy of the Sudanese Gazette in her hand.  "Hello, are you Mona?" he began in Arabic, "I was directed to you by...”

"Oh, you can use English." Mona flashed him a smile.  "I'm afraid your Arabic isn't very good.”

Sebastian chuckled in spite of the seriousness of his mission.  "I'm looking for this man."  He showed her a picture.  "Or any information you might have on the city he was investigating, Napata.”

"No, I don't remember your friend, but I may have something about Napata..." She led Sebastian back into her office, which were actually rows upon rows of file cabinets. If there was a place that Mona sat, Sebastian couldn't see it.  "Your brother, I'm guessing?”

Sebastian tried to conceal his surprise.  "How did you know?”

Mona flashed a sly smile.  "There is a resemblance."  Her fingers expertly flipped through file after file of newspaper clippings.  "The reason I remember this article at all is that it was written by my dearly departed friend, Rashid Gulsham...ah, here it is!”

Mona pulled the article and scanned it.  "This was published on April 8, 1968.  Four members of a visiting archaeological team were found dead, with one survivor.  They were exploring Tell El-Napata."  She tutted.  "Another man died about three kilometers east of Karima.  He got lost, apparently.  A shame.”

"May I have a copy of that article?”

"Certainly," said Mona.  Sebastian reached into his pockets but she waved him off.  "Please, take it with my blessing.  I hope you find your brother.  No one ever found my poor Rashid.”

Sebastian hesitated at the door.  "What happened to him?”

"He was...killed." The corner of her lips pulled tightly as she carefully avoided implying that the same fate might have happened to Sebastian's brother. "During a rebel uprising while covering a story in southern Sudan.”


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 2c – Sebastian’s Story*

Napata lay some two hundred miles to the north across the Bayuda Desert from Khartoum.  It was an all-day drive in the heat and dust, following tracks in the sand through open desert and brush, black boulders and termite mounds.  

It was hellishly hot.  Sebastian hired a Toyota Hilux pick-up, known to the locals as boksi. It cost a little more than lorries or buses and was not a great deal more comfortable.  Nobody wanted to go to Napata.

The car swerved to avoid something in the road.  Sebastian leaned out of the pick-up to get a better look.

It was a corpse.

It was clear they were driving through the site of some sort of battle.  From the looks of it, the man had been killed by a single gunshot to the head.

The driver kept driving, oblivious or uncaring about the state of a dead man on the road.  The conflict in Darfur had brought out the best and worst survival instincts in the Sudanese.

About seventy-five yards from the road was the bloated body of a camel. A short distance away from the camel was a scattered pile of dark blue, tattered rags.  The camel was saddled with a very ornately worked leather riding saddle, with faded tassels and silver trim.  

"Shame," said the driver in Arabic.  "Perfectly good camel.”


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 2d – Sebastian’s Story*

They came upon a small convoy of four large army trucks and a jeep.  The soldiers worked on, argued about, and gestured toward the lead truck, which appeared to have broken down.  As the boksi came closer, one of the soldiers got a good look at Sebastian.

"Yel'la...Agnebbie!" they shouted, grabbing for weapons, shirts, and hats.

The driver pulled to a stop.

"Out of the car!" shouted one of the men in Arabic, presumably the leader.   "Out!”

Sebastian and the driver stepped out of the car. Weapons were pointed at them.  "Papers?" snarled the leader.

Sebastian nodded.  "I have a travel permit..." He reached for his pocket.  The truth was that his permit was for the South Sudan Relief and Rehabilitation Commission.  Sebastian had to pull some strings with the defense contractor he worked for, Severn Aerospace, to even get into the country. He handed the permit to the leader.

The leader looked it over, then threw it back at Sebastian. "Why are you here?”

"I am looking for this man."  He pulled out a picture.  "Have you seen him?”

"You're a journalist?  Where are your papers?”

"I'm not a reporter," said Sebastian.  It was difficult to remain calm with weapons pointed him.  "Please, if you look at the picture.”

The leader snatched it out of his hand.  His brow furrowed as he scanned Michael's picture.

"Creed was traveling with us.  He was taken by the group that ambushed us.”

Sebastian's heart leapt. "He's alive, then?”

The leader laughed.  "Oh, I don't think so.  I saw him shot and killed.  I think the Christians only took his body in order to get international news coverage.”

"He was killed?" Sebastian almost broke down in tears, but he knew that would be fatal.  "Are you sure?”

"Quite sure.  They shot him five times through the chest.”

Sebastian nearly lost his footing.  He looked around, desperately clinging to some hope.  The other men looked away and shuffled their feet.

His gaze landed on a bag in the back of one of the trucks.  It had the initials MJC.  Michael Jonathan Creed. Sebastian had given it to his brother for Christmas.

"That bag.  That's my brother's bag.  I will pay you for it.”

The leader sneered.  "What do you have that I can not take from you?”

"I have money.  I will pay."  Sebastian started speaking quickly and his Arabic broke down.  He switched to English.  "I am an American.  My death would bring unwanted attention...”

The leader cuffed him across the face.  When Sebastian went down, he could feel the man's spit in his hair.  "You're right.  We will not kill you." 

He ordered one of his men over and they rifled through his pockets, found his wallet, and took it.  Sebastian was on his knees.  He couldn't see anything but sand.  A moment later Michael's bag landed next to him.

"Tell your journalist friends that the Wafik Khalifa and his men single-handedly fought off one hundred SLM rebels and won. Now go back to the place you came, coward, or I will shoot you in the head.”

Sebastian crawled back into the truck and the driver did the same.  He turned the vehicle around as the men pointed and laughed, waving their weapons.

"That was very unwise," said the driver in Arabic.  Sebastian ignored him as he rummaged through his brother's satchel.  It contained Michael's passport, clothes, a medicine kit, a bathroom kit, papers, notes and recorded interviews, an English-Arabic dictionary, a lighter...

"You are very lucky.  They could have killed both of us.”

Sebastian found what he was looking for.  He took off his watch and dangled it before the driver. "This is an expensive watch.  You can sell it for good money. I will give it to you if you turn around.”

"Turn around?  Are you insane?  If Wafik finds us...”

"Take another road.  But I'm going to find my brother." He paused.  "Or at least his body.”

"What hope do you have of finding him?" asked the driver.

Sebastian held up a pocket recorder, rewound it, and then clicked play with his thumb.

"I believe a great ritual will be performed on Jebel Barkal," came Michael's whispered voice in English, English the soldiers did not understand.  "It is said that there are things that move beneath the dunes and walk with the blowing sand, things that lead animals astray and murder souls. Wafik's men are nervous; they think they saw the Twar-edge or Tuareg, who live in Jebel Tezma, a mystic evil mountain of power. They keep threatening to abandon me to the Tuareg, who will take me as a sacrifice to their mountain.  I’m not sure what to believe, but…”

There was a strange, hissing laughter and the tape cut off.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 2e – Sebastian’s Story*

Seventy-five miles west-northwest of Karima laid a low range of shattered, black-basalt hills.  Toward the western edge of the four-mile long ridge lay the tallest peak.  It stood over eight hundred feet off the dunes below, two hundred feet higher than its neighbors.  It was Jebel Tezma.

Sebastian plodded along alone.  The driver had abandoned him.  There was no going back.

Unlike its neighbors, Jebel Tezma was riddled with fissures and caverns.  Inside, it was stiflingly hot.  Sudden gusts of oven-hot air blasted from unseen cracks and crevices, sending black sand into Sebastian's eyes.  

"Michael?" shouted Sebastian.  "Are you there?”

The noise carried strangely through the shattered mountain.  Sebastian's voice continued to rise and shift and came back at him from a different fissure.  "Are you there?" it asked again.

"Sebastian?" came back Michael's incredulous voice.  "Is that you?”

"Is that you?" asked the mountains.

"It's me!" shouted Sebastian.  "Where are you?”

"Where are you!" shouted the mountain.

"Get out of--" Michael's response was cut off.  "Get out!" was all the mountain said.

A humanoid form slithered out of the darkness behind him.

Sebastian whirled just as a razor sword sliced where his head had been.  It was a Tuareg warrior dressed in an indigo cloak, his face wrapped in a tagelmust.  A grave hissing emanated from the warrior; its laughter sounded like sand ground against glass.  

Sebastian ran.  For once he was glad he trained in all those marathons.

The Tuareg sheathed his blade and dropped to one knee, hefting a long antique rifle from across his back.

The stone near Sebastian's head exploded.  The subsequent crack of the gunshot echoed throughout the mountain.  If Sebastian hadn't been running for his life, he would have covered his ears.

"Sebastian!" shouted his brother.  Was he nearer now?  The place was a maze of cracks and crevices. "They use old fashioned black powder for their rifles.  Use that to your advantage!”

Sebastian skidded to a halt and tore through Michael's satchel.  He found the lighter.

"Your advantage!" shouted the mountain.

The Tuareg was rounded the corner, its sword out once more.  It thrust the blade at him.

Sebastian dodged to the side and slammed into the nearby wall to avoid the attack.  As he spun away from his assailant, Sebastian was rewarded with the powder horn used by the Tuareg.

Sebastian stumbled to the ground, cowering so the Tuareg could not see what he was doing.  The Tuareg straightened and sheathed his blade.

Sebastian fumbled with the lighter. In the hot desert wind, it was difficult to get a light.

The Tuareg slowly withdrew a curved knife from its belt.

"Come on, come on!" Finally, the lighter ignited.  The Tuareg advanced on him, step by step...

Sebastian uncorked the powder horn and threw it in the face of the Tuareg. 

The pitch-black eyes widened in surprise as the lighter followed a moment after.   

Adrenaline-fueled steps sprung Sebastian into action.  He ran headlong, shouting for his brother.  Behind him, the shrieks of the Tuareg, shrieks no human being would ever make, echoed and rebounded throughout the caverns.

"Here!" shouted Michael.  "Here!”

Sebastian stumbled into a rough chamber.  Michael was tied up on a small, wide offering alter made of a black alabaster-like stone.  He ran over to his brother, half-sobbing in relief.  "I knew you weren't dead!”

"Untie me!" whispered Michael.  "And be quiet!  What the hell are you doing out here?”

Sebastian didn't have the emotional reserves to be puzzled by his brother's anger.  "Rescuing you, remember?" He untied Michael's bonds.  "I have no idea how to get out of here.”

"You screwed everything up, you realize that?" Michael got to his feet, a disgusted look on his face.  "We almost had him!”

"What the hell are you talking about?"  Sebastian couldn't believe his ears.  "Had who?”

"Labib!" Michael grabbed the satchel from Sebastian.  "I lied to you about my humanitarian work to protect you!  I was doing something much more dangerous.  But it doesn't matter now, the mission's a wash.  Now they'll go into hiding...”

"No they won't." Sebastian stared over Michael's shoulder.   "Because they're right here.”

A looming Tuareg held two old-fashioned dueling pistols, one in each hand.  Behind him were more obsidian orbs glared from their tagelmusts.

"Run!" Michael shoved Sebastian and then turned and ran.

Two more cracking shots tore through the chamber.  Michael stumbled. Blood spurted from his leg.

"Go!" shouted Michael.  "Go!”

Sebastian grabbed his brother by the arm.  "I'm not leaving you here!”

They limped onwards.  Behind them, the hissing laughter and looming shadows dogged their every step.

They suddenly burst into the open desert.  And the hopelessness of their situation engulfed them.

The unforgiving noontime sun blazed overhead. There was no civilization visible for miles around, not even a camel.  And the Tuareg from the mountains slowly filed out behind them.  In unison, they reached for their rifles.

Sebastian fell to his knees.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't have a plan to get out...”

Michael, bleeding from his left thigh, collapsed next to him.  "It's okay.  It's amazing you made it this far.  We can talk about it later.”

Sebastian smiled at his older brother.  They were covered in dust from head to toe.  Was he being sarcastic? "It's my fault.  I wanted you to be alive so badly, and now that I've found you, we're going to die anyway."“

The leader gave an order.  The rifles were cocked behind them.

Michael nodded upwards at the sky.  "Don't be so sure.”

There was the sound of gunfire, but not of ancient muskets.  It was the steady metallic ring of two belt-fed chain guns from the pitch-black AH-6C Little Bird helicopter overhead.  The Tuareg scattered, despite several hits that should have torn them in half.

"How did they find us?" shouted Sebastian, laughing into the wind as the helicopter churned up the desert sand.

"Don't ask how, ask who!" Michael shouted back.  "Who?" mouthed Sebastian.  He couldn't hear his brother anymore. Michael motioned for him to lean over.

Michael grabbed Sebastian's hand and shook it.  "Congratulations!" he yelled in Sebastian's ear. "You've just been drafted into Majestic-12!”


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 3a – Jake’s Story*

SAMSON, CA -- Despite its name, the Pit wasn't too hellish.  The club was nestled in The Grand, and The Grand festered in Samson, California. The Grand was a shabby structure that backed onto a busy set of elevated train tracks.  The Pit itself was the largish back room, featuring alternative bands Wednesday through Sunday nights.

From outside, the hotel was a dreary, seedy-looking building of red brick.  Torn, outdated posters advertising past gigs flapped in the wind while trains rattled by late into the night.

Jake Blade stood outside, tattooed arms folded over his huge biceps.  He watched with a disinterested gaze over the Pit's customers.  They were a motley collection of retros, sub-cultures, stereotypes, her-beasts, and individuals.  Punks, skinheads, and goths were typical, as were the occasional slumming fashion victims.  Some people did not attract a single glance--ordinary people who liked good music.  Others accumulated stares wherever they went.

"Hey Blade," waved a particularly sleazy specimen of a man.  With his slicked back hair, gold tooth, and ready smile, Graeme Norbert looked pleasant enough.  But Jake knew better.

Jake nodded at the drug dealer.  "Hey, Fix."  "The Fix" is what Norbert insisted everyone call him.

"Good crowd tonight?" asked Fix.

"Think so," said Jake.  "Looks like the usual."

"You get a new tattoo?  That one's a name..." he squinted at Jake's left bicep.  "Who's Alex?"

"None of your business," said Jake.  The tattoo club had monthly meetings, and Jake had dedicated it to his son, Alex, on his ninth birthday. His visitation rights didn't let him see Alex anymore, his ex-wife saw to that.

Fix grinned as he leered at the crowd gathering outside. "Listen, I wanted to thank you for pulling that guy off of me last night.  He would have pasted me."

Jake frowned.  "He was disrupting the show."

Fix nodded.  "Yeah, the show must go on and all that." He laughed, with a horrible, "heh, heh. But still, I feel like I owe you one.  I got some good stash..."

Jake shook his head.  "Not on the job, Fix.  You know that."

"Yah, you're a drinking man, I know."  Fix nodded.  "Well don't you worry.  There's a new drug on the street coming up from South America.  They call it Blink.  You drop it into your eyes and BLAM!" he spread his fingers, eyes wide at the thought of all that money he could roll in like a maggot in dead flesh. "It's heaven."

"Keep the sales pitch for your customers," said Jake.  "And keep it out of The Pit." That was a bluff and they both knew it.  Everyone got high at The Pit.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know."  Fix shrugged.  "Keep an eye on me, I'm sure somebody'll get jumpy."

"You shouldn't be here if you can't stand people getting jumpy," said Jake.

Fix heh-hehed his way into the crowd.

"Hey, big guy, give us a hand?" asked a man with a shaved head, except for a single lock of green-dyed hair.  He sported a pierced nose and heavily pierced left ear, with a light chain connecting the two.  He wore heavy boots, tattered leather trousers held together with safety pins, a leather waistcoat, and no shirt.

Jake fixed his gaze on him.  "You're with the band, right?"

"Yah," he said with an odd tilt of his head.  "Karl."  He shook Jake's hand.  "I'm the drummer of The Rising.  We got some heavy equipment out back and we could use some muscle.  We're a bit behind and it'd be a real help."

Jake looked around.  At seven o'clock, The Pit hadn't opened yet.

"Sure."  He followed the smaller man around through The Pit to the back.

"Ah, here we are."  A Jamaican man busied himself carrying guitar cases in. Jake reached for one of the drums. "Nah-ah!" said Karl.  "Nobody but me touches my drums." He paused and squinted up at Jake.  "Wait a minute. You're that guy from Ultimate Fighter, right?"

Jake nodded.

"No taste for the glamorous life, eh?" asked Karl. "What's a big star like you bouncing for The Pit?"

Jake gave him a look.  "Don't ask me about my personal life and I won't touch your drums."

Karl got the hint. "Nice to have a big bastard like you keeping the crowd quiet, in any case.  We could use your help with the speakers..."

Jake saw what he meant.  The speakers were massive.  He lifted one in each hand.

"Damn, he's a strong blighter!" said the lead guitarist.  He had bleached blond spiked hair and a padlocked dog collar around his neck.

Jake carried the speakers in with some effort. The interior decor of the Pit was designer Grunge: walls were painted a deep red and scrawled with graffiti; the threadbare carpets were pockmarked with cigarette burns.  Lighting was subdued, mainly reflected from the spotlights focused on the stage.  The stage itself was fenced off with wire mesh and flanked by huge speakers.

"Thanks, mate," said Karl.  "If things get hairy, you give 'em a shave, right?"

Jake smirked.  "Sure."

"Great."  Karl laughed maniacally.  "Cause it's about to get f**king nuts!"

God’s Lost Children was the first act up.  The show began with a darkened stage.  As the drummer slowly pounded the huge bronze gong mounted behind him, the lead singer spoke the opening words from “The Dark Ones Rise,” their most popular album. The bass and drums crescendoed and the audience rose to its feet as the stage was hit with lights and the band broke into its first tune. A thousand laser effects, smoke bombs, and decibels later, and The Pit was a madhouse.

At midnight, The Rising made their way onto the stage, accompanied by a wail of feedback.  The lead singer, named Spider, sported a flaming red Mohawk as well as black eyeliner.  He was dressed head to toe in tattered black, relieved only by the silver of his earrings and studded belt.

The sound was rapidly amplified and distorted, soon accompanied by the introductory notes of the bass guitar, loud enough to resonate in Jake's chest. The pounding drums began next, then the shivering notes of the lead guitar.  The beat grew faster, the crowd before the stage began to sway, fists flailing in the air while heads nodded in time to the thundering beat.  As the shrieked and desperate vocals began, the crowd went wild.  Two hundred people slam danced in front of the stage, hurling and bouncing their bodies about in the crush.

It took exactly three minutes before trouble started.

Jake made his way over, parting the crowd like water. He had done this so many times that faces and names became meaningless.  There was no time for explanations, nor was there the ability to actually hear any complaints.  The assailant lunged out of the pit towards Spider, the lead singer, who had strayed dangerously close to the edge of the stage.

Spider stumbled backwards, looking as much like a slam-dancer as the victim of a knife attack as blood flashed outwards from his left calf.  Jake mentally cursed.  It must have been one of the new knives that got past the metal detectors.  That, or one of the hot girls hid it in her bra.  Security rarely bothered to grope the girls, since they were the bait that hooked men like Fix.

Jake switched into his Tuskahoma stance, the Native American style he used to win the Real Ultimate Fighting competition.

As the man thrust his knife with his right hand, Jake zoned to his left into a strong stance—a solid base—parallel to and outside of his opponent's line of thrust. Simultaneously, Jake used his left hand to contact and then intercept the knife hand at the wrist/hand juncture, with his left elbow anchored at his side.

Jake rotated the man’s wrist counterclockwise to destroy his grip strength. His opponent's grip was weak enough for Jake to strip away the knife, but he knew the man would try his only avenue of escape—swinging the knife across his body and breaking Jake's grip on the weak side.

Jake stepped forward and stripped the knife with his right hand. Then Jake circle under his arm to affect a lock and dropped to the slasher's left knee, pulling him down. He flipped the man to the ground, leaving him gasping and prone.

"You're done," said Jake.

With the smaller man still in his grip, Jake shoved him towards the exit.  The slasher was an older, balder man, more appropriate for a library or a porn shop than a dance club. The man wailed all the way to the exit.  Nobody could hear him over the din of The Rising, who never stopped playing.

The man shrieked and kicked.  Yep, Jake decided, he was high.

Jake changed his grip and simply manhandled the smaller guy, grabbing him by the ribcage with both hands.  The man's shirt tore in his grip.  On his forearm was a stylized coyote-head in the Native American style.

The man lost his hold on the doorframe and, for the briefest of seconds, it looked as if he smiled at Jake with a full-on grin.  It made Jake angry.

Jake hurled him down the steps. He didn't even look back to see if the man was still alive.  But he could hear him: the man howled like a dog.

For all the noise, the lights, the crowds, the junkies...Jake couldn't get the coyote symbol and the strange man out of his head.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 3b – Jake’s Story*

Jake's next job was the Katakomb on the other side of the U.S. in NYC. The Rising was so impressed with his performance that they hired him as security.

It was a seedy downtown Gothic nightclub in the Soho district, at the northwest corner of Prince and Mercer streets.  Unlike The Pit, the converted warehouse was open seven days a week.  It was a two-floor building done in Gothic fashion, with prominent references to dynastic Egypt's cat goddess.

Ducking through the entrance flanked by carved sarcophagi, Jake entered a twilight grotto that combined the decor of a mausoleum and a bar from hell.

The red lighting was extremely dim--practically non-existent.  It came from Gothic black metal sconces holding crimson light bulbs.  Papier-mâché props lined the walls, depicting Egyptian architecture of the tombs.

The ceiling was painted as an obscene Sistine Chapel, with skeletal demons as angels and God portrayed by a vampiric devil, reaching out to clutch the throat of a man reclining on a cloud.  Several more sarcophagi, upright and bolted to the floor, were scattered amongst the tables flanking a small dance floor.

Music boomed.  The Rising was playing in front of a Sphinx that filled most of the north wall, sitting under the head and flanked by the two paws that projected toward the dance floor.

The people inhabiting the labyrinth of darkness wore black flowing clothes. Their faces were white as death, and their eyes shone from dark pits of black eye makeup.  Some had fangs.  Many were drinking, dancing, and doing drugs while leaning against statues of the cat goddess Bast.

Up close, most of them seemed to be adolescents.  Some anorexic females cavorted by, dressed in nothing but thin leather strips and thigh-high boots.  One winked and smiled at Jake, showing a fanged mouth.

"Are you an Indian?" she lisped around her fangs.

Jake looked down at the little wisp of a thing.  "Native American, you mean?"

"Yeah, sure."

He was feeling charitable.  "I'm Tohono O'odham."

The waif blinked. "Is that a band?"

"No," said Jake.  "It's a tribe.  My family is from the Tohono O'odham Reservation. It's on Arizona's border with Mexico."

"Oh," said the girl, eyes wide.  "That's soooo interesting.  I believe Native Americans are so spiritual..."

The Rising finished their set and dispersed to the bar.  Charnel Dreams, the next band, stepped up to the platform.

Jake muttered something and pushed past the girl to the bar.  He had to protect his clients.

"Cor, can you believe that guy?" said Karl.

"Who?" asked Jake.

Karl ordered a beer and nodded in the direction of the lead singer of Charnel Dreams.  He was a handsome, with dark blond hair parted in the middle; his forelocks hung down over eye very slightly.

"Anton Merriweather," said Karl.  "Charnel Dreams’ first album, True Orders, went to number seven on the College Music Journal's rankings."

"And their single Come Again got airplay on college radio for weeks last summer," said Spider.

"Wasted on these people," said a pale, thin man with a closely trimmed goatee beard.  He wore a strange Indonesian cap and was dressed in a dark black leather coat.

Jake moved to insert himself between the stranger and the band.

"Naw, it's all right Jake," said Karl.  "Lookit, you're Simon Magnus, right?"

Simon toasted his glass in affirmation.  "In the flesh, you might say."

Karl slapped Jake's shoulder with the back of his hand.  "Magnus here, he's got a movie..."

"A documentary," said Simon, enjoying the reaction.

"That's right!  I think it was...The Nosferatu!  Loved that!" Karl slithered past Jake and patted Simon on the back.  "Good stuff!  Buy the man a drink!"

Simon chuckled.  "Unnecessary." He swished the red liquid in his glass.  "And no, this isn't blood.  I am partial to red wine, can't stomach beer."

"Whatcha doin' here, then, Magnus?" asked Karl.  "Hunting vampires?"

Simon chuckled again.  "It'd be a perfect cover for the real thing, don't you think?  I'm doing a documentary on the hemophages who drink blood.  The closest thing you'll get to a 'real' vampire in here is Master Palmer."  He indicated his target with a nod of his head.

Palmer was tall, dark and skinny, with dark black hair, a thin beard, and a mustache.  Like everyone else in the club, he was dressed all in black. He was chatting with a man in a brown overcoat with a fedora on his head.

"He sucks blood then?" asked Karl, fascinated.

"Quite! He has three brides he feeds on, actually," said Simon.  "He was most famous on Mad, Mad House, if you've seen that show."

"I loved that show!" shouted Spider.  "That was the one with all the freaks living in one house, right? Crazy stuff. The witch was hot."

Jake rubbed his forehead.  "When do you guys get a chance to watch television?"

"Tivo!" Karl and Spider shouted together, clinking their glasses.

Jake froze as he saw the stranger duck a swing from Palmer.  "Excuse me."

The Rising parted as Jake strode towards the two combatants.

The man in the brown overcoat raised one hand. Something sparkled in the dark red light as it was lifted overhead.

Jake snatched the wrist, stopping the motion.  But instead of the smooth flesh of an arm, he felt fur.  He twisted the wrist, but no knife fell from it.  It looked like...claws.

The figure grinned up at him with white jaws beneath its fedora.  Jake yanked hard and the figure whirled, leaving him only holding the overcoat.  Whatever it was ducked into the crowd.

"Bloody cyanthropes," muttered Palmer around his fangs.  "No business being here."

"Cyanthrope?" asked Jake.

"Guy thought he was a coyote.  Wanted to show me that dogs beat vampires every time."


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 3c – Jake’s Story*

Jake was standing naked under the night sky in the chill desert mountains.  He heard a coyote howl and turned to see a large coyote staring down at him from a nearby boulder.

The coyote tossed its head, turned away, and led Jake towards a cave.  Somehow, he knew it was a sacred cave.

The pair wended their way down fissures in the mesas and rock hills until they arrived in a cave mouth, from which ran a shallow stream.

Jake's nostrils were suddenly assaulted by the smell of blood--the stream was running red.

The coyote howled mournfully.  Jake got the sense that something dark and malevolent was stirring in the cave.

Wind, with the stench of an abattoir, rushed from the cave mouth as a flailing shadow began to emerge.

Jake woke up in a cold sweat. The experience made it official.  It was time to call his shaman.

"Hello?" asked Palmer Valor over the phone.

"Hi Palmer.  It's..." he almost said Jake.  "Jacob.  Jacob Ironshirt. I know it's...what time is it there?"

"Eleven o'clock. Jacob Ironshirt?  It's been ages! How have you been?"

"I've been...okay."

"And your brother, Thomas?"

"I haven't spoken to him in a long time," said Jake with a hint of regret.

"That's too bad." Palmer's voice was sympathetic.

"Listen, Palmer, I wanted to speak to you about something."

"This sounds serious.  Is everything all right with your family?"

"Yes, fine."

"You had a son, didn't you? Why don't you ever bring him by the reservation?"

"Christine isn't very interested in our culture." Jake avoided talking to Palmer for precisely this reason.  He left out the part about having lost visitation rights.  "But that's not why I called."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"I've been having...visions.  Visions of an animal."

"Of Coyote, your totem," said Palmer with a note of clarity.

"How did you know?"

"Coyote has always been your family's totem.  But like Coyote himself, your family has a penchant for trouble."

"Tell me about it," muttered Jake. He explained the visions he had seen: the tattoo, the strange cloaked figure, and the dream.

"Your father is not doing well since the accident," interrupted Palmer. "You should visit him."

Jake's father, Robert, still lived on the reservation.  His mother died in a drunk-driving crash five years earlier.  Robert was the driver.

"You're a kind man," said Jake, "I know how bad it is.  He doesn't want to see me."

"That does not mean he doesn't need you.  Or your brother."

"So you've heard from him too?"

"He's left a long string of pregnancies in his wake," said Palmer.  "Vandalism.  Public brawls.  Last I heard, he had become a petty thief."

Jake sighed.  "He's moving up in the world."

"He does have a girlfriend at least."

"Look, Palmer..."

"I know, I know.  You called because you are looking for an answer to your visions.  But I am telling you the answer."

"And that is?"

"I've told you already.  You are not adhering to our ways.  Coyote has gone far to see you, deep in the city, which he doesn't normally like.  But there is a part of the city Coyote does like.  He likes its trash.  And if you are having waking visions, it is because you are dealing with trash."

Jake huffed.  "That's not very--"

"Listen to me, Jacob.  You learned the way of the Red Warrior, but you used it to make money. You have a brother, a father, a son, but you do not see any of them.  These are not the way of our people.  Do you know why Coyote has come to you?  Because you would not come to him.  Coyote is giving you a warning.  Something will call you back soon, something terrible. Come back of your own volition or come because of tragedy."

Jake sighed. "Thanks.  That's helpful. I'll try to book a flight out soon."

"Until we meet again, may the Great Spirit make sunrise in your heart, and may your moccasins make tracks of many snows yet to come." Palmer hung up.

The mournful cry of a hound howled in the distance.


----------



## Mahtave

Nice,

I like this story very much!


----------



## talien

Thanks!  This is just the beginning.  As a sneak peek, you can expect the following scenarios:

The End of Paradise from Call of Cthulhu d20
Lethal Legacy from Last Rites (Call of Cthulhu)
Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays from Delta Green d20
Faint Transmission from WOTC's free d20 Modern scenarios
Dire Wavelengths from WOTC's free d20 Modern scenarios
Love's Lonely Children from The Stars Are Right (Call of Cthulhu)
Thin Jack from Chaosium's freebies section
Skinwalker from Dwellers in Shadow (Call of Cthulhu)
Darkest Calling from The Stars Are Right (Call of Cthulhu)
Even posting every other day, it's going to take a bit to catch up.  You can expect an agent to die between now and then.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 3d – Jake’s Story*

On the Upper East Side, at the end of a strip of yuppie shops, beneath the Teese Plaza, past a walk-down of thirty-one steps, was Club Apocalypse.  The Rising was invited to play there on Wednesday night.

On the wall leading to the entrance to the dance floor, bar, and back rooms were more than forty black-and-white photographs.

Spider snorted, toting some equipment in. "That's Hubert.  Robert Hubert."

"The manager?" asked Jake. He hefted a speaker in each hand.

"Yah," said Karl.  "The owner.  Lookit the pictures close though."

Each photo portrayed Hubert--his plain, still face giving no expression--shaking hands with a famous star: Elvis, John Lennon, Harry Nillson, Sid Vicious, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and so on.  Each had a personal inscription and a date written on it.  In each photo, however, Hubert appeared in exactly the same clothes and pose, and with the same expression, as if each photo was taken in rapid succession instead of years apart.

"Weird s**t, yah?" asked Dave, the Jamaican.  He passed by with his bass guitar slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah," said Jake uneasily.  "Weird."

"This is the big time, right?" asked Baz, the lead guitarist.  He had his own guitar slung over his shoulder.

Spider ushered them in as they set up.  "Damn straight.  If we get invited to come back to play at Club Apocalypse a second time, a record contract isn't far behind.  This is where we make it or break it. It's how Charnel Dreams did it."

"Speak of the devil," whispered Karl.  "Here's the man himself."

A gaunt-looking man with distinctly Aryan features strode towards them.  He looked twenty-five at most, but his skin had a somewhat plastic complexion to kit.  He had prominent, high cheekbones, a narrow chin, a long face, and a heavy brow.

Spider extended one hand, but Robert just looked at it. "Hello," he said.  "I'm afraid there was some misunderstanding.  You're not playing here tonight."

Spider glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that Jake was nearby.  "No? But our contact said..."

"No," said Robert mechanically.  "You're our special guests.  You're playing at the real Club Apocalypse. Follow me please."

Well away from the club proper, through a pair of unmarked but well-worn doors, lay the lower rooms.  A stairwell slowly descended down three floors, each floor offering unmarked doors.  The stairs spiraled in a lazy loop, in which the cheap plasterboard gave way to old stone.  It looked like the stairs went much lower than three floors, but after the third a silken rope blocked the way.

Robert stopped at the second level down and walked to the middle door.  It opened into an entire secondary dance floor with a bar.

"This place doesn't look like it could contain more than four dozen people at most," said Karl.

Robert nodded.  "You're playing for a very special audience." He pointed a pasty finger.  "Please set up."

Then he left the room and closed the door behind him.

The Rising had barely finished setting up and performing a sound check when people began filtering into the room.  All were dressed to the nines, though the attire varied.  Some came in suits, others in dress reminiscent of Victorian England.  Still others looked like doctors, bankers, rap stars, and gang members.  They all gathered around tables, each with their own posse, which made for a crowded room. Nobody was dancing.

The Rising started to play, timidly at first.  The men looked on, whispering amongst themselves.  Spider wisely switched gears to songs you could talk around, although they still involved a lot of screaming.  It just took longer for him to reach the screaming part.

"Oh good, you're here," said a smooth voice.

Jake turned around to see a thin, fine-looking Arab staring up at him from a nearby table.  He was dressed impeccably in a white suit. He indicated the only other chair at the small table. "Please, have a seat."

Jake hesitated, looking back at the band he was responsible for.

"Oh, don't worry, they're quite safe.  While at Club Apocalypse, they're under my protection.  Please." The man smiled again, but it was the smile of a shark.  "Sit."

Jake nodded and slowly lowered himself to the table.  There was a drink waiting for him.

"Having something to drink?”

Jake shook his head. 

“Oh that's right, no more alcohol for you. A Coke then, hmm?"

Jake looked down. He took an experimental sip.  Yep, it was a Coke.

"My name is Stephen.  Stephen Alzis.  I own the Apocalypse Club."

"Nice to meet you, Mister Alzis. I'm..."

"I know who you are, Jacob." Stephen smiled.  "Please, call me Stephen." He took a sip of his drink.  It was a bright green concoction with a little colorful umbrella sticking out of it. "How are you enjoying my Club?"

"It's nice," said Jake.  He got the impression he was in the presence of an important person, but he didn't feel flattered.

Stephen chuckled. "A man of few words.  That's good."  He took another sip.  "I'll get right to the point.  Have you seen your son lately?"

Jake straightened.  "Excuse me?"

"Don't be offended.  I have very extensive contacts all over the world." Stephen chuckled good-naturedly. "You don't get to live as long as I have without those kinds of connections."

Jake took a sip of his coke.  He wasn't sure how to respond to this man.

"Alex is a very special child, Jacob. But you haven't been a very good father, have you? His mother doesn't let you see him."

Jake's eyes narrowed.  "Did you get that from one of Christine's lawyers?"

Stephen waved him off.  "Connections, remember?"  He sighed.  "I said I'd get right to the point but I didn't.  You've made a liar out of me, Jacob, and that never happens.  This whole business, it's really very upsetting to me.  And I haven't been upset in a few centuries."

Jake laughed nervously.  Stephen wasn't laughing.

"Take care of your boy, Jacob." He leaned forward.  "That's not a threat.  That's fatherly advice.  Alex and I...we have a lot in common.  And I think you can tell by the company I keep that you don't want your boy growing up to be like me, do you?"

Jake was careful not to respond to the verbal trap.

"No, you don't," Stephen finished for him.  He fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table.  "Take this, as a gift from me.  Quit this crazy business and go home."

Jake picked up the paper.  Sure enough, it was a one-way ticket to Arizona airport. When he looked up, Stephen was gone and The Rising had just finished their set.

Spider was staring at Jake.  "F**king hell, that was Stephen Alzis you were just talking to!"

Jake nodded.  "Yeah. So?"

Karl rubbed his forehead.  "You didn't take anything from him, did you?" His gaze wandered to the ticket in Jake's hand.  "Ah Christ, you did!  Did you accept it?"

"I think so."

Baz shook his head.  "Poor bastard."

"What?" Jake got to his feet.  "What?"

"Alzis never gives anything for free," said Dave.  "You just made a deal with the devil."


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

*LOL*

A deal with the devil, huh? It gets better and better.


----------



## talien

If you know anything about Stephen Alzis, you know that it's almost literally a deal with the devil.

And sadly, he's trying to HELP.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 3e – Jake’s Story*

Jake had just finished putting the band's equipment back in their van when a Latino man with an unhealthy pallor followed him out of the club.

"Mr. Ironshirt?"

Jake turned to face him.  "I prefer Blade.  But yes."

"Yeah, I heard all about your television show, Mr. Ironshirt.  I'd like to speak with you a moment, if you don't mind."

Jake took a deep breath.  "It's late and I'm tired.  You can catch me later at the next gig."

The man shook his head.  "I wasn't asking you, Mr. Ironshirt."  He fished a badge out of his suit pocket. "NYPD.  Narcotics.  I'm sure you can find the time."

Spider clambered out of the van, eyeing the man.  "Go on, Jake.  We'll be fine."

Jake sighed.  "Okay." He turned back to the man.  "Are you arresting me, officer..."

"Lieutenant Ramirez," he coughed.  "No, I'm not arresting you, not yet.  But it's urgent I speak with you."  He pointed at a coffee shop that was still open at three in the morning.  "Let's get some coffee."

They entered and sat down.  The place was mostly deserted, with one waitress handling the few customers that had filtered out of Club Apocalypse. She came by and sullenly took their order.

"I've been tailing Mr. Alzis for some time.  His Club Apocalypse is a front."

"For drugs?"

Ramirez leaned forward, the bright overhead lighting shadowing his sunken eyes.  "Much worse than that, Mr. Ironshirt.  Much worse.  Mr. Alzis, and his compatriot Mr. Hubert, are part of a crime syndicate I call the Network.  Like most syndicates, the Network has its fingers in drugs, prostitution, extortion...the usual.  But the Network is different because it provides some very special services.  One of them is favors. His Network specializes in the impossible. And I think you just received a favor from Mr. Alzis."

Jake's eyes narrowed.  "Were you eavesdropping?"

Ramirez chuckled.  "I wish.  Club Apocalypse is impenetrable.  But your band went downstairs on their first night.  The Rising's just a bunch of kids.  Mr. Alzis already has his own band, Charnel Dreams.  I've been on the force long enough to look for the one thing that doesn't belong, and you are that one thing, Mr. Ironshirt."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that Mr. Alzis isn't interested in The Rising at all.  He invited the band to Club Apocalypse because he wanted to speak with you.  And Mr. Alzis doesn't just speak with anybody.  He spoke to you for a reason.  That's why we're having coffee right now, Mr. Ironshirt, because I want to know what that reason is."

The coffee arrived.  Jake sipped it while he gathered his thoughts.

"It was about my son."

Ramirez took out a notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages.  "Alex?"

Jake nodded.  "Alex."

Ramirez scanned his notes.  "That's the boy you had with Christine Dee.  Man, she was a looker in her day, huh?  You two got involved when you were her bodyguard..."

Jake stopped drinking and placed his hands on the table, palm down.  "You read a lot of tabloids, Officer Ramirez."

Ramirez shrugged.  "I have a lot of time on my stake-outs.  But I meant no disrespect.  What the hell would a crime lord like Alzis want with your son?"

Jake shook his head.  "I wish I knew.  He wanted me to go see him.  He even handed me a plane ticket..."

"A plane ticket?" Ramirez leaned forward.  "Let me see it."

Jake fished the ticket out of his vest pocket and put it on the table.

Ramirez snatched it up.  "This is good.  I can trace this.  If he bought it with dirty money, maybe I can figure out how the Network launders it--"

Jake yanked the ticket out of Ramirez's hand.  "Not if it endangers my son."

A flash of aggravation crossed Ramirez's face, but he retained his composure.  "No, of course not.  I'm not married myself, but my brother is. Two kids, cute as pie.  What did Alzis say about your son?"

"He told me to be a good father.  Said he doesn't want Alex to grow up to be like him."

Ramirez nodded. "So weird Uncle Alzis shows up one day, gives you a plane ticket, and wants you on the first plane back to California." His eyes were wide and bloodshot.  "I've never seen this kind of behavior before.  Do you know what this is?"

"What?"

"Alzis is AFRAID of you.  And Alzis is afraid of no man."  He took a long sip of his coffee.  "This is too big to pass up."  Ramirez flipped through his notebook.  "You lost custody of Alex a few years ago."

Jake nodded.

"So what are you going to do?  Fly back and tell the lovely Ms. Dee's bodyguards to let you see him?"

Jake bit his lip.  He didn't know either.  "I think I have to speak with her."

"You do need to speak with her, I agree.  But according to my research, part of the reason for the custody battle was your drinking problem..."

"I haven't touched a drink in two years," snarled Jake.

Ramirez kept speaking. "...and the fact that you couldn't hold down a job.  What would you say, Mr. Ironshirt, if I told you I can offer you that job?"

Jake grappled with his emotions.  Did he just hear him right?

Ramirez waved the waitress over.  "We'll take the check."

"A job?"

"A job.  A job that pays good money.  A job that will help you gain visitation rights to Alex.  And a job that will guarantee he's protected round the clock."

"I'd say sign me up," said Jake.  "What are you offering?"

The waitress came over with the check and two mints, one blue, and one red.

"I spiked your coffee with a sedative to keep you calm, Mr. Ironshirt, so hear me out."  Ramirez smoothed out his tie.  "I work for an organization known as Majestic-12.  We are a clandestine taskforce that deals with the elimination and obscuration of preternatural phenomena that pose a threat to our citizens and their country. Threats like the Network, who is into far worse things than anything you can imagine.  I believe you'd be an asset to our organization, Mr. Ironshirt.  If you're interested, take the red mint.  If you're not, take the blue mint and we'll forget this ever happened."

Jake looked down at the two mints.

"You covering the check?" he asked.

Ramirez laughed.  "Of course."

Jake took the red mint.


----------



## Nebulous

Ok, I see.  You were wanting to work Project Pi into your ongoing Modern scenario in a concise, logical manner without obliterating your entire party.  Well, well, that might be a little tricky, but you can pull it off.  I can offer a few suggestions:

1) Easiest way, the PC's stop the mad scientist from opening the gate.  That's as closest as you'll get to "winning" that scenario. Cthulhu won't wake up, and the heroes just have to blast their way back to the sub. 

2) It's just a Star Spawn being cloned, not the Big Guy himself, so taking it down will be possible, although difficult. 

Nice adventure, btw.


----------



## talien

I agree, a Star Spawn is a good alternate solution.  I'm just concerned that it still takes nukes to stop the thing, which pretty much ends the scenario.  It could be a good ender for the campaign though...hmmm.

Anyway, thanks for the compliment!  Now back to our regularly scheduled programming..


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 4a – Hank’s Story*

SAMSON, CA -- Bringing up the past made it inevitable.







> Soon, Hank Gupta was trudging through the jungle again, sweating like a pig, the mosquitoes swarming around him.  Paulito was up ahead, thrashing wildly with his machete, while the survey team trudged on behind.  Hank topped the rise and gasped as he looked on the ceremonial center of El Cacao.
> 
> The plaza was clear of undergrowth and the stone temple at the far end looked almost restored.  Something was wrong…it wasn’t supposed to be like this.  Someone had already excavated there.
> 
> Then Hank felt a chill, and suddenly Paulito screamed and fell to the ground as bullets tore through him, a misty cloud of blood hanging in the air.  The men rushed out from the temple, shouting in Spanish, the sun gleaming off of their rifles.  Hank shoved Rachel to the ground and dove after her. Two more died, students this time.
> 
> He crawled for any kind of cover and looked up to see Bret Hauk take a hit in the shoulder.  Bret fell, screaming madly.
> 
> As Hank reached the trees and looked back for Rachel, a realization hit him.  He could hear the shouts, the screams of the dying, the frantic clamor of the birds, even the ragged gasps of his own breathing…but not the gunfire.  He stared at one of the men, watching the muzzle flash from his rifle, and realized that it was utterly silent.
> 
> He wondered why, but then he was suddenly seated before the review board, the people who were reviewing the incident.  They were going through their final statements and a sound reached Hank, like dripping water.
> 
> Drip.
> 
> He glanced up from his folded hands, looking for the leak.
> 
> Drip.
> 
> It was Dr. Nowlan—a stream of blood was leaking from his ear into his glass of water, the red blossoming through the still liquid.
> 
> Drip.
> 
> Hank gasped. They were all bleeding from their ears and looking down at his suit, saw that he was too.
> 
> Hank leaped to his feet, overturning the table before him.
> 
> A small, spindly figure rushed into the room dressed in surgical scrubs stained blood red.  It had a huge head, almond shaped eyes, and tiny slits for nostrils and a mouth.  It ran at Hank with a speed belying its size and jabbed a bright scalpel through Hank’s forehead—



Hank woke up screaming, struggling in the restraints on the bed that kept him from hurting himself.

When Hank realized where he was, he took a few deep breaths to relax.  He would see Dr. van Dyson tomorrow.  He would make everything better.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show - Part 4b – Hank’s Story*

“Now, tell me about 1994.”

The good doctor Petroff van Dyson turned on his video camera.  Hank Gupta hated that thing.  The little red dot glared at him like an angry eye.  A television screen, facing away from Hank, was broadcasting his every facial feature. 
Van Dyson’s office was decorated in southern California’s typical High Sierra look, reflecting the natural surroundings of the clinic.  Spanish artwork and wall hangings accented the tasteful, though not indulgent, furnishings.

Very well.  He would explain it again.

It was the summer of 1994, Belize. The University of Pennsylvania, in cooperation with the Programme for Belize, sponsored a field season in the northern part of the country.  Hank, along with about sixty other people, went along.  The expedition was directed by Dr. Paul Hughbanks, who wanted to complete a new survey of a large, empty stretch of northern Belize, as well as conduct several excavations.

The season was very unlucky, with equipment failures, transportation troubles, and logistical mishaps from the very beginning.  After a particular nasty stomach bug swept through camp, the season finally started to look up when a survey team heard rumors of a large, unregistered site in the nearby jungle, a place called El Cacao.  There was no record of it, and nobody had ever excavated there or even surveyed the place.  Dr. Hughbanks leapt at the news, hoping that a major find might turn their season around. 

The only voice of protest raised was Kyle Woodson.  Kyle pointed out that the group had no permits to dig at El Cacxao and that drug smugglers were supposed to be lurking in the area.  Hughbanks would not be dissuaded, however.  He assembled a survey team, and set out on the long hike to El Cacao. The team got to the ruins, only to find that they weren’t deserted…

“No, it wasn’t deserted,” said van Dyson. “The police reports indicate you encountered a large band of cocaine smugglers that were camping among the grounds. Then what happened?”

Hank hesitated.  “There was a…misunderstanding.  Four students died.  They chased us all the way back to the camp.”

“Who chased you?”

Hank lowered his head.

“Who, Hank?”

“The Grays,” he whispered.

“The Grays?” asked van Dyson. “Do you mean the aliens?”

Hank spoke slowly at first, and then it came out in a rush.  “I keep having dreams.  Dreams of bleeding from the ears.  And there’s these…aliens, with scalpels.  One of them leaps out of a pantry, wearing a funny pink outfit and surgical mask.  It plunges a scalpel into my forehead…”

“But that’s not what the report says,” said the doctor.  “Dr. Hughbanks lost his tenure, his job, and any chance of ever doing archaeology again. But no mention of Grays. There were sixty witnesses with you, Hank.  You said so yourself.  Don’t you think someone else would have mentioned aliens?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“We’ve been over this. It’s been nearly a decade since the incident and you’re not making much progress.” Van Dyson pulled out a pen from his front pocket.  “We’re going to have to up your dosage…”

Hank shook his head. “No more drugs.”

Van Dyson peered at Hank over his glasses.  “Now Hank.”  He put one hand on Hank’s knee.  It was all Hank could do to avoid jerking back from him.  “Your father committed you to the Van Dyson Center.  Nobody else would help you, remember?”

“Yeah.”

After his breakdown in the Army barracks, Hank’s father sent him to the Center, in Samson, California, for experimental therapy.  It specialized in the study and treatment of schizophrenia. When the military booted him mid-tour, Hank had nowhere else to go. Van Dyson’s published notes “You Are I,” promised free treatment for subjects experiencing schizophrenia.  And his father liked free.

So here he was, having private sessions with Dr. Van Dyson, the darling of daytime talk shows everywhere. 

“The kinds of drugs I’m prescribing are very expensive.  Your insurance won’t cover it.”

“I don’t have insurance,” said Hank meekly. “Not anymore.”

“Exactly my point.” Van Dyson flashed him a brief smile.  “Look, it’s clear you experienced something very traumatic.  I would normally diagnose you as suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, but your history seems to indicate you suffer from schizophrenia. Remember your uncle Ben?”

Hank struggled to nod.  Van Dyson’s patronizing tone was getting on his nerves.

“I never said uncle Ben was schizophrenic.” It was short for Benali.  His uncle used to claim the world was going to end around the time of the new millennium.  He said that demonic forces were at work, trying to rule men’s souls.

“No, you didn’t.”  Van Dyson allowed himself another brief, secret smile.  “Your uncle Benjamin claimed he was getting messages from spirit guides.  Have you ever read “The Demon Haunted World” by Carl Sagan?”

“No.”

Van Dyson resumed writing. “Sagan essentially states that one man’s demon is another man’s alien.  Superstitions change with the times, Hank.  Now I’m going to give switch your prescription to LY2140023.  It targets the glutamate receptors of the brain rather than dopamine and has few side effects.”

Hank hesitated. “But Uncle Ben…”

“Failed to take his psychiatric medications,” snapped van Dyson.  “He committed suicide by taking an overdose of pills at age 56.”

“But my father said he died from a heart attack.”

Van Dyson sighed.  “You were five years old at the time.  If I had kids, I might obfuscate too.” He tore off the sheet he was writing on.  “Here’s your prescription, we can mix it right here at the Center.  I’ll give it to Hector and he’ll be sure you fill it out.” The doctor paused.  “There’s one thing I’ve been wondering, Hank.”

Hank had started to rise.  He froze.  “Yes?”

“Why did you travel to Belize?  You’re not an archaeologist.  Your major was in engineering, if I remember correctly.”

Hank straightened.  “That’s correct.”

“So why did you go?”

Hank’s lips became a thin line.  He didn’t so much as refuse to answer as hesitate for a very long time.

Van Dyson chuckled. “It was a woman, wasn’t it?”

Hank eyed the camera, but he nodded.

“Who was she?”

“Rachel.  Rachel Hayward.  We met at the University.”

Van Dyson stood up.  “Ah, the course of love never does run true.”  He looked down at his notes.  “I don’t know her, but I know you, so I can guess how things went after you witnessed the murders. You couldn’t stand to be together because it reminded you of the incident.”

Hank nodded.  He had joined the Army after that.

“I’m so sorry, Hank.”  Van Dyson glanced at his watch.  He rose to his feet.

Hector Simone, a graduate student at the University of California, opened the door and waited patiently for Hank.  They had been through this routine before.

“We’ll talk about her more next session,” said Van Dyson.  “In the mean time, I want you to practice the mental exercises we talked about.”

“Yes, doctor,” mumbled Hank.

As Hector closed the door behind him, he caught an odd exchange of glances between graduate student and doctor.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 4c – Hank’s Story*

The Van Dyson Center was a modern three-story facility in the low mountains northeast of Samson.  It rested in isolation, on a large tract of tree-dotted land owned by the doctor.  The Center was reached by a private road that wound through the occasional stands of trees and over shallow, usually dry, creek beds.  The wilderness was a place of serenity, a place for healing, for rest.

The building was in the shape of a V, arms opening to face a small parking lot.  Within the clinic’s three floors were facilities for sixteen patients, including areas for creation and visiting as well as therapy rooms, a nurse’s office, a kitchen, and various storage and maintenance rooms. 

Hector shuffled Hank down the hallway from Van Dyson’s office.  He hated the long walk.  The rec room was at the end of the V. Hector would deposit him there while he got the new medication. Inside, patients, along with orderlies, milled about.  They watched television, played checkers, stared out the window, or sometimes stared at nothing at all.

Hector left him, and a scruffy-looking young man sidled up to Hank.

“Hullo Hanky,” he sneered. 

“Hi Damon,” said Hank.  He disliked Damon Newcomb but had no reason to.  Beyond the fact that the man called him Hanky, it was more a general vibe of hostility that Damon radiated.  Damon was a failed academic and it was perhaps that fact that bound them together. 

“Did you see it?”

Hank rubbed his forehead.  He dreaded this part.  All the patients knew he was in a session with Dr. van Dyson.  And each had their own special question.

“No, Damon.  I didn’t see his cane.”

Damon looked shocked and disappointed. It was a testament to his insanity that he was able to muster the emotion every single time Hank met with the doctor.  

“You’re sure?  You’re sure he didn’t conceal it?  Like, maybe as an umbrella or something?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hank.  “But it wasn’t laying around if that’s what you’re asking.”

Damon chuckled.  “I like talking to you, Hanky.  Your accent cheers me up.”

Hank rolled his eyes.  His Indian accent wasn’t so thick that was he was incomprehensible.  But then, Americans had problems with accents.

“I like yours too.”

Damon sniffed.  “I don’t have an accent.”

An older man with unkempt hair interrupted them. “Stop bothering the poor boy!” he shouted at Damon.  “Can’t you see he’s been through enough?”

Damon shrugged his shoulders.  “Whatever you say, Uncle Mal.”

“I’m not your god damn uncle either!” Mal wagged a finger in Damon’s face. “Just because I’m older than you…”

One of the orderlies looked over.  Mal lowered his finger. Damon just smiled at him.

Mal grabbed Hank firmly by the shoulder and steered him out of earshot.  “You’ve got to get out of here, my dear boy.”

Hank rubbed his forehead.  He liked Mal, but his constant paranoia was tiring.  “I didn’t see any knives or forks in there either.”

Mal looked offended.  “I’m not talking about Damon’s damn cane this time, Hank.  I’m talking about…” he lowered his voice.  “Cannibalism.”

“So you’re saying Dr. Van Dyson eats his patients?”

“Shhh!” hissed Mal.

“Like in Silence of the Lambs?”

Mal’s face twisted in aggravation.  “I know how it sounds.  But you know what?” He glared at Damon across the room.  “I’m crazy enough to know I’m crazy.  The Doc thinks he’s sane.  That makes him worse.”

Hank nodded.  “I’ll try to remember that.”

“They’re planning something, Hank. You mark my words.”

Hank forced a smile.  Mal’s paranoia was getting worse. “I’ll try to keep an eye open.”

Mal’s face softened.  “You don’t believe me.”

“No, it’s just that—“

Mal held up a hand.  “That’s okay, that’s okay.  You’re a good boy, Hank.  You’re saner than the rest of us in here, including the Doc.  You shouldn’t be here.  You should be outside.”

“But…it’s so hard…”

“Oh, I know.”  He patted Hank on the back.  “I know it is.  But life’s not like those comic books you’re so fond of. Life’s hard.  Don’t worry; you’ve got skills to compensate.  You’re the only one who doesn’t call me uncle in this joint, so that’s something.”  He smiled.

Hector returned, interrupting the exchange.  “Come with me, Hank.”

The other patients scattered like roaches at Hector’s approach.

They made their way out of the rec room towards Hank’s room.

Hector sighed.  “Damon still nattering on about that cane, huh?”

Hank nodded.  “Still.”

“We’re going to summon the Daemon Sultan!” shouted Damon at Hector, as if he had been insulted.  “Just you wait!”


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 4d – Hank’s Story*

As they entered Hank’s room, Hector closed the door.  His demeanor changed.

“Now Hank, I want you to listen to me very carefully.  Because there’s a video camera on us, I’m going to keep my back to it.  But the camera can see you, so you have to remain calm.  Okay?”

Hank swallowed hard.  What the hell was going on?

“Sit down on the bed please.”

Hank stiffly reclined onto his bed.

Hector rattled the bottle of medication in his hands.  “First, I want you to know that I believe you.  I think something did happen in Belize that you’ve never quite recovered from.”

Hank nodded. 

“Second, because of that experience, I am authorized to extend an offer to join a very elite organization.”  Hector held up one hand to forestall any other questions.  “Hear me out first.”

He handed Hank a plastic cup of water and two pills on a napkin.

“Majestic-12 is a clandestine taskforce that deals with the elimination and obscuration of preternatural phenomena that pose a threat to our citizens and their country.  We believe you would be a valuable asset in maintaining the veil of secrecy necessary to keep society whole, and an important ally in the battle against unknown threats. Look down at your drink.”

There was a blue pill and a red pill on the napkin.

“If you find this prospect appealing, take the red pill and papers will be arranged so you’re transferred out of here.  If not…then simply take the blue pill and you can resume treatment with Dr. Van Dyson tomorrow.”

Hank stared at Hector.  Was this a hallucination?  Had he finally snapped?  Or was Hector really the agent of some shadowy organization, here to rescue him? 

He thought of Mal’s words.  Maybe he really didn’t belong here.

Hank took the red pill and washed it down with water. 

“Good,” said Hector with a smile.  “According to the camera you’re just taking LY2140023.” He reached over and folded the blue pill into the napkin and put it in his pocket.

“What if I took the blue pill?”

“The blue pill was the medication Van Dyson had prescribed for you.”

Hank was starting to feel a little woozy.  He laid back on the pillow.

“But that’s not LY2140023?”

Hector shook his head.  “It’s a high dose of chlorpromazine.”

Hank felt he should be alarmed, but he wasn’t.  He felt as if he was floating. “You mean thorazine?”

Hector nodded.  “The doctor’s drugging all his patients tonight for something…I’m not sure what.  I would normally have slowly introduced you to the idea of joining Majestic-12, but circumstances have forced my hand.”  He patted Hank on the shoulder, looking to the camera just like a doctor reassuring a patient.  “Good luck, Hank.  I don’t think we’ll see each other ever again.”

“Thank you, Hector,” Hank slurred. Then all was numb.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 5a – Joe’s Story*

NEW ORLEANS, LA -- Albert's was a five-star Cajun/French restaurant on the 11th floor of the Westin Canal Palace.  Far below the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Mardi Gras parade blared and boomed, growing in volume as the evening commences. 

Dr. Volk was running late.  One of his shirttails was hanging over his belt, his tie was askew, and his face was flushed.  He plopped down, panting, and lay his briefcase by his side. 

"Mr. Fontaine, I presume." Volk shook his hand. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice." 

Joe Fontaine adjusted his own tie.  He wasn't fond of monkey suits, but X-investigations insisted he dress the part.  Work in New Orleans would raise the profile of the company. 

"That's quite all right," said Joe.  "You mentioned something about anomalous seismic activity?" 

Volk nodded.  "Could you order for me?  I'm in a bit of a rush and I want to get my papers together." 

Joe blinked.  So much for having the dinner comped.  He waved a waiter over and ordered alligator in sauce piquant for himself and sautéed frog legs for Volk.  Just to teach him a lesson.  Judging from Volk, he probably wouldn't notice he was eating Kermit. 

Volk spread out seismic data from his team's journey to Tonga.  The table was fortunately large enough to accommodate Volk's research, as the place was fairly deserted and probably had been that way after Hurricane Katrina. 

"As can be clearly seen, the seismic activity is of a distinctly regular nature.  The pattern does not resemble that of a natural quake.  Instead, it is very similar to the tremors associated with sub sea demolitions.  Had I thought to enlarge the originals earlier, I might have been suspicious of the activity before going to Tonga." 

Next he revealed a processed image containing a strange signal response from his own survey data in Tonga.  "This signal here is of the normal non-anomalous Tongan Trench wall.  This here is of the area near the origin of the tremors.  Notice the giant scale of the anomaly.  I suspect that the body of material generating this sensor response is highly ferrous.  That is, I think there something very large and made of metal in this region.  I would say it is on the order of a fifty- or seventy-five-story building, something along that scale." 

"Dr. Volk, I'm not entirely sure I understand what this has to do with X-investigations..." 

"My graduate assistant, Theresa Kent, was piloting a mini-sub off the trench at about three thousand feet.  She was testing equipment when she fell ill.  At least, I thought she fell ill.  She recently explained to me that she had seen something horrible during that first dive at sea." 

Joe leaned forward.  This was getting interested.  "What did she see?" 

"She spoke about something huge.  That it looked straight at her.  The only coherent descriptions of what she saw was glowing behind its eyes." 

Joe folded his hands.  "That's it?" 

Volk raised a hand.  "Please, hear me out.  During my original work at the Tongan site I came into contact with a boat, the Proud Ariane, under the registry of a Mr. Jean LeGoullon of LeGoullon Enterprises.  The ship is a marine salvage-type vessel.  It was anchored in the area throughout the time that we conducted our study.  I feel certain that somehow this LeGoullon fellow and the boat are involved in this. I'm not sure exactly what they're doing there." 

"What do you think they're doing?" asked Joe. 

"I suspect they are constructing some sort of modular deep sea exploration environment, or perhaps undertaking a mining operation." 

Joe sighed heavily.  What a waste of time. Volk didn't notice. 

"At any rate, they should not be blasting at such a depth in one of the subduction trenches of the Pacific Rim.  I feel compelled to inform this LeGoullon fellow of the dangers, both to his own crew and to the local inhabitants of Tonga.  I've a meeting with him in a few minutes, as a matter of fact." 

"Look, Dr. Volk."  Joe leaned forward as their dinner arrived.  "X-investigations is an occult and paranormal investigation firm. I'll need to talk to Miss Kent.  The rest..." he waved it off. "The rest is more suited for a Navy SEAL team or something." 

"Of course, of course. " Volk picked at his frog legs, then checked his watch.  "I'm sorry, I have to cut this short." He half-rose to shake Joe's hand.  "I'm late for my appointment already with LeGoullon Enterprises.  Miss Kent is staying at the New Orleans Hilton.  You can follow up with her there. Now if you'll excuse me..." 

Joe nodded.  He was glad to see him go. 

Joe waited a moment for Volk to leave, then walked over to the window.  He was much more interested in Mardi Gras festivities than the ramblings of a boring professor. 

The parade was passing just outside the  main entrance to the hotel.  A moment later, Dr. Volk appeared in front of the restaurant.  He paused briefly to look both ways over the crowds and then descended down some stairs to his left into the street.  At the same moment, a huge dragon float was passing by. The hair stood up on the back of Joe's neck.  Something was wrong. 

The head of the float bobbed stiffly this way and that, and occasionally a little puff of steam escaped its mouth.  As it passed Dr. Volk, the head bobbed quickly towards him and then away again. 

Dr. Volk was gone.  Joe looked around for him. 

He spotted a pair of legs protruding from the mouth of the dragon.

The illusion dispelled, Joe saw the float for what it really was: a great viperine creature, with a curiously distorted head, grotesquely great clawed appendages, and black rubbery wings of singularly monstrous dimensions. 

Joe ran for the steps.  He huffed down all eleven stories and ran through the Westin's lobby out into the street. 

The float was visible in the distance. Joe started to run after it but paused as he saw the lights and torches dim near the float.  A heavy shadow flapped up the side of a distant building and disappeared into the night sky. 

Somebody screamed as a pair of legs flopped wetly to the ground.

And suddenly, Joe knew he was exactly the right person for the job.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 5b – Joe’s Story*

When Joe checked on Theresa Kent, she was nowhere to be found.  She left with a man, not an unusual sight in New Orleans, and certainly not during Mardi Gras. 

Joe got a call on his cell phone.  He picked it up. 

"Hello?"

"Joe?  It's Rob." 

Joe sighed inwardly.  "Yeah?" 

"So did the guy comp you?"

"Volk?  He's a kook.  Or he was one...then something ate him." 

"Ate him?  What kind of thing ate him?" 

"A Mardis Gras float...look, it's complicated.  We’re crossing some serious occult territory.  I’ll explain when I get back…" 

"No, we've got something else. This one's big." 

"So is Volk.  Did you not hear the part about something eating him?" 

"We can argue about that later.  We've got a serial killer on the prowl in New Orleans.  One Elijah Jackson, a vagrant in Nashville, Tennessee, fled the St. Bartholomew's Shelter for the Homeless.  The man who ran the shelter, Father Willard Franklin, was found disemboweled.  It was ruled a suicide." 

"Who disembowels themselves as a suicide?" asked Joe. 

"Not unless they have a katana.  The police are considering classifying it as homicide now that more info came to light." 

"What kind of info?" 

"People have been picked off in the French Quarter of New Orleans.  Jackson was spotted there.  Since you're in the neighborhood, I want you to find him.  Get to him first.  I've cast some stones on this one," that was Rob's way of saying he cast a spell, "and something's not right about Jackson.  It's important you find him first." 

"Okay, but what about Volk?" 

"Volk can wait.  I'll do some divinations and see if I can pick up on anything.  Someone using magic that powerful is a real badass, not someone you want to tangle with." 

Joe sighed, out loud this time, and clicked his cell phone shut.  He was really beginning to hate New Orleans.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 5c – Joe’s Story*

Finding a serial killer wasn't too hard.  It was clear Jackson was taking advantage of the mess that was Katrina-ravaged New Orleans, and that he had been busy.  All told, Joe connected five different murders to him.  They happened every week or so, like clockwork.  With overtaxed resources and a displaced population, finding Jackson wasn't going to be easy. 

Fortunately, luck was on Joe's side.  Anyone sane in New Orleans kept a weapon with them.  The ones who could afford it had sidearms.  And someone finally fought back. 

The victim was a young African-American woman.  After the police interviewed her, Joe met her at her home. 

"Ms. Dawson? May I speak with you?" 

She was scared but put on a brave front.  "I just spoke to the police--" 

"Oh, I know." Joe put up one hand.  "I'm not with the police.  I'm a private investigator."  He flashed his badge, hoping she wouldn't read the cornily named "X-investigations" on it.  "I'm tracking down the man I think you shot." 

Dawson let out a deep, shuddering sigh.  "Fine.  You can come in for a few minutes.  But please be quiet, my grandma is sleeping upstairs and I don't want to worry her about what happened tonight." 

Dawson served tea and they both sat down at a flimsy card table. Joe tried to project kindness.  When he was built like a fireplug, it was difficult to seem anything but threatening. "So Ms. Dawson, can you explain to me what happened?" 

"I was...there was a man.  I already described him to the police." 

Joe nodded.  "Did he look like this?" He held up one photo they had of Jackson. 

"Yes, that's him."  She looked at the picture curiously.  "The police had to use a sketch artist." 

Joe flashed her a pained smile.  "The agency I work for is often one step ahead of the police.  I'm more interested in what you reported. You said you shot your assailant?" 

"Y-yes," said Dawson.  "I shot him." 

"How many times?" 

She looked confused. 

"Ms. Dawson?  How many bullets did you fire at the man who attacked you?" 

"...all of them," she said after a moment. 

"And he kept coming?" 

"No, he seemed...surprised.  Angry.  But he turned and ran.  There was blood pouring out everywhere but he didn't even stumble..." 

Joe got up.  He had to hand it to Rob, he had a nose for these things.  "I see.  Thank you for your time, Ms. Dawson.  We'll catch him." 

"It, you mean," said Dawson quietly.

Joe had to agree with her. "It," he repeated.  "We'll catch it."


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 5d – Joe’s Story*

Joe arrived at the nearby New Orleans police station.  They were understaffed and overworked.  It was late.

Joe flashed his badge. "I'd like to see detective Gallagher." 

"Sure you would...” The cop's eyes focused on Joe's ID.  "Hey, you're with X-investigations! I read that book."  The cop winked at him.  "That chick they've got on the calendar is hot..." 

Joe grit his teeth and pulled a calendar out of his pocket.  "Here, this is for you."  Silvia's gratuitous calendar had greased more than few palms for Joe in his work.  Even though she undermined everything he stood for.  "Use it in good health." 

The cop grabbed it and whistled.  "Nice." He shouted over his shoulder. "Gallagher!  Someone here to see you!" 

Gallagher eventually came out, all rumpled tie, bags under his eyes, and a cup of coffee in his hand.  "Yeah?" 

"This here's Joe Fontaine from X-investigations," introduced the cop.  "He's interested in the Jackson case."  The cop immediately went back to looking at the calendar. 

Gallagher snorted.  "Buy yourself a cup of coffee," he said.  "The case is solved." 

"Solved?" asked Joe.  "How?" 

"Jackson got what was coming to him: a shotgun blast to the abdomen at point blank range." 

Joe squinted.  "Who shot him?" 

Gallagher shrugged.  "I'd be lying if I told you I care.  The bastard's dead, and that's what counts.  We have a lead on a local man, David Charles.  But he fled the scene.  We're still looking for him." 

Joe could tell by the way Gallagher said the last sentence that the New Orleans police department wasn't making apprehending Charles a priority. 

"You writing a book?" asked Gallagher.

"I don't write books, detective.  I just investigate.  My boss, Robert Johnson, he writes the books." 

"Love that book, great stuff." He peered at Joe.  "You think there's some sort of supernatural angle to all this?" 

Joe hesitated.  Oh, what the hell, the police weren't going to be much help anyway.  "Have you ever heard of the demon Azazel?" 

Gallagher shook his head. 

"The first appearance of the name Azazel is in Leviticus 16:8.  Basically, God orders Aaron to place lots upon two goats, reserving one for God and one for Azazel.  The first goat set aside for God is sacrificed.  Aaron takes the second goat, the one for Azazel, places his hands on it, and makes confession for all of the Israelites.  Then he leads the goat out into the wilderness and leave it there.  That's where we get the term scapegoat." 

Gallagher laughed.  "You learn something new every day!  What does this have to do with the Jackson case?" 

"In short, Azazel is an eater of sins.  And X-investigations believes that there may be a possessed demon hopping from body to body..." 

Gallagher stopped laughing.  "You're serious?"  He took a long slurp of his coffee, put it down on counter where the cop was still leering at Silvie's calendar, and jabbed a finger in Joe's chest.  "Do you know how much crazy stuff I see down here?  If you haven't noticed, Mister New York City, this is New Orleans.  We don't need demonic possession as an excuse to kill each other down here.  You keep that up and they'll start saying the loa did it!" 

"I didn't mean to--" 

"Yeah, yeah."  Gallagher pointed for the door.  "Get out of here before I change my mind." 

Joe got the hint and left.  That's when the men in the black van grabbed him.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 5e – Joe’s Story*

Two men in black suits held both his arms. Sitting across from Joe in the crowded van was a thirty-ish, dark-skinned African-American woman wearing trendy, expensive clothes, John Lennon-style shades, and long dreadlocks.  She looked a bit like an executive from a record company.  "Mister Joseph Fontaine," she said slowly and deliberately.  "It seems we are working together." 

"Working together?  Who the hell are you?" 

"If it makes you feel better, you can call me Ms. Green." 

"What's this all about?" 

"You and I seem to be working towards the same goal.  We need to find whatever it is that's murdering people.  And according to what you just told Detective Gallagher, we think you're on to something."  She smiled.  "Of course, I wouldn't have come out and explained the whole thing to the police." 

"They threw me out." 

"As well they should.  You see, Mister Fontaine, we believe in dealing with these sorts of matters more...discreetly." 

"We?" 

Ms. Green nodded.  "Majestic-12.  We are a clandestine task-force that deals with the elimination and obscuration of preternatural phenomena that pose a threat to our citizens and their country."  She leaned forward and put one hand on Joe's arm.  "The existence of these phenomena cannot be allowed to come to the public's attention.  The damage to society, both physical and psychological, would be catastrophic. So no more talking about Azazel to the mundanes, okay?" 

She smiled a shark's smile.  It made Joe uncomfortable.  He nodded. 

"So now what?" 

A fire engine shrieked past the van.  It was common to hear the sirens of fire and police, day and night, in New Orleans.  "The people I work with are a lot like firemen.  We put out fires before anyone can smell the smoke.  Because of your particular expertise, we'd like you to join our organization. But don't say 'yes' unless you're sure.  This is one club you don't get to quit." 

"I should probably check with my employer..." 

Ms. Green waved him off.  "Already taken care of.  You're on special assignment to us.  Johnson is smart enough to know that this is a connection worth having. But this is not about Johnson.  This is about you.  If you want to consult for us, you'll have to play by our rules.  Rule one is Deny Everything.  Majestic-12 does not exist and neither do preternatural phenomena.  Someday the time may be right--but that day ain't today." 

Joe blinked.  He would have to confirm all this.  But the resources of a government organization at his disposal...he could do a lot more than catch possessed serial killers. "I'm in." 

Ms. Green smiled her dazzling smile.  "Good.  Now put this on."  She handed him a blindfold. 

"Where are we going?" 

"You're going to be brought up to Majestic-12 standards," she said ominously.

Joe tied the blindfold over his eyes.  "What about the case?" 

"There'll be time enough for that," she said.  "For now, suffice it to say that there was a meteor shower that fell over West Virginia.  Several small meteors were actually found by locals in the rural county of Tucumseh."

"So this thing isn't a demon?" asked Joe. 

"Demon?"  asked Ms. Green, mocking him. Joe could hear the other men in the van snort in derision.  "That ain't the half of it."


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 6 – The Academy*

SANGRE DE CRISTO, NM -- The Academy was nestled comfortably into the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains at the tail end of the Rockies in northern New Mexico.  It had the bearing and appearance of an old-world military academy, with the scenery of the mountainous American Southwest.  

With easy access to fifteen thousand-foot mountains, thick forests, narrow canyons and white-water rapids, the Academy had the rustic charm of a wilderness resort.  But it also sported high-tech laboratories, state of the art lecture halls and luxurious dormitories with private rooms.

The first place recruits were assembled in the Academy’s central square, under an imposing monument.

“Welcome, ladies,” shouted the drill sergeant. “You’re about to embark on a wonderful journey into a little place I call home.  You?  You’re going to call it hell.

“Throughout the next five years, I am going to make you suffer as you have never suffered before.  Oh sure, you’re all bad asses, I know, I know.  You think it’s not going to be that tough.  You think I’m not going to break you.  Hell, I don’t have to break a sweat.  You’ll do that on your own.

“In the next few years, we’re going to beat you, torture you, terrorize you, and then when you think you’re going to die, we’ll start all over.  And if you’re not tough enough, we’re going to kill you. You think I’m kidding, @$$&*#$s?  Look behind me.”

The drill sergeant pointed to a four-story needle of the flattest black.  

“That spire has the real names of over two thousand cadets and black ops who died honorably in training or duty.  The last time you were that person was when you stepped onto this campus.  The next time you become that person is when that name is inscribed on the Spire.”  He stared ominously.  “Some of you will be up there soon. And those of you who aren’t will be envying the ones who are.”

When the drill sergeant left, Hank was excited, just taking in the place with its wooded, campus-like feel.  He hardly noticed how the upperclassmen looked at him – the pitying looks he got as he received his uniform and was shown to his barracks.  He talked and exchange stories with each other; everyone was easy and confident, all smiles and backslapping.  

The centerpiece of the Academy was the campus, a cluster of dormitories and classroom buildings set along narrow cobblestone streets.  The buildings were classical in style, made of red brick and trimmed with limestone slabs.  The floors were all natural wood or tile, and the place had a musty, nostalgic smell.  The only notable exception to the classical feel was the technology center, a stark, blue-black building crouching on the southern end of the campus, ominous and darkly exciting.

A large portion of the property, near the main campus area, had been set up like a move-studio back lot, where fake sections of inner city streets, tenement buildings, subway and sewer junctions, and much more have been built.  The recruits called it “Satan’s Playroom.”

Finally, the Commander’s mansion was a majestic log house, posed dramatically on the shores of the Canadian River.  Hank had heard that the Commander threw a party once a year, inviting faculty, drill sergeants, and the top ten recruits.

The first few days were a cakewalk, just looking around, scouting it out.  Everything seemed about like what he expected.

On the morning of the fourth day, it all changed.  That’s when they passed out the schedules.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 7 – The Curriculum*

Welcome, grunts, to Academy training!” shouted the drill sergeant.  “Training is divided into two equally important areas: education and drills.  Each day is equally divided.  One month you’ll do book learning in the morning, followed by a hearty lunch and drills in the afternoon.  The next month it’s the other way around.  

“Just in case you dumb jocks think this is going to be a cakewalk—and believe me, it isn’t—you’re going to actually have to crack a book.  Several books. Your curriculum includes Basic Science, Parascience, Technology, Philosophy and Logic, Social Sciences, History, Languages, and Literature and the Arts.  If you geeks think you’ve got this information down pat, you’re welcome to test out.  In fact, we expect you to test out of at least two subjects, because we wouldn’t have recruited your dumb ass otherwise.

“Take a look at your schedules.  Ah yes, I’m lookin’ at you, creampuff.  I see the look on your face.  The drills look hard?  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.  

“There’s three kinds of drills in your first year.  Stamina, Severe Exposure, and Mental Strain.  You’re going to start out with ten-mile runs, then marathons, and finally a triathlon.  Swimming, cross-country running, bicycling, and mountain climbing.  The second part of stamina training involves standing still for extremely long periods of time.  

“After a nice twenty-mile run, there’s nothing like a couple of days in the wilderness without food or water!  We’re going to send you to Summer Camp.  We’re gonna spring this one on you three times a year, and you won’t know when.  There’s only an eighty five percent survival rate, tough guys, so gird your loins.

“Finally, there’s the mental stuff.  That includes isolation tanks, torture…you’ll see what we mean.  Don’t worry yourself, Romeo, I’ll be gentle. 

“During this time you will receive ten excuses a year to place out of any drill for any reason, no questions asked.  You just get marked as absent.  I don’t need to tell you that nobody has remained at the Academy for a single day after an eleventh absence.”

“Now for the good news: After six months, when you’ve finally had all you can take, we’ll send you on furlough to some out-of-the-way island in the Bahamas.  Everything is paid for; it’s a regular a week in paradise. Trust me, you’ll need it.”


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 8a – Stress Simulation 2.5*

Jake woke up in his old apartment.  Which was odd, since the last thing he remembered he was working for Majestic-12.  There was no way he had dreamed it.  

Back when he used to drink, Jake had hallucinations while he was lucid all the time.  But that was all behind him.  He was going to make good money and cash in that plane ticket to see his son.  Jake was sure he could convince Christine to let him see Alex if he had a steady job.

The television was blaring those emergency broadcast messages.  Color bars were on the screen.  It’s what had woken him up.

Jake leaned forward and looked around.  It was his old apartment in Chicago.  What the hell?  

It had to be a test.  

The television flickered back to a news broadcast.  “…a small nuclear explosion,” said a distraught report, her hair matted from what looked like blood.  Smoking rubble was behind her.  “I’m here in Washington, D.C.  The death toll is believed to have reached over ten thousand citizens, including most of the House, the Senate, and the President.”  

The screen flashed to footage of wreckage and bodies.  The reporter broke down weeping at the end of the emergency broadcast as the screen went back to the emergency standby message.

A siren blared in the distance.  Jake got up.  He was dressed in nothing more but his boxers. 

It wasn’t the sound of a normal siren.  It was the type used for major emergencies like hurricanes.  Or terrorist attacks.

Jake heard people talking excitedly outside his apartment door.  Doors slammed all across the apartment complex.  People were evacuating.

Jake looked out the window.  A police car came to a screeching halt outside of the apartment.  The cop put a megaphone to his lips.  

“EVERYONE, PLEASE STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

The panicked stampede outside of Jake’s door stopped.  People whispered in urgent voices.

“GET BACK IN THE BUILDING.”

Jake went to the door and flung it open.  His neighbors gave him haunted looks, slinking back into their rooms.

Jake walked down the steps.  The cop was ushering people back up the steps.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re under attack, not sure by what,” he said.  “Please get back into your residence and stay there. We can’t afford a riot.”

“I need to get out of here,” said Jake.  The sirens blared more insistently around them.

“Sir,” the cop eyed Jake warily.  Jake was a big man.  “I’m going to have to ask you to return to your apartment.”  

“I’m not staying here.” Jake took a step forward down the steps.

The cop reached for his taser.  “Sir, I am not going to ask you again.  Get back in your room.”

Jake closed the distance between them with a leap.  He reached under the cop’s arm and deflected the taser away from him as if it were a knife.  Jake wrested it away from the smaller man.

The cop fell backwards down the steps.  He shouted into his walkie talkie.  “This is Johnson, I need backup!”

Jake tasered him.  

He took the cop’s pistol, then looked around.  There was probably a shotgun in his car.  That would be useful too. 

Jake jogged out of the apartment complex.  The skies were blood red. The sirens continued to wail.  People kept looking up as they were ushered into shelters.  Even the emergency personnel kept glancing upwards.

Jake was doing the same thing when a Humvee screeched to a halt in front of him.  

“Get down on the floor and put your hands on your head!” It was a National Guardsman in combat fatigues.  He looked like he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on,” said Jake.

The guardsman lifted his automatic rifle.  “Put the weapon down!”

Jake rushed past him, clearing the Humvee so that it was between him and the soldier.  

The soldier muttered a curse and was about to pursue when more people streamed out of the building, bolstered by Jake’s actions.

Jake kept jogging.  He had to get some more intel.  The emergency crews were only following orders.  But the National Guard was already out in full force.  Something bad had gone down and he had missed it.  Back when Jake was drinking, he would blackout for days.  It felt like one of those days.

But no, he was sober.  If he ever wanted to see Alex again, he would stay that way for good.

Jake was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that people were running past him in the opposite direction.

They were so scared that it was a silent terror.  People ran full out, sweat streaming from their brows, mouths open.  Obese women and elderly men, all of them running in horror from something that was so terrible they could only respond by running for their lives.

Jake teetered on the edge of an abyss.  A smoking crater abruptly appeared before him.  Buildings sagged inward like melted toys over it.  There was something in the center, a black obelisk of some sort.

Jake ran forward, heedless of the body parts around him.  An explosion?  But if it were a nuclear explosion he’d be dead already.  

Jake skidded to a halt.  There, sticking out of the center of the crater was the tail end of a man-sized missile.  A counter clicked a march towards zero, marking every few seconds with a high-pitched beep.

“Jesus,” said Jake.  He turned around and started running with the same fear and terror that had gripped the people he passed on the way in.  

There was a flash.  It was like a bolt of lightning illuminating the sky, a thousand times brighter than full daylight.  And then all went white.


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 8b – Stress Simulation 8.5*

Jim woke up slowly, blinking a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Nothing happened.

Jim wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there.  The last thing he remembered was doing training exercises.  But where was he now?

He uncrossed his arms and tried to sit up, banging his head on something directly above him.  As he rubbed his bruised scalp, his fingers brushed against a rough wooden surface.  Jim tried to feel around in the dark, but he was barely able to move his arms; his elbows scraped against the rough enclosure. 

Jim struggled to not panic.  He traced the outline of what was confining him.  It felt unmistakably like a narrow wooden box—a coffin.

“Uh, excuse me?” he asked to anyone who would listen.  “I appear to be trapped…”

Jim pounded on the lid and yelled, hoping that someone would hear him.  But all he did was bruise his fists and use up precious oxygen.  

“Oh for the love of…hello?  HELLO?”

He tried to angle his body so he could kick at the lid, but it was no use—there was barely enough room for him to turn over, let alone swing his leg.  

Jim considered his options.  He was trained in dealing with oxygen depravation.  A quick calculation in his head said he had two hours in the box before all of it was depleted.  But he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, breathing the air.  

His heart was racing a mile a minute and he was sweating. That meant he was consuming more air.  He had to calm down.

Jim rummaged through his pockets for something, anything, that would help.  But there was nothing.  He was in his fatigues in training.  Had he died on the training field?  He remembered what the drill sergeant said…Majestic-12 training was so bad that the cadets really DID die.

Desperate, he pounded on the lid and screamed at the top of his lungs.  Then he decided to conserve energy by holding his breath, but that didn’t help either – it heightened his anxiety and caused him to hyperventilate.

As the carbon dioxide built up in his lungs and blood, Jim’s breathing became more labored.  Then something whirred near his face.  A cool breeze snapped him out of his stupor. 

Air!  Beautiful, glorious air!  

For a moment he was so grateful he could have cried, just basking in the feeling of the wind on his face.  But then it slowly dawned on him that coffins didn’t come with fans.  They had buried him on purpose.  This was a test.

Well Jim wouldn’t give those bastards the satisfaction.  He’d show them that PISCES men were made of sterner stuff.

Then the fan shut off.


----------



## KainG

I just wanted to pop in and say that I'm really enjoying this story hour. 

Well-written, interesting characters, and great update rate. Plus, I really like Delta Green conspiracy stuff.


----------



## talien

Thanks! The scenes you're currently reading are the "Outlook Simulations" from the Countdown book.  As you might have guessed, Majestic-12 has incorporated this kind of mental torture into their training program. Wait til you see what happens to poor Joe...the MJ-12 friendly has it the worst.


----------



## Joshua Randall

I'm not all the way caught up, but I wanted to pop in a reply and say that this story is excellent. Keep up the good work!


----------



## talien

Thank you -- all this and we haven't even gotten started! The first scenario starts with the End of Paradise.  Even with me posting every other day we've got a long way to go -- and we're now up to 12 chapters so far.

I also have some other exciting news -- we have a famous fan who contacted me off-line -- but I prefer to keep that quiet until plans become more official.


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

Must...have...more...


----------



## talien

Ask and ye shall receive!  This story hour is a lot more popular than I thought it would be.  Should I post an installment every day?


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 8c – Stress Simulation 7.0*

Joe woke up on a gurney.

Heads in a surgical masks hovered over him.  Joe was being rolled through double doors that folded open at their approach.

“What…?” he managed to get out.  The pain was making him delirious.

“You’ll be fine,” said one of the men. He patted Joe on the shoulder.  

“Do we have any more anesthetic?” asked one of the other surgeons.

The other one slowly shook his head back and forth.

“…for what?” asked Joe.

“Ready?” The chief surgeon asked the others. “One.  Two.  Three.”  They lifted him together and placed Joe on a cold metal table.

One of them tied a tourniquet around the top of his thigh.  The cinch of the tightly drawn rubber tubing put pressure on his femoral nerve and he started to struggle.

“Wait, what the hell are you doing?”

“This leg’s coming off,” said the chief surgeon with steel blue eyes.  “The quicker, the better.”

“What?” shouted Joe before an assistant shoved a piece of plastic into his mouth.  They strapped it around his head.

Another strap went over his forehead and he was lashed to the table, one limb at a time. 

The surgeon lifted a scalpel.  He made an incision above Joe’s knee, slicing through the skin and into the quadriceps.  As the scalpel entered, severing nerve fibers along the way, the pain was a flash of white-hot searing agony, moving like a wave across Joe’s thigh.  

Joe groaned and made an inhuman noise. He clamped down on the plastic but it didn’t help.

The surgeon cut almost completely around the leg to the hamstring muscle in the back, leaving just a small flap of skin on one side.

When the surgeon lifted the scalpel away from Joe’s leg, he was granted a temporary respite from the agony—until he caught a glimpse of the bone saw.

The surgeon placed the saw on Joe’s femur and started it up.  It wasn’t the feeling but the sound and smell that drove him mad—a heavy scraping noise from metal gnawing through bone. And the smell, oh the smell!  He would never forget that smell, of hot bone and flesh sizzling, protesting against the metal blade.

Joe’s heart sped up again, his blood pressure dropped, and shock slowed the supply of oxygenated blood to his brain.  He blessedly lost consciousness.


----------



## RC Hagy

Uh, yeah!

Why did you even have to ask?!


RCH




			
				talien said:
			
		

> Ask and ye shall receive!  This story hour is a lot more popular than I thought it would be.  Should I post an installment every day?


----------



## Mahtave

Here, here!  An installment a day?!? That would be excellent.


----------



## Nebulous

Blech. The end there made me _SQUIRM_.


----------



## GrolloStoutfoam

I have to concur with my esteemed colleagues...

more, please.


----------



## talien

Wow!  This thread is a lot more popular than my original poll indicated.  Okay then, because you asked for it, this thread (and my Arcanis thread) will be updated every day from here on out.

Thanks for all your support.  And now on with the show...


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Part 9 – Satan’s Playroom*

They were all assembled in an austere waiting room: Hank, Jake, Jim, Joe, and Kurt.

It had been a rough week for all of them.  They exchanged stories, although each edited out the details of what had really happened.  Hank had been put in an isolation tank, and was only removed after he started having lucid visions of aliens stabbing him in the forehead.  Kurt was forced to answer inane questions with a hypodermic needle pointed at his neck, inching closer and closer each time he got an answer wrong to questions that had no right answer. 

Satan’s Playroom, they discovered, was a lot more realistic than any of them had thought.

An old man entered, his features hollowed and his white hair was slicked back.  He had a short white beard and a gray moustache.  He was dressed all in black and walked with the assistance of a cane.  He was easily in his seventies.

Jim squinted at him.  “Are you…?”

“That’s right, creampuff,” the man replied with his distinctive Scottish accent.  “I’m ex-PISCES.  And ex-SAS.  So don’t expect any special treatment from me!”

“Uh, who is that?” asked Hank.

“My name, you inquisitive little bastard, is Jonathan Drake.”  The man’s steely eyes were threatening despite his advanced age. 

“I thought you were in prison?” said Jim, incredulous.  “Something about stealing microfilm.”

Drake smirked.  “That was thirty years ago, and I was in prison for about five seconds, until Majestic-12 decided to put me to better use.  And it’s a damn good thing too, because someone has to whip your puff asses into shape.  For better or worse, I’m your case officer.  So you’ll be reporting to me, and I’ll be reporting back up to the Company.  And for your sake, you’d better do well, because what you do reflects on me.  Do I make myself clear?”

They looked at each other and nodded.

“Good.”  Drake pressed a button on his cane and an alcove opened against one wall.  “Here are your weapons and gear.  Get used to them, you’ll be using them in the field.”

They grabbed their gear and suited up.  

“So what are we doing, exactly?” asked Jim.

“Surviving,” said Drake. “This is an exercise in restraint and control as much as combat ability. The object of this session is to overcome your opponents without getting seriously hurt. I will be monitoring you and providing some... additional challenges from the room’s systems. Begin!”

The entire wall on the far side of the room slowly lifted up.  They stepped out into simulated sunlight.

The room was as huge as a football field.  A waterfall ran down one side to form a small pool.  A raised cliff formed of faux rock defined one corner of the room. Two towers stood in the center, along with trees, rocks, and scrub. There was the false sound of birds playing over and over in exactly the same pitch.  

“So this is Satan’s Playroom,” said Kurt.  He loaded his Glock.  “Let’s do this.”

“Do what?” asked Jim.  “Let’s all think about this for a moment, shall we?  What exactly are we supposed to do here?”

“You heard the man,” said Jake.  “Survive.”

“Survive WHAT, exactly?” asked Jim.

“Is this sort of a last one standing thing?” asked Joe.  

Suddenly, a dome punctuated by five holes down its center rose up from the grassy floor.  Fwoosh!  One after another, the holes lensed open and closed, releasing slow moving rockets that circled the room.

“I recognize those!” shouted Hank.  “They’re heat-seeking missiles!  They’re slow but you can outwit them!”

They dove for cover as the missiles suddenly locked on to each of them. 

Hank jogged over to the tower.  He waited by it as his missile turned towards him.  

At the last moment, Hank dodged to the side.  The missile tried to follow and exploded on the side of the tower. 

“Like that!” he panted.

“Well, you all have a good time dancing with rockets and such nonsense,” said Jim, clambering up the other tower.  “If you don’t mind I’m going to wait up here until this ridiculousness is over.”

Jake and Joe dodged and weaved to try to avoid the rockets.  They ran straight towards each other.

“Look out!” shouted Hank.

The big Native American smacked into the hefty arcane investigator with predictable results.  Their only saving grace was that their collision separated them just long enough for their two missiles to collide where they were standing, hurling both men into the dirt.

Jake shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

“Are you all right?” asked Joe.

“I’m—“ but that was all Jake got out. A pit opened up beneath him.  Jake windmilled for a second before falling in.  The pit lensed shut.

Kurt stood his ground, firing shot after shot at the oncoming missile.  He dodged sideways just as it closed within striking distance…

Only to have a huge metal cage slam down around him.

“Damn it!” shouted Kurt.

On top of the tower, Jim was having his own problems.  Metal tentacles unfurled from the ceiling, grabbing at him.  He nearly fell off the tower as his missile struck, leaving the tentacles a sparking mess.  Jim slid down the tower’s ladder and made for Kurt.

“I really don’t think this is representative of battlefield conditions!” Jim shouted at the ceiling.  “In fact, I think this is all rather ridiculous.”

Joe took a step forward to help Kurt and heard a click.  He froze.

A roar of flames encircled him.  The fiery jets formed a cage of sorts.  The heat was such that he flinched, shrinking towards the center of the circle.

Hank made it as far as the edge of the cage.  “I can’t lift it!” he shouted after a moment of straining.

“Get a lever!” Kurt shouted back.  “Something sturdy!”

Hank made for the ladder lying on the ground near the tower.  It had fallen off from the impact of the missile. 

He returned a second later as Jim closed.  “Jim, help me!”

Jim jogged forward and then suddenly had his legs cut out from beneath him, disappearing into the long grass.

That left Hank.  He came around the other side of the cage and dug into the dirt with the ladder.

There was a shriek of metal as something heavy whistled towards Hank.  He looked up just in time to see a bell-like weight slam into him, knocking him unconscious.

The flame jets around Joe shut off for just the briefest of moments.  He counted the seconds.  Screwing up his courage, he dove through as the jets turned back on…

They scorched his pants and he dove into the water.  He made it!

Joe stood up.  Kurt was gone; the cage had sunk into the floor.  They were all gone. 

Joe caught a glimpse of something in one of the twenty-foot high towers.  The missile that was aiming for Hank had torn a hole in it.  It looked like a…leg?

The thrumming of robotics whirring to life reached his ears.  Joe swallowed hard as a massive robot lumbered out of the tower.  One arm bristled with two snub-nosed machineguns.  The other was one long rocket.  

The robot stumped towards him.  Joe drew his Glock, but it was pointless.  

The robot loomed over him.  Its shadow blocked out the faux sun above.  It aimed the huge missile at Joe’s head.

“Congratulations,” Drake’s Scottish accent came from a speaker on the robot’s head.  “The only idiot to pass the simulation is the voodoo contractor.”


----------



## talien

*Welcome to the Show: Conclusion*

They hobbled to the Academy’s central square.  The missiles were concussive force, not fragmentation.  The blades and spikes were blunt.  The weights were made of Styrofoam.  They were bruised, but they were alive.  

To their immense surprise, every available active and retired op was assembled in portable grandstands. As they formed ranks around the Spire, General Steele stepped up to the podium and uttered the sweetest two words they ever heard. 

“Congratulations, graduates.”

The audience applauded thunderously. 

An afternoon of speeches and pomp followed, but mostly they stood through it in a happy daze.  Finally, they were led one at a time to the podium for a small but formal individual ceremony and personal congratulations from General Steele.  The General also took the time to pen a hand-written letter to each graduating black op, commenting on their performance throughout the training, commending them on their particular abilities and expressing his confidence in their ability to perform in the tough times ahead.

They received a final furlough to another unnamed tropical isle, this time for a month.  It was the last time they strung thirty days of leave together.

When they came back, Drake was waiting for them. 

“In my day, training used to be lethal,” muttered Drake. “But we had to lower our standards for creampuffs like you.” He sighed.  “You idiots will never make it in the field.”  He grabbed a glass of scotch that was never far from him and swilled it.  

“All right, here’s how this works.  There’s two offices: C office in Connecticut and N office in New York.  I know, the boys in research are real creative.  Ironshirt and Gupta you two are C-Team.  Grange and Baxter, you two are N-team. There will be others added to the team to replace casualties,” he said the word so casually that nobody reacted, “but that’s how we’re grouping you for now.”  He indicated Joe with a nod of his head.  “Fontaine here is a freelancer.  I wouldn’t even have let him join you on these missions, but he’s the only bloody one to make it through Satan’s Playroom so I guess that’s something.”

He pointed at a pile of leather jackets. “These are all Dragon Skin armor jackets. I recommend wearing them in between missions, because you never know when you might encounter something unexpected.”

Kurt lifted up a Velcro patch on the back of the jackets.  It read: CIFA.

Drake nodded at Kurt as he handed out ID badges.  “You are all now technically working for the Counter-Intelligence Field Activity. In other words, you work for the Department of Defense.”

“Never heard of it,” said Jim.

“You wouldn’t,” said Drake.  “CIFA’s official mission is to develop and manage counterintelligence programs and functions that support the protection of the Department of Defense, including counterintelligence support to protect DoD personnel, resources, critical information, research and development programs, technology, critical infrastructure, economic security, and U.S. interests, against foreign influence and manipulation, as well as to detect and neutralize espionage against the DoD.”

“How big is it?” asked Kurt.

“That’s classified,” said Drake.

“And the budget?” asked Hank.

“That’s classified,” Drake said again.

“What about…” began Joe.

“Please ask me another stupid question, so I can shoot you in the head right now and be done with it.”

Joe shut his mouth.  

“It’s classified, all right?  The point is that CIFA is your gateway to legitimacy.  When the s**t goes down, you use your CIFA badges.  But not everyone responds well to government intervention.  You need to keep your head down sometimes, so use your CIFA authority sparingly.  It will help you deal with police and such, but it doesn’t mean you have carte blanche to go shooting up the place.  Do you understand?”

They nodded.

“Good. You will be given a van that will carry your weapons and supplies.  Local law enforcement does not look kindly on walking around with machineguns, so I recommend you be discrete, even with the van.” He nodded at Jake.  “Ironshirt’s the best driver, so it’s your baby.”

Jake allowed himself a slight smile.

“Don’t get too happy about it, chief,” snarled Drake.  “You’ll find driving a van full of ammunition isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Jake stopped smiling.

“Here’s the most important part of your equipment, the Cistron.”  Drake pushed another button, and a pile of handheld computers slid out from a tray.  They looked like a combination of an iPhone and a Palm Treo. A wireless headset accompanied each of them.

“These babies are cell phones, MP3 players, text messaging, Web access, email, Bluetooth connectivity, a global positioning system, and two-way video.  It’s shock proof, waterproof, and EMP resistant.  This is your access to Blacknet, our secure database, and how you will make your mission logs.  It’s how you will keep in touch with each other and with me.”

“Does it play games?” asked Jim.

“Yes, wiseass, but it’s been disabled,” said Drake.  “And before you ask, it also tells time via an atomic clock, so you better never be late.”

They picked up their Cistrons. 

“And finally, I need your code names.”

Everyone looked at Drake in confusion.

“Code names? Jesus, what’s wrong with you people?” Drake patted his chest with his cane.  “Here’s a hint.  My real name isn’t Drake.  In fact, this room is the last time we’re ever going to refer to you by your real names.  It’s for your own protection.  So let’s start with you, chief.” He poked Jake in the gut with his cane.  “You’re Blade.”

“Yeah,” was all Jake said.

“And you?” Drake asked Joe. 

“Archive,” he said immediately.

Drake arched an eyebrow.  “I see you’ve thought about this.” He turned to Jim.  “And you, wiseass?”

“Jim-Bean,” said Jim.

“That’s very creative.  But since you’re such a screw up already, I suppose anyone killing you would be doing me a favor.  Fine, Jim-Bean it is.” He looked at Kurt.

“Hammer,” he said after a long moment.

Drake rolled his eyes.  He turned to Hank.  “That leaves you, creampuff.” 

“Guppy,” Hank squeaked.

Drake blinked. “What?”

“Guppy.”

Jim-Bean burst out laughing.  “Oh my God…are you serious?”

“Yes!  What?” Hank looked around. “You know, Hank Gupta?  Gupta?  Guppy!”

Drake slapped his forehead. “You idiots aren’t even going to survive your first mission.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 1: The End of Paradise*

This scenario, “The End of Paradise,” is from the D20 Call of Cthulhu rulebook. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by * Jeremy Ortiz*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis “Hammer” Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
I was really jazzed about playing this adventure, because it took place in an old creepy movie theater.  I saw the Blair Witch Project in one of these old, musty-smelling theaters; it was torn down shortly after we saw the movie.  I had my special effects and music all queued up and ready to go.

The problem is that the scenario focuses on one building.  And as is the typical result of any haunted house-style scenario, smart PCs will eventually decide to burn the place to the ground.  Because the structure is inanimate, it can’t really “go on the offensive” until the plot dictates it should.  So that forces the GM’s hand: either have the events slated for the haunted house happen when the PCs attempt to blow things to bits, or else they manage to avoid the climax by doing the smart thing and torching the place.

Since this scenario involves Yog Sothoth, I decided I had carte blanche to play fast and loose with the timeline.  In addition, I wanted the PCs all together for the final battle and one of them was in the hospital.  By moving time around, I was able to ensure that everyone was present for the big finale.

The problem was that the big finale is almost impossible to predict or avoid.  Or to put it another way, this scenario railroads the crap out of the PCs.  In writing this story hour, I discovered that the obvious thing to do (investigate how Mary hurt herself by investigating the scaffolding) is expected to be the SECOND thing the PCs do after they visit Mary in the hospital.  This makes no sense; sticking to my rule that things should happen TO characters rather than hear about them from NPCs, I had one PC suffer the same fate as Mary and then go to the hospital…then all the disturbing events at the hospital happened to him. 

Although they didn’t enjoy the showdown, my brother liked the horror elements, especially the creepy film stuff (he and I both have this fear of creepy old films for some reason, I blame our dad’s love of old Sci-Fi). Was it successful as a story?  Read on to find out.

*Defining Moment:* The defining moment in this scenario was when Guppy flipped out in the hospital. That wasn’t a failed sanity check; Joe just role-played his character logically.

Relevant Media

*Call of Cthulhu D20:* The source of the adventure, "The End of Paradise." 
*Beside You in Time:* By Nine Inch Nails.
*World of Darkness: Asylum:* I'm amazed that Arkham Asylum has never been fully detailed, considering the amount of insanity in Call of Cthulhu. The World of Darkness supplement is the next best thing.
*Necronomicon Project:  To Call Forth Yog-Sothoth:* This scenario doesn't really detail what's in the dreaded tome to summon Yog-Sothoth, so a little Googling on the Internet turned up this gem.  It also helped explain why Yog-Sothoth manifests in the form it does.  I tweaked one of Yog-Sothoth's "globes," Vual, whose "form is of a dark cloud and he teacheth all manner of ancient tongues" to be a "dark mass" that "speaks all manner of tongues" -- or in modern parlance...movies.


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 1 – Opening Scene*



> _I am all alone this time around
> Sometimes on the side I hear a sound
> Places parallel I know it's you
> Feel the little pieces bleeding through_​
> --_Beside You in Time_ by Nine Inch Nails​



 ARKHAM, MA -- It was daylight, but the sun had been absent, shrouded in clouds.  The Paradise stood on a dirty street.  Across the road sat a car with no tires, cryptic orange graffiti scrawled on the back window—probably just a police marker that the car needed to be towed, but it was hard to tell. 

Archive stepped out of the passenger’s side of the van.  “For some reason I was put in charge of this mission.  I’ll provide the cover.”

“What do we have on this place?” asked Hammer, all business.

“Built in 1892 by the wealthy Allen family, the Paradise Theater was a showplace for stage acts, the finest venue in town,” said Archive. “When the attractions of vaudeville began to fade in favor of those of the silver screen, the Allens decided to convert the Paradise into a movie theater. From 1928 on, the Paradise showed films.  It eventually became too costly to maintain, and in 1974 it closed. A local arts group, Metro Arts, bought the theater from the Allen Foundation and began renovations…”

“And we’re here because…” asked Jim-Bean.

“We already went over this in the mission briefing,” said Hammer in irritation.  “Mary Green, a Majestic friendly, was painting a ceiling in the main theater space one evening and fell from the scaffolding.  She broke her left leg, arm, and pelvic bone and suffered a mild concussion.”

Archive nodded.  “Mary told her handler that the Paradise is haunted.”

“Haunted?” Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  “We’re ghost hunters now?”

“It’s not the only time there was a ghost sighting,” said Archive. “Harry Samson, a janitor at the Paradise from the sixties told a reporter that he used to hear strange things moving around in the walls and floors all the time.”

They passed the abandoned car. Guppy peered into it and promptly gagged.

“What is it?” asked Blade. He peered over Guppy’s shoulder.

A dead dog lay in the driver’s seat, erupted belly roiling with maggots.

“What?” echoed Jim-Bean.

“Nothing.” Blade shrugged. “Just a dead dog.”

As the team walked up to the Paradise, the baroque façade was darkened with grime, but the marquee was clean, the neon crisp and alight, letters placed to form a message: PARADISE IS COMING BACK.  A woman on a ladder held a piece of plastic formed into the THE, and she carefully placed it above the other words.

“Hello!” she climbed down. She was a compact woman with deep-set green eyes, freckles, and long brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. 

“Hello,” said Archive.  “Are you Sara Landry?”

Sara smiled. “Yes, that’s me.  I’m head of Metro Arts.” She looked at the marquee and nodded.  “It’s a sign, don’t you think?”

Archive forced a smile. “We’re with the National Trust for Historic Preservation,” he said.  “We’re investigating the accident involving Mary Green.”

“Ah yes, that,” Sara shook all their hands.  “Very unfortunate.  I suppose you want to inspect the place?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Sara led them through the front doors and into the lobby.  “Feel free to look around, but don’t fall off anything!”


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 2 – The Basement*

Jim-Bean crept down the steps, flashlight in one hand and pistol in the other.  He swung it around the room. 

The basement was a large open space that was once quite beautiful, but had long since fallen into moldy ruin.  There was still an old bar, with some ratty couches and chairs.  At some point after the theater closed, it was apparent one of the exit doors had been jimmied open.  The walls were covered in graffiti, and the carpet smelled of urine.

Metro hadn’t done much except get the furnace working and reroute the electrical wiring to new boxes elsewhere in the building. The old circuit board was a big wooden slab about eight feet tall by six feet wide, covered with large throw switches and dials—it looked like it came straight from Frankenstein’s lab.  

Jim-Bean focused the flashlight’s beam on the bar again.  Sure enough, he made out the faint impression of a door behind the bar, plastered and painted over.  

“Hello, mates?  I think I’ve found a door.”

Jim-Bean listened.  Nobody responded.

“Right, got to do it myself, then.” 

Using a multi-tool at his belt, he cut open the plaster and forced the door open.

“Anyone?  Team?”  Nothing but silence.

Jim-Bean shrugged and stepped into the room. 

Decades of dust filtered down through the ceiling boards, coating the area in a fine gray powder.  The door opened into a small area blocked off by what Jim-Bean at first took to be mist.  They were actually three fabric screens that stretched from floor to ceiling.  They were made of a thin, gauzy material and were stretched taut.  

As soon as he stepped inside, Jim-Bean felt a slight shift beneath his feet.  He had triggered a pressure plate.  Jim-Bean froze.  The last time he triggered a pressure plate, a blade nearly cut his legs off at the knees.

A loud whirring sound started up as three old sixteen-millimeter projectors began operating.  Suddenly, there were moving images on the three fabric screens, projected from behind.  The imagines in grainy black-and-white depicted a crowd of men dressed in suits, all wearing masks of blank faces with no eyes or mouth.  They were standing in the same basement; clearly, three cameras rolling simultaneously in the doorway shot the footage. 

The men simply stood there, staring at Jim-Bean.  Projected, they formed a nearly continuous image with only a slight stutter that betrayed the loop.

Jim-Bean noticed gaps between the three screens and slipped between them.  He saw the three projectors first; each placed some distance behind its corresponding screen.  All had power cables running up into the ceiling.  The images they projected appeared on the backsides of the screens as well, since they were translucent.

The three projectors were mounted on top of massive wooden thrones, covered in gold leaf and blanketed by dust.  Each was elevated on a dais about eight inches high.  A mural showing the night sky as seen from the roof of the Paradise covered all the walls and ceiling.

The floor was decorated with a forty-foot-diameter circle of inlaid marble, within which were a number of twisted sigils.  The floor was stained in numerous places.  

Jim-Bean kept his pistol at the ready.  “Great.  This is the part where the creepy movie ghosts come out of the film and eat me.”

He moved around to the backs of the thrones.  There was a latch.

Undoing each latch in turn, they yawned open to reveal a small alcove beneath the seat.  Each contained a human skull, a candle, and a trumpet.  The central throne also contained a handwritten book.  

Jim-Bean holstered his pistol and flipped the book open with one hand, the other focusing the flashlight beam.  It seemed to contain rituals and prayers to a deity known as The All in One and the Key and the Gate.

“When thou would call forth The All In One, thou must waite until the Sun is in the Fifth House with Saturn in trine,” Jim-Bean read aloud. “Then enter within the stones and draw about thee the Circle of evocation tracing the figurines with the mystic scimitar of Barzai.  Circumambulate thrice widdershins and turning thy face to the South intone the conjuration that openeth the Gate…” He looked up as the projectors ground to a stop.  

The images on the screens inexplicably persisted for another few seconds.  Just as they faded away, all the men in the crowd lowered their masks.  

A wretched scream from upstairs pierced the gloom.  It sounded like Guppy.

Jim-Bean ran out of the room.


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 3 – The Ceiling*

“Hi,” said one volunteer, a friendly young fellow.  He shut off the vacuum he was pushing around. “My name’s Jack McGowan.  Up there is Kris Nichols.”  Kris waved down from the scaffolding.  “You guys must be here investigating poor Mary’s accident, right?”

“Yeah,” said Hammer.  “Ms. Nichols, do you mind coming down from there?”

Kris made her way down from the scaffolding forty feet up.

As Hammer and Blade interviewed the two volunteers, Guppy felt a strange pull towards the scaffolding.  He started to climb it.

Blade looked up.  “Be careful, Guppy.”

The carvings in the ceiling were similar to those in the lobby—figures from fantasy and mythology.  However, these carvings were much less pleasant.  The faces were leering.  Some scenes suggested the aftermath of rape and torture, but never clearly enough to be definite.   

“Have you had any weird experiences?” asked Hammer.  “Anything out of the ordinary?”

Kris and Jack exchanged glances.  “I heard a hum coming from the ceiling when I’m up on the scaffold,” said Kris.  “I don’t know what’s causing it.”

“I’ve heard it too,” said Jack.  “It comes and goes in a cycle, like an air conditioning system.”

“But there’s nothing in the theater that should make that sound,” added Kris.

“It’s almost like breathing,” said Jack with a laugh.

Guppy heard it too.  It did indeed sound like breathing.  It was very faint.  He couldn’t identify the source, except that it seemed to come from beyond the ceiling in a general sort of way.

He looked closer.  A nearby scene of a Bacchanalia was hinged—it was some sort of small door.  

“Did you hear that?” asked Blade.

They strained to listen.  There was music, playing very faintly.  It sounded like an orchestra playing the popular classical tune “Carmina Burana.” 

Kris shrugged.  “I can’t hear anything.  It’s probably Robert playing his boom box somewhere.”

“Who’s Robert?” asked Hammer.  

“A new volunteer who showed up recently,” said Jack.  “He comes and goes as he pleases.”

Guppy looked down.  The others were talking, engaged in their conversation.  

The scaffolding wasn’t directly underneath the panel, but he could just barely reach it if he leaned out with his fingertips.  It took some poking and pulling until he found the catch: the empty eye socket of a dead nymph contained a switch.  With some further effort, Guppy pushed the switch and the panel opened upwards into the ceiling.

Guppy looked up through the panel.







> He was somehow looking down at the theater below.  It was as if the panel held a mirror, or there were a second Paradise built upside down on top of it.
> 
> But it was no reflection. The Paradise that Guppy saw was full of people. The seats were covered with writhing bodies issuing a howling scream, illuminated by the flickering light of a film projector.
> 
> Ghastly music played, music that Guppy recognized: it’s what he thought was the “Carmina Burana.”  But it wasn’t. The music was strange and alien, deep and resonant, and only the barest melodies had any resemblance to what Guppy thought he heard below.
> 
> The movie screen was a jumble of shadows and light, amorphous shapes that suggested tentacles, mouths, and eyes, but never resolving into anything definite.  As the crowd screamed, the floor began to sink into a vortex and the entire theater collapsed into an abyss.  The shapes on screen emerged from the abyss, wallowing up the audience...



Hammer and Blade were startled by the sound of a trapdoor slamming above them.  There was a distant scream, and then a slam a moment later as Guppy appeared bent across the theater seats, covered in a viscous slime.  

“Oh my God!” shouted Kris. “Call an ambulance!”


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 4 – Visiting Mary*

The ambulance drove Guppy to the Arkham Hospital.  Blade was in the ambulance with him until they reached the hospital. The police, who were getting suspicious with all the accidents at the Paradise, detained all of his comrades.

A nurse wheeled Guppy into a room.  “We’re a little crowded today,” said the nurse, “so you’ve got a neighbor.”

Mary Green was lying in bed, her body connected to a traction apparatus to help her pelvic bone set properly.  Her arm and leg were in casts, and there were bandages on her head.  Her eyes were bruised.  She was attached to a pulse monitor and other medical instruments that constantly beeped and whirred. 

The beeping from the machines increased suddenly and a buzzer sounded.  Mary cried out briefly and then her face went slack.  The noise from the machines was terrible, a cacophony of electronic sounds that made no sense.

Two nurses and a doctor rushed in.  The staff began emergency procedures and went straight to defibrillation.  As they used the paddles to jolt electricity on Mary’s body, the lights in the room went out with each burst.  

As the lights flickered and Mary’s body spasmed, the television shorted out.  Images of a ballet dissolved into static, and the sound of a film projector came through.  Then the screen showed the hospital room, as if a camera were mounted inside the television.  

Guppy saw himself in bed, and the pulsing lights.  A blurry figure stood next to Guppy, with indistinct hands stroking his face. Then the screen exploded in a burst of electricity, sending fragments of glass blowing into the room.

“We lost her,” said the doctor.  “Time of death, 2:17 p.m.” He gestured at the television and told the nurse, “Get Robert to fix that damn thing.”

Guppy’s fellow agents entered the room.

“Did you see!” shouted Guppy.  “Mary just died!”

The doctor, who was about to leave, turned back. “Mister Gupta, please calm down.”

“No!” shouted Guppy.  “The lights!  The television…and then a man was stroking my face…” He tried to get up, winced, and fell back down.

The doctor swore.  “I don’t have time for this.”  He whispered to the nurse, who left to follow his orders.

“What happened?” asked Hammer.

“Miss Green here just passed away,” said the doctor patiently as Guppy’s struggling became more frantic.  “Your friend has been under a lot of stress.  We’re just going to give him something to calm him down.”

The nurse returned with a needle.  The doctor pierced the IV with it and injected a clear fluid.  

Hank slowly calmed down until he was just mumbling to himself. 

Archive leaned close to listen. He patted Guppy on the hand.  Then they all left.

“What did he say?” asked Blade.

“Not sure.”  Archive frowned.  “But it sounded like: I didn’t fall down, I fell up.”


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 5 – Arkham Asylum*

Archive typed on a laptop as Blade drove the van back to the Paradise Theater.

“According to Blacknet, Metro Arts’ financial support for the purchase of the Paradise came from Richard Jacobs, a local philanthropist.”

“Richard Jacobs?” said Hammer. “Never heard of him.”

Archive tapped more keys.  “There’s a few media clips on him.  He was an anonymous orphan, born sometimes around 1930 and raised by the St. Matthew’s Orphanage.  He got a job as a bank teller, became a manger…the rest of his career is a string of financial successes, mostly in real estate development. Jacob never married and has no children.”

“Didn’t you mention an Allen Foundation?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Oh, right.”  Archive clicked through a few more pages on Blacknet.  “Let’s see.  Robert Allen’s grandson, George, started the foundation in 1953 to manage their real estate and charities.  George died in 1968 and left it to his daughter, Jessica, who died in 1983.  The latest trustee is Richard Jacobs.”  Archive’s eyes scanned the screen.  “Here’s something interesting.  It looks like the Allen Foundation had an earlier incarnation of sorts as the Labib Home for Children, a small private orphanage started by Ibn Yassin Ibrahim Labib in 1891.  In 1937, it ceased operations and the staff and children were transferred to the much larger St. Matthew’s Orphanage…”

“The same orphanage Jacobs was raised at,” said Hammer. 

“I’m telling you, the book here details it all,” said Jim-Bean.  “There was a bar down in the basement of the Paradise.  Who puts a bar in the basement?”

Archive spun the laptop around so Jim-Bean could see an old black and white picture.  “That’s because the Paradise Theater was the Sound and Light Club for most of the 1930s.  In 1936, police raided the club on suspicion of kidnapping.  But they never found any proof and the case was dropped.”

“That doesn’t explain the weird movie ghosts behind the bar,” said Jim-Bean.  

Archive nodded.  “The Sound and Light Club began as a social club for Freemasons in 1900 before it eolved into a private club for businessmen and politicians. In the 1940s, it sponsored an annual carnival to raise money for children’s charities.  It was based in a variety of locations throughout downtown Arkham.”

“How close were they to the Paradise?” asked Hammer.

Archive tapped more keys.  “All within six blocks.”

“What about the book?” asked Jim-Bean.  

Archive hefted the book.  “Mostly, it talks about a deity known as The Key and the Gate. He seems to have globes, thirteen in number, that are his servitors and do his bidding. Most interesting is Vual, who takes the ‘form of a dark mass and speaks in all tongues’…maybe an allusion to movies.”

“I’ll show you the room,” said Jim-Bean.  “You’ve got to see it.  It’s freaky down there.”

“We may want to make a detour first,” said Archive to Blade.  “I just found the address of the only surviving member of the Sound and Light Club.”

“Where is he now?” asked Jim-Bean.

A dark expression came over Archive’s face.  “Arkham Asylum.”


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 6 – Frank Long*

The Arkham property was absolutely enormous. Visitors were met by its twelve-foot high wrought iron gate above which was worked the name “Arkham Asylum.” To the right of the gate modern signage gave directions to the main facility, as well as Maxwell Gymnasium and the athletic field. Vehicles entered the facility through the gate, from the south, along a wide cobblestone driveway with two lanes that looped around in front of the asylum’s East Wing. Overgrown hedges of flowering quince speckled with bright red flowers in the spring border both sides of the driveway. The roundabout circled an old reflecting pond that was thick with algae and mud.

Throughout the day, the east, west and hospice wings of Arkham Asylum cast a long shadow over the property. Despite the renovated masonry, regular repainting and the addition of new wings, the buildings seemed menacing. 

“This place creeps me out,” said Jim-Bean. 

“We won’t be here long,” said Archive.  “Try to focus on the mission.”

“Yeah, sure.  We’re just in the world’s worst sanitarium and you’re worried about the mission.”  

It was easy to see how Arkham had acquired the reputation it had, hearkening back to when it was first constructed. Beyond the hedges were large, poorly-kept lawns, terminating at the property’s walls to the east and the facility’s athletic field to the west. Structurally, the facility was a jigsaw tangle of architectural elements — from the gabled windows and stone façade work crafted in the 19th century to the poured concrete and bland architecture of the late ’60s. The main entrance, leading into the East Wing, sat directly ahead of any visitors, decorated with the images of the Six Saints of Arkham.

The interior of the East Wing was quite a contrast with its exterior. The main lobby was a blend of high-tech medical sheen and antique architecture. Throughout the entire first floor of the building, the floors were hardwood that gave way to brown marble tile in the lobby and at places where hallways intersect. Facing the entrance was a U-shaped, wooden information desk with racks of monitors, keyboards and file cabinets behind it. Above the information desk hung a massive chandelier.

The rooms where patients were housed differed little from other institutional quarters. Each room had a pair of metal-framed beds with foam mattresses, and a single window protected by simple white blinds. 

The staff directed them to Frank Long’s room, a withered little man sitting alone in the chair in his room. One of the orderlies stood by, arms crossed.

Jim-Bean flashed his CIFA badge.  “This is government work.  Why don’t you go get me a soda or something?”

The orderly’s brow furrowed.  “Hey, you can’t—“

Blade intervened.  “I need to interview you about Mister Long, if you don’t mind.”

The orderly muttered something but allowed Blade to lead him away out of earshot.

Archive leaned down to make eye contact with Long.  “Mister Long, do you know anything about the Sound and Light Club?”

The old man suddenly became animated.  “Sound and light, sound and light. That’s what movies are made of!  Sound and light, yes.  Movies on the screen, the silver screen, movies in your head, the silver head.”

Archive and Jim-Bean exchanged glances.  

“So you were a member of the Club?” asked Jim-Bean.

“The club, yes, the club.  Not a club.  No, no.  A church.  Yes, a church.  A church not made with hands.  Look ma, no hands!”  Long held up his hands and laughed.

“Do you know anything about the Club’s connection to the Paradise?” asked Archive.

“They say it’s coming, Paradise is coming,” replied Long.  “I’m due.  I’m owed.  I paid my owes.  I’m first in line.  I’m last to stay.  I can’t wait.  Paradise is coming.”

Jim-Ben twirled his index finger at his temple and mouthed “nutter” to Archive.  Archive sighed.

“Mister Long, do you know anything about the Key and the Gate?”

“It’s not a rest home,” said Long, voice rising.  “No rest.  No rest at the gate.  He’s the key and the gate, you know.  The sound and the light.  All in one, like my Swiss Army knife.  All in one!” 

“Yeah, that’s great…” Jim-Bean turned away.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Long stared at Jim-Bean with suspicion.  His face hardened.  “Heathen!  Meddler!  Steal secrets from an old man?  I can see through your face, your lying face!”

He leaped out of his chair, tackling Jim-Bean.  

“Christ, the nutter’s gone barmy!” shouted Jim-Bean, struggling to keep the old man from clawing off his face.

The orderly rushed over.  “I think you better leave.”


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 7 – The Loading Dock*

“Everybody out!” shouted Hammer.

The volunteers at the Paradise looked confused. 

“Take a coffee break,” said Jim-Bean. “There’s a Starbucks a block from here.”

Sara looked flustered.  “You’re not shutting us down are you?”

“Not yet,” said Blade.  

“Look.” She handed out tickets.  “You’re all invited to attend opening night.”

“It will have to pass inspection first,” said Archive seriously.

“Of course, of course!  But we’ve invested so much money and time…I’d hate to see all that work wasted.”

“So would we,” said Hammer. “Now if you don’t mind, we’d like an hour to inspect the place.”

Sara nodded, unconvinced.  “Of course.”

As the volunteers left and the double doors in the lobby slammed with a note of finality, Hammer locked it behind them. “Now, let’s find out what this place is really about. I’ll check out the stage, you guys check out the basement.”

They split up.  Hammer slipped behind the stage curtains.  It was pitch black.  There was no light, except what leaked in around the curtains.  He could see a large sliding door.  A flickering light in the doorway caught his attention.  

Drawing closer, Hammer could see a dim image: a dark space walled by curtains.  Beyond the curtains was a flickering light that seeped in at the edges, like that of an old movie. He took another step forward…

And bumped into a smooth, unyielding surface of polished glass.  The dock door had a massive mirror propped up against it.  

Hammer looked over his shoulder.  He heard the sounds of a crowd outside.  

“Who the hell is making all that noise?” He ran out to investigate.


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 8 – The Furnace*

“I swear, it was here!”

Jim-Bean swung his flashlight around.  There was no sign of the door on the wall, or evidence that it was ever there. He used his utility knife, and just slashed at plaster.

Archive was serious.  “Something’s wrong here.  I think this is actually part of another dimension.”

Jim-Bean snorted. “Sure, right.  Well, whatever it is, I have the book to prove it.”

“Did you hear that?” asked Blade.

There was a clanging sound coming from the furnace.  

“Just noisy old pipes,” said Jim-Bean.  They all froze to listen.

The banging became more insistent, as if someone were inside and banging for help.

Jim-Bean ran over to the metal hatch.  It was hot to the touch.

“Isn’t this thing natural gas?” asked Blade, dubious.

Jim-Bean wrapped both hands around the handle and yanked hard. 







> As he opened the hatch, Jim-Bean got a glimpse of the interior of the furnace, full of flames.  A burning man screamed…



And then the flames were gone, the metal cool.  

“Did anyone else see that?” asked Jim-Bean, blinking.

“See what?” asked Blade.  “The banging stopped once you opened the door. Probably rats.”

“Big rats,” said Archive. He cocked his head.  “Is that…the sounds of a crowd upstairs?”

They ran upstairs to check.


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Part 9 – Opening Night*

All the Metro volunteers and staff were assembled, as well as several hundred prominent citizens of Arkham.  The festivities had begun with a party in the lobby; the jazz trio was just winding down and the crowd moving into the theater as Hammer exited from behind the curtains.  

Guppy hobbled in.  “Hammer!  I’ve been trying to call you all day?”

Hammer blinked. “What?  All day…?”

He caught sight of Archive and the rest of the team.  “What the hell is going on?”

“I think we just experienced some lost time,” said Archive with a frown.

 “Guys, I wanted to tell you!” said Guppy.  “There’s something new in the lobby.  The wall is now decorated with vintage photographs of the Paradise…” He clicked a button, and photos of all three of the pictures were transmitted to their Cistrons.  “Take a look!”

There were images of three generations of Allen family patriarchs.  Max Allen, Frederick Allen, and George Allen. Although taken decades apart, all three were done the same way: a man standing on the upper balcony of the Paradise looked down at the photographer, who used a wide-angle lens to capture the beauty of the room. 

There was a flash of a camera overhead.  They saw a photographer standing just inside the doors, aiming upward.  On the balcony overheard stood Richard Jacobs smiling, in the same pose as that of the Allen men. He was an aging but dignified man wearing an expensive suit.

“Oh this is bad,” said Jim-Bean.

The theater’s sound system began playing “Carmina Burana.” 

“We’ve got to stop that projector,” said Archive.  “I’ll stay here in front.  Shut that thing down!”

The music wound down, the lights went out, and the projector whirred up.  A beam of light cut through the darkness and filled the screen.  The opening credits to Rules of the Game rolled and there was brief applause.  Archive took his seat towards the front near the screen.

The rest of the team took the steps two at a time.  They tried to get into the projection room but the door was locked.

Blade slammed into it a few times.  “Sturdy door,” said the big man.

“I got it,” said Guppy.  He pulled out a lock-picking device.

“They let you have that?” asked Hammer in disbelief.

Guppy nodded.  “Sure!  Didn’t you ask for one?”

The lock clicked and the door opened.

In the theater, the film started to stutter.  The image rolled and jumped, going in and out of focus.  The images of the film changed to the footage from the basement, of men in suits and faceless masks.  There was a grinding sound from the projection booth.

The image was jumping so much it was hard to make out.  Good-natured calls of “Focus!” came from the boisterous crowd.  Then the image steadied, the men took off their masks, and a blinding light filled the room.  

The projector was unmanned.  Hammer kicked over the projector, but the light continued to beam from somewhere.  

“There’s no film in the projector!” shouted Guppy in horror.

And yet the tremendous light that beamed from the front of the projection booth began to strobe.  There was a crashing sound and screams erupted from the rear of the theater. 

In between flashes, Archive was able to make out that the back third of the theater had collapsed into another subterranean chamber.  Theater patrons, many still in their seats, fell through the breaking timbers, screaming.  They landed in a dark mass. 

It was nitrate movie film stock, an early film format long since abandoned because it was highly flammable. In moments, the film ignited and the back third of the theater erupted in flames.  The burning film writhed up and out of the chasm as if alive, snatching nearby patrons and yanking them into the fire.

“Vual,” whispered Archive.

Richard Jacobs emerged, lifted up by the tendrils of film.  He was burning and laughing at the same time, the nitrate tentacles lifting him higher and higher towards the trap door in the ceiling.

Archive ushered people out the emergency exits.  “Don’t let him reach the ceiling!” he shouted to his comrades.

The team needed no further encouragement.  Drawing their pistols, they opened fire through the projection glass.

A bullet grazed Jacobs.  He whirled, an inverted marionette on burning strings, and pointed at Blade, the biggest target. “Zyweso, wecato, keoso, Xunewe-rurom Xeverator!”

Tentacles snapped up and through the window, wrapping Blade up like a mummy.

Archive caught sight of Sara.  “Why aren’t the sprinklers working?” he shouted.

She was stunned, staring up at the writhing flames.  “We…rushed the opening…”

Guppy, despite his bruises, dove into action.  He scrambled for a fire extinguisher from the lobby and turned it on Blade, extinguishing the flames

Jim-Bean drew his knife and slashed the tentacle of film.  It whipped backwards as if in agony.

Jacobs turned and carefully aimed a Colt Delta Elite pistol.

Hammer drew his Glock and fired.

A red blot appeared in Jacobs’ forehead.  The film suddenly went limp.  His body collapsed into the boiling film stock below, instantly incinerated.


----------



## talien

*The End of Paradise: Conclusion*

“Well that went well,” said Jim-Bean.  

“Drake’s going to have our asses on this one,” said Hammer.  They were at the Arkham Hospital again, where Blade was recovering from his burns. 

Archive shrugged.  “I don’t think so.  The authorities cited the existence of an unknown basement—“

“I TOLD you there was something weird in the basement!” shouted Jim-Bean.  He got a dirty look from one of the nurses tending to Blade.

Archive cleared his throat as he read off of his Cistron.  “The basement was used to dump a large collection of nitrate films that were taken out of circulation.  A weak floor under the weight of the crowd and the combustible movie stock combined to produce the disaster, which killed dozens and injured more than a hundred.”

“But,” added Guppy with a smile, “no credible reports of the film coming to life exist.”

“And what about Paradise?” asked Hammer.

Guppy read off his Cistron.  “Metro Arts is being sued over the failure to be up to fire safety codes.  I doubt the Paradise will survive.”

“Then it’s over,” said Jim-Bean. 

Hammer shook his head.  “Take a look…”

They all brought up Guppy’s pictures on their Cistron. One of the pictures on the wall revealed a poster in the background of a crowd scene.  It read, “Welcome Sound and Light Club International Chapters,” followed by the names of prominent cities across the country and around the world.

“It’s far from over.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 2: Lethal Legacy - Introduction*

This scenario, “Lethal Legacy,” is from the Call of Cthulhu supplement, “Last Rites,” by Ian Winterton. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by * Jeremy Ortiz*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis “Hammer” Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
This scenario was played right after The End of Paradise and was considered by the group to be the more interesting of the two.  My suspicion is that this is because the scenario involved a combination of investigation and combat, with an alien opponent that had unknown capabilities.  I was able to slowly introduce each of the creature’s powers, giving the PCs a rising dread as to what was to come.

And of course, I had plenty of NPCs to mess with, a whole family of gun nuts.  I used Jack Nicholson’s performance as Melvin Udall in As Good As It Gets as the template for Randy Kalms in this scenario to spice him up a bit.  The rest of the family was largely in the background…except the youngest, Luke.  I’ve learned in horror that going after the weak link really makes the group feel vulnerable, even if it’s not “one of their own.”

An important part of The End of Paradise established that a foster home was actually raising cultists.  Here, Randy Kalms lays out the entire campaign in one breath.  It’s not all factually accurate (I’m not going to give ALL my secrets away in one fell swoop!) but it’s a good start and provides a framework for a conspiracy (Majestic-12) vs. a conspiracy (cultists across America). And two members of the cult conspiracy are about to start an all-out turf war. 

Although the first scenario was creepier in tone, this one was much more freeform with moments that ended up being disturbing only because that’s how they played out.  When you have a dimensional shambler with levels in telepath, you’d be surprised what you can pull off…

*Defining Moment:* The defining moment in this scenario is when Guppy, who was talking to the rest of the team, slowly turned around to see the dimensional shambler looming over him through the window.  I showed the players a picture from the scenario and it totally freaked them out.

Relevant Media

*Last Rites:* The source of the adventure, "Lethal Legacy." 
*As Good As It Gets:* Jack Nicholson's misanthropic author, Melvin, is the inspiration for Randy Kalms.
*Miskatonic University:* Everything you ever wanted to know about Miskatonic University.
*Yuggoth Cultures:* Contains Alan Moore's Yuggoth Creatures, which is in turn the book that Randy Kalms was writing that would have given all the mythos away.  Of course, in this story it's actually Mary Kalms who experiences much of the happenings referenced in the book, and Randy merely fictionalized it. This is a fantastic comic for fans of Lovecraft.
*Burning Down the House:* by Talking Heads. 
*Fear:* My inspiration for how a family reacts in a remote, fortified cabin under assault by an outsider.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 1 – Miskatonic University*



> _Hold tight! Wait till the party’s over
> Hold tight! We’re in for nasty weather
> There has got to be a way
> Burning down the house_​
> --Burning Down the House by Talking Heads​



ARKHAM, MA – Archive looked at his Cistron critically.  “Miskatonic University?”

“Miskatonic University?” asked Jim-Bean.  “You don’t mess with that place.  Why do we have to go there?”

“Something about a stolen mummy,” said Blade, recovered from his burns.  Both he and Guppy had been in and out of Arkham Hospital for a week.  

“There’s nothing wrong with Miskatonic University,” said Archive.  “I got my degree in archaeology there.”

“We’re supposed to meet with Dr. Joseph Bread,” said Hammer.  

“If we get a chance, I’d like to meet with Randy Kalms after this,” said Archive.  “He contacted me about the events at the Paradise Theater.  Said that he was connecting the dots on cults, something about a grand conspiracy theory.”

Hammer’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me neither,” said Archive.  “But the only way to find out what he’s really doing is to talk to him myself.”

“We’re here,” said Blade.  He parked the van and they got out.  

The campus looked much like any Ivy League school, attractive but reserved.  It was meant to inspire learning and a certain educational reputation.  To Jim-Bean, it just looked creepy.

Dr. Bread was a tall, excitable young man with dark curly hair and glasses, given to emphatic gestures.  

“Hi,” said Hammer, shaking the man’s hand.  “We’re with the National Trust—“

Dr. Bread looked like past him at Archive.  “Joe?  Joe Fontaine!”  He laughed, released Hammer’s hand in mid-shake, and walked over to Archive.  “It’s been forever!”

Archive sheepishly took Dr. Bread’s hand and pumped it.  “It’s good to see you too.”

“The last time I saw you was at…why, at the Dean’s annual Garden Tea!” He threw an arm around Archive. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been busy.  I freelance…” Hammer shot him a glare but Archive kept talking. “I advise on possible occult investigations like this one.”

“I feel a lot better knowing you’re on the job, Joe.”  He brought them to the door of Miskatonic University’s archaeology department. It was closed by police tape.  A university security guard stood beside the door and held up the tape so they could pass into the room.  

“This exhibit concerns Dynastic Egypt,” said Bread.  At one side of the room, past pottery, bronze jewelry with cloisonné work, dove nets, and a fine collection of adzes, rested a sarcophagus.  The heavy protective glass top had been unscrewed and moved aside.  

Hammer snapped on plastic gloves.  “Mind if I look around?”

“By all means.”  Bread stepped out of the way.

The sarcophagus was empty inside, except for random dirt and a few scraps of crumbling linen. 

“The police came and went,” said Bread.  “They weren’t much interested, I’m afraid.  The theft has student prank written all over it.”

Archive nodded.  “Anything unique about this mummy?”

Bread shook his head.  “Thousands of mummies from ancient days have been found in Egypt and elsewhere.  This one was utterly unremarkable.  Of interest, certainly, since all old things are, but of nominal value.  Like most, it was male and dated to the Old Kingdom.”

“The period of the third through sixth dynasties,” said Archive.  “And the era when the first pyramids were raised.”

Bread smiled.  “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”

Archive rubbed some crumbling pits of the sarcophagus between his fingers.  “It seems to be crumbling?”

Bread blushed a little.  “It’s a leftover from a student fair a few years ago.  Papier-mâché.  Not stone at all.  Too heavy.  Stone would go right through the floor.  Good job though, isn’t it?”

“Do you think the mummy is still on campus?” asked Guppy.

Bread nodded.  “Yes.  Odd time of year for a prank, though.  Pranks usually happen when the weather’s decent.  Imagine toting a mummy about in a cold rain such as we’ve had.” He paused, then murmured, “God, I hope they wrapped it in something!”

“This place was locked though, right?” asked Blade.

”Of course.  The doors to the exhibit are regularly locked at 6 p.m., as are the department offices.  Weekdays, an hourly security patrol of the building begins at that time, until 7 a.m.”

“Can we see the security cameras?” asked Hammer.

“Certainly.  They’re quite odd in themselves.” Bread took them to a security office where an obliging guard ran the tapes.  

At about 5:45 p.m., a tall, thin man about forty years old entered the exhibit room, looked about, then left.  He wore a raincoat and a balaclava.  He returned ten minutes later, reached up, and neatly sprayed the lens of the visible camera with black spray paint without showing his face.  

“In the exhibit, there’s one camera in plain sight,” said Bread. “That’s the dummy.  There are actually two real cameras, hidden at opposite ends of the room.”

He then put down the spray can and made some curious signs with his hands.  His lips moved as well, but of course, no sound was recorded. 

“Invisibility spell,” muttered Archive.

“Hmm?” asked Bread.

“Nothing.”

The intruder sat on a bench and opened a magazine from his pocket.  A close examination deciphered the smeary title: Black Goat Quarterly.  A large pentangle decorated the front cover of the thin little magazine.

At 6:10 p.m., a guard arrived, looked about indifferently, and utterly ignored the sitting man who was reading.  The guard turned out the lights, but the man on the bench made a gesture, and the guard turned the lights back on again.  The man continued to read.  The guard locked the door and departed. 

“Sam Knowles was the guard,” said Bread.  “He’s been reliable for more than fifteen years.  He knows the security arrangements in the room.  He remembers nothing of this, except that he closed the room as he always does.  When he closed it, he swore there was no one there.”

At 7:05 p.m., just after the guard had looked in again and passed on, the man on the bench rose and walked briskly to the mummy.  He took out a bag from under his raincoat and lay it aside.  Again he made brisk, convoluted gestures.  A moment later all the screws popped out of the glass lid.  He carefully slid the heavy glass off the sarcophagus, then slipped the open bag under and around the mummy.  He turned off the lights, then opened the door from the inside and closed it behind him carefully.

“A witness who passed the building last night described a tall, thin man in a balaclava who exited the building carrying a bag,” added Bread.  “The time matches the time on the tapes.”

Guppy plugged the video recorder into the Cistron.  A picture of the man appeared on the team’s other Cistrons.

“This gentlemen is not a member of the campus community,” Bread said firmly. “Security had already searched our ID library.  We have no match.  But this guy probably hangs out with some campus group.  He sure doesn’t look like a frat man.”

“Not a frat man,” said Archive, “but a fan of the occult.”

“Right,” said Hammer.  “It’s time to visit the publisher of Black Goat Quarterly.”


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 2 – Black Goat Quarterly*

“Black Goat Quarterly is a laughable local magazine concerned with black magic,” said Archive. “It’s published by an eccentric, Josh Wilton, who has opened an esoteric book shop, Third Eye Books, in one cramped, narrow room near Miskatonic University.”

They entered the room and a pathetic bell rang to alert its owner.  Wilton was a goth whose age had caught up with his style.  His black clothes fit too tightly and his tattoos were spreading so badly that their designs were hard to read.

“Oh great,” said Wilton in haughty tones.  “The Man is back.”

Jim-Bean flashed his badge.  “We’re much scarier than the Man.  I recommend you give us what we need to know.”

“And why should I talk to you?” replied Wilton.

Archive flipped through the magazines on one wall.  “This is the issue,” he pointed to Black Goat Quarterly.  “Did you sell this to anyone recently?”

“I have a subscriber list,” sneered Wilton, “but I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

Hammer took out ten dollars and slapped it on the counter.  “We’d like to buy a copy.  And whatever other information you have about your subscriber list.”

Guppy flashed his Cistron, with the image of the man on the screen.  “We’re looking for this man.”

Wilton’s eyebrows shot up.  “Douglas Drebber.” He snorted.  “In that picture, he’s reading the magazine with his own article.”

“Which article?” asked Archive.

“Page six, The Sorcerer’s Way.”  

Archive flipped to the page.  Without naming names or naming gods or even making spectacular claims, it spoke about the seductive power of the Mythos, offering ways of contacting cults connected with it, and provided simple ways to come to its attention.

“Do you know where we can find him?” asked Hammer.

Wilton’s eyes flipped to the Brit. Jim-Bean still kept one hand threateningly at his belt, but he kept quiet.

“Yes.” He looked at his subscriber list.  “According to this, he’s at…”

Guppy tapped more keys on the Cistron.  “Lich and South Powder Mill,” said Guppy. 

“That’s it.  It’s a walk up in the French Hill neighborhood.”

They stepped out into the street.

“What’s your deal?” asked Blade.  “You looked like you were about to take the guy’s head off.”

“Let’s just say the occult and me don’t get along,” muttered Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 3 – Lich Street*

Only a few blocks from the roiling, rain-swollen Miskatonic River, Drebber’s building was a late Victorian faced with brick and broken up into apartments, a-squat on subsiding ground. The cold, hard rain lent the impression that the building would continue to slide, but it was quite solid.  A few ragged willow trees bowed their heads in the shallow front yard.

Hammer took out his Glock and nodded to Blade.  Blade knocked on the door.  No one answered.

He knocked again. 

An older man opened the door in the adjoining apartment, adjusting his glasses.  “Hello?”

Hammer holstered his pistol. “Hello.  Do you know a Douglas Drebber?”

The old man wandered out onto the stoop.  One side of his glasses were frosted.  The man was blind in one eye.  

“I heard a lot of shouting last night, followed by a smashing sound.  I was tempted to telephone the police, but I didn’t dare walk to the nearest payphone.  It’s at the bar on the corner.”

“So you don’t know Douglas Drebber?” asked Archive.

“Eh?” asked the man.

“Drebber? The man who lives here?”

“Oh, I don’t know his name.  Tall geek who rents from Mrs. Gladys Cooper.”

“Thanks,” said Jim-Bean gruffly.  The old man got the hint and wandered back into his place.

“Still got your lock picking tool?” asked Hammer.

“Yep!” said Guppy. 

Hammer stared at him.  

“What?”

“Maybe you should use it?”

“Oh, sure!”

Guppy pulled the tool out of his belt pouch and went to work.  In a few moments there was a click and the door popped open.

The hallway opened into steps leading upwards.  To the right was a huge hole.  Bricks, mortar, a broken window casing, and broken lumber littered the yard.  The roughly circular hole was seven feet across, shattered as if a runaway truck had driven out through the wall.  

Blade leaned down to look at the tracks.  “No human foot made these prints. Looks more like a bear’s, with four long razor-tipped toes.”

Hammer took out his pistol.  “Blood on the steps.”

The steps wound upwards and turned abruptly.  Hammer stopped and then stepped over the entrails.

“Gah!” shouted Guppy, holding his mouth.

At the next corner, a few steps from the upstairs landing, was the dead body of what was probably a woman, her limbs snapped and weirdly twisted.  The flesh of her face had been ripped away, her guts and internal organs crumpled out everywhere, her flowery print dress riven and blood-soaked.  Even in the chill draft from the stairs, the scent of death was strong and disturbing. 

Hammer pointed Blade at the bedroom, Guppy at the bathroom, and Jim-Bean and Archive at the kitchenette.  Blade stayed with Hammer as he snapped on a pair of plastic gloves.

“Hey, check this out,” said Jim-Bean.  “Randy Kalms, ever heard of him?”

Blade nodded.  “He wrote a few scripts for movies my ex-wife acted in,” he said.  “Mostly a lot of crap in the eighties.”

Jim-Bean had a people article in his hand that he snatched from the corkboard above the sink.  “According to this People article, he turned family man and moved out to Arkham with his third wife, Mary.”

On the kitchen table were three half-empty jars, two of dark color and one of bright yellow powder.  All were capped.  

Archive stared down behind the counter.  “I found the mummy.  Most of him, anyway.”

The mummy’s feet and ankles had been sawed off.

“Kalms’ wife is in this picture too.”  Jim-Bean held up a mildewed photograph in a tarnished metal frame.  She looked younger.

Blade came out of the bedroom with a book. He handed it to Archive.  It was titled, “Children of the Sea and Stars.” 

Archive scanned it.  “This book has instructions on how to make Dust of Suleiman.”  He looked over at the capped ingredients.  “Olibanum, sulfer, and saltpeter.  Yep, it’s all here.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Hammer, his examination of the dead body complete.  “The last ingredient is…”

“…a mummy, yep.”

“What’s it for?” asked Blade.

“According to the book, protection against dread and unwanted visitations,” said Archive. 

“Can you make more?” asked Hammer.

“Sure, but…”

“Make it.  I have a feeling we’ll need it.”  

“Why would we need some dust from a dead man?” asked Jim-Bean critically.

“I think that Drebbers summoned something he couldn’t control.  And if I had to guess, he sent it to take out his ex-wife.”  He pointed at the picture. 

Blade clicked on his Cistron. “I’ll call the police and let them know about the mummy.”

Archive finished cooking the ingredients and poured the powder into a jar while Blade talked with the police.  

“We don’t have to worry about Drebbers,” said Blade. “He’s dead.”

“Dead?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Dead, how?”

“Wrapped his car around a tree,” reported Blade. “He died instantly.”

“Great, so now we have some huge monster on the loose and nobody to control it.”

“That’s why we have a job to do,” said Hammer.  “Let’s pack up and get out of here.”

There was the sound of a toilet flushing and Guppy stepped out of the bathroom. 

Everyone looked at him.

“What?”

“Did you find anything in the bathroom?” asked Hammer expectantly.

“You used it instead of searching it, didn’t you?” asked Jim-Bean. 

“Uh, well,” said Guppy quietly, “it’s a nice bathroom.”


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 4 – Walking in a Blizzard*

Though the directions were clear enough, the drive to the Kalms residence turned into snow.  The flakes were wide and soft, and the air cold. Despite the wetness, the snow began to stick almost immediately. 

Blade left the interstate at the Dudnerwell exit.  Everyone felt the van shift.

“You okay?” asked Hammer.

Blade grit his teeth.  “The snow’s bad,” was all he said, his knuckles white on the wheel.

The road narrowed as it climbed a little, and the surface became black ice.  Blade slowed the van down to fifteen miles per hour.

Suddenly, the van shifted again.  They slowly slid sideways into a ditch filled with snow. 

“Hold on!” shouted Blade.

They strapped themselves in just as the van jolted forward into the ditch.  

“Great,” said Jim-Bean.  “Now what?”

“Now we walk,” said Hammer.  “We can’t afford to wait.  How far are we away?”

Guppy tapped his Cistron.  “About a mile.  It’s hard to tell though.  We’re off the GPS map.  Just a dot in the wilderness.”

“Okay,” said Hammer. “Grab your gear and let’s go.”

“Who died and made you mission leader?” muttered Jim-Bean.

“Drake did, as a matter of fact.”

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.

Following the road was simple enough, but with darkness falling the world became a black and white blur. 

Guppy tripped over a tree branch.  When he looked up, a huge lumbering mound turned to look over its shoulder as it strode away. He caught a glimpse of its glowing red eyes.

Blade helped him up.  “You okay little buddy?”

“I…did you see that?” Guppy pointed, gawking.  “It was huge!”

Blade peered into the blowing snow.  “I can’t see anything.”

“If that’s the thing Drebber summoned,” said Archive, “we’d better get moving.”


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 5 – The Sunroom*

The Kalms home was a solid, timber-built fortress with its own fuel and supplies.  It was as well equipped for country life as a man who was wealthy and who had time could make it.  

They approached the foyer double doors and range the doorbell.

Randy Kalms, instantly recognizable, met them at the door with a shotgun dangling from one hand. “What the HELL do you want?”

Archive stepped forward.  “Mr. Kalms?  I’m Joe Fontaine.  You wrote me a note about wanting to speak with me?”

Randy blinked.  “Why didn’t you SAY so!  Come on in, come on in!” He put the shotgun aside as he opened the door.  “Sorry about the shotgun, you can’t be too CAREFUL these days, if you know what I’m saying.”

Archive nodded.  They took off their coats and hung them in the foyer.  Randy led them to the sunroom.  “Mary, we’ve got some guests.  Put on a pot of coffee!”

The sunroom had floor-to-ceiling windows.  It housed a large, open fire.  A massive amount of firewood was stored beside the fireplace along with a bellows.  There was lots of comfortable furniture, some of it antique.  A drinks cabinet and entertainment system gleamed in one corner. 

After introductions were made, Randy sat down.  “So,” he said, his eyebrows rising.  “What brings all you boys here together?” Randy gestured at everyone sitting around him.  “Are you some sort of groupies for Fontaine here?”

Mary came in with a pot of tea and coffee. She looked just like her picture from the magazine.  

“I freelance for these gentlemen,” said Archive.  “What did you want to know about what happened at the Paradise Theater?”

Mary put the tea and coffee pots on the central table.  With a “thanks honey,” Randy took up his own coffee cup and slurped a sip. “Richard Jacobs died in that fire at the Theater, right?”

“Right,” said Archive.

Randy leaned forward.  “Let me tell you what I think. I think Richard Jacobs was part of a cult.  And I think he was initiated into that cult when he was very young.”

“Do you have evidence of this?” asked Hammer. 

“Did you know that Richard Jacobs, was raised by the Labib Home for Children until 1937, and then transferred to St. Matthew’s Orphanage?”

Hammer shook his head. 

“Do you know what organization funded the Labib Home for Children?”

“Uh, no?” prodded Archive.

“MegaCosmos.  Let me tell you what I think: I think MegaCosmos used that orphanage to fund a cult, the Cult of the Black Brotherhood.”

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  “Here we go…”

Randy hopped to his feet.  “Hear me out.  I think the Labib Home for Children was used to recruit orphans into the occult arts, but there was a split in the 1930s.  One group, the group that is the Black Brotherhood, funds MegaCosmos.  The other one went on to become the New Moon Temple.”

“Never heard of them,” said Archive.

”That’s why it’s so important I get the word out in my new book!” Randy was pacing.  “The New Moon has deacons who are loyal to Nyarlathotep.  You might know it as the Fate.”

“Stephen Alzis,” said Blade.

“You know him?”

“You could say that.”

“The heart of the New Moon theology is the Rite of Ambrosia.  It’s a ritualized form of cannibalism in which a victim is eaten alive over the course of several months.”

Guppy shivered.  “Sounds awful.”

“It is. The deacons receive their orders through dreams from Nyarlathotep.  But now something new is going down.  The Black Brotherhood is challenging the New Moon’s power.  I think a war’s about to start, and the opening volley was the death of Robert Jacobs.  The Fate isn’t going to let that go. It’s all in my book, Yuggoth Creatures.” 

He threw a manuscript on the coffee table. The subtitle read, “Being an Account of the Discoveries of Fabulous and Terrible Truths Concerning Our World.”

Archive stared into his tea.  “Randy, if this is true…if you’re writing a tell-all book, you might anger a lot of people.”

Randy smirked.  “I served in ‘Nam, man. I can take care of myself.”

Archive nodded.  “My…associates are good at protecting people.  Do you mind if we take a look around, just in case?”

“Sure,” said Randy.  “Scott!  Scott, come down here!”

Scott, a pimply-faced teen, sauntered into the room.  “Yes?” he sighed.

“Take mister…”

“Hammer.”

“Hammer for a tour, please.” 

Scott grumbled, but he was intimidated by the size of the man before him.

“Come on.”

Everyone watched Hammer go.  Their gaze turned back to Guppy, whose back was facing the glass panels of the sunroom.

“I saw something on the way here,” said Guppy nervously.  “It was huge.  With glowing red eyes.”

The team, including Randy, was staring past him out the window.  

“What?” asked Guppy. “Is there something on my face?”

Looming behind him was the shadowy figure, bent down to view the top of Guppy’s head as if it were a child bending down to look at an ant.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 6 – The Guest Room*

Hammer passed through the kitchen, where Mary was boiling some soup. The kitchen was a huge room with a ridiculous number of surfaces, shining pots, and pans hanging from copper hooks.  There was a large selection of knives, cleavers, and meat saws.

“Mrs. Kalms, can I have a word with you?”

“Sure.”  Mary put down an oven mitt.  “What can I do for you?”

“Did you know a Douglas Drebber?”

Mary bit her lip.  “How do you know that name?”

“We came across it in our investigation.  We were wondering if you could give us more details.”

“There are no details to share,” she said curtly.  “That was a long time ago.  Now if you’ll excuse me, my pot is boiling over.” She hustled back to the oven, head down.

“Come on,” said Scott.  “Do you want the tour or not?”

They climbed the steps large hallway.  Scott pointed at each of the rooms in turn.  “That’s the bathroom.  That’s my room.  The library.  A storeroom.  Belinda’s room.  Luke’s room.  And the two guest bedrooms.”  He flounced back toward the steps.  “Can we go now?”

“Mind if I see one of the guest bedrooms?”

Scott looked him up and down.  “You’re not some weirdo, are you?”

“No,” Hammer smiled and left it at that.

“Fine.”  Scott opened the guest bedroom door but didn’t step inside.  He was clearly not comfortable with Hammer.  “See for yourself.”

The guest bedroom had a double bed, tiny table and one chair, a closet, an empty chest of drawers, and a phone.  There was even a private toilet and shower.  

Hammer looked out the window.  The blowing snow made it difficult to see anything.

Blade was outside, hatches out.  He looked around, then kneeled down to look at the snow.  He was tracking something.

“I don’t see it!” he shouted back through the window.

Then Hammer saw it. 

Shuffling towards Blade was a gigantic, blasphemous form of a thing not wholly ape and not wholly insect.  

Hammer drew his Glock, aimed, and fired through the window.  The bullet shattered glass and the thing flinched, more startled than wounded.  

Hammer turned around to try to explain himself, but Scott wasn’t at the door.

He swore as he ran down the steps, pistol out.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 7 – Mexican Standoff*

Hammer jogged into the room with his pistol at the ready. Everyone but Blade was present.  

“What the hell?” shouted Randy.  He grabbed the shotgun and aimed it at Hammer’s head.  “You mind telling me just what the HELL you’re doing?”

There was a click.  “I’d put the gun down if I were you.” Jim-Bean had his SIG-Sauer aimed at Randy’s head. 

“Why don’t you put your weapon down first, then we’ll talk. “Mary had an automatic pistol aimed at Jim-Bean.

Guppy crawled under the table.

Archive put up his hands.  “Now everybody just calm down.”

“Calm down?” Randy took a menacing step forward.  “You want ME to CALM down?  Why don’t you tell old Randy what the HELL that THING was outside, huh?”

Belinda, Randy’s eldest daughter, hair short and lower lip pierced, skidded into the room with an M-16 semiautomatic rifle.  

“WHAT THE F**K IS GOING ON?!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Look,” said Hammer.  “We’re part of the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.  I’m going to reach into my pocket slowly and show you my badge.  Okay?”

Randy gestured at Hammer’s pocket with the shotgun to confirm his assent.

Hammer tossed his ID on the table.

“We have reason to believe that Douglas Drebber summoned…something.  And that he was doing it to eliminate you.”  

Belinda lowered the rifle.  “So that’s what that message was?”

After Randy lowered the shotgun, everyone lowered their weapons.  “What message?” asked Randy.

Belinda pointed at the answering machine.  “Here.” A red light was flashing on it.  She pressed a button.

“Mary?  Mary, are you there!  This is Douglas.  I’ve done something…something terrible. I was so angry, so mad at you and Randy and your success.  When the dream told me to do it, I followed orders.  You have to understand that that’s how it works!” Drebber sobbed on the line. “But it…killed my landlady…ripped her apart.  I tried to tell it to stop, but it ignored me.  I’m going to try to get there as quickly as I can. I think I can stop it.  But you’ve got to get the hell out of there.  Do you understand?  You’ve got to get out of there as soon as you can.  Take the kids and run, Mary, RUN BEFORE—“

The recording beeped.  Drebber had hit the limit of the voicemail system.

Everyone looked at each other in silence.

“What do we have to do?” asked Randy.

“First, we need to board up all these windows and get out of this room.”

“Right.”  Randy addressed Mary.  “Mary, get the kids.  Everyone arm up.  I want a headcount in the kitchen in five minutes.”

Mary nodded and ushered Belinda out of the room.

Blade came back in.  “Thanks,” he said to Hammer.

“Help me with this table,” grunted Hammer.  The big Native American easily hefted it.  They placed it against the window.

Guppy stood up, his hiding place no longer valid.  “So what should I do?”

“Try and stay out of the way Guppy.”

“I will…” Guppy’s eyes became unfocused.  He was sweating.  “Is it hot in here or just me?”

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Jim-Bean said in distaste.

“No, it’s just…I feel really warm…” Guppy looked around.  “There!”  He pointed out the window.  Two glowing eyes pierced the whiteness.  

Then Guppy’s hair caught on fire.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 8 – The Foyer*

Guppy ran out of the room screaming towards the front door.  Blade ran after him.

He plunged his head into a nearby snowdrift.  Blade stood protectively over him, keeping watch.

With the fire out, Guppy looked back at Blade.  “That was close!  I think it can set people on fire…” Blade was staring, transfixed, over Guppy’s shoulder.

“Oh crap,” was all he got out.  The thing grabbed Guppy by the head and hurled him back into the house.  He smashed through a window into the foyer.

The attack shook Blade out of it.  Guppy clutched his head, bleeding from a wound on his scalp.  “Are you all right?”

Guppy groaned.

“Sorry, it…it hypnotized me or something,” said Blade.  He easily picked Guppy up and returned to the sunroom.

“What’s the room at the center of the house?” asked Hammer.

“The dining room,” said Randy.  “Why?”

“That’s where we’re going.”

In the dining room, Mary and the kids were already boarding up the windows.

“Is it hot in here,” asked Randy, “or is it just me?”

“Get down!” shouted Guppy.  He dove onto Randy, heedless of his head wound.  “It attacks by line of sight!” he yelled at his teammates.

Randy had only just started to smolder when Archive tackled him.  Sure enough, two red eyes glowed in the snowstorm, just barely visible between an open space in the window. 

“How are we supposed to fight this thing?” muttered Jim-Bean.

“With magic.”  Archive handed out small cylinders to everyone present.  “This is the Dust of Suleiman.  Throw it at the thing if it comes close.”

“Yeah, right,” muttered Jim-Bean.  “I’ll trust my machinegun any day.” He started assembling his Hechler-Koch G36.

Archive shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”

Mary looked around.  “Where’s Luke?”

“He was just here?” said Randy.  “Damn it! Luke?” he shouted.  “LUKE?”

“He must have gotten scared,” said Mary, panic rising in her voice.  “Oh my god, that thing is out there…”

“Luke’s probably just hiding somewhere in the house,” said Hammer, trying to keep everyone calm.  “Do you know his usual hiding spots?”

“He sometimes likes to hide by the generator shack,” offered Scott.  

Hammer nodded.  “Blade, you’re with me.  We’ll find him.”

Mary started sobbing.  Blade took out his folding compound bow from a case.  

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Randy.

“I’m going hunting,” said Blade.  Then he and Hammer left the room.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 9 – The Generator*

“Luke!” shouted Hammer.

“Luke!” shouted Blade.

They struggle through the snow in the direction of the generator shack.  It wasn’t hard to find, because it was on fire.

“Son of a bitch!” shouted Hammer.  They jogged towards the shack.

The blowing snow was keeping the fire from spreading, but the entire shack was engulfed in flames.  The generator was destroyed.

“I sure hope Luke’s not in there,” said Blade.

Suddenly Blade turned and aimed his bow at Hammer.  “What the—?” shouted Hammer.

Blade let the arrow fly.  It whistled past Hammer’s ear towards the creature, only to be blocked a roaring wall of wind.  

The thing faded away before their very eyes.  

“That thing must have taken Luke,” said Hammer.  “I think it’s shifting between dimensions.”

“Then there’s no way we’re going to get him back,” said Blade.  “Not without killing it.”

There was an odd groan from the house.  A huge tree that hung over the dining room, its limbs covered in snow, started shaking to and fro.  There was the sound of glass shattering and screams.  

Blade and Hammer sprinted back to the house.


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Part 10 – Dining Room*

“The power’s out,” said Randy, distraught over his missing son, “but at least we have the generator.”

There was the sound of a distant explosion.  Then the lights went out.

“That’d be the generator,” said Scott with a sigh.

There was the sudden sound of tinkling glass.  One by one, the glass shattered around the barred windows.  

“What is going on?” shouted Belinda, covering her ears.

Guppy ran screaming into the bathroom and locked the door.

That left just Archive and Jim-Bean.

Archive tossed some dust on top of Randy.

“What the HELL are you doing NOW?” shouted Randy.

“I’ve got a theory.  If we sprinkle you with the dust, it won’t be able to harm you…”

“Are you OUT of your FU—“

Before Randy could finish, a huge tree smashed through the far wall, crashing pine needles and snow everywhere.  Randy was pinned, as was Mary, Belinda, and Scott.  Archive struggled to get up.

The thing walked with a dreadful, deliberate gait. Its hide hung loosely upon its frame, and its rugose, dead-eyed rudiment of a head swayed drunkenly from side to side.  Its forepaws were extended, with talons spread wide, and its whole body was taut with murderous malignity despite its utter lack of facial description. It loomed over Randy.  

Guppy tried to open the door, but it was wedged shut by the branches.

“Use…” groaned Archive.  “…the dust!”

“Screw the dust!” shouted Jim-Bean.  He grabbed his HK-G36 with both hands and took aim.  The thing was ignoring him, focused on Randy.  

“I am SO.” Jim-Bean fired a burst. The thing jerked spasmodically and turned towards him.

“SICK.” He fired another burst.  It staggered backwards.

“OF THIS!” Jim-Bean pressed down hard on the trigger of his HK.  A series of shots pierced the thing’s forehead.  It groaned and then melted upwards, as if it were paint being sprayed across pavement. 

Blade and Hammer arrived, tearing branches off the Kalms and Archive.  With enough branches out of the way of the bathroom door, Guppy stepped out of the bathroom with Luke in his arms.  “I found him!” he said with a broad smile. 

“How?” asked Mary, weeping and hugging the unconscious boy to her bosom. 

“He just faded in,” said Guppy.

Jim-Bean snorted. “And that’s why you ran in there…right.”

Guppy didn’t say anything.  The wind whistled and snow continued to fall into the room.  

“Is it gone?” croaked Randy.  He was baldy bruised from the impact of the tree. 

“Yes,” said Archive.  “But we need to talk about your book…”


----------



## talien

*Lethal Legacy: Conclusion*

“So he’s not publishing the book after all?” asked Blade.

“Nope,” said Archive.  “I convinced him to hand over the draft of Yuggoth Creatures to me.  The first thing I’d like to do is investigate the original Labib Home for Children.  Randy’s contacts suggest that it continued to operate as a cult for quite awhile afterwards, and was connected to a little girl’s disappearance. We could do a lot with this information…”

“We’re going to have to keep an eye on the Kalms family,” said Hammer.  “They know too much.”

“Where do you think they got all that information about the occult from?” asked Guppy.

“Mary, of course,” said Hammer.  “She was married to Drebbers.  After the divorce, she must have kept mum about what she knew for awhile until Randy was down on his luck and need to write a new book.”

“So the real secret source was his wife all along?” asked Blade.

“It has to be,” said Hammer. 

“What about the book we found in Drebbers’ place?” asked Blade.

“It’s a summoning,” said Archive.  

“Summoning of what?” asked Guppy, fear in his eyes.

“I’d rather not say,” said Archive.  “It can call His attention to us, even just by reciting the phrase.”

“Oh, give me a break,” said Jim-Bean. 

“What’s it say?” asked Hammer, encouraging Archive.

Archive took a deep breath. “In His House at R'lyeh Dead Cthulhu waits dreaming, yet He shall rise and His kingdom shall cover the Earth.”


----------



## talien

*RIP, Gary Gyax*

Out of respect for Gary's passing, the grandfather of all we hold dear on these boards and the man who changed my life for the better, there will be no update Wednesday, March 5.  A virtual moment of silence, if you will. Posting will resume on Thursday, March 6.

I was working on a non-fiction book about the history of gaming and had hoped to interview him, so this is particularly crushing on both a personal and professional level.  My condolences to Gary's friends and family.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 3: Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays*

This scenario, “Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays,” is from the Call of Cthulhu supplement, “Delta Green,” by Adam Scott Glancy. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by * Jeremy Ortiz*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis “Hammer” Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*

This is one of those scenarios that should never have been in the main rulebook for Delta Green. It features a body-hopping alien known as the Traveler (yay!) who has no “goals other than an ongoing orgy of violence and mayhem” (boo!).  So right from the start, our bad guy is a one-shot cipher.  More importantly, the alien is a shapeshifter that hides in the bodies of other people.  It has no other purpose?  No weird character traits?  There’s not even the slightest hint in the scenario as to how to run the Traveler when it’s taken over a body.

The other problem is that the scenario involves a BODY-HOPPING ALIEN.  But instead, we end up with the thing hiding out in the desert where there are NO PEOPLE WHATOSEVER; in essence the alien picks the dumbest location it can find to hide out in and stays there.  If it was really true to its “orgy of violence and mayhem,” surely there are better areas to hunt than the Arizona desert?

Then there’s the Coyote spirit. Basically, the Traveler eats three shamans, one of which manages a prayer to Coyote, the trickster spirit.  This Coyote spirit then SHOWS UP and harasses the Traveler, giving the investigators clues to help track the alien.  Or to put it another way, it’s a heavy-handed, genre-breaking attempt to give the PCs advice from a supernatural cause that has no place in a Call of Cthulhu setting.  The answer to this is, “if you are concerned about the cosmological purity of CoC’s no-gods-but-those-of-the-Mythos approach, you’re welcome to assume that Coyote Spirit is a manifestation of Valor’s magical energy or willpower, and that it will dissipate when the Traveler is defeated.”

Seriously?  What spell is this?  How do PCs get a hold of it?  What blasphemous tome did this shaman learn it from?  The presence of a Coyote spirit is far more than messing with the mythos, it’s not playing by the rules of cultists, spell casting, and creepiness in general that is Cthulhu.  The presence of Coyote had everyone convinced that there was a were-coyote running around, which made more sense because, you know, that was at least slightly creepy and seemed to fit better with the Cthulhu setting.

Fortunately, I knew this was coming.  One of our agents just happens to be a Native American from that region, and I wrote it into his background that he has a connection to Coyote (he has a tattoo of a coyote and considers the animal his spirit totem).  This provided some great moments that made Coyote more of a bizarre poltergeist of Blade’s ID than…you know, a spirit who saves people, White Wolf style. Still, it confused the players even if Coyote had a good excuse to exist.

Once the Traveler realizes its cover is blown, I decided it should run for it by stealing a car and rapidly hopping between bodies (as opposed to what the bad guy does in the scenario which is “flee the area on foot…rather than steal a car”).  And it was going to flee to a big city filled with Lovecraftian horrors.  Also known as Hollywood.

I know what you’re thinking: that sounds a lot like the movie The Hidden.  

That’s exactly what my players said. 

They were right. 

*Defining Moment:* The defining moment in this scenario is when Blade called his shaman and the cell phone rang.  That was NOT planned at all; it just worked out that way. Read on to see what I mean.

Relevant Media

*Delta Green D20:* The source of Puppet Shows & Shadow Plays. Despite the d20 stat block typos, the source material can't be beat.
*The Hidden:* One of the best 80s sci-fi/cop buddy movies. I actually used the black-and-white security footage from the beginning of the movie as a prop, showing it to the PCs as evidence of what the Traveler was up to.
*Critical Locations:* Useful maps for the police station shoot-out.
*Vessel:* From Nine Inch Nails' superb album, Year Zero.
*Graham Kinniburgh’s Handouts:* Excellent handouts, I used them all.  Thank you Graham!


----------



## Nebulous

talien said:
			
		

> I know what you’re thinking: that sounds a lot like the movie The Hidden.
> 
> That’s exactly what my players said.
> 
> They were right.




Hey, that's a great movie to steal ideas from.  I hope the thing is brutally resistant to bullets too.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays - Prologue*



> _I let you put it in my mouth
> I let it get under my skin
> I let you pump it in my veins
> I let you take me from within_​
> --Vessel by Nine Inch Nails​



It was a beautiful summer afternoon under a clear Alabama sky. Sebastian and his brother were driving into the countryside for a picnic.  

Only they weren’t supposed to be.  Sebastian remembered something about training for Majestic-12.  There was a crusty old bastard named Drake who kept chiding him about the training being too easy; something about his brother Michael’s senior membership in Majestic-12 smoothing things over.  

“That endsh HERE,” said Drake with his Scottish accent.  And that was all Sebastian remembered.







> They parked the car near a secluded pasture and followed a trail along a river until they reached a sunny, grassy clearing.  He and Michael used to go for picnics all the time in Alabama.  But that was years ago, before they went their separate ways, before a gulf of time that had passed so quickly.
> 
> Sebastian unpacked his lunch, arranging Tupperware containers, bottles of Evian, and his favorite, a bag of Cheddarwursts in the shade of a small hickory tree.
> 
> “I left the bug spray in the car,” said Michael, just as young as Sebastian remembered him.  “I’m gonna run back for it.”
> 
> As he set off, Sebastian leaned back against the tree, enjoying the solitude and stretching out in the grass.  His left heel came to rest against a small mound of dirt—probably the buried remains of someone else’s picnic, he figured.
> 
> But the innocuous-looking mound was actually home to a quarter of a million fire ants and their queen, who were busy producing 1,600 eggs a day.
> 
> Within moments, an army of ants was marching across Sebastian’s sneakers and socks.  The first sensation he felt was like a tiny pinprick. The pinch faded quickly enough, but it was immediately replaced by a severe burning, as if someone lit a match and touched it to his calf.
> 
> One bite was unpleasant enough, but the red fire ants attacked en masse.  Hundreds of ants were evacuating the colony, swarming up Sebastian’s leg, and piercing his skin with their mandibles.  The sensation caused by hundreds of bites was agonizing—like his legs were on fire.
> 
> It all happened in a matter of seconds.  Sebastian looked down and realized his legs were swarming with bugs.  He desperately tried to swat them off—but every handful that he swatted away were replaced by hundreds more, and making contact with his hand just gave them another surface to infest.
> 
> “MICHAEL!” Sebastian shouted at the top of his lungs.  “GET OVER HERE!”
> 
> He reached for his water bottle and tried to douse the bugs with Evian, but there were too many.
> 
> In quick succession, Sebastian’s eyes began to swell.  His mouth and tongue felt thick and swollen.  It was difficult to breathe; he was sweating profusely and feeling nauseated.  Sebastian’s mouth made an odd whistling noise as he struggled to inhale.  He was experiencing a rare but severe condition known as anaphylaxis, an intense reaction to the fire ants’ poison.
> 
> Sebastian took to steps and then collapsed to the ground as he went into anaphylactic shock.  His body struggled to supply enough oxygen to his tissue and organs, but then the world went dark and he slipped away.



The lights came back on.  Someone lifted goggles off of his head and sensors off of his arms and legs. 

Someone was leaning over him, sneering. 

“That ought to toughen you up,” came Drake’s Scottish accent. “Got a call shign for yourshelf?”

“Caprice,” said Sebastian, his voice hoarse from screaming.  

“Caprish? Like the pantsh?”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 1a – Welcome to Phoenix*

PHOENIX, AZ – Caprice’s first mission was in Phoenix.  He was going to meet his other team members there.  He wasn’t looking forward to it; Drake had said they were driving straight from Massachusetts. 

He looked nervously at his briefing papers again.  To Caprice’s surprise, two large men were invading his space.  

One man could have been J.R. from Dallas, only he wore a state trooper’s uniform. The other was an equally large but much quieter Native American man.

“You must be Major Frank Garrett,” said Caprice.

Garrett spat a wad of tobacco on the ground. “You must be the FBI agent they sent, huh?”

“Uh, yes sir.” He nodded at the Native American man. “And you must be Sheriff Mangas Colorados.”

Colorados nodded back.  Garrett seemed to elbow him out of the room, even though they were standing in front of the police station.

“Let’s get somethin’ straight.”  Garrett stepped up to him, taking off his sunglasses so that they were eye to eye.  Which wasn’t hard, since Garrett was a few inches taller than him.  “This is my investigation.  I don’t want no FBI boys muckin’ it up.”  He poked a finger in Caprice’s shoulder.  “Ya got that?”

“Sure,” said Caprice.  “I’m just waiting for my associates…”

“Didn’t think they’d send just one of ya city slickers.”  Garrett snorted and spat again.  “Figured they’d send someone from the FBI office around these parts.” The wad of tobacco sizzled on the hot pavement of the parking lot.  

“Got some tobacco I can chew?”

Garrett looked at him sideways.  Then he reached into his pocket, took a chunk out of a tin, and handed it to Caprice.

Caprice slowly shoved it into his mouth and chewed.  He tried to keep from tearing up.  After a few seconds, a suitable glob of something nasty was in his mouth.

Imitating Garrett, he spat on the ground.  A gooey wad slipped over his lower lip, trailed down his chin, and then plopped awkwardly at Caprice's feet.

Colorados stifled a laugh.  Garrett just stared at him.

“What’s your name, boy?”

Caprice froze. Was he supposed to use his real name on missions?  He couldn’t use his code name.  Not with a guy like Garrett.  “You can call me Agent Creed.”

Garrett guffawed and slapped him on the back.  “You’re all right, Creed.  Now spit that crap out before you choke on it.”  He steered Caprice into the police station.  “Let me bring you up to date on what we’ve got so far.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 1b – Welcome to Phoenix*

“Okay, so here’s the latest.”  Archive brought up the information on their next mission on everyone’s Cistrons.  Not that it was necessary; they had a big screen television in the van too. 

People had begun disappearing near the southern edge of the San Carlos Indian Reservation, west of Phoenix, Arizona.  The first people missed were an elderly couple, the Curtleys; they were due at their son’s home for dinner a month ago.  The Curtley’s car was found on State Road 70 with a flat tire, but there was no sign of the Curtleys.  At a nearby gas station on State Road 70 an attendant, Felix Royos, disappeared while working the night shift two days after the Curtleys vanished.  Four days later, Ed Stoltz and Chris Martin were reported missing while fishing on the Coolidge Dam reservoir, less than four miles from State Road 70.  Their camp was found abandoned, with no signs of violence or emergency.  

“As the Arizona highway patrol and the Apache tribal police began to investigate, they noticed more disappearances connected to the area,” said Archive.  “The abandoned rental cars of two European couples—Rolf Trautner and Fred Ollenburg, and Mr. and Mrs. Van Olson—were found two weeks ago.  Both cars were on the side of State Road 70, and neither showed signs of sabotage or mechanical failure.  An Apache sheep rancher, Victorio Begay, as well as his wife and two teenage sons, vanished from their beds, leaving their flock unattended for at least a week.”

“Let me guess,” said Jim-Bean.  “State Road 70?”

“Right,” said Archive.  “Fifteen miles out.”

“The FBI is treating it as a kidnapping,” said Hammer.  “So that’s our cover.  Blade’s team leader on this mission.”

“Did I hear Drake correctly?” asked Guppy in his thick Indian accent, “or are we getting a new agent?”

“I heard that too,” said Jim-Bean.  “Guess Drake’s already calling in the second string.”

“But we completed our missions!” said Guppy with enthusiasm.  “…right?”

Hammer shrugged.  “We’ll meet Agent Caprice at the Phoenix police station.”

They passed a road sign that pointed to Route 70, southbound. 

“This Road 70 sounds like a bad place” said Jim-Bean. 

“They call it the Devil’s Highway,” said Blade, driving the van.

“How do you know that?” asked Guppy.

Blade never took his eyes off the road. “Because I used to live here.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 2a – The Begay Ranch*

Archive and Hammer approached a man they caught sight of while investigating the Begay family’s ranch.  He was just sitting there on his own porch in a rocking chair, watching them.  When Archive tried to ask the man if he’d seen anything unfamiliar, he responded in what Archive could only guess was Apache.

“Blade?  This is Archive.  We have a local here who either unwilling or unable to speak with us. Can you translate?”

“Be right there.”

Blade was over in a few minutes.  The grizzled old Apache sprung up from his chair at the sight of him.  

“Blade?  Jake Blade?  Is that you?”

Archive huffed with the realization that the man could speak English.  Hammer just smiled. 

Blade smiled and shook his hand.  “Yes?”

“Name’s John Rope.” He took Blade’s hand and pumped it.  “You should have beaten Rodriguez in that match, man.  You were robbed.”

“I know,” said Blade.  “But that’s old news.  What can you tell me about the Begays?”

Rope nodded.  “Victorio had complained that someone was stealing his sheep these past two months.  They were disappearing without a trace.  Even coyotes leave carrion, but whatever this thing was, it did not.  The night before he disappeared, Victorio told me he was going to sit out all night with his rifle until he caught the culprit.”

“Thanks, that’s helpful.”  Blade flashed the man another smile.  “If you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact the police.  They’ll get in touch with us.”

“Will do, Blade.” As they walked away, he called over his shoulder.  “What that whore did to you, sucked, man! You deserve better than Christine Dee!”

Blade’s smile disappeared.

“Guys,” came Jim-Bean’s voice over the Cistrons. “You’d better take a look at this.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 2b – The Begay Ranch*

Caprice stood alone under the watchful eye of Guppy and Jim-Bean.  They followed him around the property, pretending they weren’t. He knew they didn’t trust him. 

Caprice was focusing on the vultures.  They were circling in a particular area.  

He positioned himself beneath them.  Then Caprice looked down at the ground.  

The ground beneath his feet was damp and spongy.  It didn’t feel right. 

Caprice reached down and scraped away some dirt with one hand.  It came away easily, too easily in the arid desert air.  It was if an animal had been digging there. 

Perhaps encouraged by Caprice’s actions, Jim-Bean and Guppy pointed excitedly at the ground.  Then they left.

Caprice returned to digging.  He was sure he was onto something.  The dirt was harder in some parts, hard enough for…

He wiped away some more soil, only to reveal something bone white.

Behind him, Guppy returned with two shovels.  He and Jim-Bean started to dig at another spot.

Caprice kept digging with his hands.  He pulled up great clumps of dirt.  The white, hard mass was a skull.

“Mother trucker!” shouted Guppy.  He stumbled backwards from where he had been digging.  Jim-Bean turned away and retched, hunched over on his knees.

Caprice stood up.  “What is it?”

“Bodies,” shouted Guppy.  “I think it’s…the Begay family…”  He dropped the shovel.

“I think I found a grave too...”  Caprice looked down at the dirt where he had been digging.  The recently unearthed soil was a different color.  Now that he knew what it looked like, it was easier to spot from far away.

“Sorry, didn’t copy that?” asked Blade over the Cistron.  “Did you say you found a grave too?”

Caprice’s eyes widened as he looked out across the ranch.  “I may have underestimated…” was all he said. 

Dotting the landscape were dozens of mounds just like the one he had dug up.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 2c – The Begay Ranch*

Soon a swarm of police personnel were on the Begay ranch with a bulldozer.  

The agents were huddled around in a circle, all except for Blade, who stood off to the side with Colorados.

“Forensics found multiple needle-like wounds in all the carcasses so far,” said Caprice, shouting over the beeping of the bulldozer backing up.  “They pierced the heart and lungs of all the humans the sheep.”

“Blowgun darts?” asked Archive.

“Don’t think so,” said Caprice.  “But there was traces of a tranquilizer evident in all the carcasses’ nervous systems.”

“What kind of tranquilizer?” asked Guppy.

“Don’t know,” said Caprice.  “It’s not anything that exists in nature.”

Jim-Bean took a deep breath.  “Well gents, I’d say that since this seems like less than your usual serial killer on the loose, who also has a fondness for sheep, we can safely assume that there’s something a bit paranormally off about the whole situation, yes?”

“That’s not the only weird thing,” said Blade, interrupting the conversation.  They team became silent when they saw Colorados trail behind him within earshot.

“Oh?” asked Hammer. 

“There are coyote tracks everywhere.  But they disappear a few hundred yards out.”

“I’m sure coyote tracks are everywhere,” said Jim-Bean.  “And surely the desert…”

“Have we got anything else?” asked Blade quickly.

Archive nodded. “I took a look at the satellite images to see if there’s anywhere a predator of this size might hide out.  It looks like there’s a cave formation about eight miles from here.”

“Caves,” said Jim-Bean.  “Great.  You know it’s almost nightfall…”

“Gear up,” said Blade.  “We’re moving out now.”

Jim-Bean approached Garrett.  “You’re a big tough fellow, right?”

Garrett laughed.  “Tougher than one of you tea-swillin’ Brits, damn straight.”

“I realize that we’re out in the middle of nowhere, but I’m sure a manly man like you has access to a wealth of material, specifically nightvision goggles.  We could use a few pairs.”

Garrett laughed even harder.  “You’re with the Fed, boy! Go buy yourself some with yer fancy pants budget you get from all those drug deals in Columbia.”

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  “Conspiracy theory.  Choice.”

“Move out,” ordered Blade.

Caprice leaned in close to Garrett.  “Seriously, we could use any resources you’ve got.”

Garrett shook his head. “You think I got those kind of resources?” he whispered. “We’re lucky we can put together candles and a match!”

Caprice thanked the big man and left with the rest of the team.  That left Colorados and Blade.

Colorados crossed his arms.  “You knew what those tracks meant,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

Blade shook his head.  “Because I don’t think they’d believe Coyote exists.  I’m not sure I believe in him myself.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 3a – The Sacred Cave*

When night fell in the Arizona Desert, it went from scorching hot to freezing cold.  With no trees to protect the land, a cold blew through the landscape that chilled everything it touched.  Blade drove the van in the darkness.  The distant lights of the Begay ranch were the only evidence of civilization for miles around.

The vision struck Blade hard.







> He was standing naked under the night sky in the chill desert mountains.  A coyote howled.
> 
> He turned to see a large coyote staring down at him from a nearby boulder. The coyote tossed its head, turned away, and led him toward the cave. With the coyote in tow, they wended their way down fissures in the mesas and rock hills until they arrived at a cave mouth, from which ran a shallow stream.
> 
> Blade’s nostrils were suddenly assaulted by the smell of blood—the stream was running red. The coyote howled mournfully.  Blade got the sense that something dark and malevolent was stirring in the cave.
> 
> Wind, with the stench of abattoir, rushed from the cave mouth as a flailing shadow began to emerge…



Blade snapped out of the vision as the van struck a large cactus.

“What the hell!” shouted Jim-Bean. 

Blade shook his head to clear the cobwebs.  “Sorry. It just popped up in front of me.”

Caprice hopped out of the van and came back a few seconds later.  “Front wheel is busted.”

“Great, now what do we do?” asked Guppy.

“Now we walk,” said Blade.  “Get your gear, only what you can carry.”

“Wait, we’re WALKING there?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Do we even know how to find this cave?”

“I know how to find it,” said Blade.

“And how exactly do you—“

“I KNOW how to FIND it,” Blade said forcefully.  He clicked on a flashlight and the beam tore through the darkness, illuminating at patch of desert sand.  “Follow me.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 3b – The Sacred Cave*

The cave was windblown and dark, but it twisted and turned.  

“Guppy, Caprice you two stay out on watch out here,” said Blade.  “The rest of you are with me.”

They crept slowly, shifting their flashlight beams to and fro like searchlights in a fog.  Blade’s foot hit something and it skittered across the room, echoing as it went.

“Oh, that’d be the skull…” began Jim-Bean.

Blade turned the beam on the source of the sound.  There were three bodies.  The first two were little more than knife-marked bones.  The third was drained of blood and partially devoured. 

“…of a victim,” he finished.

There was the unmistakable crack of a rifle shot followed by Guppy’s yelp.

They rushed to the front of the cave.  Caprice had dragged Guppy further into the cave, leaving a smear of blood behind them.

“Mother TRUCKER!” shouted Guppy, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder. 

“What happened?” asked Blade.

“Somebody shot Guppy!” shouted Caprice.

Jim-Bean unholstered his HK-G36 and turned on the heat vision scope.  He crept up to the mouth of the cave, scanning the countryside.

“See anything?” whispered Hammer, who had his pistol out.

Jim-Bean turned to look at Hammer.  “Nothing,” he said.  “Nothing but a lot of cold desert.”  Jim-Bean put his eye to the scope again and then shrieked, firing a burst.

The others had their weapons out, pointing in every direction. 

“What?  WHAT?!” shouted Archive.

“There was a…” Jim-Bean was panting.  “This big dog…in the scope.  Right in front of me.”

“I didn’t see anything and I was right next to you,” said Hammer.

“I know what I saw,” said Jim-Bean.  “It was a big, bloody dog.”

“So Guppy got sniped by a dog?”

“No,” said Blade grimly.  “What you saw was a coyote.”

“That’s some coyote,” muttered Jim-Blade.

“It wasn’t an ordinary coyote.  That’s THE Coyote.  The guardian spirit of my tribe.”  He rolled up one sleeve and flashed a light on his bulging bicep.  A stylized coyote head was tattooed on his arm.

Archived had his medical kit out.  He probed Guppy’s wound.  The Indian winced. “The bullet went straight through his shoulder.  That was some caliber rifle.”

“Guys,” wheezed Guppy, “I think I should go to the hospital…”

Blade dialed a number on his Cistron.

“Who are you calling?” asked Caprice.

“Palmer, a shaman I know,” said Blade.  “He’ll have some insight into all this stuff.”

“Shh!” said Jim-Bean.  “What was that?”

They all quieted down.  It was faint but unmistakable.  

Blade couldn’t hear it.  “Why isn’t he picking up?” he snarled at the phone in frustration.

“Blade…” said Jim-Bean.

Blade was focused on his Bluetooth headset.  “C’mon, pick up…”

“Blade!” said Jim-Bean.  He took the earpiece out of Blade’s ear.  “Listen.”

It was the sound of a cell phone ringing.


----------



## GrolloStoutfoam

talien said:
			
		

> He took the earpiece out of Blade’s ear.  “Listen.”  It was the sound of a cell phone ringing.




That is so creepy!


----------



## nwjavahead

*Keep going!*

Good Job, eh! Keep it up!~


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 4a – Santana’s Run*

The next day, Archive sent a series of documents with a timeline to all of their Cistrons.  “I think I found a pattern.”

They were standing in the waiting room of the Arizona Hospital, waiting for Guppy to be released. His wound was bad but not life threatening.  Guppy insisted on being released early so he could tag along.

Blade, distraught over the death of his family friend, asked what Archive had found.

“Check this out: First, there’s a meteor shower in West Virginia.  Then, there’s a rash of unexplained disappearances and cattle mutilations in the area.  Nine people disappeared.  Suspicion fell on Mack Tooley, who promptly shot himself in the head.”

“So that should be the end of that,” said Caprice.

“But the trail doesn’t end there,” continued Archive.  “A medical examiner in the Lowery County area, Dr. Brenton Clark, was found with throat contusions in his Nashville apartment.”

“So?” asked Hammer.

“The last job Clark did was an autopsy on Tooley.” 

“So you’re saying this is an alien?” asked Jim-Bean.  “That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“I originally thought it was a demon who could hop from body to body,” said Archive.  “Back when I was hunting the Cannibal Killer.  I picked up on the trail in Nashville, Tennessee, when twenty-one homeless people disappeared in three weeks.  The suspect, Willard Franklin of the St. Bartholomew’s Shelter for the Homeless, committed suicide by strangling himself to death.  I tracked the last person to be seen with Franklin, an Elijah Jackson, to New Orleans.  Jackson was shot by David Charles.  But I lost track of Charles.”

“You X-Investigations guys are busy,” said Jim-Bean.

Archive nodded.  “Charles left for Houston a week later.  Two days after that…”

“Don’t tell me,” said Hammer, scanning the newspaper reports that flashed across his Cistron, fed by Archive. “He died of strangulation.”

“Right,” said Archive.  “Two months ago there were a number of prostitute murders in Houston.” A map flickered on their screens, indicating the path the murderer had taken.  “Police eventually suspected Kenneth Braverman.  When they closed in on him, he murdered his children, kidnapped his wife, and fled Houston.”

“How does that bring him to Arizona?” asked Blade.

Archive shrugged helplessly.  “I’m not sure, but there’s got to be a connection.  The path leads in this direction from the southeast.”

Blade’s Cistron rang.  He picked it up.  “Yes?”

It was Garrett.  “We found a car, about fifteen miles southeast of the Begay ranch. Body’s identified as Kenneth Braverman.”

“Was there any sign of a woman in the car?” asked Blade.

“Nope,” said Garrett.  “Why do you ask?”

“We think the murderer might be a woman.”

“Hell, you city slickers don’t know nothin’, do ya?” Garrett shouted into the phone. “My boys got a bloody print off the bones in the cave. And it ain’t no chick.”

“Who is it?” asked Blade.  He was losing patience with the man’s ego.

“Master Sergeant Emanuel Santana.  He’s a real bad ass too.  Deserted the U.S. Army Special Forces in 1972 while on leave to attend his mother’s funeral.  He was on detached duty to the CIA’s operation PHOENIX in South Vietnam. This job’s got the U.S. Army CIC, the U.S. Marshal’s Service, and the CIA all over it.”  

“Great,” said Blade. 

“You wanted night vision goggles?  You got it. This case is now an oh-fish-SHAL federal investigation.  You boys can keep it.” He hung up.

Blade sighed.  “This investigation just got a lot more complicated.”


----------



## AnonymousOne

Holy crap ... I love this story hour!  

My only complaint is:  Who in their right mind takes a SIG 245 as a sidearm, it's a compact... only 6 shots.  *sigh*


----------



## talien

AnonymousOne said:
			
		

> Holy crap ... I love this story hour!
> 
> My only complaint is:  Who in their right mind takes a SIG 245 as a sidearm, it's a compact... only 6 shots.  *sigh*



Thanks!

This is one of those rare occassions I'm going to have to lay the blame at the player's feet.  Jeremy INSISTED Jim-Bean carry a SIG.  I have no idea why. I think he was envisioning a James Bond-type character.  

Which is ironic, because Jim-Bean in practice turns out to be less suave and more violent than James Bond.  Or maybe he's more like the modern James Bond...


----------



## talien

*Puppet Show and Shaow Plays: Part 4b – Santana’s Run*

The thrum of the helicopter pounded around the team’s earphones.

“The car that it stole was found at this gas station,” said Hammer. The helicopter was coming to a landing nearby.  It was one of the advantages of Arizona.  The landscape was flat as far as the eye could see.

“Ready?” asked Blade.  Everyone had their pistols out. They nodded. “Go!”

The team hopped out of the chopper.  Confused gas station attendants and tourists screamed.  

“Everyone DOWN!” shouted Hammer, flashing his badge.  “We’re federal agents!  Down on your knees, hands on your head!”

They corralled the people who were there.  It was a large gas station along I-10 West, but it was the only gas station for miles around.

“Is this everybody?” asked Blade.

“Yep,” said Hammer. 

“Not quite,” said Jim-Bean.  “There’s a corpse with his mouth open in the car over there.”

Blade pointed at one of the attendants.  “You’ve got video cameras here, right?”

“Uh, yes sir?” asked the pimply-faced teenager.

“Good.  I want to see it.” Blade turned to the others.  ““Find out what they saw. I want an inventory count of every car in this station.  Nobody leaves until we check them out.”

The attendant popped the tape into an old VCR.  The footage was grainy.

They had found Santana lying dead, with the tracks of a Ferrari nearby.  He had feigned some sort of heart attack on I-10, they surmised, enough to make a good Samaritan pull over.  And then whatever was in Santana abandoned him, taking over the driver of the Ferrari, one Joseph Guttierez, a plastic surgeon.

Guttierez, in the black and white video camera, walked over to his car and mechanically plunged the gas spout into his tank.  When they had entered the gas station, the Ferrari was in the same position Guttierez had left it.

Then he walked off screen.  A few seconds later he came back and collapsed.  People ran over, concerned.  There were eight of them in total, all chattering on their cell phones and kneeling down to look at Guttierez.  Some of their heads bobbed out of the camera’s view.

Then they all stood up and mechanically walked away from the corpse.

“Guppy, check to see if there’s any gas in the car,” Blade said on his Cistron. He turned to the attendant.  “Did you see anything?”

The kid shook his head.  “The man just stared around, like he was taking in the place while he was waiting for the car to gas up.”

“You didn’t find that strange?” asked Blade.

“Everyone does that,” muttered Hammer.  “Hell, I do that.”

Blade tapped his Cistron.  “Any witnesses?”

“Nobody remembers anything,” said Caprice.  “They all have a moment of lost time where they’re not sure what happened.”

“What about the body?” asked Blade.

“Drained of blood,” said Hammer.  “Missing some teeth too.  Like something burst out of his throat…”

”How many people left since it was here?” asked Blade.

“Eight,” came the reply.

Guppy, still weak from his wound, huffed back his report.  “He never filled the gas tank.”

“So he never planned to leave with that car,” said Caprice.  “It was looking to jump to a new body as soon as it got here.”

Suddenly Blade punched the table near the monitor.  The attendant jumped.

“Damn it!” he snarled.  “We lost it!”

“This thing has an appetite for fast cars and fast women,” said Archive over the Cistron. “We’ll track the police band. It won’t be lost for long.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 5a – Mouth to Mouth*

A day had passed before they picked up the trail. Guppy’s voice chirped over the Cistron.  “Got him!”

“Where?” Blade was on patrol in their van.  Guppy was in the helicopter.

“Jack DeVries.  He robbed the Wells Fargo Bank in West Hollywood.”

“That’s five hours from here.”  Blade shifted into high gear.  “I’m on my way.”

“The chopper’s heading there as well. Take a look at this video.”

Guppy brought up black and white security camera footage.

A non-descript looking man in a trench coat walked in, surveying the room in much the same way the witnesses had described Gutierrez surveying the gas station.  Then, as three armed guards carrying bags of money walked towards the exit, he unleashed a series of shotgun blasts.  All three went down.  A fourth guard came from behind, but DeVries whirled and shot him dead.

People ran screaming, all silently in the world of video surveillance.  DeVries nonchalantly picked up the money and then he turned to face the video camera.

The face of DeVries stretched into a smile.  Then he shot the camera.

“The son of a bitch is toying with us,” snarled Hammer, in the seat next to Blade.

“It knows we’re after it,” said Jim-Bean.  “And it doesn’t care.  It can just jump bodies again.”

Blade hit the accelerator and the van lurched forward.  “Not if I can help it.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 5b – Mouth to Mouth*

The N- and C- teams arrived in West Hollywood in record time. They all converged on the van.

“Where to?” shouted Blade to Guppy.

Guppy and the others hopped into the back of the van. “St. Joseph’s Hospital!” 

“What?  I thought he was robbing a bank?” asked Jim-Bean.

“He was,” said Archive.  “According to the reports, he rammed a police blockade and his car exploded in a hail of gunfire.”

“He’s gonna jump,” said Hammer.

St. Joseph’s wasn’t that far away.  They screeched to a halt in front of the hospital and Blade ran in.

After intimidating the nurse at the front desk with his badge, Blade skidded into a room.  

Both hospital beds were empty. Nurses stood around, staring at the floor. A doctor was rubbing his forehead.

Blade flashed his badge again.  “Federal agent.  Where’s DeVries?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He’s dead,” blurted out one of the nurses, pointing between the two beds.  Blade craned his neck to see DeVries’ badly burned body; its mouth stretched open, teeth lying on the floor in a halo of blood.

Blade pointed at the nearby bed.  “Where’s the person who was in this bed?”

“Strangest thing,” said the nurse.  “He left when I went after you.”

The doctor shook his head.  “Are you saying a man in his condition walked the hell out of here?”

“His condition?” Blade looked back and forth between the nurse and the doctor.  “What kind of condition?”

The doctor ticked off his fingers. “Mister Miller has an extremely bad stomach condition, severe gastritis, and his heart deteriorated to the point where we had to schedule a triple bypass.  Yesterday afternoon he had a massive coronary…”

“And he just walked out, right?” said Jim-Bean as he entered the room.

“Right.”

“I need a picture of Miller,” snarled Blade.  “Now.”

Archive’s Cistron rang.  He scanned the text. 

“Another robbery,” said Archive. “This time of a music store. A man in a hospital gown just bludgeoned the owner to death.”

“Damn it!” shouted Blade.  “He’s moving too fast.”

“He took his clothes, an iPod, and the money in the register.”

“Well, we know it likes music, at least,” muttered Jim-Bean.

Blade turned to go.  Guppy’s Cistron rang.

Blade looked at him expectantly.  “Now what?”

“Three murders at a Ferrari dealership,” said Guppy.  

“Fast cars, loud music…” Jim-Bean snorted.  “Just add in women to the mix and that could be me!”

Blade shot him a glare as he stalked his way to the van.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 6a – I Want This Car*

They were watching another security camera video, this time of a car dealership.  Jonathan P. Miller, the man who had fled St. Joseph’s Hospital, got into a Ferrari while two men were obviously conducting a sale.  After the owner shoved the man out of the car and started to walk away, Miller got back in again.  They exchanged words.  Then the owner gestured to security to take care of the intruder.

Miller instead grabbed the man’s arm, wrenched it behind his back, and frog-marched him towards the dealership. 

“That’s when this happened,” said Caprice.  

Three bodies lay on the floor.

“Two were shot dead,” said Hammer.  “The third, the thug, nearly had his arm wrenched out of his socket.  Then he was shot in the stomach at point blank range.”

“Where’d he get the pistol?” asked Blade.

“It’s registered to the guy at the music store,” said Caprice.

Blade swore.  “Find out who they are and if anyone else was in this lot.  And track if any cars are missing.”

“Already on it,” said Guppy.  He tapped some keys.  “There is just one car missing.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Jim-Bean.  “A Ferrari.”

“It’s a Ferrari dealership, so yes that would make sense,” repeated Guppy.  “A red Mondial.” 

“That’s not the worst of it,” said Archive.  “The dead guy in the white suit there is an arms dealer, Michael F. Buckley.  He owns Anchor Imports.”

Jim-Bean raised his hand.  “Who wants to bet that’s an arms cache?”

Guppy raised his hand, then slowly lowered it when he realized everyone was staring at him.

“How’d he find that out?” asked Blade.

“Miller took his wallet,” said Caprice. 

“Perfect,” said Hammer.  “Now we’ve got him.”

Blade arched an eyebrow.  “How?”

“Just wait for the credit card to flag,” said Hammer.  “If this thing is as reckless as we think it is, it’s not going to bother to cover its tracks.”

“Great idea,” said Blade. 

Jim-Bean rifled through the desk of the car dealer and picked up some tagged keys.

“What are you doing?” asked Caprice.

“The van’s too slow,” said Jim-Bean with a grin.  “We’ll need something a bit faster.”

Jim-Bean twirled the keys in his hand as he sauntered towards a sleek black Ferrari, whistling as he went.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 6b – I Want This Car*

The next time their Cistrons beeped, it was two in the morning.

Everyone except Hammer and Jim-Bean stumbled out of the West Hollywood hotel and into the van.  

Archive took up his usual seat in the van’s central chair, with access to an array of keyboards and monitors. Guppy hopped in the passenger’s seat.

“We’ve got a flag at the Harem Room,” said Archive.  “It’s a strip club in a nasty part of Los Angeles.”

“Have the police set up a perimeter a mile outside of that area,” said Blade.  “I don’t want to spook it.”

“We’re there already,” said Jim-Bean over his headset.  “Having a Ferrari makes all things possible.”

“Well?” asked Blade.

There was some chatter on the other side.  “I…ah crap, here’s Miller’s dead body.  So he jumped.”

“The Mondial’s here too,” added Hammer on the other line.

There was a scream in the distance.

“What was that?” asked Blade.

“Some guy is dead in the parking lot with his pants down.  Get this, he’s wearing a Ferrari jacket.” 

“So it dumped the Ferrari and the body and grabbed new wheels…” postulated Caprice.

“And a stripper,” said Archive.  “There’s one thing I didn’t tell you guys.  This thing likes women. The prostitutes that Kenneth Braverman killed were sexually molested.”

“Great,” said Blade.  “As if this wasn’t disgusting enough.”

“A blonde woman in a green sedan just smashed through the police blockade,” said Archive.  

“We’re on our way!” said Jim-Bean over the comm.

“Us too.”  Blade drove right past the Harem Room sign and kept driving. 

“What did she just throw out the window?” asked Hammer, his voice rising.  They could hear Jim-Bean shifting the Ferrari’s gears.

Jim-Bean started to say something but it was cut off by the sound of an explosion ahead of the van.  

A few seconds later, they caught sight of the flaming wreckage of Jim-Bean’s stolen Ferrari.  The two agents were standing by the side of the road, waving their badges at oncoming cars.

Ahead, the green sedan was struggling.  The other agents had managed to shoot out one of its wheels.

Blade hit the gas.  He pulled up alongside the car.

Guppy, who was in the passenger’s seat, peered out the window, only to see the barrel of an AK-47 pointing at him.

“I think this was a bad idea!” He ducked just as the PANG! PANG! PANG! Of bullets dented the exterior of the bulletproof van. 

Blade yanked the wheel hard, sideswiping the rear axle of the car.

The sedan spun out of control, smashing right through the store window of Neptune Mannequins.

They screeched to a halt and everyone got out.  Lights flickered inside.  

“Mannequins.” Blade took out his composite bow.  “Of all the places to lose a stripper, it had to be mannequins.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 6c – I Want This Car*

“My Ferrari!” wailed Jim-Bean.  “My poor, beautiful Ferrari!”

Hammer rolled his eyes.  “It wasn’t yours to begin with.”

“She had such a brief life!” sniffed Jim-Bean.  “Oh well, it was a great fling.” He took out his badge and tried to make a vehicle stop.

The driver peeled out around him.

“Good luck finding a car at two in the morning,” muttered Hammer.

A muscle car pulled up. It had tinted windows and music booming so loudly the agents could feel it in their chests.

“Get out of the car,” shouted Jim-Bean, flashing his badge.  “I’m a federal agent and I am commandeering your vehicle.”

The electronic tinted window slipped down to reveal a man with a backwards cap and hooded sweatshirt.  “Yo, homie.  I feel bad for you man, but you are NOT takin’ mah car…”

“I don’t have time for this,” said Jim-Bean.  He unslung his HK-G36 from over his shoulder and pointed it at the man in the car.  “Give me you car.  Now.”

The windows opened and suddenly Jim-Bean was facing down four pistols.  

“How ‘bout you give me yo wallet, mother-“

Jim-Bean sprayed the air over the car with gunfire.  The vehicle squealed and took off. 

“That was real smooth,” said Hammer.  “Drake’s going to have our asses in a sling for sure.”

“It’s all about finding a fast car,” sighed Jim-Bean. As if to punctuate his point, the wreckage of the Ferrari burst into even more flames.

Hammer nodded in the direction of a green Volkswagen bug stopped.  “Maybe that’s more your speed.”

“Hey, those bugs run pretty fast.  And it looks new.”  Jim-Bean stepped out, flashing his badge.

The bug stopped. The window slowly came down.  

Jim-Bean leaned in.  “Federal agent!  I’m going to have to commandeer…this…” the man who was driving it got out. “…vehicle.”

Hammer slapped his forehead.  

The young man struggled to maintain his balance.  “Hello officer.  I shwear to you I wash NOT drinking…that mush…”

Hammer got in the passengers’ seat.  “From the smell of it, drinking is the least of his problems.”

“Yeah, whatever.”  Jim-Bean led the man to the side of the road.  “Touch your nose, walk a yellow line, and prove that you’re not completely wasted, right?  Tut, tut!”  

He hopped in the bug and hit the accelerator.

“You know who that was, right?” asked Hammer.

“Who?”

“You ever see Home Alone?”

Jim-Bean shook his head.  “I don’t watch that much American television.”

Hammer sighed. “I just hope it never gets back to Drake that we stole Macaulay Culkin’s car.”


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

lolzers.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 7a – A Body to Die For*

Caprice offered Guppy his interlaced hands as a step up.  “Through the window on three.  Ready?”

Guppy looked at him uncertainly. Then, placing one foot on Caprice’s hand, he hoisted himself on. 

“One.” Guppy shattered the glass with his pistol. 

“Two.”

“Three!”

Guppy dove through the window and rolled, slamming into the door of the office on the other side.

Archive opened the door from the other side of the hallway.  “There’s a front door you know.”

“I knew that!” shouted Guppy, dusting himself off.

“She’s not in the car,” said Caprice, who had also gone through the front entrance after catapulting Guppy through the window.  “So she’s in here somewhere.”

“Where?” asked Guppy.

Blade pointed past them.  “In there.”

Swinging double doors led to a warehouse with wall-to-wall mannequins.  Blonde, shapely females in all sorts of revealing clothing were everywhere.  

“Great,” said Caprice.  He had his pistol out.  “Stay low, move slowly.”

They crept towards the entryway.  There was the sound of something large being fired.  FOONT!

“Down!” shouted Blade.

They ducked backwards as an explosion rocked the warehouse, knocking mannequins everywhere.

“Mother trucker!” shouted Guppy.  “What was that, a rocket launcher?”

“Close,” said Caprice.  They dusted themselves off.  The caught a glimpse of a shapely woman in striped red and white stockings climbing a metal ladder in red heels.  “I think she’s on the roof.”

They made their way through the pile of ruined mannequin limbs to the ladder.  Caprice went first.

He peeked his head out over the metal rim of the trap door to the roof.

Automatic gunfire raked the entryway.  “Yep,” said Caprice.  “She’s on the roof.”

The bullets kept coming.  Caprice kept his head down until he heard clicking.  “She’s out of ammo.  Now!”

He hopped up, firing.  Guppy fired his hand-laser. The shot went wide, striking the huge NEPTUNE MANNEQUINS sign that faced the street behind her. 

“They gave you a hand laser?” asked Caprice.

“Yes?” asked Guppy. “Doesn’t everybody have one?”

Archive fired a few shots over the edge of the ladder but stayed in relative safety.

They caught sight of the thing’s latest vessel.  It was a blonde in a stripper outfit. She looked like a waitress at one of the old fifties drive-in movie theaters.  The stripper dropped the AK-47 in her hands and reached for a large grenade launcher.

“Get back!” shouted Blade.

They dove down the entryway again as a grenade exploded around them.  The roof partially collapsed, knocking them down the ladder.  Fortunately, a soft pile of mannequins was at the bottom.

There was a creaking sound as the support struts holding up the Neptune sign gave out.  The sign teetered and then collapsed backwards, landing on the roof and blasting air outwards.

Guppy struggled up from the pile of mannequin limbs to catch a glimpse of something red and white streak by the window.

“Good news!” shouted Guppy.  “She’s not on the roof anymore!”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 7b – A Body to Die For*

Hammer and Jim-Bean arrived a few minutes after the stripper fell to her death.  The police had cordoned off the area.

“This is very important!” shouted Hammer, flashing his badge.  “Who’s in charge here?”

A police lieutenant came forward.  “I am.  Lieutenant John Masterson.”

“I want to know who touched this corpse!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “Nobody leaves the area until I say so!”

Masterson shrugged.  “Fine.  Not like we had anything else to do at three in the morning.”

Guppy and Archive were investigating the vehicle.  “Hey, I found something!” shouted Guppy over the comm.

“What is it?” asked Blade.  He was distracted, trying to eye every police officer at once, who were in turn glaring at him.

“There’s this weird transparent basketball in the back of the car,” said Archive.

“Probably the thing’s ship,” said Guppy.  “Hey, wait…uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” asked Caprice on the line.  “What do you mean by uh oh?”

“It’s beeping,” said Guppy.

Blade spun to face Masterson.  “Everybody out!”

“What?  I thought we were supposed to stay put…”

“I know what I said!  There’s a bomb in the car.  Everybody OUT!”

A second later, Guppy, Caprice and Archive sprinted past them.  

The beeping was louder, more insistent. They could hear even from several feet away. That was enough for the police who stopped what they were doing and ran.

Blade dove for cover behind the van. 

Jim-Bean, who was closest to the sedan, sighed and took a cigarette out of his pocket.  He was far too close to the blast to get away in time.  

The sphere kept beeping.  Jim-Bean tapped the cigarette twice, drew it, and put it in his mouth.  

The beeping became a high-pitched whine.  Then the blinking lights on the sphere shut off and it stopped beeping.

“A distraction,” snarled Blade over the comm. “That was to fake us out.  It jumped into somebody else.” He sought out Masterson again.  “We’re taking that sphere.”

“Oh no you’re not!” Masterson barked back at him. “I called in the bomb squad.  I don’t care who the hell you are, no Fed is going to tell me to stay, then to leave, then take evidence critical to the investigation.  If that’s a bomb, my boys will take care of it.  If it isn’t, it’s evidence, and it goes back to the police station with us.”

“Fine,” Blade growled back.  “But we’re going with it.”

“Suit yourself,” said Masterson.  He swore under his breath and walked away to address the bomb squad team that had just arrived.

Still alive, Jim-Bean looked around. With a shrug, he flipped out a lighter and lit his own cigarette.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 8a – A Little Extra Help*

They arrived at the West Hollywood Police Station.  Hammer and Jim-Bean arrived later than the rest.

“What took you guys so long?” asked Blade, irritated.

“We made a side-trip,” said Hammer.

“Picked up a little toy,” said Jim-Bean.

The tip of an odd-looking sphere was visible in the rucksack Jim-Bean carried with him everywhere.

“What’s that?” asked Guppy.

“A toy.  Like I said.” Jim-Bean jostled the bag and the toy went off, singing Old McDonald Had a Farm entirely out of animal noises: _Meow, bark-bark, meow-meow-meow, moo, bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!_

“You bought a toy at four in the morning?” asked Archive.

“I didn’t say I bought it,” said Jim-Bean.

Guppy eyed the sphere. “That thing looks a lot like the sphere we found.”

Jim-Bean winked back at him.

“We’re going to have to keep the paperwork straight,” said Blade.  “With all the attention and murders, this is going to get sticky fast.  Who wants to handle processing?”

Everyone looked away and cleared their throats.  Except Caprice, who was too new to know any better.

“You’re it,” said Blade.  “Report back to Drake.  Let him know we’re going to need a clean-up operation.”

Caprice nodded.  “On it.” He turned and then stopped.  “Uh, what exactly should I drive?”

Jim-Bean threw him the keys.  “Use the bug.  Just don’t drive it around during the day.”

Caprice caught the keys.  “Why not?”

“Don’t ask,” said Hammer.

They left Caprice behind as they entered the police station.  

The officer at the front desk eyed Jim-Bean’s bag. “You’re going to have to check all that in.  That goes for all of you.  I know you’re Federal agents and all, but we have protocol here.  Check it in.”

Jim-Bean bit his lip.  After a moment he sighed and handed the bag over.  “Fine.  Here.”

“What was that all about?” Blade was smart enough to leave his hatchets and bow in the van.

Jim-Bean shrugged. “We just lost our decoy.”


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 8b – A Little Extra Help*

It took the agents awhile before they were able to view the thing in the archive room.

It was a semitransparent sphere, slightly larger than a basketball.  It weighed only a couple of pounds and its outer hull was made of a dark material that felt like both metal and plastic.  Lights and circuitry were visible through the nearly opaque hull.

Guppy looked it over with intense interest.  “According to the report, it’s invulnerable.”

“We can’t leave this here.”  Hammer’s gaze flicked to the security camera that monitored the room.

“No problem,” said Guppy.  “Everybody just act natural for a minute while I record a dummy feed.”

Guppy turned so his back was to the camera and his Cistron wasn’t visible.  On his Cistron, a copy of the security feed popped up.

A few more key taps later and Guppy relaxed. “Okay, we’re clear.”

“Great, so we’re stuck in a police station with a basketball-sized alien ship,” said Jim-Bean.  “What should we do, kick it out of here?”

“That’s soccer,” said Hammer.  “You dribble a basketball, you kick a soccer ball.”

“You mean football,” said Jim-Bean.

“No football is a—“

“I know what a football is you bloody yank,” muttered Jim-Bean.

“This isn’t helping,” said Blade.  “Let’s get it out of here.  Jim-Bean, you hold it, we’ll try to stand around you and block their field of view.

“What should I do, shove it under my shirt and look pregnant?” asked Jim-Bean sarcastically.

“Just hold it under one arm,” snapped Blade. 

They entered the hallway and started to slowly make their way to the exit.

Archive, who was watching the hallway entrance to the archive room, paused.  “I think I just saw Masterson go in there.”

“Damn it,” said Blade.  “He’ll be raising the alarm any second…”

Archive held out one hand.  “Wait…” They were at the far end of the hall.  Masterson closed the door and didn’t spare them a glance.  “He just left.”

“Why isn’t he telling anyone?” asked Hammer.

“Did you hear that?” asked Guppy.

They craned to listen.

_Meow, bark-bark, meow-meow-meow, moo, bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!_

“Looks like your toy decoy worked after all,” Hammer said to Jim-Bean. 

“That means—“ was all Jim-Bean got out before the sound of automatic gunfire exploded from the entrance to the police station.

Police officers sprinted down the hallway, shotguns and pistols out.  “The lieutenant’s gone nuts!” they shouted.

“It jumped into Masterson,” finished Blade.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 8c – A Little Extra Help*

Guppy brought up the floor plans of the police station.  They sprinted for the weapons room.

More gunfire erupted down the hall.  Police officers fell, screaming in pain.  

After another moment, Guppy unlocked the security door to the weapons room with a few taps of his keyboard.

“Remind me to buy a deadbolt lock on my apartment door,” said Hammer, awed by Guppy’s ease at hacking highly sophisticated security protocols. 

They grabbed whatever they could find; shotguns, assault rifles, pistols. 

“Is it just me, or does it seem like this room is a bit empty?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I know you have it!” shouted Masterson’s voice.  “Give it to me!”

“Oh crap, it’s after us,” said Guppy.

“We could take over this place if we wanted,” shouted Masterson. 

They peeked out around the hallway.  It was a straight shot towards the exit.

“Run for the exit on three” said Blade.  “One. Two. THREE!”

They took off at a sprint, only to come skidding to a halt as two police officers, unleashing their pistols at Masterson, were raked by gunfire.  They collapsed in a bloody heap in the hallway.

Marching around the corner came Masterson, his body riddled with bullet holes. He balanced a long tube on one shoulder, as if he were carrying a bat to a baseball game.  

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Back!” shouted Blade.  “Back the way we came!”

Masterson lifted the tube to his shoulder.  There was a FWOOSH as a rocket screamed towards them.

They dove back into the weapons locker just as the rocket hit.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 8d – A Little Extra Help*

The room was a smoking mess of wreckage.  

“Everyone okay?” asked Hammer.

“Here,” said Archive.

“Ouch,” said Jim-Bean.

There was no response from Guppy or Blade.

Their comrades tore rubble off their unconscious bodies. 

“We need to get them to a hospital, fast,” said Hammer.

Another cop faced them in the doorway.  “Are you guys all right?”

The cop’s body jerked like a marionette on a string as machinegun fire cut him down.  Jim-Bean dragged him out of the hallway and searched his pockets.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Hammer. 

“Looking for keys. You two go ahead,” said Jim-Bean.  “I know what it’s after.”

“Wait, what are you…” but that’s all Archive got out.  

Jim-Bean hopped out into the hallway.  “Hey ugly! Looking for this?”  He lifted the sphere over his head.

He ducked as machinegun fire peppered the hallway again.  Then Jim-Bean sprinted across the hall to the parking garage.

Archive grabbed Guppy and Hammer grabbed Blade, dragging their bodies out a door on the opposite side of the room.

More gunfire echoed in the parking garage.  There was a squeal of tires, and one of the police cruisers rocketed through the garage doors, shredding it apart.

Archive and Hammer kept dragging.  

“He’s down!” shouted another cop.  “Repeat, Masterson is down!”

“I didn’t hear any gunfire just now, did you?” asked Hammer.

Archive shook his head.  

A white-haired police lieutenant stopped them.  “What the hell is going on?”

Hammer flashed a badge.  “Federal agents.  Who are you?”

“I’m Lieutenant Flynn.  What went down here?”

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” said Archive.  

“We need to know if any of your police officers are missing,” said Hammer. “ASAP.  A man’s life depends on it.”

Flynn wasn’t in the mood to argue.  “We’ll get right on it.”

“Hold it.”  Hammer stared at a corkboard.  “When is that event?”

“That?” Flynn spared it a glance, then check his watch.  “The Senator’s breakfast is in about an hour.”

The sign read: Possible presidential candidate Senator Holt to hold press conference and breakfast at 8 a.m.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 9a – Political Aspirations*

By the time the team’s van arrived at the Bel Age Hotel, there were police, press, politicians, and confused bystanders everywhere. Jim-Bean’s stolen police cruiser was there too.  

Hammer flashed his badge at the nearest police officer.  “What happened?”

“Crazy stuff, man.  Willis went nuts.  Tried to kill the Senator.”

The team exchanged worried looks.  “Damn…”

“That’s not the weirdest part.  Good old Holt took him out single-handedly.”  The cop snorted.  “You couldn’t ask for a better nomination than that.”

Two coroners pushed a body bag by on a gurney.  Archive stopped it long enough to peer inside.

“Missing teeth.”  Archive waved the coroners on. 

A reporter set up camp in front of them, beaming spotlights and cameras in their direction.  A pretty young brunette in a business suit held a microphone before her and addressed the cop.  “You were a witness to the events that took place today.  Can you comment?”

The cop grinned. “Senator Holt’s a tough old bastard.  I know he served in World War II.  After all that’s happened, he’s still going ahead with his presidential nomination anyway.  Hell, after what I seen today, I’ll vote for him!”

Hammer swore.  “It’s in the Senator.” He turned around to face his two remaining comrades.  “All right, we need a distraction.  Archive, you’re with me.  Jim-Bean…get these people out of here.”

Jim-Bean grinned.  “I think I know how to do that.”

The other two agents took off into the conference area.  

Jim-Bean ushered the police officer away from the camera, but still clearly within earshot.  “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

The cop nodded.  “What’s up?”

“We have reason to believe,” Jim-Bean whispered loudly, “that Willis was part of a terrorist cell. His assault was just a distraction.”

The cop watched, intently.  Suddenly, the newswoman, who was pretending not to listen, stopped speaking and turned to face both of them.

“I think there’s a bomb in the building,” said Jim-Bean, careful to not look at the camera.

“You heard it here first!” said the news reporter.  “We have reports of an alleged bomb in the building.”

“We have to clear everyone out of here.”

The cop went white.  Before the cop could start calling for an evacuation, there was a shout across the street.

People streamed out of the pubs and bars.  The viewers on the outside of the building had gotten the news before the attendees on the inside did.

His task complete, Jim-Bean strolled into the building, whistling to himself as screaming attendees ran for their lives towards the exits.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Part 9b – Political Aspirations*

Six police officers were ushering Senator Holt, a white-haired man in a dapper suit, off the stage of the conference room. The rest of the crowd was dispersing as they spoke. 

“Federal agents!” shouted Hammer, flashing his badge.  “We’ll take it from here.”

“Don’t believe them,” snarled the Senator, his hollow gaze boring into the agents.  “They’re terrorists!”

“But sir, they have badges,” began one cop.

“So did Willis!  Do I need to remind you one of your own tried to kill me this morning?”

The cop blanched. “No, sir.”

Hammer drew two Glocks. “Release the Senator into our custody, NOW.” Behind him, Archive drew his own pistol.

Two cops drew their pistols. “Put your weapon down!” 

“I am not going to ask you again!” shouted Hammer.  “The man you’re protecting is an impostor.  This is a terrorist plot to blow up the building.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” He pointed one crooked finger at Hammer.  “I’ll have your ass in a sling for this.”

One of the cops lowered their pistols. “Sir, I’m not so sure…”

Holt snatched the pistol out of one of the other cop’s holsters and fired on Hammer.  The agent fell to his knees, still holding his Glocks.

“Sir, what the hell are you doing?” shouted one of the cops.  “You just shot a federal agent!”

“He’s not a federal agent you moron! They’re trying to assassinate me!”  He took aim at Hammer’s forehead.

With lightning speed, Hammer lifted both pistols and fired at the Senator’s head.  

The Senator’s face was a bloody ruin, with two smoking holes out of the back of his head. He collapsed face first to the floor of the stage.

“Put the weapon down!” shouted the officers.  “NOW!”

Hammer put his weapons down.  The cops cuffed him and Archive.  

Jim-Bean, still whistling, spun on his heel as soon as he saw what was happening, but the cops grabbed him and cuffed him too.

“I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but I do know this,” said one of the cops.  “You just killed a Senator.”

He was still talking, but Hammer was transfixed as the corpse of Senator Holt slowly rose to its feet, its eyeless face a dripping mess of gore.  

“I’m not…ready…to come out…yet…” it wheezed.

“What?” was all one of the cops got out.  He turned just as the thing snapped his neck in two.

Two of the other cops, the ones who had their pistols out, fired into the Senator’s corpse at point blank range.  The body barely reacted.  It snapped one man’s arm and tore his throat out.  Then it crushed the other cop’s windpipe.

The three remaining cops struggled to draw their pistols.  Calmly, the Senator’s corpse fired a shot into each even as they drew their pistols and fired again and again.

Hammer swore as the thing advanced on him. Then it fell to its knees.  

The corpse’s head hit the floor with a wet thud.

Guppy and Blade ran in.  “What is going on?” said Guppy, wincing.  His arm was in a sling and his leg was bandaged up.  Blade had a bandage around his head.

“The thing is still in Senator’s corpse.” Hammer offered his wrists, which were tightly bound by plastic ties. “Get me out of this.”

Blade hacked the bonds that held Hammer captive with one swing of his hatchet.  He set about releasing the others when suddenly they heard a strange sound coming from the corpse. It sounded like cicadas crossed with crickets. 

The corpse’s mouth yawned unnaturally wide, and four black hairy legs scrabbled for purchase around the edges of its lips.

“Shoot it!” shouted Hammer.

Tentacles whipped out of the mouth, lashing Hammer, Archive, and Jim-Bean.  They slumped, paralyzed.

“We can’t kill it!” shouted Guppy.  He fired his laser pistol, but the corpse just smoldered. 

“Then burn it,” said Blade.  He was fending it off with his hatchets. Blade’s hatchets were the only weapons the tentacles seemed to fear.

“Burn it? I can’t even HIT it!”

Blade had an idea.  He took a step back from the flailing tentacles and, taking careful aimed, hurled his two hatchets at the red curtains behind the stage.

His aim was true.  The two thick ropes holding the curtains in place were sheared in half by the hatchets.  The heavy curtains collapsed onto the corpse and the worm-like thing nestled inside it.

Guppy took aim with his laser.  The curtains burst into flame.

The thing squealed and flailed within the burning conflagration. It sounded almost human.


----------



## talien

*Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays: Conclusion*

The firefighters, part of the STREETSWEEPER team, arrived just in time.  

“You stupid morons screwed up again, didn’t you?” muttered Drake.  He was dressed in a firefighter’s coat and hat. But the hat was a little too big for his elderly frame.  “And now I have to wear this.”

“We stopped the thing,” said Hammer.  

“But not before it got to the Senator.” He shrugged.  “At least it was a Democrat. Clean it up boys!”

“The fire’s out,” said Guppy.  “So we don’t need…oh.”

Firefighters opened up cases of firefighting equipment.  But instead, they lifted flamethrowers out of their toolkits. They busily set to igniting the stage, the chairs, and the corpses.

“Fortunately for you, we’ve sufficiently contained the situation so it can be sanitized.  The official word is that this was a terrorist attack on Senator Holt.  He and several police officers died heroically in an attempt to save him. But alas, they were too late, and the explosion nearly collapsed the building.  Willis was the cult leader.”

“What kind of cult?” asked Archive skeptically.

“The kind that blows up Senators,” replied Drake.  He glowered at Blade.  “Have I mentioned how much I hate being in the field?  I really hate it. And I look ridiculous in this…”

Click! Hammer took a picture of Drake with his Cistron.  He grinned back at Drake.

“Very funny.”  Before Drake could launch into another tirade, Jim-Bean got his attention.

“Hey, Drake.  Thought you might want this.”  Jim-Bean tossed Drake the thing’s sphere from his rucksack. 

Drake examined it.  “Not another Puppeteer Ship,” he grumbled.  “I hate these things.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 4: Faint Transmissions - Introduction*

This scenario, “Faint Transmissions,” is from the free D20 Modern supplement at http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=d20modern/oa/20050222a by Rich Redman. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
I really enjoyed the idea of Jake’s connection not to just to the popular club scene, but to Hollywood in general through the custody battle over his son, Alex, with his famous movie star ex-wife, Christine Dee.

When I was looking for inspiration what Christine’s background might be like, I stumbled upon the Lori Lovecraft series of comics (http://www.lorilovecraft.com). It’s essentially film noir mixed with Lovecraft with a sprinkling of softcore porn.  What’s not to like?

All that, and I managed to tie Stephen Alzis into the mix too.  After seeing Reaper, I role-played Alzis just like the Devil.  For good reasons, if you know anything about Alzis.

Most of all, this puts Blade front and center and “off the ranch” – he’s about to do two missions that will alter the course of history without accidentally “invoking the hounds” as Alzis likes to say.  But to get that accomplished, he’s going to need a little help from his friends.  The first time around, the only one who wakes up fast enough is Guppy.

Poor Guppy.

These free adventures are a series of short one-shot scenarios from wizards.com that provide interesting situations, situations that don’t necessarily require combat.  Unfortunately, the series abruptly stopped after the fourth installment.

*Defining Moment:* Guppy uses his hand laser to sever the connection between two cars just in time!

Relevant Media

*Hollywood:* by Madonna.
*Curse of the Undead:* Yep, it's a real movie.
*Lori Lovecraft:* Despite the title, the comic is both entertaining and drawn well.
*Reaper:* The Devil in this show serves as inspiration for Stephen Alzis.


----------



## talien

*Faint Transmissions: Prologue*



> _I lost my memory in Hollywood
> I've had a million visions, bad and good
> There's something in the air in Hollywood
> I tried to leave it but I never could_​--Hollywood by Madonna​






> The Rising had barely finished setting up and performing a sound check when people began filtering into the room.  All were dressed to the nines, though the attire varied.  Some came in suits, others in dress reminiscent of Victorian England.  Still others looked like doctors, bankers, rap stars, and gang members.  They all gathered around tables, each with their own posse, which made for a crowded room. Nobody was dancing.
> 
> The Rising started to play, timidly at first.  The men looked on, whispering amongst themselves.  Spider wisely switched gears to songs you could talk around, although they still involved a lot of screaming.  It just took longer for him to reach the screaming part.
> 
> Blade sat down. He was either having a moment of déjà vu or he was dreaming.
> 
> Something wet touched his hand.  He looked down to see a coyote at his feet, panting and wagging its tail.  It almost looked like it had a smile on its face.
> 
> Blade scratched it behind the ear.
> 
> The coyote woofed and then padded off out of the exit.  Nobody in the club seemed to notice it.
> 
> "Oh good, you're here," said a smooth voice.
> 
> Jake turned around to see a thin, fine-looking Arab at him from across the table.  He was dressed impeccably in a white suit.  He hadn’t been there a moment before.
> 
> “Is the dog gone?” asked Alzis.
> 
> “Think so,” said Blade.  “What…is this?”
> 
> “You’re not dreaming,” said Alzis.  “Unfortunately, since this was our only point of contact, I’m afraid I’m going to have to use this scene to chat with you. A bit repetitive, honestly, but what can you do?” Alzis was sipping from his bizarre green drink.  “Here, have a drink, on the house.”
> 
> “I don’t drink anymore,” said Blade.
> 
> “Oh, right, right.”  Alzis leaned back in his chair, eyeing Blade.  “You’re really on the straight and narrow these days, hmm?  Got a government job.  A paycheck.  And here you are in California.  You never did use that plane ticket I gave you.”
> 
> “I had other things to do.”
> 
> “Oh, I know.”  Alzis leaned forward.  “I know how it is.  You’re busy.  You don’t have time for kids.  Or family.  Or Alex.”
> 
> “Hey now…”
> 
> Alzis put up one hand. “Now I’m not telling you how to raise your child.  Oh, that’s right, you can’t even do that, can you?  You still don’t have visitation rights.”
> 
> It was true.  Christine refused to even take his calls.
> 
> “Hounds are funny things.  Like that hound that follows you around.  Am I right?”
> 
> Blade nodded.
> 
> “They say dogs are a man’s best friend, but I disagree.  I think men are just pawns in the dog’s master plan.  They really run the show.  They know the truth.  They see things as they really are.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “I hate dogs.”
> 
> “Coyote helped us out.”
> 
> “Oh sure.  And I’m sure he appeared helpful.  To you.  Because you’re Apache.” Alzis sipped his drink.  “But if you were on the wrong side of that dog, let me tell you, it’d be a different story.  And that’s why I’m here, actually.  I’m afraid that if I take any more direct action, the Hounds will come calling.  And you don’t want that. I certainly don’t.”
> 
> “I’m not sure I understand.”
> 
> “No, of course not.  But you’re not a big thinker, hmm?  You’re more of a man of action.  So let’s cut to the chase: The railroad tracks cross Martin Luther King Avenue at a certain point. In twenty minutes, a Hummer H2 will approach those tracks from the north.  You must stop it from crossing the tracks until after the train passes.”
> 
> “What? Why?”
> 
> The Rising wailed on their guitars.  It was a repetitive sound, a lot like beeping.
> 
> “I’d get going if I were you.” Alzis checked his watch. “The tracks are about fifteen minutes away from here.”



Blade suddenly realized that was the sound of his alarm beeping.

He woke up.  It was 7 a.m.

Blade shrugged on a shirt over his large frame, struggled into some pants, shoved boots onto his feet, and grabbed his rucksack full of gear.  He bumped into Guppy, who was dressed in pajamas and yawning his way down the hallway.

“Where are you going?  Blade?” Guppy turned to watch Blade as he jogged down the hallway.  “Blade?”

“I’ve got a mission.”

“A mission!”  Guppy ran after him.  “I’ll tell the others!”

“No time, Guppy.”  He hustled down the hallway. “You don’t have to come.”

“But it’s a mission!”  Guppy banged on the doors of the other agents, but nobody responded. Torn between waking them up and chasing after Blade he finally made a decision and ran after the big Native American.

Blade was gunning the engine just as Guppy hopped into the van.

Behind him, a fire alarm blared.

“What’s that all about?” asked Blade as he pulled the van out of the parking lot.

“I was trying to wake them up,” said Guppy quietly.  “So I…set off a fire alarm.”

Blade shook his head.  Then he gunned the van.


----------



## Joshua Randall

talien said:
			
		

> “Hey, Drake.  Thought you might want this.”  Jim-Bean tossed Drake the thing’s sphere from his rucksack.
> 
> Drake examined it.  “Not another Puppeteer Ship,” he grumbled.  “I hate these things.”



Heh. That's a great line from Drake.

I really liked your take on Puppet Shows crossed with The Hidden. Keep it up!


----------



## talien

Thanks! My criticism of the scenario was uh...not well received outside of ENWorld, so I'm glad to hear some folks are at least enjoying the story.  The changes I made to Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays really sums up how our campaign diverges in tome from traditional Call of Cthulhu and even Delta Green. But then, that's what we get for playing Majestic-12 as the "good guys"!


----------



## talien

*Faint Transmissions: Part 1 – The Railroad Tracks*

HOLLYWOOD, CA -- The railroad crossing was located in a once-prosperous neighborhood that was home to some light industry in its heyday.  But times had changed, and the industry had moved away, leaving a struggling business district populated by Laundromats, dry cleaners, appliance repair shops, pawnshops, thrift stores, and corner markets.

A black AM General Hummer was driving towards the tracks.  It had a business logo emblazoned on its sides that read “Organized Productions.”

“What are you doing?” shouted Guppy.  

“We have to stop that hummer,” said Blade. 

“How?” asked Guppy.

But he didn’t need to ask.  Blade drove the van directly into the Hummer’s path. 

The Hummer tried to veer around them, but Blade was moving too fast.  The two vehicles locked bumpers.

Windows rolled down and two burly men with pointed pistols at them.  

“WHAT is going on out there you morons?” said a shrill voice from the back of the Hummer. “Don’t you KNOW how to drive?” 

“Stay down Mister Vanvon,” said one of the bodyguards.

Pistol fire ricocheted off the front of the van.  

“Uh, now what?” asked Guppy.

“I didn’t have a plan beyond this,” admitted Blade.

Guppy looked out the window.  “You may want to think up something fast.”

There was the unmistakable horn of an oncoming train. 

Blade threw the van into reverse.  The wheels squealed, but they couldn’t get any traction.  Vanvon’s Hummer was pulling in reverse too.

“We’re going to get pulled into the train’s path!” shouted Guppy.

“I KNOW THAT,” said Blade through gritted teeth.

Guppy took out his laser pistol from the pocket of his pajamas. “Good thing I sleep with this thing under my pillow.”  He rolled down the window, ducking as another bullet ricocheted off the van’s trim. 

The train’s horn blared again, closer this time.

Taking careful aim, Guppy sliced a thin beam between the fenders of the two cars.  They abruptly jerked free at the last minute as the train roared between them.

Guppy sagged, panting.  “That was close!”

Blade turned the van around and took off as the train clack-clacked between the two vehicles.  “What I want to know is why the emergency crossing lights didn’t go off.”

Guppy rubbed his forehead.  “Why did we do this again?”


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

Great story hour!

I played through the first and (I believe) part of the second of your scenarios.  It was interesting to see your group's take on the modules.

By chance, do you have a Rogues Gallery for your characters?


----------



## talien

I don't currently, but it's easy to post them.  If there's enough of a demand I can certainly do that.  Anyone else interested in seeing the character sheets?


----------



## Joshua Randall

talien said:
			
		

> Anyone else interested in seeing the character sheets?



Sure. People love that sort of stuff, in my experience.


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

Hey talien,

Hope this doesn't sound too bizarre, but in one of my google searches I stumbled onto, of all things, your Amazon.com profile.  In it, I saw that you lived in Stamford.  I've lived in Fairfield Co. since I graduated from college, and after my college buddies dispersed I've had trouble finding people to play with (I've got a pretty recent post in the Gamers Seeking Gamers here).  I recently moved to Stamford and since things have settled I'm looking to get back into gaming.

I was wondering if you had any suggestions for places where I can find folks to play.  I know about ConnCon and ICon, but I'm thinking more local comic shops, public places that are a little more intimate where I get the opportunity to actually talk to people.

I haven't done much consistent gaming since 2005, and I'm looking to get back into things.  If you'd prefer, you can email me at goodkingjayiii (at) gmail (dot) com.

Thanks a lot for your help!


----------



## talien

Howdy GKJ,

Too funny, I'm actually moving to Fairfield in the next few months!

I play with the guys I've been playing with for 20 years from Long  Island.  We trek an hour and a half once a month to and from CT to NY, and they from NY to CT, to game for about eight hours.  It will be a bit before I'm moved in and I get my gaming-room set up in the basement, but we should definitely talk more by email.

Incidentally, while we're on the subject of I-CON, I'll be there.  You can view my schedule at: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?p=4143940#post4143940

If you get the chance, drop by and say hello!


----------



## talien

*Faint Transmisions - Conclusion*

Guppy watched the news on his Cistron.

“Reports indicate that Derik Vanvon, a director famous for the cult classic, Disciples, was on his way to shoot his latest film, Curse of the Undead, when terrorists attacked. Fortunately, his bodyguards were able to fend off the attackers, who fled the scene. Some in Hollywood claim that Vanvon created the event for publicity purposes…”

“It’s always terrorists,” muttered Guppy.  “They see a man with dark skin and its terrorists.”

“Curse of the Undead, starring Christine Dee and Allen Roberts, is a remake of the 1959 original vampire/western.  Long in exile in Hollywood, this is Vanvon’s chance at getting back into the elite and the good graces of the Academy.  Allen plays Dan Young, a preacher who knows how to wield a six-shooter.  Christine stars as Dolores Carter, a rancher who succumbs to the vampire’s dangerous charms.” 

Pictures of all the principle players flashed on the screen. “At nineteen years old, Christine Dee was a rising star.  But a string of flops and a failed marriage led to a dry spell. Eleven years later, the success of this film may be the stepping-stone for Christine’s comeback…”

“Hey,” said Guppy.  “Isn’t that your ex-wife?”

Blade was trying not to pay attention. “Yeah,” he brooded over the steering wheel. “How did you know?”

“It’s in your file,” said Guppy.  “Just like that picture of Drake in the ridiculous fireman’s hat is now in his file.”

“Yeah, everything’s on file,” said Blade.  He looked over at Guppy’s hand.  “You know those alarms squirt indelible ink on your hand when you pull them.”

Guppy looked at his hand. “Mother trucker,” he muttered.

As they passed by the hotel, they could see Archive and Hammer in their underwear being interrogated by the police.  

Blade and Guppy looked at each other.

“Let’s circle the block a few more times,” said Blade.

“Agreed!” said Guppy.


----------



## GoodKingJayIII

All caught up today.  I don't know how much fun it was to run or play, but the Body Snatcher arc was a blast to read.



			
				talien said:
			
		

> Too funny, I'm actually moving to Fairfield in the next few months!




Hurray!  Lovely town.  I went to Fairfield U. and I have a bunch of friends that live in Bridgeport, so I'm up there quite a bit.  If you want to chat before you move or after you get settled, whatever works for you.  You know where to reach me!  

Oh, and unfortunately I won't be able to make ICon this year.  I have studying to do, and it's a little too far for a one-day trip.  So have fun!


----------



## talien

*Chapter 5: Dire Wavelengths - Introduction*

This scenario, “Dire Wavelengths,” is from the free D20 Modern supplement at http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=d20modern/oa/20050503a by Rich Redman. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Wbster*
This next short scenario is a continuation of the weirdness in Faint Transmissions. It delves further into Christine Dee’s life and the film she’s working on. There’s plenty to do here in such a short scenario: the tension between Jake and his ex-wife, Alzis and his weird instructions, the psycho fan, and the weird circumstances that might just end up saving (or ending) the world. 

Really, this is the kind of gift-wrapped scenarios GM’s love.  Without that tension and history, the scenario is a little bland.  But with a combination of emotional conflict, daring action, and an unusual plot where the agents can’t just fight their way out of it, this little gem turned into a full-fledged soap opera.

Although I’m not so sure Blade felt too good about the outcome. 

*Defining Moment:* Nothing quite like being told you're going to die.

Relevant Media

*Say Goodbye to Hollywood:* by Billy Joel.
*Lori Lovecraft:* Despite the title, the comic is both entertaining and drawn well.
*Reaper:* The Devil in this show serves as inspiration for Stephen Alzis.


----------



## talien

*Dire Wavelengths - Prologue*



> _Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes
> I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again
> Say goodbye to Hollywood
> Say goodbye, my baby​_--_Say Goodbye to Hollywood _ by Billy Joel​





> The Rising had barely finished setting up and performing a sound check when people began filtering into the room.  All were dressed to the nines, though the attire varied.  Some came in suits, others in dress reminiscent of Victorian England.  Still others looked like doctors, bankers, rap stars, and gang members.  They all gathered around tables, each with their own posse, which made for a crowded room. Nobody was dancing.
> 
> The Rising started to play, timidly at first.  The men looked on, whispering amongst themselves.  Spider wisely switched gears to songs you could talk around, although they still involved a lot of screaming.  It just took longer for him to reach the screaming part.
> 
> Blade sat down. He was dreaming. Again.
> 
> "Oh good, you're here," said a smooth voice.
> 
> Jake knew who would be sitting across the table from him this time.  It was a thin, fine-looking Arab.  He was dressed impeccably in a white suit.
> 
> “Hi Jacob.  How are you?”
> 
> “I’m good.  I did what you told me to do.”
> 
> “Yeah, that was great.  I loved that part where you rammed the Humvee.  And that whole thing about terrorists…” Alzis shook his head.  “You know they’re saying it’s Al-Qaeda?  Can you believe that?  Now terrorists are attacking movie directors for their portrayal of ‘loose women in film’.  Ridiculous!”
> 
> “Yeah, ridiculous,” said Blade.
> 
> Alzis glanced down at his own drink.  “How rude of me!  What are you having?”
> 
> “I’m fine,” muttered Blade.
> 
> “Oh, right, right.  You don’t drink.  I keep forgetting.”  He paused.  “So let’s talk about you.  How you feeling? Have you talked to Christine lately?  Called her up?  Shot the breeze?”
> 
> “You know I haven’t.”
> 
> “Right, right.  Ever since that whole alcoholism thing, hmm?  Tough situation, very tough.  That kind of thing needs to be handled delicately.  Really.”
> 
> Blade nodded.
> 
> “But you’re not a delicate kind of guy, are you?  Look, Jacob.  I’m in a real bind here.  We’re working on a timeline, so I’m going through the trouble of popping in and out of your head multiple times.” He gestured at the walls of the club. “I’ve got to say, there’s some pretty scary stuff in here.”
> 
> “Thanks,” said Blade.
> 
> “No need to thank me!  I’m just trying to be helpful.  I really want you back in your son Alex’s life.  I think it might change things for the better, you know what I mean?  And what’s more important than a father’s love for his son?”
> 
> Blade just looked at him.
> 
> “Nothing, that’s what.  So here’s the deal: go to the Excelsior Hotel on the corner of Maple.  Stop Christine from going to the movie set today in twenty minutes.”  Alzis tapped his watch. “Time’s ticking buddy, tick-tock, tick-tock.”
> 
> “You said that last time,” said Blade.  “Would it be too much to give me a little more of a heads up?”
> 
> Alzis looked offended.  “Hey now, that’s no way to talk to a friend.  I wasn’t going to tell you at all, but you’re going to be dead in a few weeks so I figured I’d…oops.”  He put his finger to his lips.  “Did I just let that slip?  I’m sorry.  You’re running out of time.”
> 
> “Wait, what?” Blade stood up.  “Are you threatening me?”
> 
> “Threatening you?  No!” Alzis shook his head.  “I’m trying to help. But we’re wasting time just talking here.  Beep. Beep.  BEEP.  BEEP!”



Blade woke up in a cold sweat.  He hit the beeping alarm clock and shut it off.  This time, he let his teammates know what he was up to.


----------



## talien

*Dire Wavelenths: Part 1 – The Excelsior Hotel*

HOLLYWOOD, CA -- The Excelsior Hotel was just fifteen minutes away.  After waiting for his teammates to gear up and get in the van, he covered the distance in ten.

“Christine!” Blade shouted into the phone.  

“Who is this?”

“It’s Jake.  Listen, you’ve got to—“

“Are you drunk?”

“What?  No—“

“I told you to stop calling me, Jake.  I want you out of my life and out of Alex’s.  I don’t need you to mess things up anymore.  Things are just turning around for me.”

“But Chris…”

“Don’t call me again, Jake.” She hung up.

Blade rang the phone again several times, but Christine wouldn’t pick up.

“Guppy, can you trace this phone number?”

“Trace the phone number of your ex-wife?” asked Guppy.  “Sure…” He tapped away at the keyboard in the van. “No luck. I think she turned off her phone.”

They reached the hotel. Blade ran in along with Hammer and Guppy. 

“I’m looking for Christine Dee,” said Blade, flashing his badge at the concierge at the front desk.

“That’s nice, sir.  We don’t give out personal information for any of our clients.”

Hammer sighed and leaned forward.  “I wonder if we should inspect this place.  I bet we might find something wrong with it.  What do you think, Blade?”

The man swallowed.  “Let me see…” He tapped a few keys.  “She just left a few minutes ago in a limousine.”

”Do you know where?”

The man looked at Blade like he was nuts.  “Doesn’t everyone?  She’s filming on the set of Curse of the Undead.”

Blade tapped the counter with a knuckle.  “Thanks.”

“Who are you people?” shouted the concierge. 

“Oh don’t worry…” Guppy shouted back.  “Just her ex-husband.”


----------



## talien

*Dire Wavelengths: Part 2 – The Soundstage*

What was once an abandoned desert airport was transformed into a low-budget soundstage.  With no lease and only a token rent, Vanvon reasoned the isolation would be good for creativity. 

Blade flashed his badge to the guard at the front gate and kept on running.  Archive, Hammer, and Guppy trailed behind.

The crew was laughing at something.  Christine Dee and Allen Roberts had just engaged in what looked like a kiss in front of a window.

“This is DRAMA, you ignorant cretin!” shouted the portly Derik Vanvon.  “What the HELL is going on?”

The laughter died quickly.  

“I know the script calls for my animal magnetism, but I thought a light moment might be more…”

“SHUT UP!” shouted Vanvon.  “You’re not a comic—you’re a BUFFOON.”

Two men of average height with athletic builds, dressed in casual clothes covered by windbreakers approached.  Each had a mustache and extremely short hair.

“Hold it buddy,” said one of the security guards.  “Who are you?”

“Think they recognize us?” Guppy whispered out of the corner of his mouth. 

Blade shushed him. “I’m Jake…” he paused.  “Iron Shirt.”

“Jake?” The man’s eyebrows shot up.  “Jake Blade?  What the hell happened to you man?  Rule number one in security: never get involved with a client!”

“Yeah, thanks for the advice.  Listen, I need to talk to my ex-wife.”

“Don’t we all,” said the other guard, snickering.  “You have to leave.  You can’t be here.”

“I’m a federal agent.”

“I don’t care who you are,” said the guard.  “We have specific orders to keep you off the set.”

Behind them, a wiry man of just under average height, dressed in jeans, a stained sweatshirt, a long leather coat, sunglasses, and carrying a messenger bag over his shoulder.  He was clearly suspicious, but the guards were so focused on Blade that they had missed him.  

Hammer didn’t miss him.  He edged over.

The man was about to reach into his pocket just as Blade poked a pistol in the man’s ribs.  “Easy.  Put your hands up.  Slowly.”

The man slowly took the item out of his pocket.  It was a Desert Eagle.  

Hammer got the bodyguards’ attention. “You guys may want to pay a little more attention to the real threats to the stars here,” said Hammer.  “This man is carrying a gun and he’s NOT a federal agent.”

One of the guards plucked the gun out of the man’s hand.

Blade squinted at him.  “You?  You’re the threat?”

“I’M the threat?  I’m trying to protect Christine from her crazy ex-husband!”

Blade turned to the security guard.  “This is Carey Vora.  He’s a real nut.  She has a restraining order against him for stalking. I dealt with him years ago.”

Vanvon was still ranting.  “Follow my direction and my camera will convince the world that even a SNIVELING idiot MILQUETOAST like you can be a hero.”

“You’re wrong,” said Carey.  “You’re the stalker!”

Guppy rifled through the man’s bag.  “Duct tape.  A knife.  A sock.”

“Looks like a kidnapping kit to me,” said Hammer.

“Miss Dee, since you seem INCAPABLE of delivering even a SINGLE line with conviction,” ranted Vanvon, “let’s continue with you doing the scene in DISHABELLE.” 

There was the screech of metal overhead and the lighting above snapped.

Blade and Hammer rushed forward.  Blade tackled Christine and Hammer grabbed Allen, shoving them out of the way just in time as the lighting structure collapsed where they had stood.

That was all Vora needed.  He grabbed the pistol from the stunned security guard and turned it on the prone Blade…

Archive slammed into Vora, tackling him to the ground.  He put his full weight on the stalker’s chest, pinning his arms.

Christine was also pinned beneath Blade.  Their eyes met.

“You can have visitation rights once a month,” breathed Christine.


----------



## talien

*Dire Wavelengths: Conclusion*

“Are you done using my van for your stupid personal problems?” snarled Drake, chewing Blade out for his actions.

“Yeah,” Blade said glumly.

“You’re going to turn Majestic-12 into COPS if you keep this up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Look,” Drake’s voice softened.  “I picked you, all of you, because you’ve dealt with some weird things in your past.  So I expect you to deal with it.  But you’ve got to do it in on MJ-12 terms.  I want field reports.  I want you to act like you’re part of an organization, or I will bounce your ass out of it. And nobody leaves MJ-12 alive.  Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, sir.”

That seemed to mollify Drake somewhat.  “Good.  I’ve got Caprice filling out the paperwork for the last mission.  He’ll be busy for weeks at this rate.  You owe him.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“Right,” said Drake. “Anything else you want to tell me?” 

“No sir.”

“Good.  Get some rest, Blade, you look like crap.”

Blade shut off his Cistron in the hotel room.  

As he lay down, he wondered how he would spend his last few weeks alive.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 6: Love’s Lonely Children - Introduction*

This scenario, “Loves Lonely Children,” is from the Cthulhu Now supplement “The Stars Are Right” by Richard Watts. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
This is probably the nastiest scenario we played to date.

Love’s Lonely Children primarily takes place in a two-story hovel.  But of course, that’s not how things go down. Once again, the PCs provided me a gift in splitting up (they seem to enjoy splitting up), creating a cinematic effect where Hammer investigates what happened at the house while the other three agents tracked the bad guys down.

I was surprised that the action moved beyond the house and that the agents didn’t move earlier.  But in the end, it was even spookier.   

There’s one problem with this scenario, and that’s the bad guy.  Put plainly, unless the agents do something boring like calling the police without investigating the place themselves, or something totally psychotic like attacking presumably innocent people with no evidence, when the bad guy does finally show up the agents are dead meat.  There’s one “out” that the scenario provides that I used as a last resort when it became clear that the villain was going to eat the entire party. 

We used the “Tower of Sanity” to good effect this game.  At the end, Guppy’s player had to pull twelve times from the Tower—a very tense moment.  It also proved my point about having sanity loss be more in the PC’s hands. If Guppy had failed his sanity check, all the agents would have been massacred. 

*Defining Moment:* Hammer, without my prompting, split from the rest of the team to search out the cultist house.  I went back and forth between the two scenes so that Hammer discovered the true nature of the thing in a picture just as the agents encountered it face-to-face.  

Relevant Media

*The Hand That Feeds:* by Nine Inch Nails. 
*The Stars Are Right:* The original source of this scenario, for Cthulhu Now.
*Fargo:* I used the scene from Fargo as my inspiration for the chase.
*What's Eating Gilbert Grape?:* For the huge Edith, I pictured Bonnie Grape (played by Darlene Cates) from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.
*Worlds of Cthulhu #2:* I used the round by round growth chart from Worlds of Cthulhu to deal with the mechanics of turning into…well, you’ll see. 
*Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places:* The source of Blade's nightmare.


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Prologue*



> _Just how deep do you believe?
> Will you bite the hand that feeds?
> Will you chew until it bleeds?
> Can you get up off your knees?
> Are you brave enough to see?
> Do you want to change it?_​
> --_The Hand That Feeds_ by Nine Inch Nails​



Blade’s Cistron chirped.  He picked it up.  “Hello?”

“Jake?  Jake, is that you?”

“Spider?”

“Yeah.”

“How the hell are you!”

“I’m…I could be better.  Listen, I saw what you did with your ex-wife there.  Good save.”

Blade frowned.  The news reports had barely mentioned him.  Drake made it a habit of keeping a running tally every time Jake’s name showed up, keeping a scorecard of his publicity.  And Drake was never satisfied with anything less than zero.

“Uh, thanks.  How’d you get this number?”

“I called the FBI and they routed it to you.  Are you near a telly?”

Blade looked around the hotel room.  That was Drake’s doing.  One didn’t just call someone up on their Cistron.  “Yeah.”

“Turn to Channel Seven news.”

Blade fumbled for the remote with his other hand and switched on the television.  

“…body of Katherine Louise Hammond, a seventeen old prostitute of no fixed address, was discovered early this morning in downtown Caufield Park by city workers.  Pieces of the body wrapped in black plastic bags were found in several garbage cans along the edge of the park’s ornamental lake.”

The story was complete with on-the-scene interviews and moody shots of Caulfield Park at dawn. 

“Who’s this?” asked Blade.

“Keep watching,” said Spider.

“…the corpse was crudely dismembered with a heavy instrument, possibly an axe.  Numerous savage bite wounds also marked the body.  These wounds, although definitely human, indicate a possible jaw or facial deformity of distinctive appearance.  Hammond’s boyfriend, David ‘Spider’ Holloway, a musician with a popular underground bad called The Rising, is currently assisting police with the enquiries.”

“Damn,” said Blade.  “So you’re considered a suspect?”

“Person of interest, yeah.  Jake, I need your help.  You used to be great security for us in the past, and since you’re in California anyway…” Spider rushed ahead in his speech, “Samson’s just a few hours away and I thought—“

“Did you do it?”

“What? F*&k no, how could you ask me that? I was in love with her, man.”

“You’re asking me to risk my hide to save you, so I thought I should ask.”

“The day before she died…we were debating about whether or not to be tested.  I thought we should, she didn’t…”

“Don’t blame yourself, Spider.”

The television report continued. “…forensics established that Hammond’s body showed evidence of heroin use in the hours preceding her death…”

“She wasn’t high, Jake.  I know that for a fact.  She gave up shooting and was clean for over a week.”

“I’ll check it out. Got her address?”

“Yeah.”  Spider gave him the address.  “And Jake?”

“Yeah?”

”When you find this guy…I want you to make him suffer.”

“You can count on it.”

Blade hung up the phone.  A second later a text message flashed through.  It was from Drake, with a mission briefing to all of the team’s Cistrons.  Another message came in immediately afterwards, just to him.

The text read, “YOU’RE WELCOME.”


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Part 1 – The Squat*

SAMSON, CA -- Like a cancer in an otherwise healthy body, the ramshackle house that was Kathy’s squat stood out clearly on an otherwise ordinary city street.  Broken glass gleamed in its windows, wooden boards nailed behind the shards.  Across its gray brick façade was painted the words, “Need a home? Here’s one.  Anarchy.”  

Instead of a front door, a rusty slab of corrugated iron was nailed over the doorframe.  Blade lifted it open at one corner, providing entrance to the dark and dirty place. The rest of the team filed in behind him. 

If misery had an odor, it smelled like the inside of the squat—stale, damp, and slightly rotten.  

A human form was huddled on the sagging couch in the lounge-room, watching the rats play amongst the ruins of his life. 

“Hi,” he said.

The man wasn’t a pretty sight: sunken eyes, bruised skin, cracked lips, and matted hair. His emaciated frame was racked with tremors.

“Who are you?” asked Blade.  

“Matthew…” he said, his voiced slurred.  

“Do you know a Kathy Hammond?”

“Oh yeah, I remember Kathy…” 

“Where is she?”  

“You got any smack?”

“What?” asked Blade.  “No.”

“Front me some man, you’ve gotta front me some…and I’ll tell you where Kathy is.”

Hammer rolled his eyes.  “We’re not drug dealers.”

Matthew made an animal-like noise and then began sulkily searching among the litter on the floor for a syringe, scraping powdered remains of heroin out of discarded foils. 

“I think I found it,” said Archive.  

The bedroom that was Kathy’s was little larger than a closet.  A stained mattress covered most of the floor; the rest scattered with clothes, cosmetics, and assorted rubbish.  A collage of faces cut from magazines and newspapers covered one wall.  

Archive picked up a magazine.  “Huh, Girltalk,” he said, reading the cover aloud.  He opened it and winced.  It was a pornographic publication featuring photos of naked men in various provocative poses.  

Blade squinted at the cover.  “Interesting. The sticker on the back cover gives the name of Hammonds Adult Books along with an address.”

Guppy picked up a photograph of three people: a weaselish man with thinning, ginger hair, and a grossly overweight woman.  The shape of the third person was carefully cut out of the picture.  Part of a storefront appeared in the background of the photo, on which parts of the words “Hammonds Adult Books” could be seen. 

“I don’t know where the missing picture is,” said Guppy.

“I do.”  Hammer pointed at one of the photos pasted among the montage of rich and famous faces glued on the wall.  It was Kathy, in her schoolgirl uniform, her hair in braids. 

“I guess we know where we’re going next,” said Blade.


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Part 2 – Hammonds Adult Books*

The street consisted of small storefronts with apartments above.  Hammonds was sandwiched between a butcher’s shop and a place specializing in electronic goods.  A green sedan was parked out front.  The bookshop’s front window was painted over, and the words “Hammonds Adult Books” lettered upon it.  A handwritten sign on the door warned patrons not to enter if “nudity offends.”  The hours indicated it was open from 2 p.m. to 2 a.m., six days a week.

As they pulled up, a woman entered—rare in a place whose customers were most often nervous adolescents and skulking men.  She was wrapped in a coat and scarf.  Moments after she entered, a “Closed” sign appeared in the front window and the door was locked. 

Hammer went down the alleyway to cover any escapes from the rear entrance.  Blade, Archive, and Guppy knocked on the door.

After more insistent knocking, an unremarkable, weak, unassuming man answered the door.  He was older and balder than he appeared in the discarded photograph.  

“We’re closed,” he snapped.

Blade pressed his badge against the window. “We’re federal agents.  We’d like to speak with you a moment.”

“I said we’re closed…”

Blade put his foot in the door.  “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

The man sighed. “Fine, come in.”

Inside, the fluorescent-lit store was stocked with inflatable plastic sex dolls, row after row of shrink-wrapped magazines, clinically gleaming toys of plastic, leather and steel, and a glass-topped counter displaying dope pipes, condoms, and lubricants.  Presiding over it all, leering at the agents from behind the counter, was the weasel-like Hammond.

“Do you know Kathy Hammond?”

The man’s features twitched.  “That’s my daughter, yes.”

Blade and Archive exchanged a look.  “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard?”  The man’s head swiveled from Blade to Archive and back again.  “Heard what?”

“She’s was found dead this morning.”

“Dead?” The man’s gaze wandered to the counter.  He bit his lip.  “I had no idea…”

“What’s your name, sir?” asked Blade.

“Colin,” said Colin.  “I live here with my wife Edith.”

They could hear the thumping of the woman as she stalked around the upper floor.  Judging from the heaviness of her footsteps, she must have been huge.

“When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

Colin sighed.  “Kathy was always a difficult child, but as a teenager she became wild and uncontrollable.  At fifteen she began listening to that dreadful punk music. It’s media like that Rising group that corrupted her mind, you know.”

Archive blinked.  “He’s serious…?”

“By sixteen she was addicted to heroin.  Kathy ran away from home shortly after her seventeenth birthday,” said Colin.

“When was that?” asked Archive.

”Eight months ago.  Ever since then we’ve been dreading, but half-expecting, the worst.”

Guppy held up a magazine cover.  It was a recent issue of the sadomasochistic magazine Dungeon, featuring a photograph of Colin on the cover.  Though bound and gagged, enough of his face was visible for him to be recognized.  Posed with him was a grossly obese woman dressed in black leather and carrying a whip.

“How much for this?” asked Guppy.

“Five dollars,” said Colin.

“I will give you two.”

Colin’s nose wrinkled.  “I don’t know what country you come from, mister, but we don’t haggle here.  It’s five dollars.”

“Fine.”  Guppy put the magazine back on the shelf.  

“Can we speak with your wife, Mister Hammond?” asked Blade.

Colin sighed.  “Edith? EDITH!”

There was more thumping upstairs.  “What?” she shouted.

“There’s some men here who want to speak with you!”

“What NOW?” More rumbling.  “I’m coming down.”

Edith surged through the double doors behind the counter, a great, blubbery mountain of a woman, dressed in a floral print dress the size of a small tent.  Her tiny eyes glared out at the world from a red and angry face.  Although her hair was long, it was pulled back in a tight bun.  

She ordered Colin out of the room. “Let me deal with this.” Her breathing came in loud, heavy gasps, sweat dotting her brow from the exertion of climbing down the steps.

Colin slunk away and Edith turned back to stare at Blade.  “Now.  What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“We were asking about your daughter.”

“Yes, our daughter,” she huffed.  “Ungrateful little bitch.”

“Are you aware we’re conducting a murder investigation?”

“No? She’s dead then?  Good.”

“You seem be taking this awfully well,” said Archive.

“Look.”  She leaned forward, and Edith’s pendulous rolls of fat consumed the counter.  “Kathy was nothing but trouble.  Good riddance to her, I say.”

“Where is the woman who just entered the bookshop?” asked Guppy.

“A private customer.  She is in our parlor.”

“We’d like to speak with her,” said Blade.

“Absolutely NOT.” Edith drew herself up.  “Our shop prides itself on providing privacy to our clients.  Now unless you have anything further to ask me, I will bid you good evening.”

“We can get a warrant and search this place,” threatened Blade.

Edith moved around the counter and ushered them out with her great bulk.  “You have no cause. Now get off my property.”

She slammed the door behind them.

“That went well,” said Archive.

“Now what?” asked Guppy.

Blade jangled the keys as he walked towards the van.  “Now we wait.”


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Part 3 – Watching the Book Shop*

Staking out the Hammonds’ Bookshop was not a difficult task.  The team spent several boring hours watching people enter and exit the bookstore.  Now and again Colin left the shop.

Around 2 a.m., Colin and Edith left the house and loaded a series of black plastic bags into the trunk of their car. With the trunk loaded and closed, Colin locked the front door of the shop. 

Guppy took his eyes away from binoculars.  “I think that’s a body…”

“That’s it, that’s what we need,” shouted Blade.  He slammed on the gas.

The green sedan swerved, avoiding the van. The car accelerated and roared past and away.  

Blade gave chase.  They could just make out the silhouettes of Edith and Colin in front.

Small red taillights fishtailed up ahead.  

Blade wasn’t gaining on the taillights. He fought with the wheel as the van swam on the road face.

The red taillights ahead started to turn.  With a distant crunching sound, they disappeared.

The van’s headlights showed only empty road, starting to turn. Blade frowned and slowed down.

His headlights showed the sedan up ahead off the road, crumpled around a telephone pole, having failed to hold a turn.

Blade put on the brakes. He swept his bow off the front seat, threw open the door and got out. Guppy and Archive hopped out of the back van.

The wrecked car's headlights illuminated a mound of dirt abutting the highway.  

Blade walked up to the wreck and peered into its half-open door. Edith was trapped inside the twisted wreckage, injured and moaning. Dust swirled in the headlights of the wreck.

Blade looked around.  “Where’s Colin?”


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Part 4 – Inside the Hammond Home*

The alley ran the length of the block behind the buildings.  A stout back door and a curtained, barred kitchen window on the first floor guarded Hammonds.  When Hammer heard the Hammonds drive away, he got tired of waiting.  He clambered up to the second story bathroom window via a drainpipe. He jimmied the window open and climbed in.

The bathroom was situated at the rear of the house, with a narrow louvered window looking out over the alley.  Hammer switched on his flashlight.

Hammer was momentarily startled by a man staring back at him, only to realize it was his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Mold clung to every surface, even creeping in gray blotches across the mirror. He opened the medicine cabinet.

Inside were the usual frayed toothbrushes, razors clogged with soap and bristle, and bottles of aspirin. There were also a container for vials and syringes.  It contained a twenty-milliliter syringe and a large bottle closed with a rubber seal. The label, printed in Amsterdam, identified the contents as ninety percent pure heroin. One of the slots was open, indicating a missing vial. 

Hammer took a picture of it. 

He crept across to the room opposite the bathroom.  It was a small, windowless bedroom surrounded by floral wallpaper. Heavy manacles and chains were bolted to the iron bed frame.  Dried blood crushed the manacles and stained the mattress.  The only other object of note was a one-eyed, fray-eared teddy bear propped on an empty chest of drawers. 

Hammer took another picture with his Cistron.  The ensuing flash gave a nightmarish cast to the room’s sordid past, burning it into Hammer’s retinas.

He continued down the hall and pushed open the next door.

When the door opened, a gust of foul-smelling air tinged with decay poured into the hallway.  Manacles and wicked hooks dangled from thick chains. The chains seemed to strain toward an upside-down pentacle burnt into the wooden floor.  The shapeless remains of black candles were carefully placed around the outside of the cryptic symbol, the floorboards stained with dried and drying blood and littered by decaying scraps of food, empty wine bottles, and a motley collection of whips and pincers.  

A large axe, encrusted with blood, stood in the corner near a wooden lectern.  Resting on the lectern was a tattered, dog-eared manuscript, obviously a photocopy, stapled down one side.  Without looking at it too closely, Hammer took a picture with his Cistron.

He had all the evidence he needed to put the Hammonds away for life.  That left one more room. 

Hammer pushed open the door to Colin and Edith’s bedroom.  It was small, squalid room dominated by a large and ugly four-poster bed. Clothes littered the floor, as did empty candy boxes and cigarette butts. A single window looked out over a busy street.

Something peeked out from beneath one of the pillows.  Hammer pushed it aside with his Glock. It was a photo album.  

Hammer flipped the pages open.  It was an usual set of family photos—almost every one of them was of a sexually explicit nature. Kathy was in most of them, her age varying over the years from about five to probably sixteen.  The most recent set of five photographs showed Kathy hanging from the chains in the room next door.

Colin Hammond appeared in each of the last photographs but one.  Naked in the pictures, there was a tattoo of a broken heart located just above Colin’s groin.  

But the last photograph…the last photograph showed Kathy and something else.  Something bloated, puffed flesh shining with an unwholesome corpse glow.  Of roughly human proportions, it was definitely inhuman in form.  

Hammer looked closer.  There was a tattoo of a broken heart just above the creature’s groin.

Hammer took a photo of the last picture with his Cistron.  

“Guys,” he said, voice shaking.  “You’d better take a look at this.”


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Part 5 – The Hammonds Return*

Blade swung the flashlight beam over Colin’s hunched form.  He was moaning, hands over his head, body heaving.  Blade wasn’t sure if he was throwing up or sobbing.

Archive and Guppy had their weapons trained on Colin.

“Guys,” came Hammer’s voice.  “You’d better take a look at this.”

Blade took his eyes off Colin for only a moment. 

The images came through in reverse order. The thing that he saw in the Cistron didn’t make any sense.  It was too blurry for him to make out details.  

“What is this?” asked Archive.

“I think that’s…Colin,” said Hammer.

Another picture came through, this one of a book.  “Beyond a gulf in the subterranean night a passage leads to a wall of massive bricks, and beyond the wall rises Y’golonac…”

Blade tucked the Cistron into a pocket and drew a bead on Colin with his compound bow.  “Put your hands up where I can see them.”

Colin’s moaning changed from one voice to the gibbering of two, shrieking and wheezing.  His headless form swung around, palms spread wide, each punctuated by a screaming, fanged mouth.

“Ahh!” shouted Guppy.  He fired his laser pistol at the thing, just as Blade released his arrow and Archive fired his pistol.

The body shuddered, still quivering as rolls of fat from within it pulsed outwards, absorbing the attacks.  It took a shuddering step towards them.

Archive began chanting a prayer, but the thing backhanded him.  The agent went flying, unconscious in the desert sand.

“Our weapons have no effect!” shouted Guppy, taking a step back.  

Blade dropped his bow and drew his two hatchets.  Swinging them expertly in front of him, he parried a swipe of the fanged hand.  

“Hammer!” shouted Guppy into his Cistron, running for cover behind the overturned sedan.  “Hammer, we need backup!”

“What?” Hammer shouted back.  “What the hell is going on?”

Guppy looked at the pictures Hammer sent over, desperate to find something that would help.  The empty container flashed on the screen.

The syringes!  One of the syringes was missing in the picture Hammer had taken.  The Hammonds had surely used it to drug their victim.  But the amount would easily kill a person, so there had to be more.

“Where is it,” panted Guppy, clawing his way into the sedan.  “Where is it?!”  

He popped the glove box.  The heroin-filled syringe rolled out and fell to the roof of the car.  Guppy reached for it…

A meaty paw snatched hold of his wrist.  Edith, her grip so strong that he lost feeling in his hand, shrieked in his face.

Screaming back at her, Guppy turned his pistol on the woman’s hand.  Fingers sizzled off and her angry shrieks turned to wails of pain.  

Syringe in hand, Guppy stood up just in time to see the thing grab hold of Blade’s torso with its mouth-hands.  Blade screamed as the fangs bit deep, blood streaming down his waist.

“Hey!” shouted Guppy.  “Over here!”

The thing was massive.  Had it grown in the few seconds since Guppy last looked at it?  The human-like mouths hissed.  It tossed Blade aside like a rag doll.  

Now, overshadowed by the thing’s bulk, Guppy could see its true form.  Its hands, dripping blood from two mouths that had no right to be there, reached for him.  Guppy stepped into its embrace…

And plunged the remaining contents of the syringe into its blubbery fat.

The hand-mouths went from sucking and slobbering to a horrible chorus of keening.  The shuddering body stumbled, taking a step back, a step forward.

The torso exploded, splattering Guppy with lumps of gelatinous, stinking flesh, black blood, and loops of glistening organs. Guppy fell back, screaming, alone with his nightmares in the lonely stretch of highway.


----------



## AnonymousOne

... Holy .  Your agents need to start carrying flamethrowers or lots of C4.


----------



## talien

There's a precarious balance requesting gear for a challenging mission, and thus the agents go in packing an arsenal, and completely underestimating the opposition.  In this case, the agents simply weren't prepared for what they were facing.  They figured it was a cult bust -- at worst, it would involve fighting someone with spells (which they have very little defense against anyway).  What they got was Y'golonac.

By the way, I've posted the latest character sheets at http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=4150193#post4150193

As you can see, they don't have much.  Jim-Bean insists on carrying around a large duffel bag that carries a submachinegun and occasionally a grenade or two -- depending on the mission, he's allowed to bring it along.

There will be long-term consequences for meeting Y'golonac, as you shall see...


----------



## talien

*Love's Lonely Children: Conclusion*



> Blade woke up in the middle of the night.  Something did not feel right.  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something wrong in his place.
> 
> He heard something outside of his apartment, down below.  It sounded like stone scraping on stone.
> 
> Blade got up, put on a robe, and followed the steps down.  It was coming from the apartment’s cellar.  He’d never been down there before.
> 
> Peering down the steps to the cellar, he caught a glimpse of furtive movement.  Odd shadows moved across the wall.  One of the walls of the cellar had opened up to reveal a foggy passage that glowed with a sallow light.  Blade caught a glimpse of a small, tattered figure darting into the foggy passage.
> 
> Blade took a few steps into the passage and found himself in a large, dank chamber.  One wall was brick, and from out of the hole wafted the fog and the sickly light.  The hole was big enough for Blade to crawl through if he got on his hands and knees.
> 
> Blade kneeled down.  He couldn’t see anything beyond the brick wall without crawling inside.  He scuttled into the mist.
> 
> Behind the wall was a large room thick with the stench of sewage and decay.  There on the brick floor lay an enormous figure, fat, naked, and glowing with a sickly light.  No head was visible.  Streams of thick, clotting blood poured from open mouths in the palm of each giant hand.  A horde of deformed eyeless figures crawled and scampered around and over the glowing body, apparently oblivious to its presence.
> 
> The naked figured sat up, brushing away the small, tattered figures.  As it lifted its enormous sallow bulk, Blade could see that the thing had no head.
> 
> The crippled little things that clung to it had faces he recognized: Colin and Edith Hammond.  They surged toward him in a swarm, pulling Blade down to the ground.  The fat, headless bulk pulled itself to its feet; the floor shook under its heavy footsteps.  The deformed creatures scampered away as the headless thing tower over Blade, and the last thing he saw was a massive hand reaching for his face, the drooling mouth in its palm snapping open and shut…



Blade sat up, sticky in the dark.  It was just a dream. 

His sides throbbed.  Blade made his way to his Cistron.

In the glow of the Cistron, he could see his bed.  Two dark red bloodstains had soaked his sheets.  His wounds were seeping.

Blade clicked on the files.  Picture after picture flashed on the screen.  This time, he read the entire passage:

“Beyond a gulf in the subterranean night a passage leads to a wall of massive bricks, and beyond the wall rises Y’golonac to be served by the tattered and eyeless figures of the dark.  Long has he slept behind the wall, and those which crawl over the wall scuttle over his body never knowing it to be Y’golonac; but when his name is spoken or read he comes forth to be worshipped or to feed and take on the shape and soul of those he feeds upon for those who read of evil and search for its form within their minds call forth evil, and so may Y’golonac return to walk among men and await that time when the earth is cleared off and Cthulhu rises from his tomb among the weeds…”

Blade accessed the case file, complete with all the pictures.  He selected them all.  Then he pressed the DELETE key.

“Are you sure you want to permanently delete all pictures?” asked Blacknet.

Blade tapped YES.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 7: Thin Jack*

This scenario, “Thin Jack,” is a free download from http://www.yog-sothoth.com/modules.php?name=Downloads&d_op=getit&lid=63 by Dr. Michael C. LaBossiere. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*
Thin Jack is one of those scenarios that has so much potential but doesn’t really capitalize on it. Consider: we have an old Wild West myth about a creature that lurks in darkness and has a vulnerability to precious metals.  A movie crew arrives but runs out of money mid-production until a middling actor digs up the legendary gold mine and the creature itself. Begging for the thing to spare his life, the actor forges an unholy deal with the creature and agrees to cover up for its feedings; in return, he keeps the gold and gets his movie made.

If you’ve ever seen Shadow of the Vampire, there’s so many more possibilities here.  For one, the similarities between Thin Jack and a vampire provide plenty of confusing twists for the agents.  For another, I love directors with god complexes, so wouldn’t it be more fun to have the director make the deal with the creature?  Why not have the thing be PART of the story, the ultimate special effect?  And finally, this is a Wild West film…surely there has to be a showdown at high err…moon?

This whole plot is of course completely outrageous, so it takes a bit of convincing to get the agents to be part of it. Since Blade already has a connection to his movie star ex-wife and he wants to stay in her good graces, this is another opportunity to prove he’s cleaned up and is worthy of seeing his son more than once a month.  The team also rescued a famous Hollywood writer, Randy Kalms, who’s trying to get back into the business with this daring movie. 

The “Gaunt” race is actually a psurlon from Monster Manual II. Psurlons are particularly interesting, because they have psionic powers like domination. Thin Jack is intentionally manipulating events such that he can be a star and go out in a blaze of glory, just like the song says. 

I used Curse of the Undead, the first vampire western, as the movie that Vanvon is remaking. The film is suitably cheesy and intentionally keeps the villain off-screen enough that Jack has time to be horrifying when he finally does appear.  There’s even a red herring thrown in. It’s a good thing I threw him in too; as I suspected, the agents didn’t wait for the entire film to play out. 

*Defining Moment:* Caprice and Hammer, trying to keep the supposed vampire calm, all have their hands hovering over their pistols in a showdown at the mine.  It was very tense.    

Relevant Media

*Blaze of Glory:* by Bon Jovi. 
*The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly:* by Hugo Montenegro.
*Curse of the Undead:* Yes, it's a real film.
*Shadow of the Vampire:* I followed the general plot of this storyline, but updated it for a modern film crew filming a Western.
*Monster Manual II:* The source of the Psurlon.  I obviously tweaked some of its attributes, likt its vulnerability to gold, to match the scenario. Still, the Psurlon's mental powers and worm-like abilities made it a great fit.  Although it never evolved to its next stage, there are several kinds of Psurlons and Thin Jack could have grown into something huge...


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Prologue*



> _Well they tell me that I'm wanted
> Yeah, I'm a wanted man
> I'm a colt in your stable
> I'm what Cain was to Abel
> Mister Catch Me If You Can​_--_Blaze of Glory_ by Bon Jovi​



Drake sat across from Blade, tapping a pen on the scratched wood.  Drake’s desk looked as if it had been thrown out a window, dragged down the street, and then after it had broken apart, put back together in his office. Staring at him, Blade was suddenly conscious of Drake’s age.  When Drake stood, he towered.  But sitting, he looked like a tired, old man.

To Blade’s surprise, he didn’t immediately get a reprimand. “You look like s***t. How’s your pain?” he asked with his thick Scottish accent.

Blade swallowed.  “I’m fine,” was all he said.

He wasn’t fine.  Since that…THING had bitten him, the wounds never healed.  They oozed all the time.  He had to take anticoagulants to stop the bleeding, and that only slowed it to a trickle.  He changed his dressing every night.

Drake was staring at him in an odd way. “They give you any painkillers?” 

Blade shook his head.  “Nope.”  

The truth was that the Aquarius boys refused to give him anything strong enough to dull the pain.  They claimed another agent who had suffered a similar wound from a similar “preternatural entity” had become addicted.

Drake pulled on the handle of an ill-fitting drawer. It shrieked as he yanked it open. After pawing through its contents for a moment, he tossed a green-colored bottle with a white cap in front of him.  “Take those.  It’ll help.”

Blade just stared at the pills.  “I’m fine,” he repeated.  Alcohol was his old friend and new painkiller. 

“Fine, suit yourself.” Drake snatched the pills back and chucked them in the drawer. “But this behavior…this running off to handle missions because some @$$hole told you in a dream, it stops now.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, you deleted files from a mission.  You realize that you can be disavowed?”

Blade wasn’t sure what he meant.  But he knew that being disavowed was bad.  “Yeah,” he said.

“Good. You used to be rock solid, Blade. You want to tell me what happened?”

“I was protecting my team,” was all Blade was willing to say. He was afraid to share any information at all about Y’golonac.  

Drake leaned back in his chair.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he replied. Blade didn’t know how it worked and didn’t need to.  All he knew was that Y’golonac spread like some kind of mental contagion.  With Blacknet, it could spread around the world in the seconds. 

It was better this way.  The less Majestic-12 knew about Y’golonac, the better.  

“Fine,” said Drake.  “I’m going to throw you a bone.  This is your chance to get back on track and impress the Twelve.  I had to go to bat for your sorry ass, so don’t screw this one up.”

Blade straightened.  “Okay.”

Drake smirked.  “Good.”  He tapped the laptop on his desk and Blade’s cistron chirped.  “I’m making you mission leader on this one. I downloaded it to your cistron. You can thank me later.  Dismissed.”

Blade left.  He glanced down at his cistron. It was a movie poster.

“CURSED OF THE UNDEAD,” it read. “STARRING: CHRISTINE DEE AND ALLEN ROBERTS.”

Blade sighed.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 1 – The Unknown Stuntman*

GREEN GROVE, AZ -- Blade turned around in the passenger’s seat to address the team.  Guppy was driving for once. Of them all, only Jim-Bean was missing.  

Blade hesitated. “Where’s Jim-Bean?” 

“Not here,” said Hammer.  “I hear he got a royal dressing-down for appearing on public television.”

“But it was thanks to his idea that we were able to cover up the mission!” exclaimed Guppy. 

Archive shrugged. “I don’t think Majestic-12 likes the idea of a bomb threat covered on national television.”

“They’ve got him doing paperwork, I bet,” said Caprice.  “I spent two days straight at a desk filling that crap out thanks to you guys.”

“Yeah, we heard,” said Hammer with a smirk.  “Drake said it was the only reason we weren’t disavowed already.”

“Okay, listen up,” said Blade.  “We’re going to be visiting the film set of a remake of Curse of the Undead.  Randy Kalms has switched gears from writing novels about conspiracy theories to writing scripts for movies, and he pitched this one to Derik Vanvon.”

“THE Derik Vanvon?” asked Archive.  “The set we stormed last time?”

“The same,” said Blade.

“Is your ex-wife going to be there?” asked Hammer.

Blade frowned.  “She’s in the film, yes.”

“She’s hot,” said Hammer.  When Blade glared at him he muttered, “No offense.”

Blade kept talking. “A few people disappeared from the set about two weeks ago. There have been six reported incidents of people disappearing in the nearby town. Joe Miller, a night watchman, went insane, babbling about ‘a thin thing, a thin thing that ripped him apart.’ And two days later, the local paper reported that a wino saw something that took one of his buddies. The night after the incident with the wino, there was another reported disappearance and the locals have started calling the unknown criminal ‘Thin Jack.’ Randy thinks there’s something else responsible for their disappearance. Our job is to investigate if there’s any preternatural element at work. We’re part of a freelance crew that fills in as needed.” He tapped a key on his cistron and everyone else’s chirped.  “Your roles have been uploaded to your cistrons.  Guppy, you’re a cameraman.”

Guppy’s eyes were on the road.  “I think I can handle that,” he said.  “But I hope they use high quality digital cameras—“

“I doubt it,” said Blade curtly.  “This is a low budget production.” Before Guppy could continue, he addressed the others.  “Caprice, Hammer, you’re security.”

They both nodded.  

“Archive, you’re the researcher.  I want you to work on finding out what you can about the area they’re filming in, Green Grove.”

“What about you?” asked Caprice.

“Me?” Blade turned back around.  “I’m the stunt man.”


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 2 – Entourage*

Randy Kalms met them at the entrance to what looked like a town right out of the Wild West. They were all plywood mockups of the real thing.  

“Looks convincing, don’t it?” asked Kalms with his trademark devilish smile. He shook Blade’s hand. 

“Sure does,” said Blade.  

“I figured what the hell, right?  I mean, I can’t publish Yuggoth Cultures, so I think to myself: Randy, how are you going to feed the family?  And then I think, why not go back to what I did best?  Make movies!”

“Horror movies,” said Hammer with a frown.

“Yeah. Well, beggars can’t be choosers and all that.  And when guys in dark sunglasses follow you around all the time your options are limited, if you know what I mean.” He gave Hammer a meaningful look, as if he were the reason for Kalms’ problem.

“I’m leading this mission,” said Blade. “What’s going on?”

Kalms led them towards one of the film stages on the other side of the façade of a saloon. “Manuel Padre was a migrant worker who was hired to do manual labor at the site. The crew thinks he just moved on.”

“But you think otherwise?” asked Hammer.

Kalms nodded. “You saw in my report about Thin Jack. I broke into Padre’s locker.  He left everything behind, including all his hard-earned money.  If he was just going to split town, he would have taken off with it, don’t you think?”

“Why don’t you leave the investigating to us,” said Caprice.

“Sure, sure,” said Randy.  “I got word that you guys have covers.  That’s good and shouldn’t be too hard to pull off.  After rumors of the Thin Jack mess, people have been just dropping out of the production.  At this point Vanvon’s lucky if the film gets made.”  Kalms leaned in closer.  “Listen, this could really boost my career, you know?  So I’d appreciate it if you guys didn’t go blowing everything to hell like you did with my house…”

“We’ll keep a low profile,” said Blade, staring at someone behind Kalms.

“Good.”  Randy smiled again. 

“But won’t this Vanvon guy remember us?” asked Guppy, his voice rising as he focused on the rotund outline of the director approaching.  “We didn’t exactly keep a low profile last time.”

“Vanvon?” Kalms smirked.  “I doubt he’ll remember you.  He can’t remember anyone who ain’t an actor—“

“Who are these thugs you’ve brought onto my set?” bellowed Derik Vanvon.

Kalms’ smile vanished.  He spun on his heel, all business.  “Freelancers.  After we lost a few of the extras I thought we could use the help.”

Vanvon appraised them with a squint.  “Good, we’ll need to move up our filming schedule in any case. As long as they stay out of my way!” He stalked off, zeroing in on Allen Roberts, who was caught in mid-wave at Hammer.  “You! Stop waving like an idiot and get ready for our next scene!”

Kalms chuckled and shook his head.  “See?”


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 3 – The Saloon*

Vanvon ran a tight ship.  Crew scurried to and fro, hauling generators, positioning cameras, and working hard in the chill of the desert night.

“You know,” said Guppy, “I’m trying to work with this camera but it’s really not very high quality.  Everyone’s filming in digital these days but it seems you’re using an antiquated form of—“

“I don’t pay you for commentary!” shouted Vanvon.  “Why don’t you act like Homer over here,” he gestured with a flick of his hand at a non-descript man with glasses, “and NOT SPEAK EVER AGAIN.”

Homer adjusted his glasses and smiled back at Vanvon.  Guppy shut up.

Spotlights illuminated the entrance to the saloon. Unlike the other facades, it was an actual stage inside. Fog roiled at the entrance, although none of the crew had set up any special effects to produce it.

“Quickly,” said Vanvon, “don’t lose this. This sense of dread.” He put one hand around Roberts’ shoulders. “Now listen closely. It's the day after Tim’s funeral. Dolores has been hanging up posters all over town offering one hundred dollars for the Death of a Murderer. You know the posters refers to you, but you don't think anything of it until a stranger comes into the saloon carrying one of the posters.”

Wilson set up the camera, while the producer hooked up a lamp to a generator and flooded the scene with light.  

“Roberts, stand over there, out of sight and don’t look until I call you,” said Vanvon. “Homer, get a second camera focused on Roberts—I want his reaction to this.”

“To what?” asks Roberts. 

Infected by his enthusiasm, the crew quickly set up the equipment.  Then Guppy and Kalms stepped behind the lights, Vanvon and Wilson each took a camera.  There was a long moment heavy with anticipation…

“Ready?” asked Vanvon. “All right, Homer.  Roll camera.” He was breathless with anticipation. “This is perfect.  Roberts, look at the doorway. Something crawls out of the darkness into the saloon.”

Mist billowed into the saloon. Something emerged from the shadows. Dressed in a red leather long coat and fedora, its features were masked.  The glowing ember of a cigarette dangled from wherever its lips were. It moved stiffly, as if hampered in its walking.

“Buffer!” said Vanvon, referring to the role Roberts was playing.  “Meet Drake Robey!”

Roberts saw the thing and froze in horror. He reached for his pistol, filled with blanks, and fired it. Then Roberts dropped it, cursing and staring at his hand in disbelief. It was all part of the act.

Unscathed, Jack said in a voice that echoed despite their indoor surroundings, "We'll be seeing each other later.” 

"I hit him dead square in the chest!' shouted Roberts.  Unnerved, he looked back at the camera with an expression of genuine terror. 

“And…cut!” said Vanvon.

Roberts rushed back while the thing disappeared into the mist.

“What the f**k was that?” demanded Roberts.

“That was your finest moment, Roberts,” said Vanvon. 

“That wasn’t acting!” shouted Roberts.  “It was a trick, a cheap trick to…to…elicit a real response from me. It was unfair, it was unethical, and it was…it was…”

“…genius,” finished Kalms.  “Well done, Roberts.”

“Congratulations, Roberts,” said Wilson.

Roberts looks at them in disbelief and then, off their awed reaction.  “It was good, wasn’t it?”

“All right, Roberts,” said Vanvon. “If you're quite finished collecting your laurels. Let's pack up.”

Blade and the others collected the film.

"We'll leave the equipment, come back tomorrow, shoot the town and some of the scenes with Young alone," said Vanvon. "Jack Thorne will join us after dark and we'll shoot their scenes together."

Roberts glanced at the door to the saloon. "What's happened to Jack?"

"Yes, Derik, where is Thorne?" asked Kalms. He eyed Blade nervously. "And why won't he join us until night? Where does he sleep?"

"The earth in which he was interred, no doubt," said Roberts sarcastically.

"That's enough of that, Roberts," admonished Vanvon. "Now listen to me, all of you: for the remainder of the shoot, Jack WILL be Drake Robey. He will NOT break character, he will NOT answer questions as Jack Thorne."

"Will he answer questions as the vampire?" asked Kalms.

"Just leave him alone, Randy," said Vanvon. "The man will be absolutely authentic, without any phony effects. He'll be the vampire, we'll film it, and that'll be that."

Archive leaned in to whisper to Blade.  “We’d better order garlic pizza for dinner tonight.”


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 4 – Sunrise at Midnight*

Hammer woke up out of a dead sleep.  A loud noise had interrupted his dream.

He rose, shrugging on sweatpants.  The entire team had one trailer, and they were splayed haphazardly across the trailer’s floor, couch, and other furniture.

He nudged Caprice with one foot.  “Get up Hotpants,” he grunted.

Caprice was instantly awake.  “Wha?”

“I heard a noise.” Hammer strapped on his dual shoulder holster. “Since you and me are security, I think we should check it out.”

Caprice blinked the sleep out of his eyes, nodded, and grabbed his pistol.  “What kind of noise?”

“A door slamming shut.”  He pushed open the door to the trailer and the cool night air swirled in.  “Let’s go.”

They padded out into the desert night.  Without the spotlights, it was colder and lonelier than ever.  And yet it was much easier to see by starlight, which gave everything a hushed quality.  Stars twinkled above them.

Hammer led the way to one trailer that was set up for editing.  A light flickered persistently, brightening and then falling into darkness, over and over.  There was the click-click-click of a film projector.

Hammer moved to one side of the door, pistol out.  Caprice flanked the other side.  

Hammer mouthed “on three.”  He held three fingers up.  Then two.  Then one.

Caprice yanked on the flimsy door handle and yanked it open. The metal coil that held the door closed shrieked, that woke Hammer.

They pointed their pistols into the room.  The projector was running. 

On the screen was a grainy image of a rising sunset, the heat shimmering off the hills of the Arizona desert.  Atypical of a low budget film like Vanvon’s, he was recycling footage from some other movie.  Hammer guessed it was a documentary.

The screen flickered as the sun rose, and then it repeated.  Over and over the room was illuminated by the hint of dawn, only for it to be abruptly blacked out and start again.  The strobing effect made them a little dizzy.

 “Just like the cowboys used to do it in the Wild West,” said Caprice.  He pointed at an ashtray, where a smoke curled from where the cigarette lay within. It was a roll-your-own. “I didn’t know Vanvon smoked.”

“He doesn’t,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 5 – Puppy Dog Tales*

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy, DADDY!” came Alex’s voice.

Everyone groggily got to their feet.  Blade’s son Alex was hopping up and down amongst them, completely ignorant that he was stepping on peoples’ chests and heads.

Blade snatched one of the robes supplied by the production company to cover the blood-soaked bandages around his chest.  “What are you doing here?” Then realizing the implications of his son’s presence, he asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“Daddy, daddy,” Alex practically tackled his father.  “Thank you soooo much for the puppy!”

“What?” asked Blade.

“The puppy!  I always said I wanted a puppy and mommy wouldn’t get me one and then when Zander showed up she said some bad words but now she said I can keep him!”

“Uh…you’re welcome?”

“I knew you wouldn’t forget my birthday this year!” shouted Alex, beaming.  “Mommy said you would and that I shouldn’t expect anything to be different but I knew it’d be different this year and oh yeah I didn’t forget your birthday either.” He dug in his pockets for a box.

“So you named the dog Zander?”

“Yeah, and he’s really smart! Here’s your birthday gift!”  He thrust the tattered gift-wrapped box into Blade’s hands. 

Blade looked down at it.  Guppy and Archive, in various states of wakefulness, looked on in amusement. Hammer and Caprice hadn’t yet returned from their reconnaissance mission.

“Are you gonna open it?”

“Oh, right.”  Blade tore open the paper and opened the box.  It was a belt buckle with several coyotes in an Indian-style pictogram howling at the sky.  Bits of turquoise represented the stars. 

Blade hefted it in one hand.  “Is this…solid gold?”

“Sure is!”

“How did you afford this Alex?”

Alex grinned.  “Mommy said I could save my allowance and I did and after you got me Zander I saved up all my allowances and then mommy said I could pick one thing and I did and here it is!  Do you like it?”

Blade, who slept in his jeans, took off the plain belt buckle he was wearing and slipped it on.  “I love it,” he said with a genuine smile.

“Okay, dad, I gotta go!” He gave Blade a hug around the neck.  “Mom gets mad when I’m out of sight for too long.  See you later!”

He bounded out of the trailer.  It slammed shut with a bang.

“He bought that with his allowance?” asked Guppy in disbelief.  

“Yeah, Christine does well for herself,” said Blade.  “But that’s not what’s weird.”

“Oh?” asked Archive.

“I never bought him a puppy.”


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 6 – Jack Attack*

Vanvon filmed scenes throughout the day. Only Archive left the set to do research in the local library, which was miles away. 

The manic director left Christine little time to catch her breath.  All her scenes were crammed into the early shoot. 

“Thanks for the puppy,” she snapped at Blade during one of her few breaks. “Alex would have had a meltdown if I didn’t let him keep the damn dog.”

“Welcome,” mumbled Blade.

“So what is this?  Are you stalking me now?  Is that how it’s going to be, you’ll be at every one of my shoots?”

Blade looked at her in disbelief.  “You forget that I saved your life?  Remember the lights falling?  The crazy stalker?”

Christine looked sideways at him.  She sighed and her defenses seemed to crumble.  “Fine, right.  I fired my security team after that, which is probably why Vanvon even let you on the set in the first place.”  She jabbed a finger in his shoulder.  “Look, don’t screw this up for me, okay?  This film could be my big break.  I need it.  Alex and I both need it.”

Blade nodded. “I can make alimony payments again. As you pointed out, I’ve got a new job...”

Christine allowed a brief smile. “That’s not what I meant, but thanks.  Just keep sending Alex gifts and I’ll consider us even.  I’ve never seen him so happy.”

The boy was free to roam outside in the middle of the set with his puppy.  The two of them ran around shouting and playing.  To Vanvon’s credit, he refrained from bellowing at either of them.  It wasn’t until Blade realized that Alex was dressed in period clothes that he figured it out; a kid and a dog running in the street would make for the perfect backdrop.  Alex and Zander were just a prop to Vanvon. They were the next best thing to tumbleweeds.

“I’m glad,” said Blade.

“Listen…I was going to send Alex to camp.”  Christine fixed her gaze on him.  His heart skipped a beat.  Christine was gorgeous, even when she was snarling at him. He forgot how startlingly blue her eyes were.  “But he wants to stay with you.  I told him I’d talk to you about it.”

“I think that’d be great,” said Blade.  “I’d love to have him.”

Christine exhaled.  She’d been holding her breath.  “Good.  I don’t like leaving him at camp.  He needs a father figure in his life.”

The sun was setting.  It was getting dark.  “Alex!” shouted Christine.  “Back to the trailer!”

“Okay mom,” came the faint response.  The door slammed shut to her trailer.

The sunlight rapidly disappeared behind the distant mountains. 

“Back to the saloon set, everyone!” shouted Vanvon.  “It’s time for Jack’s scenes.”

Christine put on her game face and walked back onto the set. 

"Can I have a cigarette?” she asked. “Where's my script? Derik? Derik!?"

"Yes," said VanVon. "What is it?"

"What is it?" asked Christine in disbelief. "What's the shot? What's going on here?"

Vanvon walked listlessly to her.

"All right," says Vanvon. "Christine, this is the scene from the night before, where you first have Drake for dinner. Dan has tried his damndest to convince you that hiring a hitman is not the way to deal with Buffer, but you don't believe him. Is that clear? Good, start eating. And you, Robey,” he pointed at a figure that was standing on the edge of pools of light, just outside their vision. “Ignore your guest and read the papers she brought you.”

Jack, dressed in his fedora and dark red duster, stepped into the light, but a gloom seemed to hang over him.  His features were still obscured by the hat.

“Good,” said Vanvon. “Excellent. Roll camera. And--action!"

Christine ate uneasily while Jack pored over a document.

"Look at your host, Dolores," said Vanvon. "Could this have been the stranger who fought with Buffer?"

Jack, his face concealed by a heavy wrap, continued read the document.

"Are you afraid of him?" asked Vanvon. "Is he even human? How do you feel about eating near him? About spending the night with him alone?"

Christine ate distractedly.

"Now reach for the knife," said Vanvon. "Cut a slice of bread. Slice...slice...watch your finger, Christine..."

Christine, her attention fixed on Jack, cut her thumb. A little blood welled up.

"Damn!" shouted Christine.

"Look!" shouted Vanvon. "Blood, BLOOD!!"

Jack looked up, dropped the contract, and stood quickly. He began breathing very hard and tried to grab Christine’s hand. She pulled away.

"Damn it, Vanvon," said Christine. " I really cut myself!"

"Calm down, Christine!" said Vanvon..

"You did that intentionally!" shouted Christine. "That knife was sharpened like a razor!"

Jack grabbed Christine's hand again.

"Jesus Christ!" shouted Christine. "Get this  off of me!"

Blade took a step forward when the light and camera tipped over and the darkness in the room was total. Guppy located another light and hooked it up. 

Wilson was prone on the ground.

"My God," shouted Kalms. "Homer!" He rushed to Wilson's side and kneeled down. Behind him, the upended camera spooled film onto the ground.

"Homer!" shouted Christine, standing over Wilson’s body helplessly. "Damn it, Derik, he isn't breathing!"

Vanvon hurried over to him. "Christine, get back to your trailer." No one moved.

"I said get the film, take it to the trailer!" He shoves Kalms and grabbed Christine by the arm. "Christine, move!" 

But Christine just stood where she was and stared. "Leave the rest. Christine, help him with the film."

Nothing.

"Randy!" shouted Vanvon. Nothing. 

Vanvon stood speechless, his worst nightmare realized: he'd lost control of his film. 

The film finished rolling out of the open camera. When it stopped, Hammer stood up from examining the body.  “He’s dead.”

"Help me with Homer," said Blade. He and Hammer lifted Wilson's body and started to carry it out.

"We're finished for the night," says Kalms. "Everyone to their trailers."

They all hurried out. Vanvon glared at them, standing his ground by the broken camera.

"Let's go, Derik," said Kalms. "Leave the damn camera."

Vanvon followed angrily. 

When the others were gone, the agents were all that remained.  

Guppy was staring at his hand, a strange device patched together with duct tape.  It looked like a spotlight.  “That’s so strange.”

“What?” asked Archive. 

“I built this device…it’s an ultraviolet projector.  I tried to aim it at Jack.” Guppy looked down at his hand again, as if it didn’t belong to him.  “But I couldn’t. It was almost like…”

“Jack wouldn’t let us,” said Caprice.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 7a – The Thing in the Mine*

“I still think we should have put the body in a freezer,” said Caprice as he shoveled another pile of dirt out of the makeshift grave.

“You mean the drink freezer?” asked Hammer.

“We could just tell people not to get any drinks,” began Guppy when Blade shushed him.

He pointed.  Off in the distance, they could see the headlights of a vehicle pulling away.  In total darkness, the driver couldn’t see what they were up to.  Which was the point.

“That’s a Hummer,” said Caprice.

“Vanvon.” He nodded towards Guppy and Caprice.  “Let’s go.”  Hammer was still digging.  “I’ll call you if we find anything.”

They took off in the direction of the hill where Vanvon’s Hummer was.  It turned out to be the opening to a mineshaft.

The mine sloped downward into the earth.  The mouth of the shaft was still clogged with hunks of stone and wooden timbers.  There was a pile of rubble near the edge of the shaft and the timbers and stones showed recent marks. 

Caprice wrinkled his nose.  “You smell that?”

There was a hint of a vile odor wafting from the mine. The headlights from the Hummer pointed into the shaft, illuminating the interior.  

Caprice, Guppy, and Blade crouched on either side of the Hummer, weapons out. “Archive, Hammer -- you guys better get up here,” said Blade over the cistron.  “Vanvon’s in a mine talking to…the thing.”

"How could you be so stupid?" came Vanvon’s voice. "You KILLED my photographer, you fool!"

If the thing was speaking to Vanvon, they couldn’t hear it. 

"We had an arrangement!" shouted Vanvon.

Vanvon shuffled in the mine. "You monster, why him?" he asked. "Don't you understand the film can't go on without him? There are others less indispensable. You agreed not to hurt my people."

There was a pause.

"Of course he's necessary," retorted Vanvon. "They're all necessary, do you understand? Don't hurt my people. Or…”

Vanvon’s tone turned threatening. "Don't think I can't harm you," he said.  "I can harm you by not giving you what you want! Yes, forget again who's in charge here at your own risk. Now abide by our contract--and I will, too.”

The director stomped out of the cave towards his vehicle.  Before Vanvon could reach it, Blade clasped one hand over his mouth and yanked him away from the opening.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 7b – The Thing in the Mine*

Vanvon let out a yelp.  Blade dragged him out of earshot from the mine, where Archive and Hammer were waiting.

Blade shoved Vanvon to his knees. Archive trained a handheld spotlight on Vanvon’s sweaty face. Hammer snapped on a pair of black leather gloves. He slowly screwed on the silencer to his Glock.

“What are you doing?” asked Vanvon.

“What I do best,” said Hammer. He crouched down.  “Tell me what you were doing in there.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.  What are you doing out here late at night anyway?  It’s none of your damn business—“

Without looking, Hammer pointed the Glock at one of the tires of the Hummer and squeezed the trigger.  There was a quiet thump and the squeal of air hissing from it.  

“I’m going to ask you again: What were you doing in there?”

“You…” Vanvon swallowed hard.  “I remember you.  You attacked my set in Hollywood!” He blinked up towards the spotlight. “Who are you people?”

Vanvon’s head bobbed as Hammer struck him across the face.  His nose started to bleed.

“You son of a bitch!” yelped Vanvon. “I think you broke my nose!” 

“Stop lying to me and answer my questions,” said Hammer.  “What were you doing in there?”

“I don’t know what you’re…” he flinched as Hammer raised a fist.  “All right, all right! Fine! Just stop hitting me!”

“Tell us what we need to know,” said Blade, arms crossed.  The interrogation was making him uncomfortable. 

Vanvon’s flabby features sagged.  “After the incident at my studio, the Organized Productions started suffering financial difficulties.  We were running out of money, and I needed special effects shots for the creature.  I was out here scouting for a location when I came across this mineshaft and started digging.”

“And that’s when you dug up Jack?” asked Caprice.

Vanvon shook his head.  “Not at first. There was gold in there.  Piled up.  I took some out, hired a crew with it, went back and dug the rest out. Then I sold it and we were back in business.”

“How much?”

“About one million dollars worth,” said Vanvon.  He seemed proud.  

“When did you meet Jack?” asked Blade.

“Three days later.  It dug its way to the surface, I guess.  It took that immigrant worker.  Then it came for me.”

Hammer forcefully turned Vanvon’s head to take a look at his neck.  “No bite marks.”

“I offered to…” Vanvon swallowed.  The admission was hard for the egotistical director to admit.  “I made a deal with it. I’d put it in my film…at the end of the filming I was going to give it the lead actress…”

Hammer clicked off the record button on his cistron.  “Thanks.  That should be enough to indict you.”

Blade’s fist shot out, faster than the eyes could track.  His clenched fist struck from the darkness into the spotlight on Vanvon’s face and then recoiled back.  “That’s for Christine,” he snarled.

Vanvon’s head lolled, unconscious.

“Now what?” asked Hammer.

“Now we go stake us a vampire,” said Blade.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 7c – The Thing in the Mine*

“Everybody ready?” asked Blade.

Guppy swallowed hard.  “Well, I had my ultraviolet projector but…”

“But what?”

“It requires a lot of power,” said Guppy.  “And there’s only enough power for it at the generator back on set…”

“And you didn’t have a long enough power cord to bring it here,” said Caprice with a sigh.  “Great.”

“Well I do have shotgun shells.” Guppy loosened the carrying strap of the shotgun across his back.  “I filled it with garlic powder.”

“Hope it’s really a vampire.” Blade nodded at Hammer. “Let’s flush him out.”  

“We know you’re in there, Jack,” shouted Hammer.  

The Hummer’s engine plaid a staccato beat while they waited in the desert night for the thing to crawl out of its lair.  

A figure wearing a fedora and black overcoat slowly shuffled into the headlights of the Hummer.  Its hands were at its sides.  It kept its head down, so the shadow of the hat’s brim concealed its features.

“Come out,” said Hammer. “We just want to talk to you.”

The thing slowly slid back the edge of its duster. Its revolver, a huge monster of a pistol, hung loosely at its hip.

“Now we don’t want to have to hurt you,” began Hammer.  Everyone was on edge, hands near their pistols.  

The long, claw-like fingers flexed beneath the leather gloves, twitching over the revolver’s handle.  

“Nobody needs to shoot—“

As if the word “shoot” was a command, the thing drew the pistol in a flash and, before anyone else could draw their own guns, fired.  With a yelp, Caprice spun from the impact of the shot and collapsed face-first into the dirt. 

Both of Hammer’s Glocks were out.  He returned a hail of fire.  The bullets ricocheted off the thing’s body as if he were made of stone.

“What the hell?” was all Hammer got out before a crack shot pounded the stone near his face.

Blade rushed forward with a roar, hatchets in hand.  The thing calmly waited for him as he closed.

Blade brought both hatchets together on the thing’s neck in a scissoring motion.  The blows were so forceful that the attack should have beheaded it.

But his hatchets bounced off of the thing’s throat with a metallic clang.  Its free hand shot out, grabbing Blade by the throat.  He gurgled.

Its arm outstretched, holding Blade up against the mine wall, the thing’s features were finally visible.  It looked almost rat-like, with grayish-white pupils and fangs that jutted out at odd angles from its mouth.  Its bald, deformed features were twisted with malice.

Hammer took advantage of the moment to fire both Glocks at it again.  Bullets sunk through its coat, but the ones that didn’t disappear into its body bounced off.  

“Guppy!” shouted Hammer. “DO SOMETHING!”

Guppy broke out of his shock and aimed the shotgun.  Then he ducked just as Blade’s unconscious body hurdled toward him.

Hammer stood in front of the mine entrance, still emptying his Glocks.  “Shoot it,” said Hammer calmly.  “NOW.”

Guppy screwed up his courage and took aim again.  The thing had stopped firing its pistol.  It stalked towards them, removing its gloves one at a time with malign precision.  It was done playing games.

Guppy squeezed the trigger and the shotgun shell blasted into the thing’s chest.  It staggered and fell down.

“I got it!” shouted Guppy with glee.

Hammer shook his head as the thing rose up. He dropped the empty clips from his Glocks and reloaded them. 

Guppy reloaded and fired again.  This time the thing didn’t stop coming.  

“I don’t think it’s working,” said Guppy in a panic. 

“Then try SOMETHING ELSE!” shouted Hammer.  The thing had closed to within yards of him.  Hammer unleashed both clips into it at point blank range.

It laughed.  Then, grabbing Hammer by the throat, it hurled him into the darkness beyond the Hummer.

The Hummer!  Guppy tore the door open and dove into the driver’s seat.  The thing was standing in front of him.

He shifted the Hummer out of park and slammed on the gas pedal.  The Hummer lurched forward, screeching its wheels as it thudded against the thing.  There was a shriek as it was pinned against the entrance to the mine.

The Hummer protested, revving louder.  He couldn’t push it any further because the mine entrance was too narrow.

Guppy threw it in reverse.  The Hummer lurched backwards.  Guppy peered over the edge of the Hummer. The thing was gone. 

He kicked it into drive, but the Hummer didn’t get any traction.  That’s when he felt it lift up.

“Mother trucker,” hissed Guppy.  The Hummer winched up higher and higher with a shriek. 

Guppy threw himself out of the driver’s side door as the thing, arms straining beneath the chassis, twisted the Hummer over on its side.

He landed near Vanvon, who was tied up and watching the whole thing in awe.  “Magnificent,” he breathed.  “Fantastic!  The drama, the special effects, I couldn’t choreograph this better…”

The thing stalked towards him.  Guppy scrabbled backwards on all fours.  Blade and Hammer were unconscious.  Caprice was down in a pool of blood.  

It loomed over him, drawing its pistol with exaggerated care. It occurred to Guppy that the thing was savoring the moment.

It pointed the barrel of the six-shooter in Guppy’s face.  Only the glint of moonlight on the tip gave any indication how close it was.

There was a crack of gunfire and the thing’s head bobbed back.  It sank to its knees and fell to the ground, dead.

“How did you do that?” asked Guppy in awe.

Archive blew on the smoking barrel of his pistol. “Magic,” he said.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Part 8 – My Final Stand*

Archive helped patch up the others with his medical kit.  And yet it seemed they recovered better than they should have without a trip to the hospital.  If they suspected other forces at work, none of them mentioned it.

“I’ve been reading up on this place,” said Archive.  “Members of the Apache tribe were said to have a very rich gold mine located in the Superstition Mountains. A man called Miguel Peralta discovered the mine and began mining the gold there, only to be attacked or massacred by something in about 1850. Years later, a man named Jack Thorne treated an ailing Apache chieftain and was rewarded with information about the cursed goldmine. But when he found it, he encountered a thing known as ‘The Thin One’ or ‘The Skinny One’. Jack sacrificed himself to kill the Thin One, collapsing the gold mine on them both with dynamite. The Thin One is supposedly vulnerable to daylight and gold, of all things.”

“When Vanvon dug up the gold, he released the ward,” said Guppy.

“More than that,” said Archive.  “I think that thing WAS Jack Thorne.  They implant eggs in humanoids and use it to gestate…”

“Poor bastard,” said Blade, scratching his ribs.

“Doesn’t matter now anyway,” said Hammer.  “He’s dead.”

The body was more than dead, it was dismembered.  They had blown the thing’s head off and shoved a stake of wood, taken from an old mining cart, into its heart. It was wrapped up in a bag that Blade and Hammer dragged through the desert back to the set.

When they arrived, they found the crew setting up at the saloon.  Kalms was putting the finishing touches on the set.  Christine was in a wig and make-up. She was wearing a plain nightgown as well as a pair of stylishly anachronistic high heels.

“What the hell?” asked Blade.  “Why is everyone up so late?  What is going on?”

“Listen, Blade.  This is the big finale,” muttered Christine.  “Now stay out of the way, we’re cramming to fill the final scene.” She caught sight of Vanvon.  “What the hell happened to you?”

Vanvon looked ignored her.  “They’re filming His movie.” He looked around wide-eyed.  “Whether they want to or not.”

“Whose movie?” asked Blade.

“Jack’s,” said Vanvon. “This thing…it has control over everyone.  Can’t you see?  We’re powerless to stop it!”

Nobody looked up from their duties.  The sight of a dismembered body in a bloody plastic bag, or their beaten up director, failed to give them pause.

"All right, Christine," said Kalms. "In this scene, Drake, whom Dolores has put up in a spare room at the ranch house, sneaks into your bedroom after you've gone to sleep, and bites you on the neck. Really all you have to do is lie there in fear and Jack will do the rest."

Christine got into bed. Out of the shadows materialized Jack wearing a red duster.  

“Son of a bitch! What the hell did we just kill?” asked Blade. He looked back at Hammer to confirm.  

Hammer nodded back – the headless corpse was still dead.

They struggled to move, but it was like swimming up a waterfall.  Harming Jack seemed impossible; their will was sapped with the very notion of the effort.  Only when they diverted their minds to other things did the feeling disappear.  

Jack took position between the bed and the mirror mounted on the wall behind him. He looked down at her, gently brushing her breast with his long nails.

Christine pushed his hand away. "Watch it, @$$hole."

Kalms exchanged an indecipherable glance with Hammer.  Then he walked over to one of the cameras and nudged it over. It shattered in an explosion of glass and uncoiling film.

"Damn!" shouted Kalms. "Hold it! Set up the other camera. Bill, there's another reel up in the gallery. Sorry, actors. It'll just be a moment."

Jack, irritated, marched off the set.

“They’re stalling,” whispered Archive.  “We may not be able to interfere with the film, but they’re rebelling in their own little ways.”

The crew finished setting a new camera on the tripod. Jack, climbing the walls, stormed over to them.

"I'm tired of waiting," says Jack.

"All right, places," says Kalms. "Let's have lights..."

Jack walked over to the set and resumed his position. Kalms adjusted the lights.

"Camera..." said Kalms.

Christine lay, acting fearful, in bed. Jack, between her and the wall, kneeled and was preparing to bite her when she stared him full in the face.  Before Kalms could say "action," she started screaming.

"…end!" shouted Kalms. 

Blade rushed to her side.

"What is it?"

"His face..." said Christine. "He doesn't...

Jack glared at Kalms.

"Let me have her," demanded Jack. "NOW."

"She's hysterical."  Kalms walks over to Christine.  "Let her calm down first…"

Jack pointed at Christine. She relaxed, fallen into a stupor. “Now she’s calm.”

“Give her a moment, for God’s sake!” 

Jack once again stood beside Christine, whose eyes fluttered in a daze. Jack kneeled down beside her, ran his fingernails slowly along her legs and arms. She barely noticed.

"I'll take her now."

"Control yourself for a moment, Jack. Let’s do the final scene." There was another set already prepared outside in the street.  "Okay, this is the scene," said Kalms. "Dolores, weakened by the nocturnal visits from Robey that she has already endured, begins wasting away; we know she’s headed downhill fast when she acquiesces meekly to Dan’s renewed efforts to make her rescind Robey’s contract with her on Buffer’s life.  There's no help for it; the only way to settle this is an old fashion duel between men.  A gunfight."

Kalms looked around.  “We need a stuntman for this scene.”

Hammer stepped forward. “I’m the best shot…”

Kalms shook his head.  “Sorry, but our lead hero isn’t a black man.”

Caprice took a deep breath.  Beneath his clothes, his shoulder was bandaged.  “That’d leave me then.”

Kalms nodded.  “Fine.  Costume?  Makeup!  Get him ready.”

The crew scurried, prepared for this eventuality.  

“I need a hat,” said Caprice.  “A big ten gallon hat.”

Jack stormed at the edge of the set. Although they couldn’t see his face, he was visibly frustrated.  

“And boots,” said Caprice as the hat was screwed onto his head.  “Big alligator skin boots.”

Archive slipped his pistol into Caprice’s holster.  “Use this gun.  It will penetrate his defenses, I hope.”

“Oops,” said Hammer, spilling a glass of water down Caprice’s shirt.  

“Did you have to make it so obvious?” muttered Caprice.

“Sorry, Hotpants,” smiled Hammer.

“I need a new shirt here!” shouted Caprice.

“ENOUGH!” roared Jack.  “We will finish this now!”

“Places everyone!” shouted Kalms.  Jack’s back was to the east, where the sky was beginning to lighten.  Dawn was coming soon.  

The two combatants faced each other across the dusty road.  

“And…action!”

Caprice drew his pistol, but Jack was too fast.  The pistol was shot out of his hand.  

“Pathetic,” came Jack’s voice in their heads.  “This is the best you can do?”

Jack fired again, and Caprice fell to one knee, clutching his bleeding leg.

The spotlights flickered. 

Suddenly Jack howled, clutching his face.  Guppy stood, arms outstretched, holding a flashlight-type device connected to the generator. He had mustered every ounce of his will to resist Jack’s mental domination and fire the beam in the thing’s direction. 

Its hat fell away.  Tentacles writhed where its face would normally be. Its whole body was a latticework of pink tentacles stretched over a skeletal frame.  It was if a human body had been stripped of its skin and the muscles rebelled, all struggling to tear off their moorings. 

“If you’re going to do something,” shouted Hammer, “do it now!”

Blade surged forward, whipping his belt off.  He wrapped the leather around his knuckles with the gold belt buckle facing outward. 

Jack looked up from its convulsions in time to see Blade’s fist.  He punched it in the pulpy mass where its head should have been.

It hissed and clawed his left arm.  Blade retaliated with an uppercut. 

“This is not how it’s supposed to be!” shouted Jack, its telepathic roar echoing in everyone’s minds.  “My final stand…”

Blade grabbed both of its outstretched claws by the wrists.  Straining, he forced them behind Jack’s back, wrestling it so the thing faced east.  And the rising sun.

Blade held it as the first rays of the sun came over the mountaintops.  They sliced through Jack’s flesh like laser beams, sizzling and popping the muscle.  

Jack’s shrieks reached a crescendo, and then it abruptly burst, sizzling and popping into nothing but a puddle of goo. 

“And cut!” said Kalms with a smile, even though the cameras had long since stopped working.


----------



## talien

*Thin Jack: Conclusion*

The arrival of the police to arrest Vanvon interrupted their argument only for a few minutes.

Standing in front of the team’s trailer, Christine shook her head at Blade.  “You did it again.  You had to go and screw everything up for me, didn’t you?”

Blade laughed.  “Me?  That thing was trying to kill you—WOULD have killed you, if it hadn’t been for me!  You were so focused on the movie and your big break that you couldn’t see it was going to eat you!”

“You know, there is the possibility that it was mentally controlling everyone on the set…” began Guppy.

“Shut up,” they both snapped at him.

Guppy cleared his throat and went back into the trailer.

Alex walked out of Christine’s trailer, rubbing his eyes.  “Mom?  Dad?  You fighting again?”

Christine bit her lip.  “No, honey,” she kneeled down to his level. “We’re just having…a disagreement.”

“Does this mean I can’t visit daddy for the summer?”  Tears welled up in his eyes.

Christine sighed.  “Of course you still can.”  She glared at Blade over his shoulder.  “But daddy will be sending us alimony payments from now on.”

Blade crossed his arms but nodded.  

Zander barked and Alex perked up, distracted.  He ran off.  “Zander!  Zander, we have to get ready to goooo!”

“So…” said Blade.  “Are we all right?”

Christine stood up.  “No,” she said after a moment.  “But we will be.”  She stalked off towards her trailer.

Hammer stepped out of the trailer. “You know Archive’s pretty good with that medical kit of his. I think you should let him take a look at you.”

Blade frowned.  “No, that’s okay…” But Archive was right behind Hammer, walking up to him.

“Let me see your ribs, come on.”

“No, guys, seriously,” he tired to shove them off, but Archive was already yanking up his shirt.  Blood stained both sides of it.  Fortunately, he wore a black shirt. “You don’t need to…”

Archive blinked.  He peeled off one of the bandages.  “Well I’ll be.  After all that bleeding it looks like wounds finally healed up.”

Blade looked down in disbelief. 

Hammer patted him on the back.  “Told you Archive was good.  Let’s get out of this hell hole and go home before Drake asks us what we were doing out in the desert blowing the heads off of illegal immigrants and staking them in the heart.”

“With a little makeup they can make anyone look like a vampire,” said Caprice, exiting the trailer.  “That still doesn’t explain how he flipped a Hummer or dodged bullets.”

”He didn’t doge them,” said Hammer.  “But whatever.  He tried to kill us.  End of story.”

“I told you Jack was mind controlling people,” Guppy shouted from the entrance to their trailer, supposedly out of earshot.  

His teammates laughed.  They made their way back to the team van. All except Blade. 

His ribs were fine.  No bite marks.  Nothing.  

“They’re totally healed over,” he whispered to himself with rising horror.

Then his palms began to itch.


----------



## talien

This scenario, “Skinwalker,” is from the Call of Cthulhu supplement “Dwellers in Shadow” by Michael Szymanski from Triad Entertainments. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*
Skinwalker is a scenario that’s big on ideas and poor on execution.  The presentation is a big jumble, which makes it difficult as a GM to follow.  There are actually two protagonists here, a Navajo “witch” and the thing he has unleashed.  Both have similar abilities that involve taking people over by wearing their skin.  Which is pretty creepy…

This is another scenario where the main antagonist has a shapeshifting power that it never uses to its advantage. For example, the Skinwalker possesses a woman’s skin, but since he can’t imitate voices, this immediately takes on a comedic Bugs Bunny image of a mousy secretary speaking in a deep baritone and smoking a stogie. The human villain doesn’t seem to have much in the way of goals either, besides being evil.  The excuse for why he does so many ridiculous things (like undressing and dressing his victims) is that he’s insane.  But he’s apparently insanely dumb; the first thing the witch does is appear as a wolf and warn the agents off. 

Really?  Seriously?  He’s insane, he kills people, but he’s going to WARN the heroes off before they even suspect him, like a cartoon villain? Screw that!

There’s also a suspect whom the PCs are supposed to investigate because, well, because the town folk think he’s a little weird.  The shape-shifting villain doesn’t capitalize on this means of diverting the investigation; in fact, he doesn’t even seem to be aware of the association.  

Then there’s the Skinwalker itself, which doesn’t seem to have a plan other than to reproduce.  In fact, the scenario is a little too fixated on the birthing that will take days to happen, without providing a narrative climax for when it should.  So of course, I decided the PCs are going to find it right when it’s about to give birth.

To make this scenario more interesting, I cribbed from a popular horror movie and had the witch and the Skinwalker go on the offensive.  Once the witch is spotted dumping skinless bodies, he pulls out all the stops and tracks the investigators, trying to figure out which one has the skin that fits him best. He walks around town in a form suspiciously like the person he wants to frame for his crimes, intentionally throwing the agents off his trail.  And things spiral from there. 

*Defining Moment:* When the PCs discover that the fingerprints on their van matches the dead body in the caves.    

Relevant Media

*Dwellers in Shadow:* A collection of scenarios for Call of Cthulhu from Triad Entertainments.
*	I’ve Got You Under My Skin:* I decided in this episode whenever the shape-shifting critter was on their trail, Blade would hear a song on a nearby radio.  This was thanks to Coyote's influence...or was it? And in this case, it’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra.  Because Sinatra’s creepy.
*Critical Locations:* I used this map of the police station. Again.


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Prologue*



> _Don’t you know you fool, you never can win
> Use your mentality, wake up to reality
> But each time I do, just the thought of you
> Makes me stop before I begin
> cause I’ve got you under my skin_​
> --_I’ve Got You Under My Skin_ by Frank Sinatra​



PHOENIZ, AZ--Guppy was driving. They were on their way back from the latest mission in Arizona.  Blade sat in the front, staring off into the space, deep in the thought.  Archive tapped on his keyboard.  Hammer and Caprice were debating on whether or not the man they killed in the mine was really a vampire.

He tried to keep his eyes on the road as they passed by an odd ruin atop a wide ledge. Black crows blanket the trees.  An ugly, rusted van was parked nearby. 

As they passed, Guppy caught sight of a tall man in a dark overcoat and hat dropping something—something wrapped in what looked like a bloodstained sheet—down a sinkhole. 

“Do you see that?” asked Guppy.

Blade was staring at the man too.  

As Guppy watched, the figure turned and seemed to peer right at him as they passed by. 

A police siren shrieked right in front of him.  Guppy yanked the wheel hard; a cop was tearing down the road on the wrong side of the street, ducking around an eighteen-wheeler.  The van shrieked and then tilted.  For a second gravity hung in the balance as the vehicle teetered.  Then it rolled over, tumbling off the side of the road into a ditch.

To Guppy’s surprise, they had landed wheels down.  

“Maybe we should let Blade drive again,” said Hammer, extricating himself from the pile of other agents. 

“I saw a man dumping bodies!” shouted Guppy.  They all got out of the van. 

The cop was heading due east towards Culver’s Pass.  The team’s van was pulled over a bit further down the road, close enough that they could jog there.

It was clear that the cops hadn’t stopped where the body dumping had occurred, but a ways before it.  The area was obscured from their field of vision by a rising hill.  

It was sheriff Colorados.  His patrol car was pulled over to the side of the road near a battled old pickup truck.  IT was half-hidden in the gully that ran parallel to it, the same gully that had caught the team’s van.

“Colorados,” said Blade in greeting.  Colorados nodded back.  “We almost crashed into you back there.  Everything all right?”

Colorados shook his head.  “We think this was Virgil Nist,” he said, pointing at a pool of blood in the passenger seat of the car.  “But there’s no body.  Just a lot of blood.”

“We saw something a little further back,” said Blade.  “Looked like it was a man dumping bodies a little further east from here.”

Colorados sucked on his lower lip.  “I’ll call for backup.”

They nodded.  “We’ll check it out,” said Blade.

Guppy swallowed.  “We will?”


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Part 1 – The Sinkhole*

There was a small ruin on a wide ledge a hundred feet up the face of the cliff.   Guppy, Blade, and Caprice made it up top.  Archive and Hammer stayed below with Colorados.

The ledge that housed the ruin was littered with rubble and patches of mesquite, which made moving around an awkward affair.  Dozens of ravens sat around the ruins, squawking. A great deal of brush has grown over the structure.  

Caprice brushed away some foliage. “I think I found the entrance.”

The kiva was relatively intact, and much of the roof still remained, framing the opening through which its original inhabitants entered.  The main feature of the chamber was a central pit, its smooth, curved lines contrasting with the jagged opening ripped into the floor.  This was an entrance to a cave system. 

They looked around at each other.  “Guppy, you’re the lightest, so we’ll lower you down.”

“What?” Guppy peered down into the hole.  “No way Jose.”

“Come on Guppy, he’s right, you’re the lightest,” said Blade.  “We’ll pull you back up whenever you say so.”

Guppy looked down into the hole again, shining his flashlight here and there.  It didn’t penetrate the gloom.  “I don’t like this at all.”

But Caprice was already tying rope to his waist.  “You can do this.”

“You know, my specialty isn’t spelunking,” complained Guppy as he was lowered into the cave.  “I’m actually more of a science guy myself.”

He suddenly got quiet. The only sound was the creaking of the taut rope that Blade and Caprice held.

“Guppy?” asked Caprice.

“I’m…oof…trying…oof…” The rope was swinging to and fro. “To swing…got it!”

“What is it?” asked Blade.

”A cell phone.”  Guppy clicked it on.  “It was recording video.”  He pressed another button and it began to play. 

“The cave-in appears quite recent, within the last month or so, and by the looks of things here, I’m not the first one to find it,” said a redheaded, bookish-looking woman with glasses. “I shined my light down into the chamber below, and there was something large and smooth down there.” Behind her, a humanoid figure loomed, raising a shovel in two hands. “I’m going down for a look after…” There was a grunt and then the camera spun crazily, filming the opening of the pit as it fell from its owner’s hands. 

“Oh that’s not good,” said Guppy.

“What?”

Guppy looked around. They were lowering him down more.  It was easier to use his cistron than to yell up. 

“Guys, I think there is some blood down here.” There were several spots of dark red against the rusty sandstone. 

“And what’s on the cell phone?”

“A video of a woman.  Someone killed her with a shovel, I think.”

He was lowered into a large ceremonial chamber of ancient origins. At the bottom of the chamber was a disturbing sand painting of two snakes arching over strange, dancing figures. 

Guppy took a picture.  “Blade, have you ever seen something like this?”

“It’s not Apache or Navajo, that’s for sure,” came his reply.

“Wait…I see something…”

Guppy could make out the body of someone wrapped in a sheet with red stains on it, just out of sight of the hole above.  Guppy gently touched down on the ground.  He took a slow, hesitant step towards the body.

It twitched.  Guppy nearly screamed.

Guppy took another step.  “Are you…” he swallowed, trying to find saliva.  “Are you okay?”

The body in the sheet began to convulse, struggling to escape and breathe. Finally, a bloody face worked its way out. It gurgled.

“What? Are you okay?”

“What’s going on?” chirped Caprice’s voice over the cistron.

Guppy ignored it.  The man was pointing at his chest through the covers, digging around at the sheet.

Guppy tore it open and fell backward, gasping.  Although the man was wearing clothes, he had been completely skinned. He struggled to say something.

Guppy got back on his feet.  

“Hiiiiideeee” he wheezed.  

Guppy shouted into the cistron. “I need backup!  There’s a man down here…he has no skin!”

“Put him on the rope,” said Blade.

“What?!”

“If he’s skinned he needs medical attention Guppy,” shouted Caprice. “Tie him to the rope!” 

“But that means I won’t have a rope!”

“Do you want to let the man die?” asked Blade.

“Oh, MOTHER TRUCKER,” grumbled Guppy.  He unlatched the rope and, after a few minutes of trying to figure out how to wrap it around a skinless man, latched it around his waist.  The man screamed every time he touched him.

“Jesus, are you killing him down there?” asked Caprice.

“He’s ready to go.  Lift him up,” said Guppy.  “I am staying RIGHT here, I just want you to know that.  Because this place is totally freaking me out and it’s dark and it’s…” he slowly turned.  “What is that smell?”

There was a horrible stench deeper in the tunnels, accompanied by a tremendous buzzing.

“Heeeeeellllp mmeeeeee,” came a whisper from the direction of the tunnel.

“I think someone needs help,” said Guppy.  “I’m going to go in deeper…”

He crept further into the dank tunnels branching off the main chamber.  A near solid wave of noxious, putrescent miasma boiled out of the cavern amidst a roiling cloud of flies. There was a huge cocoon, a sagging, half-rotted husk of undefineable material.  It was approximately six feet long and two feet wide.  

A drop of body fluid splatters on Guppy’s shoe. Then another. 

Guppy looked up. 

The light from his flashlight revealed many skinless bodies stuck to the ceiling of the cavern. The whole place was filled with them. 

One of the bodies, a woman from the looks of her matted hair, pleaded with skinless features, “Heeeeelp mmmeeeeeee!”

Guppy turned and ran screaming from the chamber.


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Part 2a – Three Buttes*

The paramedics showed up too late.  All of the victims were dead by the time they got there.  It took over an hour before the agents were able to return to their van. It was not in the shape they left it in.

“What the hell happened?” asked Hammer.

“I thought you two were with the van?” asked Blade.

“We were helping Colorados scope out the crime scene!” Hammer shouted back.  

“Hey, buddy,” said one of the paramedics.  “Someone was snooping around your van before, thought it was one of you guys.”

Clothing was scattered everywhere.  Vests, BDUs, even underwear.  

“What did he look like?”

“Weird guy in a tattered overcoat and a broad-brimmed hat.  Was sniffing your laundry. Holding big handfuls of it under his nose.  Looked like he was liking it too.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Blade.

Colorados walked over while Hammer scanned the exterior of the van with his cistron.  

“I picked up a print on the door handle,” he turned to Colorados.  “I’ll send it over to you; check AFIS and see what you come up with.” 

“Rumors speak of a witch,” he said.  

“A witch?” asked Hammer.  “The kind that rides around on broomsticks?”

Colorados shook his head. “Skinwalkers. A Skinwalker’s a Navajo witch. They are always up to no good, casting curses and poisoning the orenda.  They can change their shape, become a wolf or rattler or some such.” 

“Is there anyone around here we can ask about this sort of thing?” asked Blade.  “The only shaman I knew is dead.”

Colorados nodded. “Michele Blackmoon,” he said.  

“If she’s not the witch herself,” said the paramedic. “She was a nice lady, but since she came back from college she’s been into some strange stuff.”

“Guppy,” asked Blade, but the smaller Indian man was already on it.  

“Got her address.  Not far from here.”

They piled into the van.  Thanks the arrival of the fire trucks, someone had winched them out of the ditch. 

“Maybe I should drive,” began Blade.

Guppy slid into the driver’s seat.  “I’ve got it! I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure…”

“Yes!” Guppy leaned on the gas pedal, lunging the van forward. “Fine!”

The others strapped on their seat belts.


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Part 2b – Three Buttes*

They couldn’t have been more than a few minutes into the drive when the radio started playing Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”

_“I’ve got you under my skin,”_ sang Sinatra.

“Shut that s**t off,” muttered Hammer.  

_“I’ve got you deep in the heart of me.”_

“I didn’t turn it on to begin with!” said Guppy, staring at the radio.

_“So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me.”_

Blade turned the knob a few times. The digital readout showed the stations change, but the music kept playing.

_“I’ve got you under my skin.”_

There was a thump on the roof of the van.

_“I’ve tried so, not to give in.”_

“Did you hear that?” asked Caprice.

_“I said to myself this affair never will go so well.”_

Hammer took out his Glocks. “Yeah.  It’s big.”

_“But why should I try to resist when baby I know so well,”_ the radio crooned.

“And heavy,” said Blade.

_“I’ve got you under my skin.”_

“I’ll get it off,” shouted Guppy.  He slammed his foot on the brakes…

_“I’d sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near in spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, repeats in my ear: Don’t you know you fool, you never can win?”_

And the van swerved wildly out of control.  Guppy struggled with the wheel.  For a terrifying moment it seemed as if the van would flip off the road.  The vehicle screeched to a halt.

_“Use your mentality, wake up to reality!”_

Everyone glared at Guppy, then hopped out the van, weapons out.

Hammer clambered up the ladder to the top of the van.  “Clear.”

“Clear,” said Archive after looking underneath it.

“Clear,” said Caprice scanning the back of the van.

The horn honked.

_“But each time I do, just the thought of you makes me stop before I begin.”_

They ran around to the front. “What?” asked Blade.

Guppy, still in the driver’s seat, just pointed.

_“Cause I’ve got you under my skin.”_

Standing on the road in front of them was a thing that was pretending to be a wolf.  But it was most certainly not a wolf, as the skin was stretched over a muscled frame that tore at the rugged hide, revealing glistening red muscle streaked with white bone.  Its spine poked through the back of its hide at jagged angles, as if someone had hastily stretched the fur over a larger beast’s musculature.  It growled, and they could see the full length of its tongue between the gaps in its mouth.

“First vampires, now werewolves?” asked Hammer in disbelief.

Blade’s hatchets were out.  “I’ve got it.”  

He charged it with a roar.  The wolf-thing bounded forward.

Man and beast clashed in a titanic collision in front of the van.  The wolf-thing unbalanced Blade, knocking him on his back.  He held his steel hatches crossed before him, keeping the snapping jaws at bay.

They all opened fire on it.  Bullets pierced the flesh but had no effect.  Little spurts of blood jutted out of the thing’s back, but if it felt any pain it didn’t show it.

Finally, Guppy took careful aim with his laser and, pointing at the wolf-thing’s head, pressed the trigger.  The beam grew in intensity until the mangy head burst into flame.  With a roar, the wolf turned and bounded off down the street faster.

Caprice looked at Guppy’s weapon.  “I’m going to requisition one of those from Redlight next time.”


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Part 3 – The Old House*

The rest of the drive was uneventful to Blackmoon’s house.   It was an old, lonely house with a sunflower spinning wheel. Two cats sat contentedly in a window.

Blade knocked on the door.

A crazy-looking Navajo woman with wild hair answered.  Cats spilled out, meowing loudly, through the opening.

“Who are you?” asked the woman. “What do you want?”

“Are you Michelle Blackmoon?” asked Blade.

The woman squinted her eyes at him.  “Who wants to know?”

Blade flashed his badge.  “We’re federal agents.”

“Don’t even start with that zoning crap!” shouted Blackmoon. “You can’t tell me how many cats people can have. I’ll have as many cats as I wanna have!”

“We’re not here about the cats, ma’am.”

She looked past over his shoulder. “You got anyone else with ya?”

Blade turned around.  

“Was that scarecrow there before?” asked Guppy.

“I don’t think so,” said Caprice.

“That’s not my scarecrow,” said Blackmoon.

The old woman grabbed a shotgun from inside the door and pointed it at Blade’s head.

“You’ve got ten seconds to get your ass outta my yard. And don’t think I’m gonna tell ya twice!”

“Whoa,” said Blade, putting up his hands.  “We just wanted to ask you some questions…”

The scarecrow suddenly bounded into action.  It pulled a huge scythe out of the fields and effortlessly carried it. It took one, two, three mighty leaps through the uncut grass and then it was on the roof of the house.  It barely made a thump. 

There was a shriek of wood and plaster.  Tile fell off the roof.  Caprice and Guppy backpedaled to get a better look at it.  “It just made a hole into the house!” shouted Caprice.

“Go on! Get out!” shouted Blackmoon. “What the hell did you bring into my house?” She slammed the door behind her. 

Blade slammed his shoulder into the door.  She had locked it.

They could hear her screaming through the front door. “Oh get outta here!” she shouted at a form at the top of her steps. “GET AWAY FROM MY BABIES YOU SON OF A BITCH! I’LL BLOW YOUR F**KING HEAD OFF!”

“Up the side of the house!” shouted Caprice to Guppy.  They grabbed a gutter pipe and started climbing.

There were two shotgun blasts. Hammer hurled himself through a side window into the foyer.  Blade followed suit.

Blackmoon was standing at the top of the steps, shotgun held limply in one hand.  She gagged and gulped.

Behind her was the Skinwalker.  Its flesh was pulled tightly over a skull, as if it were the flesh of a smaller man. The lips peeled back in a grin. 

Blackmoon gagged again. The Skinwalker hurled her down the steps.

Blade ducked to the side as the old woman’s body flopped down the steps.  Taking the steps three at a time, he buried one of his hatchets in the Skinwalker’s chest.

It laughed at him.  

Grabbing his wrist, the Skinwalker flipped Blade sideways and then kicked him down the steps.

Archive dragged Blade’s unconscious body back through the doorway to the front of the house.  To give them cover, Hammer fired both Glocks into the thing, emptying the clips.  

The Skinwalker jerked as the bullets hit, but they had little effect.  As it pointed, Hammer’s flesh split open in great rents across his chest and arms, as if he was a stuffed doll who had burst its seams.  He fell to the ground screaming.

The Skinwalker started making its way down the steps when a series of gunshots interrupted its descent.  Its head whipped around…

Peering down through the hole in the ceiling, Guppy and Caprice had their weapons trained on it. Caprice emptied his clip into the Skinwalker’s chest, knocking it backwards.  It windmilled at the edge of the steps. 

Guppy fired his laser at its feet.  Screeching, the Skinwalker bounced down the steps.  It landed on its back.

Archive fired his Glock into its forehead.  It didn’t get up.

Caprice turned to Guppy.  “We can cross Blackmoon off as a suspect.”

They hopped down into the house and clambered down the steps. 

Their cistrons beeped.  Caprice picked it up.  “Hello? Yeah?  We’ll be right over.”

“What’s up?” asked Archive, tending to Hammer and Blade’s wounds.

“Colorados wants to speak with us about fingerprints.”

“The ones he found on our van?” asked Archive.

“The same,” said Caprice.  “They belonged to Virgil Nist.”

“Who’s that?” asked Guppy, afraid to ask.

“The dead man who you found skinned at the bottom of the hole.”


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Part 4 – Police Station*

Colorados stood in the Phoenix police station, sharing the print outs of the fingerprints. “It’s an exact match.”

“Whatever it is, it’s dead,” said Hammer, recovered from his wounds with several stitches along his arms and chest.  

“Nist didn’t have a twin,” said Colorados seriously. “There’s only one way his fingerprints could be on your vehicle when he was dying at the bottom of that chasm.”

“Skinwalkers,” said Blade.

“Right,” said Colorados. “Since Nist’s body still has its hands, it had to be the skin.  Which would take incredible precision.”

The whole conversation was making Hammer uncomfortable.  “We killed it.  Find out who the man was in Blackmoon’s house and you’ll have your murderer.”

Then the lights went out.

“Hey, hey!” said one of the cops. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Colorados picked up the phone. “Hello?” He put it back down. “WE’VE GOT LIGHTS, AND PHONES, OUT UP HERE! CAN SOMEBODY TALK TO ME? What the hell? Have we got emergency lights here or WHAT?”

The emergency lights cut on inside the building. Over the intercom, Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” began playing.

“Are you kidding me?” shouted one of the cops.  “We don’t have power but they pipe in music?  Gimme a break!”

Colorados stood up. “All right people, we’re going into a lockdown situation. That means everybody sit tight and don’t move unless someone wearing a badge tells you to.” He turned to the team.  “Let’s go, I need to make sure the prisoners are secure.”

Colorados led them to the holding cells.

“All right, let’s go, gentlemen,” said Colorados. “Get up, show me some skin. You in a coma, buddy? We have a blackout. That means emergency head count. Hey lower bunk. Let me see some skin.”

The prisoner gave him the finger.

“That is special.” Colorados moved to another cell. “Heads up, heads up. Move it down there. Thank you. Thank you for joining us. Show me some skin, that’s it.”

He moved to the next cell. “Heads up, gentlemen…” There was no response. “Gentlemen?”

Two prisoners sat in their cell, shaking in fear. One man pointed to the next cell. Colorados walked over. 

Boots, a hat, a cloak, and other clothing lay carelessly on the ground. Colorados pointed his flashlight in the cell. 

The Skinwalker and a skinned prisoner were there. 

“What in the holy hell is that?” shouted Colorados.

“Shoot it!” shouted Hammer.  He drew his two Glocks.

Instead of drawing his weapon, Colorados stepped over to the cell and unlocked the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” screamed Hammer.  He tackled the sheriff, but not before the cell door was opened.

The Skinwalker simply stared at Blade.  Slowly, Blade took a step forward.

“Blade!” shouted Guppy.  “Snap out of it!”

Caprice and Archive fired their weapons at the thing, but it didn’t flinch.  It just kept staring.

Blade stepped inside the cell.  

Hammer got to his feet and, hurling himself at the cell door, slammed it shut.

“What are you doing?” shouted Guppy.  “You’ll trap him in there!”

“It’s too late for him already,” said Hammer.

The Skinwalker walked over to Blade and, clasping him in a twisted lover’s embrace, smothered him with its mouth.  

They stopped firing, watching in horror as Blade’s eyes rolled in the back of his head and he gagged.

There was the sound of something huge squawking and flapping above the cell.  Then the ceiling exploded as a huge pair of claws tore through it, grabbing Blade by the shoulders.  With another flap of its wings, Blade was lifted into the air.

“What the hell was that?” asked Caprice in shock.

“A shantak,” said Archive. “Someone summoned it.”

“It took him,” Guppy said over and over.  “It took him.”

“Let’s go!” shouted Hammer.  “Anything that large we can track!” He shoved Guppy towards the front entrance.


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Part 5 – Two Horse’s Place*

They sped behind the huge bird-like thing with a horse’s head, following its erratic path over hills and through deserts.  It swooped down, depositing Blade near a cabin, and then spiraled up into the sky out of sight.

“Something that big…” said Hammer nervously.  “We should call in a satellite strike or something.”

Archive shook his head.  “It’s fled into space, if not another dimension.  Shantaks are not of this world.  We won’t see it again.”

They crept their way towards old log cabin.  The door was open. 

It was a two-room affair, a bedroom and kitchen/living area with a front and back door of rough planking.  Blade was on his hands and knees, coughing and wheezing.

“Blade!” shouted Guppy.  “Are you okay?”

“It…” he gasped, eyes red from choking.  “It just jumped out…” he coughed again.  

Archive examined the pottery pieces on the mantle.  “These artifacts are quite old.  They look like they’re Anasazi workmanship, the type of quality only found in museums.”

Guppy lifted the lid on one of the jars.  He wrinkled his nose.  “I don’t know what this is…but it’s disgusting.”

It was a thick, pink, semitransparent substance filling the pot to the brim. 

Archive inspected it.  “It looks like some kind of emollient.”

“Emollient?” asked Caprice.

“It’s used to make skin soft and pliable,” said Archive with a grimace.

“Then you won’t want to know what’s in this jar,” said Hammer.  He lifted it up with the edge of his gun.  It looked like a sopping wet pile of fur.”

“Wolf fur, I’m guessing,” said Archive.

“There’s nothing else in here,” said Caprice.  “Just an old boiler.”

“If the thing left Blade, it had to go somewhere,” said Hammer.  He didn’t seem entirely convinced that it had really left Blade.

Archive blanched as he opened the last jar.  “I think I know what happened to that woman,” he said quietly. “Her skin’s in here.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Hammer asked Blade.  “Anything?”

“I was throwing up something...” Blade wiped his eyes.  “It was red and purple…it snaked down…there.” He pointed to one corner of the room.

Guppy got down on his hands and knees.  “Yep.  There’s a loose floorboard here.”

Blade leaned over and, inserting one of his hatchets into the gap, pulled upwards.  The wood bent with a creak and then, Blade’s arms straining, flipped upwards.  It bounced off the floor and clattered into an opening down below.

Hammer took a deep breath.  “Who wants to go first?”

“It took me,” said Blade, “so I’ll go first.”

There was a ladder leading down.  He took it one step at a time.

Peering through the darkness, he swung a flashlight beam across to the far side.  The basement was huge, dug out by unnatural hands well beyond the length of the cabin.

Something roiled in the far corner.

More flashlight beams crossed to illuminate it as the rest of the team descended. They could make out the stretched features of a man’s face and hand, flattened, stretched, and enlarged to clown-like proportions in a macabre patchwork of flesh.  It was a stitched quilt of human skin, and beneath it something started, as if suddenly awakened.

“Back,” gasped Blade.  “Back!”

One of the faces in the flesh lifted up on a pseudopod.  Then the whole thing began rolling like a sentient wave, skin falling over skin, tracking up dirt and grime as the quilt of flesh surged toward them.

Hammer unloaded both pistols reflexively, but the bullets merely punctured the undulating skin.  

“Go!” shouted Guppy.  He fired his laser, and the thing hesitated as the flesh smoked and burned. 

With the rest of the team back up in the cabin, Guppy clambered up the ladder.  One pseudopod grabbed hold of his leg…

Archive dumped the emollient down the shaft.  The flesh shuddered and lost its grip on Guppy.

Stumbling onto the wooden floor, they scrabbled backwards.  

“How do we stop it?” shouted Caprice.

“Fire,” said Guppy.  He trained his laser on the boiler.  “Can you lure it over to it?”

Blade blinked.  “I…yes, I think so.”

The flesh flopped outwards over the hole, probing.  

The boiler’s temperature gauged flipped to the danger zone.  Guppy trained his laser on the heating element.

Blade ran over to the boiler.  “Over here!”  He held one of his hatchets.  With a practiced throw, he hurled it at the flesh.  The axe bit deep, only to be enveloped.  The thing began extending pseudopods towards him.

“When it gets on top of that boiler,” said Guppy.  “Shoot it.”

Hammer reloaded his pistol and nodded.

The flesh shuddered and flexed, rising up in a wall as it crawled halfway up the side of the cabin, across the floor, and over the boiler.  

The boiler squealed from the intense heat.  Blade flinched as bolts affixing the boiler to the wall fired out under the pressure, punching holes in the thick wood of the cabin’s walls. 

“Now!” shouted Guppy he backed out of the entryway to the cabin.  

Blade dove for the window, hurling himself through it.

Hammer fired a carefully aimed shot, piercing the boiler.

There was a terrific explosion as the boiler ripped from its moorings, propelled by a blast of scalding hot steam. It ruptured outwards, tearing through the flesh-thing as it rocketed upwards.  The explosion blasted outwards and upwards, flattening the cabin, shearing right through the roof.

Hammer and Blade were stunned, flat on their backs from the proximity of the explosion and covered by splinters and logs.  

“Holy crap,” said Caprice.  “There can’t be anything left of that thing!”

“Get down!” shouted Archive.

A hail of bloody gibbets of flesh, bits of metal from the boiler, and chunks of wood showered all around them.


----------



## talien

*Skinwalker: Conclusion*

They were driving back to Phoenix in the van. Blade was at the wheel.

“So that was the Skinwalker?” asked Caprice.

“There were two,” said Archive, “the Skinwalker itself and a Navajo witch.”

“The man we killed at Blackmoon’s house was known as Charlie Two-Horses,” said Hammer.  “Judging by the pelt we found in his cabin, he was also the wolf that attacked us.”

“But that doesn’t explain the thing down in his basement,” said Guppy with a shudder.

“That was the Skinwalker,” said Archive.  “The place you found the bodies was its lair.”

“So Charlie digs up the Skinwalker,” postulated Caprice.  “He promises it bodies in exchange for the same powers.  Then he goes on a killing spree.  The woman—“

“Anna Price,” added Hammer.

“Anna finds him digging around down there and the Charlie decides she’ll be his first victim.”

“Until we caught him in the act,” said Blade grimly.  “It looks like he was stitching skin together for the thing so it could grow.”

“It’s a good thing we caught it when we did,” said Archive.  “There were remnants of egg shells in the cabin too.”

“What was up with the weird song playing every time the thing showed up?” asked Guppy.  “Why would it broadcast its presence?”

“I think that was something else,” said Blade.

“Like Coyote?” asked Archive.

“Like Coyote,” Blade said, but he didn’t confirm that it was actually Coyote because he suspected worse.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Hammer. “Why did it let you go, Blade?  I thought for sure it would have ripped your skin off and added you to the collection.”

Blade didn’t say anything at first.  “Maybe it didn’t want me.”

They laughed.  “Yeah, you’re too disgusting even for a Skinwalker,” joked Guppy.

Blade didn’t laugh.  Because he knew, deep down, that it had been forced out.  By something that already called Blade’s body its home.

He scratched idly at one of his palms.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 9: Darkest Calling - Introduction*

This scenario, “Darkest Calling,” is from the Call of Cthulhu supplement “The Stars Are Right” by David Conyers. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Jake “Blade” Iron Shirt* (Strong Hero) played by *Matt Hammer*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
Darkest Calling is one of those scenarios that set up a moral dilemma in the hopes that the PCs will opt for the greater good and will thus just go along with the plot.  To whit, a shaman commits murder as part of a ritual to banish extradimensional horrors. He’s the good guy in the greater scheme of things, and the scenario hopes the PCs will see it that way. 

But they didn’t.  Although they understood why the shaman was doing what he was doing, there was no way they were going to go along with the scenario.  The scenario also puts them in the position of impossible odds: it’s assumed the agents go to speak to the shaman on a reservation alone with no backup.  What a surprise, the PCs are overwhelmed and become the next sacrifice.

Except the agents were far too smart for that.  They figured out the ritual pattern and laid a trap.  So I had to play dirty and have some unexpected allies be in on the ritual too. 

It doesn’t help that the scenario suffers from an error that is crucial to the PC’s success.  According to the scenario’s logic, the first victim should have a dot on his left hand, the second should have two dots on her left foot, the third should have three dots on his right foot, the fourth should have four dots on his right hand, and the fifth should have five dots on his forehead. The PCs find Kate Draper with two dots on her left foot, making her the second victim.  Paco Yuma, listed as male in the scenario, is described as having “a single gray dot painted on her hand.”  So already we’re switching genders.  Then it reads, “the middle right symbol has a single dot on the head (TRUE) matching the dot pattern on Paco Yuma’s head (FALSE, it’s on his hand), while the lower right symbol has two dots on the left hand matching the dot patterns on Kate’s left hand (FALSE, as the dots were on Kate’s left foot).  This tripped me up something awful and I had to reread it a few times during play before I realized it was an error.

The other problem is that the agents are basically tied up and thrown down a hole. They wait for days before being sacrificed. No agent (and I would argue no PC) will just wait around without having a plan.  To my surprise, their plan almost worked.

Almost.  This is a huge turning point in the campaign.  Things are about to get ugly and political. 

*Defining Moment:* The defining moment in this game was when Archive was called upon to make an impromptu speech.  He did an excellent job. And of course, the finale – this scenario marks the departure of one of our long time players as he leaves for Australia.  We’ll miss him!   

Relevant Media

*Burden in My Hand:*  by Soundgarden. This is one of those songs that perfectly sums up the scenario, from Blade's alcohol problems, to being "haunted by my ghost," to following someone into the desert, to a dead woman's body.  I love Soundgarden. 
*The Stars Are Right:* Contains the Darkest Calling scenario.


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Prologue*



> _Follow me into the desert
> As thirsty as you are
> Crack a smile and cut your mouth
> And drown in alcohol_​
> --_Burden in My Hand_ by Soundgarden​



PHOENIX, AZ--“You know, if we keep this up, Caprice is just going to quit,” said Guppy glumly.  One of their own had been called on to sacrifice himself yet again to the bureaucratic gods.  Doing “paperwork” as they called it actually entailed much more than just paperwork.  It meant being cross-examined by a committee, who wanted to know what was done and why.

In their most recent case, there was much cleaning up to do.  

“We destroyed the Skinwalker,” said Archive. “That’s not enough?”

“There were records in the Phoenix police station of a man’s fingerprints who was most certainly dead,” said Hammer.  “So no, it wasn’t enough.  They had to set fire to the police station after the Shantak attacked.”

“What’s the cover story?” asked Blade.

Hammer frowned.  “Native American extremists attacked the police station after believing some kind of messiah-like figure was killed in a shootout with federal agents.” As an African-American, he didn’t like the tone the cover-up had taken.  

“They made Charlie Two-Horses out to be the underdog?” asked Archive in disbelief.  

Hammer nodded.  “It’s easier to believe that than a guy running around stealing skins.”

Blade sighed.  “Whatever.  The mission was considered a success overall or we wouldn’t be on this next case. We’re looking for Kate Draper, a Majestic friendly.  She disappeared investigating a missing person in the Tohono O’odham Indian Reservation in the Sonoran Desert.”

“Isn’t that your people?” asked Archive.

“Yeah,” said Blade. “Which is why I’m mission leader.  Again.”

”What is it with this place?” asked Hammer.  “You’ve got all kinds of supernatural weirdness in Arizona.”

“I think this may be all connected,” said Blade.  “What do you have on Draper so far?”

Archive looked up from his keyboard. “A couple of articles on missing persons and cattle, wolf, and coyote mutilations.” 

Guppy cleared his throat. “I was able to hack into her e-mail account. She downloaded several online resources on the Kokoham people, a race of American Indians who once lived in the Sonoran Desert but vanished around 1000 A.D. Her e-mail also includes an electronic insurance form with her rental company; she was driving a Toyota Landcruiser, registration number GZB 334.”

“Great, we’ll have to track—“ began Blade.

“I also hacked her credit card transactions,” said Guppy proudly.  “Her recent expenses match those of her expense reports except for one: a back country camping permit purchased at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument three days ago.”

Blade shifted gears as he pulled off one of the exits.  “Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument it is.”

Archive stared at Guppy in awe.  “Remind me to never tick you off.”


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Part 1 – The Abandoned Vehicle*

A Papago State Ranger remembered Kate Draper.  He told the agents that Kate was heading down to the southeast corner of the Ajo Range.  

Numerous dirt roads crossed the monument, so it took time to find Kate’s vehicle.  Eventually, the spotted her four-wheel drive parked at the end of a very long road.  

Pistols out, they surrounded the vehicle.  

“Clear,” said Hammer. 

Using one of his lock-picking tools, Guppy popped the locks.

A quick examination revealed a Lonely Planet guide to the Southwest, an Apache-English phrasebook, some handwritten notes, a photocopied article, and a torn photocopy depicting a diagram of two stars. Archive took pictures of everything with his cistron.

Archive scanned the notes.  “She was trying to draw a connection between the missing person cases and the animal mutilations.  Tying it to some ancient Kokoham curse.”

They took a walking trail that led up through a rocky, mountainous pass east into the Monument.  

Trekking through the Sonoran Desert was hard work.  The trail continued for fives miles, and uninterrupted it took three hours. Though they brought plenty of water, the heat was brutal.

“This…couldn’t we have…” gasped Guppy. “Taken a helicopter?”

“I thought you Indians were used to hot weather,” said Hammer with a smirk.

“I am!” said Guppy.  “But this…this is a desert!”

They bumped into Blade, who was staring down over the next rise.  

There before them was the corpse of a woman.  She was naked, face up, spread like a star and bound by ropes to stakes pounded into the earth.  Her body was decorated with fresh cuts, creating a pattern of spirals, stars, crescents, and swirls.  Everything between her abdomen and her knees had been eaten away.

Guppy stumbled away, gagging.

Hammer leaned down over the body.  “This is Kate.” He snapped on a pair of plastic gloves and began talking into his cistron.  “No clothes, jewelry, money, identification, or camping equipment.  Bleeding indicates the pattern was carved into her skin while still alive, administered shortly before her death.”

Blade peered over Hammer’s shoulder.  “The patterns on her body are a mixture of Tohono O’odham and Kokoham styles symbolizing creatures from the underworld.”

“Some of them are reminiscent of constellations,” said Archive on the other side.  He got down on his knees.  “See this? There are two gray dots painted on her left foot, one above the other.”

“The fatal wound in her midsection suggests an attack by a large animal,” said Hammer.  “There’s a thick, orange substance on the wound…” He swabbed it with an evidence kit.  “It smells vaguely of bile.”  Hammer moved on.  “The body is greenish around the abdomen.  Her fingers, toes, eyes, and face have withered, and bloating suggests she’s been dead for at least two days.”

Guppy, who had been heaving off in the scrub but not actually vomiting, finally returned.  “There is a circular depression of sand where nothing grows over there.  It looks like it collapsed, like a sinkhole.”

Before anyone could respond, the thud-thud-thuding of a chopper overhead interrupted their conversation.

Hammer reached for his Glocks.  “Looks like we’ve got company.”


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Part 2a – Police Investigations*

“Drop your weapons and lay face down on the ground with your hands on your head!” shouted the loudspeaker from the helicopter.

”What the hell is this?” asked Hammer.

“That would be the Phoenix police department,” said Blade.  “We’d better do as they say.”

They did as they were told.  The helicopter landed and four officers left the craft to handcuff them.  Two were in plain clothes and three were in uniform.  

“We’re federal agents!” shouted Blade over the roar of the chopper.  “Check our badges!”

“Right, sure,” said an attractive redhead with her hair tied back in a ponytail.  She was dressed in dark-rimmed glasses, a t-shirt and jeans.  “You don’t look like agents.”

“You don’t look like a police officer,” said Hammer.

She fished Blade’s badge out of his pocket.  “CIFA huh?  We’ll have to confirm your identities...”

“We’re in the middle of an investigation!” shouted Blade.  But they were already being ushered into the helicopter. 

She closed the door inside the chopper, muffling the roar of the engine. “I’m Andrea Knightly, detective in charge of the Phoenix Homicide Unit.  Two hikers reported the findings to park rangers.”

“You’d better make the calls quick,” snarled Hammer.  “You’re interrupting a federal investigation…”

“Hey!” said Knightly, poking one finger into Hammer’s chest.  “I don’t care if you ARE feds, this is MY jurisdiction.” She opened the door again and hopped out.  “If you are feds, I’m sure you won’t mind waiting while my men investigate the crime scene.”  

She flashed them a smile and then, with a whirling motion of one finger to the pilot, closed the door again.


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Part 2b – Police Investigations*

The Phoenix police kept them for hours before they were finally released.

“Looks like you’re legit,” said Knightly.  They were all uncuffed. 

She perched herself on a desk in the Phoenix police station.  

Guppy looked around.  It was a different police station than the one that the Skinwalker had escaped from. ”Hopefully we don’t have to burn this one too,” he muttered.

“What?” asked Knightly.

“Nothing,” said Guppy. 

“So what can I do for the mysterious, we-don’t-report-our-budget-to-the-American-people Counter-Intelligence Field Agency?”

“We’re investigating the murder of Kate Draper,” said Blade. “Any information you can share would be greatly appreciated.”

Knightly relaxed somewhat.  “Draper’s actually the second victim.  The first was a young Papago Indian named Paco Yuma.”

”My people prefer the phrase ‘Tohono O’odham’,” said Blade.

“Oh, right.”  Knightly nodded.  “So anyway, he was murdered on the Tohono reservation in exactly the same way three days before Draper died.”

“Can we see photos of the body?” asked Archive.

“Sure.”  She dug out the file and handed it to Archive.  “Why?”

Archive flipped through the pictures.  “There.”  He pulled out one of them.  “There’s a single gray dot painted on Yuma’s left hand.” He clicked on his cistron.  “And here’s a picture of Draper’s left foot, with two gray dots.”

“Gray dots.” Knightly rolled her eyes.  “What are they teaching you guys at school?”

Hammer cleared his throat.  “He’s a friendly, actually…” when he caught her gaze, Hammer shrugged.  “It’s complicated.”

“We found this piece of paper in Draper’s car,” said Archive.  It showed two stick figures, one with a dot next to its left arm and the other with two dots next to its left leg. “I think we have a ritual killing on our hands.”

Blade furrowed his brow.  “There is an old Indian legend that I remember my father telling me.  There were five evil underworld spirits that plagued the lands of the Kokoham. A shaman called upon the services of five brave sons and daughters, who traveled with the shaman into the desert. Together they confronted the spirits in their lair.  The shaman offered his five sons and daughters as sacrifices in exchange for peace with his people.  The spirits accepted the offer.”

Archive tapped on his cistron.  “It wouldn’t by any chance look like this, would it?”

On the small screen was a complete picture of five stick figures, including the two from the lower right corner that were on Draper’s notes.  There were dots numbering one through five on each of them, with an odd-looking face in the center.

“This is from Chants and Rituals of the Sonoran Indian Tribes, by Janice Fletcher.”  Archive turned to Knightly.  “Do you have a local map of the area?”

“Sure,” she led them over to a large map of southwestern Arizona.  “These two red pins indicate the murders.”


Archive’s eyes went wide.  “Are you descended from the Kokoham?” he asked Blade.

Blade blinked.  He hadn’t expected that question.  “I don’t know…” he mumbled. “My father used to rant about it when he was drunk.  I think that’s why Palmer took me under his wing.  But there’s really no way to prove it…”

“Can you remember anything about constellations at all?  I think it ties to the murders.”

Blade considered the question.  “There was a star called Sharnoth.”

Archive tapped away on his cistron.  “Got it.  Sharnoth is a perfectly aligned pentagram of stars inside the constellation of Gemini, although the middle star isn’t visible.”

Blade turned to Guppy.  “Can you correlate the remaining three points with that constellation?”

Guppy tapped more keys.  “Tapping into the GPCA in Nebraska…got it.”  A map of the Arizona desert appeared on the cistrons.  The five stick figures appeared on it, two matching the locations of Yuma and Draper’s murders.  Then another virtual overlay appeared, indicating the location of the constellations.  The cistron beeped as the remaining three sites flickered.

Blade checked his watch and sighed.  “We’re too late.  My guess is you’ll find your third victim…” he looked at the cistron and then, picking up a pushpin, speared a point on the wall map a couple of inches to the left of Draper’s murder. “Here.”

Knightly nodded.  “I’ll send men to check it out.  But that means we know where the next murder is going to take place.”

“That’s right,” said Blade with a slow smile.  He tapped the fourth spot on the map with one finger. “And in three days, we’ll be waiting.”


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Part 3 – The Elder Stars Ritual*

Several motorbikes made their way to the ritual.  Blade’s heart sank as he saw it was Native Americans.  

There were five men with a shaman at the center, also Native American.  He was dressed in ceremonial garb.

“Wait for my signal,” whispered Hammer to the police snipers sequestered all around the site.

Blade looked through his binoculars.  “That’s John Takoda.  A shaman on the Papago Reservation.”

Takoda was a tall, thin man with parchment-like wrinkled skin and long gray hair tied in a ponytail.  He wore jeans, a checkered shirt, and cowboy boots. 

They carefully bound the man to the ground.  He showed no signs of resistance.  Then, lifting a knife over the man’s head, he began cutting into his flesh.

“That’s it, go, go, go!”

The agents rushed forward, pistols out.  “Hands up!  On the ground, now!”

The Native Americans looked up, surprisingly calm.  Takoda put his hands up.  “Jacob Ironshirt.  You have come, as Coyote foretold.”

“Put the knife down,” said Blade.  He pointed the pistol at Takoda.

“You have interfered with things that you do not understand.  Our people are to be protected, as will all men, women and children of this earth if I am allowed to complete the rituals of banishment.”

“Down!” shouted Hammer.  

Takoda shook his head.  “If we do not, the lands will be subject to darkness and death, bringing the time when the stars are right ever closer.  Our people have long understood sacrifice, a concept lost to your modern ways.

“This is not the way to do it,” said Hammer. “I’m not going to ask you again!”

“I have volunteers who understand that the interest of the tribe come first,” said Takoda.  “But now it seems Coyote has sent you to me to serve a higher purpose.”

Takoda resumed the carving of the man’s flesh on the ground.  

“Take him out!” shouted Hammer into his mic.

There was the crack of a sniper’s rifle.  Hammer’s pistol flew out of his hand. He swore, clutching his bleeding fist.  “Son of a bitch, they missed!”

“They didn’t miss,” said Knightly, striding towards them.  “Did I mention I’m half-Papago?”

Guppy shouted into his cistron.  “Agents compromised!  Repeat: agents compromised!”

Blade turned around in shock.  “You?”

“Oh I know I don’t look it.  But then, you look pretty damn Native American to me and you don’t seem to give two s**ts about your own people.”  

The other police officers forced the agents’ hands behind their backs.  Blade looked around.  They were all Native Americans.

“This is only going to make us look worse,” he said quietly.

The Phoenix cops forced all the agents to their knees and stripped them of their weapons.

“Save your breath,” said Knightly.  “Watch and learn.”

Takoda finished carving odd patterns into the man’s skin. He ended it by painting four dots on the man’s right hand. Then he stepped away and chanted.  

Something welled up from the sand.  Dozens of its long stick legs crawled out of the sand like a spider, raising up a chaotic, wriggling mass. Mouths opened up from the dark torso, revealing teeth the texture of ice shards, opening into deep throats of blackness that gurgled forth phlegm-soup similar to tadpole eggs.  The clicking, beating of woody-knolls across its pulsating shape repeated like Morse code. 

The sacrificial victim screamed as the thing shambled closer.  Takoda stepped out of the thing’s path.

It moved over the man, who screamed again, his voice drowned out by the clicking.  When it slithered away, his torso was scoured to the bone in the same pattern that they had found Draper’s body.  

Tears streamed down Blade’s face. Hammer watched stoically. Archive watched with frank curiosity.  Guppy kept his eyes closed and looked away.

Another hole opened in the sand on the other side of the corpse.  The thing crawled into it and seemed to be flushed downwards, the clicking sound disappearing with a loud pop.

“Now do you understand?” asked Takoda.  

“I understand you just killed an innocent man,” Blade replied.

Takoda sighed.  “Still your eyes have not been opened.  Very well.  We will see if you change your mind in three days.” He nodded towards Knightly.  “Take them to the well.”


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Part 4a – The Well*

They were driven into the desert far off the main roads and taken to a natural dry well.  On the surface, wooden boards covered the well decorated with Indian designs.  It was clear they had recently been broken with incredible force from the inside.  

They were tossed into darkness.  The fall, a good twenty feet, was slightly mitigated by the large amount of soft sand at the bottom.  

“Everyone all right?” asked Blade.

“I think…” gasped Guppy.  “I twisted my ankle.”

Time came and went.  

“I think I found something,” said Archive. He pushed away some sand, revealing a glitter of metal in the few shafts of sunlight that made it into the well.  “It’s a woman’s bracelet.”

It read: _To Kate, Love Always, Liam._

“Someone will come for us,” said Guppy.  “I sent a message before we were picked up.”

“It’s been days,” said Hammer glumly.  “They should have been here by now.”

_“They’re coming soon,”_ whispered something hideous in Blade’s mind.  _“You must escape now or they will kill you.”_

“They’ll be coming soon,” said Blade.  “They’re going to sacrifice one of us.  So if we’re going to make our move, we have to do it now.”

“Do what?” asked Archive. “Climb the sheer wall of the well?” 

_“I will help you,” _whispered the voice.

“I can do it,” said Blade.  He took a deep breath.  Closing his eyes, he pressed his palms against the plastic zip ties.  They snapped easily. 

Blade dropped them to the ground.  Archive looked at them in disbelief.  It looked as if they had been chewed through.

“How did you do that?”

“Never mind that,” he whispered.  “I’ll take out the guards and get some help.”

Blade put one palm flat against the wall.  It stuck, like he was some sort of spider. He pressed his left hand and similar found purchase.  One handhold after another, he slowly but surely climbed the walls that no man could possibly have climbed.

“How is he doing that?” asked Hammer.

“Who cares as long as he gets us out of here!” asked Guppy.

A few seconds after Blade cleared the well, one guard fell into the pit.  Another fell soon after. The agents ensured they stayed unconscious. 

Then their walkie-talkies started squawking.  

Guppy dove for one of them.  “Oh crap, they’re checking in!”  He panicked.  “It’s in…Native American, I think!”

“Throw it up to me!” Blade shouted down to them.

Guppy tried, but it merely bounced off the side of the well.  It smashed to pieces as it fell.

“I got it.” Hammer grabbed the second walkie-talkie and hurled it up to Blade. 

Blade caught the walkie-talkie and spoke into it in another language.  

“That should hold them off for a little while,” he shouted down. “See if you can find something to help you climb up.”

“We’ll tie their shirts and pants together,” said Hammer.  He turned to Archive and Guppy.  “Strip them and make some solid knots.  We’ll fashion rope out of their clothes and throw it to Blade.”

They stripped the two guards’ clothes and made a makeshift rope from them.  Guppy suddenly noticed the green flicker of a cistron’s power light in the sand.  He dug it out. 

 “I’ll call for help!” shouted Guppy.  He flicked it on.  The biometrics read his thumbprint…

Guppy stared at it. “I…I don’t understand.”

“What?” asked Hammer.  “What is it?” He looked over Guppy’s shoulder.  “Oh s**t.”

“What?” asked Archive.

“We’ve been…” Guppy couldn’t continue.  He just held up the cistron, glowing in the dark of the well.  

In the darkness the screen was clearly visible.  It read: DISAVOWED.

“What does that mean?” asked Guppy.

“I don’t know,” said Hammer.

Blade was talking to someone up top.  They couldn’t make out his conversation.  

“Blade?” 

There was no response.

A few minutes later the cistrons began beeping.  It read: AGENT COMPROMISED.

Then an explosion rocked the ground.


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling: Part 4b – The Well*

Blade cleared the lip of the well.  The guards were talking amongst themselves, fiddling with the cistrons, trying to figure out how they worked.  They were all run by biometrics, fingerprint recognition. The cistrons wouldn’t work for them, but the guards didn’t know that.

Blade came up behind one guard and grabbed him in a choke hold.  With a roar, he flung the man into the well.  The guard, cistron and all, went hurdling into the pit.

The other guard drew his pistol.  Blade chopped it out of his hand with an open palm jab.  

The guard swung at him, but Blade caught the punch easily in his palm. He squeezed, and the guard screamed as his fist dripped blood.

Hurling him like a rag doll, Blade tossed the second guard into the pit.

Then Guppy started shouting about the guards having to check in.  A walkie-talkie sailed over the edge of the well.  Blade caught it just as the voice on the other end rose in alarm.

“Everything’s fine,” he said in the O’odham dialect. It was difficult – he had always considered himself Apache.  His father was Apache, his mother Navajo.  The Kokoham lineage was a myth that Palmer used to tell him when he was a child.  It made Blade feel better about himself when his father beat him in one of his drunken rages.

But now Blade had a chance to be a hero.  He shouted down for his teammates to find something to help them climb up.  If they tied the clothes of the guards together…

Up top, nearby cacti suddenly lurched forward, grabbing Blade’s arms as if they were refugees from some Wizard of Oz set. 

Out of the darkness strode John Takoda and his men. They were all there: Knightly, the renegade police officers, the entire tribe had turned out to see the last sacrifice.  They watched in complete silence. 

“Your O’odham needs some work,” said Takoda quietly.  “Why are you fighting your destiny?”

“Fighting?” Blade snarled. “Give me my hatchets and I’ll show you fighting.”

“You do not understand.”  They tied him up again, his legs too this time.  Then they tossed Blade into the back of a jeep. “Think of the dark spirits you have defeated.”

_“He’s trying to trick you,”_ whispered the voice.  _“Don’t listen to him.”_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snarled Blade.

“I think you do.  First you defeated the Traveler.  Then Thin Jack.  Then the Skinwalker.  I dispelled the Festering Shambler.  There is but one more spirit and one more sacrifice to be made.  Will you not go honorably?”

The jeep bounced along as they drove out to the spot of the sacrifice. 

Blade growled.  “This is not about honor.”  He strained at his bonds.  “This is about survival. There is no fifth creature!  You’re just killing innocent people for no reason!”

_“Kill them,”_ whispered the voice.  _“Or they will kill us.”_

The jeep squealed to a stop.  Takoda’s men lifted Blade out and strapped him down to the ground.

_“You will be my high priest.”_

“I disagree,” said Takoda.  “And deep in your heart, you know the truth.  Coyote knows it.  Your ancestors know it.  Palmer knew it.  These sacrifices are why you succeeded.  They had to happen, or you would not have defeated those spirits.”

_“You will call down the shapes of night to worship me at the times of year.”_

“There’s no fifth spirit!” shouted Blade, flailing at his bonds.  “This is a bunch of supernatural garbage!”

_“You will prostrate yourself before me and in return you will survive when the earth is cleared off for the Great Old Ones.”_

Takoda began carving symbols into his flesh. Strangely, it didn’t hurt at all.
_
“You will go beyond the rim to what stirs out of the light…”_

“Are you so blinded that you do not see?” He reached into a small pot of gray paint and placed five dots on Blade’s forehead.  

“There’s nothing to see!” shouted something that was not Blade’s voice.  It came from one of his palms. 

Takoda shined his flashlight on Blade’s open palm.  A fanged maw had erupted there like a wart, teeth and a long tongue trailing bloody saliva as it shrieked. 

“YOU are the final spirit,” said Takoda sadly. “And the final sacrifice. You are both man’s destruction and salvation.”

He began chanting over Blade’s body. 

Blade’s body shuddered.  With a roar, he easily snapped the bonds.  

The shaman looked down in surprise as an open palm gripped his face, tearing off his nose.  He was tossed aside effortlessly.

Bullets thudded into his flesh.  The police, the Native Americans, all of them fired, screaming, shouting. It wouldn’t help them.

He was power incarnate, unleashed at last, not in a whimpering pedophile’s body but a strong, healthy one that could withstand some abuse. 

He was no longer Blade.  He was no longer Kokoham, or Apache, or Navajo.  

He was Y’golonac, and he would stride forth from the loneliness of the aeons to walk once more among men.

He tore the shaman in half just as the beeping started.  It was in his head.  The transformation was almost complete.  He wouldn’t need the head soon anyway…

There was the mournful howl of a coyote.

And then Y’golonac/Blade remembered fear.


----------



## talien

*Darkest Calling - Conclusion*

The Academy was nestled comfortably into the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains at the tail end of the Rockies in northern New Mexico.  It had the bearing and appearance of an old-world military academy, with the scenery of the mountainous American Southwest.  

Caprice, Jim-Bean, Archive, and Hammer acted as pallbearers, solemnly bringing a memorial coffin to the Spire. They marched a path, flanked by Majestic-12 agents, a four-story needle of the flattest black.  

Christine and Alex were there, flown in under secrecy.  They didn’t know where they were, and wouldn’t have been able to identify it if they tried.  They were only there as a result of Drake’s intractable stubbornness, who promised that Outlook could wipe their memories later. 

It was the right thing to do, he said.

They tried to find his family, but Jake’s father wouldn’t respond to their calls.  His brother was missing.  His mother was long dead. And so only Christine and Alex stood in testament to what little family Jake had left on Earth. 

Archive cleared his throat.  As the only team member with any religious background, it fell to him to speak of the dead.

“Jacob Ironshirt, known to us as Blade, died as he lived. He was loyal to his family and friends, and protected them both when they needed it most.  He reached rock bottom and, through sheer force of will, crawled his way back into the light.  And now, his journey is complete. Jake can rest in peace knowing that he died, not as a TV star, or as a father, or as a CIFA agent, but as a hero.  He will be immortalized in our hearts.  May God rest his soul. Amen.”

“Amen,” said the agents as one.

Drake solemnly wrapped up the American flag and presented it to Alex.  The boy, eyes wide with tears, took it without comment.

Rifles were fired.  And then on a television screen, it was revealed that Drake’s name was etched into the Spire, joining the other two thousand cadets and agents who died in the line of duty.

When it was over, Christine and Alex were whisked away without saying a word.  The Outlook team would be gentle, they promised.  They would only remember him as a military hero, killed while on reservist duty in Iraq. Drake threatened to kill them if either of them so much as had a headache.

Drake was waiting for the agents in his office.  He poured a shot of scotch for each of them. 

“To Blade,” he said, tears in his eyes.  It rattled the other agents.  They had never seen anything but rage from the old man.

They clinked their glasses.  “To Blade!”

They all downed it at once.  It was strong stuff from his special stash.

“What happened back there, Drake?” asked Hammer.  “We got a message we were disavowed?”

Drake put down the shot glass. “You were. If those @$$holes in Majestic-12 had their say, they would have dropped the lot of you.”

“So what happened?” asked Caprice.

“I fought tooth-and-nail to get you reinstated,” he said vehemently.  He poured another shot of scotch and poured it into the glasses of everyone within reach.  “That’s what I do.  I protected my men. I’ve lost plenty in my command.  But not that way.  Nobody should go that way.”

“So it’s true?” asked Guppy fearfully. “We all have bombs in our heads?”

Drake stared at the wall.  “I didn’t believe it.  There have always been rumors of a new failsafe.  But I didn’t believe them.”  He downed another shot. “I should have.”

Guppy rubbed his temples.  “So they could blow us up at any time?”

Drake plunked down his shot glass and grabbed the pull.  He took a long pull from it.  “Not my problem anymore.”

He walked towards the door.

“Not your problem?” Hammer peered at him.  “Where are you going, sir?”

“I quit,” said Drake.  “Your new case officer starts on Monday.  I hear he’s a real hard ass.”  

The agents all stared at each other in shock as the door closed behind him.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 10: PX Poker Night - Introduction*

This scenario, “PX Poker Night,” is a D20 Call of Cthulhu scenario from Dungeon Magazine #96 by Dennis Detwiller. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers! Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*
There’s an odd trend in D20 Delta Green scenarios: they seem torn between making the conflict about pseudo-sci-fi topics and blatantly supernatural, magical beings.  For an example, see the other introductory scenario for Delta Green, Puppet Shows and Shadow Plays, where a supernatural Coyote helps the agents out.  In PX Poker Night, it’s a dimensional shambler.

PX Poker Night has a lot of great ingredients but not much guidance on how to use them. There are no less than twelve characters (not counting the agents, who replaced three of them) that handle the day-to-day duties of Platte Air Force Base. Encountering each of them takes a considerable amount of work, but I really wanted to flesh out their personalities so there were some good foils to role-playing against.  I basically just fast-forwarded through the various shifts, wherein one PC got to hang out with one NPC each day.  A short amount of role-playing ensued to allow them some time for dialogue.  Once all nine were introduced, it was time to introduce the poker game.

I toyed with the idea of playing an actual poker game, but role-playing with the various characters took up plenty of time already, so I just skipped to the crazy event.  The other problem I noticed is that the scenario doesn’t provide information in an easy-to-find fashion. Breaking into the armory where the weapons are stored--probably the most important part of the scenario--is obscured as part of a map key. 

I debated about adding in the dimensional shambler, but since the agents had already encountered one from before I decided it was time to reintroduce a recurring villain.  And the dimensional shambler also provided an excellent form of menace that guided Guppy right into his worst nightmare. 

This was one of those games where not everyone showed up, leaving us with just three agents.  That’s not usually a problem if all three are stalwarts of sanity.  Except one of them is SO NOT. 

*Defining Moment:* The defining moment came when Guppy went bonkers. This was the first time the Tower of Sanity actually collapsed.  Mind you, he had it coming…the crystal generator was making everyone bonkers anyway, and it just took a little shove to push poor Guppy over the edge.  Of course, being alone with aliens in the dark will do that to you.

Relevant Media

*The Warning:*  by Nine Inch Nails. You don't hear songs that talk about alien contact very often, much less from NIN.  But here it is!
*Dungeon Magazine #96:*  The source for this scenario. You can also get it for free by joining the DG mailing list. 
*Oddcast Virtual Host:*  Need a talking creepy grey alien but don’t want to role-play it?  Oddcast has the answer: pick the virtual avatar, pick its voice, and then type in what you want it to say.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night - Prologue*



> _Some say it was a warning
> Some say it was a sign
> I was standing right there
> When it came down from the sky_​
> _--The Warning_ by Nine Inch Nails​



NORTH PLATTE, NB--Guppy, Hammer, and Caprice were stationed at the Platte AFB with no explanation.  One step up from a military prison, the Spartan base consisted of a dozen buildings and two airstrips in the middle of a Nebraska wasteland some twenty miles from Marion, the nearest town.  

They had been given their assignments by cistron, which were promptly taken away.  Weapons too.  Their assignments were spread across the base, and never together. Guppy came upon his first denizen of the base tinkering with a Chevy Blazer 4x4.

Guppy extended his hand to a trim, wiry redheaded man with blue eyes and a freckled complexion.  “Name’s Hank,” he said with a smile. 

“O’Shea,” he responded.  “Second Lieutenant Mike O’Shea.  I’m Executive Officer here at Platte.”

Guppy smiled again.  “That is wonderful.  Then perhaps you can tell me who is in charge here?”

O’Shea gave him a sideways glance.  “You don’t know?  You really are new.  That’d be Major Louis Sprague.  He’s base commander.”  He looked Guppy up and down.  “And he don’t like foreigners.”

“I’m just as American as you!” said Guppy, getting defensive.  “I eat hamburgers and wear jeans and—“

“Hamburgers?” asked O’Shea.  “I thought you people didn’t eat cows.”

“No,” said Guppy.  “I eat cows just like any red-blooded American.”

“Your accent’s awful thick.”

Guppy sighed.  “Look, perhaps we are getting off to a wrong start.  I merely want to know what we’re supposed to be doing here.  I’m honestly not sure and you’re the first person I’ve met here.”

O’Shea shrugged.  “There’s a reason for that. The base staff consists of only twelve airmen.” He nodded at the buildings around them. “So we don’t use much of the place. Once or twice a month, the Air Force flies decommissioned surplus aircraft to the base.  It’s the only time we really have to get moving.  Sprague doesn’t like it when we don’t hop-to.  It’s his way of letting you know your place.”

“What kind of aircraft?”

“Helicopters, trainers, and even some jets.  They find their way here before being sold to foreign governments or as scrap.  We park the aircraft in the graveyard,” he jabbed a thumb northwards, “Then we mothball them to remove fuel and lubricants and seal up the planes’ mechanical accesses to protect them from the elements.” He looked around.  “Annnd that’s pretty much it.”

“Wow,” said Guppy.  “That sucks.”

“Yeah, welcome to hell.  This place is pretty much the last stop on the road to dishonorable discharge. What you in for?”

Guppy frowned.  “A member of my squad died.”

O’Shea’s expression softened.  “Sorry to hear that.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I like speed.” He flashed a white grin.  “I had my driver’s license revoked for street racing.  Then I violated my CO’s order not to drive without a license.”  He shrugged.  “I hope I can get out of here soon.”

“I hear you man,” said Guppy.  “What do we do out here then when there are no planes?”

O’Shea grinned.  “Hop in and I’ll give you a ride back to base.”

Guppy climbed into the 4x4.  “So I don’t suppose there are any police out here.”

“Hell no,” said O’Shea, gunning the engine.  “In fact, I think one of your buddies is security.  And since I don’t see him around…”

Before Guppy could protest, O’Shea peeled out with a battle cry of “YEEEEHA!”, hurdling him into the back of the 4x4.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 1 – Frank Long*

Hammer stood off to the side, watching the only other African-American on the base as he opened the door to the air traffic control room.  They nodded at each other.

“Frank Long,” he said. 

“Kurtis Grange,” said Hammer.  There was no point in using their agent codenames.  Everyone on the base seemed to assume he was with the Air Force and he wasn’t inclined to disabuse them of the notion.  He only hoped his comrades were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. 

They sat at their respective posts as the machinery beeped and whirled around them, watching the sun set.  

“What’d you do to get stuck in a place like this?” asked Hammer.

“You know.  Got a divorce.  Got into debt.  It affects a man.”

Hammer nodded.  “Knew someone like that.  Good man.”

“Yeah?  He on the base?”

Hammer shook his head.  “He’s dead.”

“Wow.  Too bad, man.  Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he had everything going for him.  Had turned his life around.  I try to look out for his widow and his kid.”

Long nodded.  “We didn’t have kids at least.  I got transferred out here when my place burned down.”

“Burned down, huh?” Hammer peered at the bald black man.  “What’s your job here?”

“Fire/Rescue,” said Long with a straight face.  “I used to be a firefighter.”

Hammer didn’t say anything.

“You play poker?” Long said to break the silence.

“A little.”

“Yeah, I was in some really big games in Vegas, back when poker was all the rage. Saturday evenings at eight p.m., rain or shine, is PX poker night on the base.”

“Poker night huh?”

“Yeah. It’s not actually held at the Post Exchange anymore.  We play in the bare-bone remnants of the NCO club.  Even the Major plays.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Hell yeah!” Long slapped his thigh.  “That’s the high point of my week, man.  Between that and Baywatch, we keep busy. That…and you can win money from that son of a bitch Sprague.”

Hammer smirked.  He liked Long already.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 2 – Randy Campbell*

Randy Campbell was a fit, well-built, singularly unattractive man.  And he had the unpleasant privilege of being stationed with Caprice on guard duty at the front gate.

“Hey,” said Caprice.

Campbell glared at him. 

“So what do you guys do here all day?”

Campbell didn’t even look at him this time.

“Not much, huh?”

“When we piss off Sprague, we get guard duty.  And I get stuck with you.”

“Hey whatever man.” Caprice held up his hands.  “I’m just trying to make small talk.”

“Yeah, well you talking less helps me focus on other things besides the fact that I’m stuck here with you.”

Caprice looked around.  There was nothing for miles.  Then he walked towards the door.

“Where you going?”

“Me?” Caprice paused. “I haven’t seen any of my buddies for days and I find it a little weird that Sprague keeps splitting us up.  So I’m going to go find them.”

“No you’re not.  You’re stuck here with me.”

“You obviously got it handled,” said Caprice with a grin.  “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before the end of the shift.”

“I don’t think so,” said Campbell threateningly.  He stood up from his chair.  “Now plant your ass back in the seat. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I beat the crap out of you until you piss blood.”

“You’re going to have to wipe for me then,” said Caprice.  

He ducked just as Campbell threw a punch, hitting the door.  He swore, shaking his fist.

“You should get that looked at.  I’ll get back to you later.”

“You’re dead meat,” said Campbell.  “When Sprague finds out about this…”

“He’s not going to find out about it.  I’ll keep quiet,” he nodded at the dent in the door, “about you striking an officer.”

Caprice closed the door behind him.

Campbell stared at the door.  “He’s no officer…” he said, a little unsure of himself.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 3 – The Air Traffic Control Tower*

To Hammer and Guppy’s surprise, Caprice opened the door to the air traffic control room.

“What are you doing here?” asked Guppy, half-standing up.

“Happy to see me?” asked Caprice.  “I decided to check on you guys.  I haven’t seen any of you since I got here.”

Hammer nodded.  “Today’s the first time we got stationed together.”

“You think they’re separating us on purpose?” asked Guppy.

Caprice nodded.  “Yeah.  Where’s the rest of the team?”

Hammer shrugged.  “Wherever they are, they didn’t make it here.”

“They’re trying to split us up,” said Guppy mournfully. “Mother trucker.”

Caprice walked over to the guard rotation sheet.  He flipped through a few of them.  “Look at this…we’re not together on any of the rotations!”

“Except this one,” said Hammer.  

“And they took away our cistrons and weapons,” said Guppy.  He slumped over the console.  

“Not all of them.”  Hammer patted his back where he concealed his Glock.  

Guppy looked up.  “We have to get out of here.  I wonder if we can make a run for it…”

“Run for it?” Caprice snorted. “You know this isn’t a prison right?”

“How did you get here, anyway?” asked Hammer.  “Aren’t you on guard shift?”

Caprice shrugged.  “I didn’t feel like it.”

“Sprague will be pissed,” said Guppy.

“What’s he going to do to me…”

They were interrupted by the screech of a truck’s brakes, audible even from the distance at the air tower. 

“Uh oh,” said Guppy.

Caprice snatched up the binoculars they kept ready at the console and peered through them.   “That’s interesting,” he said after a moment.

“What?” asked Hammer.

“See for yourself.” He handed the binoculars to Hammer.

A large dark van bearing USAF markings and about the size of a UPS delivery truck had pulled up to the main gate of Platte AFB.  The driver, a plain-looking man in a suit, waited patiently while Campbell, the sole guard at the gate, talked on the phone. 

“You better get back there.” He handed the binoculars back to Caprice.  “I think he’s calling Sprague.”

A Chevy Blazer shrieked to a stop in front of the door.  Sprague hopped out, and through the binoculars, Caprice could tell he was clearly shouting.  

“Too late,” said Caprice.

The van was let in the front gate; it parked near the administration building.  Sprague’s 4x4 followed behind them.

Two men in USAF uniforms stepped from the van and stood on each side, taking up guard positions.  The man in the suit exited the van to confer with Major Sprague in private.  

“I don’t like this,” said Caprice.

“What?”

“Two guards on the van, in full body armor and carrying M-16s with M203 grenade launchers.  That’s an awful lot of firepower for an Air Force base in the middle of nowhere, don’t you think?”

The man returned to the van and the guards mounted up.  It drove out to an isolated area of the airfield near the mothballed aircraft.  Once the van was parked, the guards emerged again and the lights came on in the van.  And so it sat, unmoving.

“Think Campbell ratted you out?” asked Hammer.

“All personnel to the NCO club,” blared Sprague’s voice over the intercom.  “And Creed, get your ass to HQ.” There was a pause.  “NOW.”

“Yep,” said Caprice.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 4 – The NCO Club*

Hammer opened the door to a room full of people.  It was startling to see so many people in one place – it had been that long since any more than three of them were together. 

They were all there: Lynn Carter, the hot chick. Laura Dunsany, the pissy administrative assistant. Brian Lundy, the not-too-bright groundskeeper. Robert Bach, the former special agent.  Clark Smith, who still had his tattoos from his gang days.  O’Shea, Campbell, and Long were there too. They were all seated around the table, a deck of cards out, cigarettes and ashtrays smoldering.  And over it all lorded Sprague.

Major Louis Sprague was a large man in his forties.  He had dishwater pale blue eyes and blond feathered hair that gave him an appearance not unlike that of an eagle. It was marred only by the green visor he wore in his role of dealer of the poker game. A cigar dangled from his bloodless lips.

Long nodded at Hammer.  O’Shea flashed a grin at Guppy.  And Campbell just stood off to the side, arms crossed.

Sprague’s predator gaze focused on Caprice as he entered the room. “You.  Why weren’t you at your post?”

Caprice’s expression of resignation meant he knew exactly where this was going.  “I took a walk.”

“You took a walk?”

Caprice shrugged.  “If you haven’t noticed, it’s pretty boring around here.”

“Boring, huh?” Sprague laughed.  “You hear that?  He said this place is boring!” 

Nobody laughed except Lundy, who was too stupid to know not to.

Sprague stood up.  “Now you listen to me, @$$wipe.  I’m the king here and this is my kingdom.  And you’re not a prince, or a knight, or even a serf.  You’re a god damned peasant, and you live or die in this place by my good graces.  Right now you’re teetering on a knife’s edge, so I suggest you choose carefully what you say next or I’ll bounce your ass out of here so hard your momma will feel it.”

“That’s a very nice speech,” said Caprice, “but don’t you think—“

“That’s it.”  Sprague tossed a key to Campbell.  “Take this joker back to the unused dormitories and lock his dumb ass in there until I decide what to do with him.”  

Campbell cracked his knuckles.  “With pleasure.”  Campbell walked over to Caprice and grabbed his shoulder.  

Sprague turned to the others.  “This is what happens when you disobey orders.  Say goodbye to your career.” He addressed Campbell again.  “If he resists, punch him in the face.”

“Please,” said Campbell with a menacing grin.  “Resist.”

Caprice sighed.  “I’m the lucky one. I don’t have to spend it with Major Douchebag.”

“Get him out of here,” snarled Sprague.

Campbell marched him out.  The door slammed shut behind him.

“Where was I?” Sprague started dealing cards.  “Oh yeah.  The van parked in the graveyard is to be avoided.  Don’t interfere with the visiting staff’s operations. You’re all confined to the base until the visiting staff has left.” He dealt a full hand to the two spots with empty stools.  “So take a seat boys and ante up. We’re going to be here for awhile.”


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 5 – Unused Dormitories*

Campbell half-shoved Caprice most of the way to the dormitories.

“Don’t have a brig, huh?”

“Do you ever shut up?” snarled Campbell.

“Don’t you find it a little odd that there’s a van we’re not supposed to interfere with on base here?  I thought all we did was service planes.”

“Unlike you, I follow orders,” said Campbell. “And I plan to get out of here.”

“When is that exactly?” asked Caprice.  But he didn’t get an answered.  

Campbell unlocked the door.  “Get in.”

Caprice peered into the darkness. Campbell planted one foot on his back and kicked him in.

The door slammed behind him.  There was the jangle of the padlocked chain around the door handle as Campbell locked it. The door didn’t actually lock from the outside.

There was only a peephole as Caprice’s window to the outside world. It was clear it wasn’t meant to be used for incarcerating prisoners.  

Caprice could get out if he wanted to.  The windows weren’t barred.  The only obstacle was Campbell and his M-16. 

“You notice anything weird about that van?” he asked through the thin door.

Campbell sighed but didn’t say anything.

“Why were they all wearing motorcycle helmets?  That’s not standard issue.”

“Like you know anything about standard issue,” said Campbell.  “You’re not an officer either.”

“Yeah, well you’re a pretty poor imitation of an airman so we’re even.”

Campbell turned suddenly and punched the door.  It rattled from the impact.  “You know, your face is starting to piss me off.”

“My face?” asked Caprice.  He tried not to laugh. The man couldn’t even see him. 

“You’re really starting to piss me off,” said Campbell.  “You think it’s funny?  You think you’re better than me?”

“I uh didn’t say that,” said Caprice.  He didn’t like Campbell’s new tone.  It had shifted from surly to aggressive.  He backed away from the door.

“I’m gonna come in there and…” Campbell trailed off. 

Caprice stared at the doorknob.  Nothing happened.

After a minute of silence, Caprice asked.  “Campbell?”

He peered through the peephole.  

Campbell was staring at the door.  His face was oddly curved through the peephole, twisting his features into a monstrous parody with a long nose.  Caprice’s eyes were bulging.  His mouth hung open in mid-speech. 

“Campbell?  Buddy?  You okay?”

Campbell didn’t respond.

“Anybody?” shouted Caprice.  “I think Campbell had a stroke or something.”

A long trail of glistening drool spilled over the edge of Campbell’s lip.

Caprice pulled open the door as far as it would open, enough so that he could push his face through the door. “Hey. Campbell?” whispered Caprice through the opening.  “You feeling all right?”

Campbell didn’t respond. He was frozen in mid-rage like a mime, one finger pointed at the door, as if he would jab his finger right through Caprice’s skull. His pupils had shrunken to dots. 

“Campbell?”

Nothing.

“I don’t want to do this to you dude, but I figure if this won’t wake you up nothing will.”  Caprice took a deep breath.  Then he reached down into his toes and the back of his throat, gargled up a wad of phlegm, and with perfect precision, hocked a yellowish glob of spit.

It hurled over and over through the air.  Caprice watched it tumble in slow-motion.

The gob of spit and phlegm struck Campbell in the cheek.  It slowly slid down the side of his cheek and joined the trail of spittle down his chin.

“…kick your ass!” screamed Campbell.  His body jerked into action.  

“Welcome back,” said Caprice.

Campbell reached up, touching his cheek.  A string of spit and phlegm stretched from his finger to his face.  Campbell’s face turned red.

“You spat on me, you son of a bitch?”

“Now wait a minute…”

He unholstered the M-16 from his shoulder. “I’ll F**#$%G KILL YOU!”  

Caprice dove down from the door. The machinegun fire peppered the door, the M-16 rattling with all the rage that was bottled up in Campbell. It was so loud that all Caprice could do was cover his ears and scream.

The door shuddered as if pounded on by a thousand fists.  Caprice couldn’t believe it was still standing—the door dangled from the frame by the lock alone. 

The machinegun fire went on and on.  Caprice kept screaming.  He emptied the entire clip.  

Finally, silence.  Gunfire still echoed in Caprice’s ears; he could feel the vibration in his chest. 

Caprice crawled to his knees.  Beyond the door was silence once more.

The door’s wood was splintered so much that he could see through it. The dark shadow of Campbell was there.  One arm was lifted, as if he was holding his head.  

Caprice slowly reached for the doorknob.  

He peered through the holes.  Campbell had something pointed at his head. 

“Campbell?” he whispered.

A single pistol shot rang out.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 6 – Was That a Gunshot?*

Hammer looked up from his cards.  He thought he heard something.

Guppy was still staring intently as his own hand, struggling to figure out the game.  Long exchanged glances with Hammer.

Long won the hand. “Piss break, chief?” he asked.

Sprague took his cigar out of his mouth.  “Make it fast.”

Long nodded, but the nod was more in the direction of Hammer.  They both got up.

In the rest room, Long tapped his hand on the urinal. 

Tap-tap-tap.

“You okay?” asked Hammer, next to him.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You seem a little tense.” Hammer zipped up and washed his hands. “Something weird’s going on.  Did you hear that gunshot?”

“You heard it too?”  Long zipped up and walked over to the other sink.  He tapped his foot as he washed his hands.

Tap-tap-tap.

Hammer didn’t bother to point it out.  “I think we should check it out. How long do you think we have?”

“A few minutes, tops,” said Long.  “I’ve got your back.  Let’s go.”

“Thanks man.”  Hammer slid out of the men’s restroom, looked both ways, and then made his way to the door.  Sprague, involved in trying to teach Guppy the nuances of poker, didn’t notice.

Hammer jogged his way across the field.  He skidded to a stop as he saw Campbell lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Hot Pants?  You in there?”

Long picked up the M-16, eyes glazed. “I don’t like this.”

There was a low moan from behind the door.  Hammer kicked it open and the door gave easily, lock and all.

At first he thought Caprice was dead.  But then he realized that he was on the ground, clutching his head.

Long reloaded the M-16 with a spare clip off of Campbell’s body.

Hammer got down on one knee.  “You hurt?”

“The sound…” groaned Caprice, rolling around.  “You can’t hear it?”

Hammer helped him to his feet.  “What sound?  What the hell happened?”

Caprice tried to clear the cobwebs, blinking.  “I…I’m not sure.  Campbell went nuts.  Then there was a gunshot…”

Hammer nodded.  “He shot himself in the head.”

“Jesus…” Caprice looked down, gingerly stepped around Campbell’s corpse.  “What the hell?”

“I don’t know.” Hammer patted the pistol snug in his waistband.  “But I think it has to do with--”

“IT’S IN THE VAN!” shrieked Long at the top of his lungs.  He was charging towards the van, firing wildly.

“Stand down, sir!” shouted one of the men through an amplifier in his helmet, weapon raised.

“THEY’RE TREATING US LIKE RATS!” shouted Long.  He didn’t slow his stride. 

“Open fire!” 

Both guard let loose, with their M-16s.  Long crumbled with another piteous shriek.

Hammer took Campbell’s pistol and tossed it to Caprice.  “Let’s get the others and get the hell out of here.”


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 7 – Things Fall Apart*

Sprague looked up from his cards.  His gaze fell on Caprice as Hammer led him into the room.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

The others all looked up. 

“Campbell and Long are dead, sir,” said Hammer.  “I found Caprice on the floor.”

“On the floor?” asked Sprague.  “That’s nice.  He was incarcerated so I think he should stay there.”

“Sir, maybe you didn’t hear him,” interjected Smith.  He got up from the card table, his posture menacing.  “He just said that two of our men are dead.”

“I heard what he said,” snarled Sprague.  “And it’ll be handled.”

“I think this has something to do with the van,” said Guppy.  

Sprague placed his cigar in a nearby ashtray.  “That’s exactly my point.  There are professionals on site who are going to deal with this.”

“The guards at the van shot Long dead,” interjected Hammer.

“Then he got too close. Now it’s unfortunate about Campbell—“

“Unfortunate?” asked Smith.  “He’s dead, for Christ’s sake!”

“And as far as I’m concerned we may be staring at his killer,” said Sprague.  “Hammer, I want you to handcuff Creed to the chair.”

“Sir, if you’d just listen—“ began Hammer.

Sprague reached down and came up with a pistol pointed at Hammer’s head.  “I said,” Sprague repeated slowly, “handcuff him.” He cocked the pistol.  “I am NOT going to ask you AGAIN soldier!”

In a flash, Hammer’s Beretta was out aimed at Sprague.  “Put the pistol down.”

“Where the hell did you get that?” shouted Sprague.

“Everybody calm down,” said Guppy.

Smith slowly edged around the side of the table towards Sprague…

The lights flickered.  For a split-second Sprague looked away.

There was the blinding flash of two pistols firing in rapid succession.  When the lights came back on, Sprague was on the ground, gasping and writhing, blood pumping from a wound in his shoulder.   Hammer was still standing, his gun barrel smoking. 

Smith was slumped over the table, face down, blood spreading all over the cards. 

“All right, I’m taking charge.”  Hammer’s pistol brooked no argument.  “Dunsany, try to bind the Major’s wounds with whatever we’ve got in here.  Hot Pants, search the Major’s quarters, see if you can find those papers he received from the men in the van.  Guppy, get us into the armory.” He looked around. “I need someone who’s good with a rifle.”

Bach stepped forward.  He was a tall, well-built man with small patches of grey speckling his full head of brown hair.  “I’m your man.”

“Good.”  Hammer picked up Sprague’s Beretta and tossed it to Bach.  

“I thought you said you needed a rifleman?”

“I do; that’ll help you get one.” He nodded at O’Shea.  “I need a driver.  You up for it?”

O’Shea brightened.  “Hell yeah! What you need me to drive?”

“A snow plow.”


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 8 – The Snow Plow*

Guppy, Caprice, Long, Hammer, and O’Shea met at the snowplow. 

Several hangers had been turned into parking garages for the base’s vehicles.  O’Shea was in the idling two-and-a-half-ton three-axle truck with a snowplow mounted on the front. 

“No luck on the weapons,” said Guppy.  “I got through the first two locks, but the third is a combination.  I could break into it if I had my tools, but we don’t have the time.”

“Did you find anything in Sprague’s room that might suggest a combination?” Hammer asked Caprice.

Caprice shook his head.  “Nope.  But I did find a stack of papers talking about a SONNET device.  Something about all non-MOONDUST personnel deemed expendable.”

“S$%t,” cursed O’Shea.  “You think they mean us?”

“You could say that.” Caprice handed O’Shea a color print out with his photo on it.  “They’ve got profiles on all twelve of us.”

“Whatever this SONNET thing is, it’s got to be in that van,” said Hammer. “O’Shea? On my mark, you ram the van.  Keep the plow up and in front of the windshield for as long as you can.”

“Right.” O’Shea revved the engine.

“Bach, Long had the only M-16.  So you’re going to have to get it off his dead body.  It’s about forty yards out from the van.  Think you can get to it?”

Bach’s expression was grim.  “If O’Shea can provide enough of a distraction, maybe.  What about you guys?”

“We’re going to loop around back and come at them from the other side.  Hopefully, one of us will make it.”

“This is a s&!++y plan,” said Bach.  

“It’s the best we’ve got,” said Hammer.  He drew his Glock.  “On my mark.  Ready?  Go!”

The truck squealed into action, peeling out with the huge plow blade at the forefront.  Running behind it for a few yards, Hammer, Caprice, Guppy, and Bach ran at a full-out clip behind it.

Gunfire started peppering the plow.  Hammer, Caprice, and Guppy peeled off to the left.  Bach peeled off to the right, sprinting towards Long’s body.  

They fired their pistols blindly, but the guards didn’t flinch.  

Bach made it to Long’s body.  He dove to the ground and came up with the M-16.  

“I don’t believe it,” panted Caprice.  “This is actually going to…”

Gunfire continued to pepper the truck with the snowplow.  Suddenly, O’Shea jerked the wheel, turning the truck so hard that it nearly tipped over.  

Bach inserted a clip into the M-16 and lifted it to his shoulder. 

“BACH!” shouted Hammer.  “LOOK OUT!”

Bach was so intent on firing at the van that he didn’t have time to react.  The plow blade ripped his torso upwards, snapping organs and tendons.  Bach let out a brief shriek before his lungs fell out of his rib cage.  The truck thump-thumped over his legs.

“Jesus!” shouted Caprice.

“Hot Pants, give me your gun!” Hammer pointed at the plow. “Get that thing moving!”

Caprice tossed his pistol to Hammer. Then he and Guppy sprinted to the idling truck.

Hammer fired a series of well-placed shots at the van, still advancing.  This time the shots were on target enough to give the guards pause.  They took cover around the side of the van, returning burst fire.

Caprice made it to the plow.  O’Shea was dead; his sudden turn had exposed him to machinegun fire. 

Caprice was in the middle of reaching for the door handle when he fell to the ground, clutching his eyes.

“What is wrong?” asked Guppy.

“The lights!  Can’t you see them?  Ahhh!”

Guppy opened the door and rolled O’Shea’s body out.  Then he dragged Caprice to his feet and shoved him into the truck. 

Machinegun fire echoed beyond the truck’s plow.  Hammer was keeping the guards busy, but even a crack shot like him couldn’t keep them occupied for long.

Guppy clambered into the truck. “Hold on tight,” he shouted.

Guppy released the clutch and slammed his foot on the gas pedal.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 9 – The Van*

Hammer kept firing and running.  

The guards weren’t concerned about precision.  They sprayed the area with weapons fire whenever they thought they could get a shot.  It was all Hammer could to do keep their heads down.

What the hell was taking Caprice and Guppy so long?

Then he was at the van. It reverberated with an odd humming sound.

“Delta team, this is SONNET,” came a man’s voice from inside the van.  “Situation critical.  Backup requested.”

Hammer threw open the door to the back of the van and hopped inside, yanking it closed behind him.  He surprised two other men in bulky helmets similar to the guards, sans armor.  Their attire gave the distinct impression of humanoid insects.  

A large electronic device filled the back half of the van.  Visible through a small glass window in a safe-like door of the device was a glowing piece of crystal.  A chemically powered crystal slowly ticked digital time.  

The men drew their own pistols. 

Before anyone could say anything, a horrible whine and electrical sizzle racked the van.  Something brilliantly blue and white floated overhead, obliterating all shadows.  Energy arced between the men’s helmets and the surfaced of the van, their bodies twitching and jerking.  Red and white gushes of fluid spilled out from beneath their helmets.

There was another sizzle and pop from outside.  Through the bulletproof windows, Hammer could see that the lights in the base went out, plunging the place into darkness except for the glow of the ship hovering overhead.

Then the crystal craft suddenly plummeted, sporadically glowing, falling among the mothballed aircraft on the north end of the base.  It hit the grounded aircraft with a series of reverberating booms.  

The crystal in the device pulsed brightly once, then faded into a dull glow.  It was completely dark, except for the glow from the crystal.  

It took a moment for Hammer to realize he was still alive and the two scientists were dead.  One man was slumped over the wheel in front, also dead.  Their helmets slowly rolled off their sagging necks – there was nothing but bloody fluid where their heads had been.

He caught sight of a well-marked mechanical lever labeled “emergency shutdown.”  Hammer pulled the lever.

The crystal slowly dropped into a lead-lined safe at the bottom of the device.  The pulsing stopped.  

Hammer cocked his head.  Something was roaring towards the van....

Then the snowplow hit.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 10 – First Contact*

The crystalline ship lay among the wreckage of the aircraft on the north side of the base, about a half-mile from the barracks and NCO club.  

Guppy hopped out of the truck.  Caprice stumbled out of the door on the passenger’s side. 

The van was flipped on its side. Headless bodies were littered around it. 

Guppy and Caprice picked up the discarded M-16s.  “Hammer?” asked Caprice.

The doors to the van swung open and Hammer crawled out.  

“You okay?” asked Guppy.  

“I was until you hit me with the snowplow,” muttered Hammer.

“Good job on the guards,” said Caprice.  “What did you do, explode them with your mind?”

Hammer shook his head.  “Wasn’t me.”

“Then what did this?” asked Guppy.

Hammer’s gaze was unfocused, staring past him.  He slowly rose one finger to point.  “Them, I think.”

Two beings walked away from the crash site. They stood at four feet tall with Grey skin. Their bodies were elongated and lacking in muscular definition. Their legs were shorter and jointed differently than a human, giving them an awkward gait. Their arms were raised in an exaggerated gesture of surrender: arms up, far away from each other. Their hands had three digits and a thumb on each hand. They had a bulbous, hairless head supported by a thin neck, which was dominated by large, black lidless eyes. They had small flat noses, small mouths and small ears. 

A glowing ball followed behind them. The apparent leader held a piece of crystal atop its head, balancing it carefully and replacing it when it fell to the ground.  

Guppy screamed and cowered behind the van. 

“What the hell…?” asked Caprice in surprise.  He looked back and forth from Guppy to the Greys. 

The leader said in a deep voice with no nasal quality to it at all, “Us require assistance, our dog are injured, and must be freed before it ceases.  Us are weak, and the door are beyond our capacities.  Us require assistance.”

The crystal fell off the leader’s head.  It struggled to pick it back up.

“You’re afraid of these things?” asked Hammer in disbelief.

“You don’t understand!” shouted Guppy, concealed behind the van.  “You don’t know what they did to me!”

“You guys bring pets with you?” asked Caprice skeptically.  

“Dog are injured. Will cease soon.  Us require assistance.” The Grey leader restored the crystal to its head. 

“Yeah, we get it,” said Hammer.  “We need help with a crystal in the van.  We think it’s the same device that crashed your ship.”

“Us will help after assistance.” 

“I get it.  Fine, I’ll go.”  Hammer checked the ammunition in both pistols.  He took a few more clips from the headless bodies around the van.  “You coming?”

Caprice glanced backwards at the van. Guppy remained silent, still hiding.

“I think we’ll stay out here,” said Caprice.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 11 – The Ship*

The ship was a thirty-foot diameter saucer, twelve feet from top to bottom. The entire exterior is made of a dull-like material that looks like lead. Three curved triangular windows protrude from the front of the craft.  Although it seemed to have crashed, the surface was unmarked.  The runway was pitted from the impact.  The craft glowed dimply and surrounding the hull was debris from the inside of the ship, including three badly burned Grey bodies.

Hammer stepped up to the ship.  “I don’t suppose there’s a door here anywhere…”

A single entry ramp opened from the bottom center of the craft.  The craft rose slightly to allow the small steps to lower. Mist spilled out of the entrance, glowing with a yellow light.

Inside was a low-ceiling interior made of a soft red-brown adobe-like material.  It was carefully and ergonomically shaped.  The ceilings were gracefully arched and the corridors serpentine and smooth.  The floors were made of a shiny black material which was covered in tiny green and purple writing.   Every square foot of the ceiling was covered in tiny sigils.

The Greys entered behind Hammer. The tunnel interior seemed much larger than the exterior of the craft would allow. It was littered with strange objects.

The tunnels beyond branched in three different directions.  A smashed Grey body lay in the center tunnel, its arms broken at both the forearms and shoulders.  The Greys walked ahead of Hammer, ushering him on.

The room was spherical and all the surfaces seemed to be made of clay.  A very large chunk had peeled off in a thick strip and pinned a small hideous creature to the ground. 

“What the…” Hammer leaned closer to take a look at the “dog.”

It was approximately six feet long, not much bigger than a human being, and was built somewhat like a crab, composed of sponge-like material covered in irregularly-spaced bits of chitinous exoskeleton. The part that appeared to be the head changed colors as Hammer watched, from red to blue and back again.  It had no offensive-looking teeth or claws.  

“This is your dog?”

The Greys started moving the rubble, although it was no more effective than children digging with their bare hands.  Hammer started hefting some of the pieces off when Guppy ran in, panting.

“Guppy?”

“Hammer!” shouted Guppy, eyes wild.  

“What’s going on?”

“It’s back!” shouted Guppy.  His eyes were practically bulging, panting from the exertion.  “It’s back!”

“What’s back?  It’s got to be pretty bad for you to be in here…” Hammer gestured around him. 

Guppy was careful to not look around.  “I…uh…”

“What is it?” said Hammer, lifting another piece of rubble and tossing it aside.

“The thing…at the Kalms’ house…”

“The dimensional shambler?”

Guppy nodded.  “It’s back!”


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Part 12 – Good Dog*

Guppy and Hammer worked together to lift the last piece of rubble off of the crab-like thing.  It made a buzzing squeal noise that sounded like a bad recording of a dog’s whimper. 

“There,” said Hammer.  “Your dog is free.  Now we need your help with—“

The lights went out.

Cold tiny fingers clawed at his arms.  Hammer blindly swung outward, knocking one of the Greys down with ease.

Guppy made a low moan of terror.

The ball of light, which dimmed along with the lights in the ship, suddenly illuminated, blinding them.  It zipped out of the room.

Hammer swung blindly with one pistol in his hand.  The “dog” was gone, along with the light.  The Greys were lifeless on the ground, having fallen where they stood.  And Guppy pointed a shaking pistol at him.

“Guppy, what is wrong with you?”

“They’ll never take me!” screamed Guppy.  He squeezed the trigger.

Hammer spun as the bullet punched a hole through his shoulder.  He hit the ground hard.

Guppy kept firing.  He was shooting bullets in the heads of the Greys.  Their spongy heads jerked with every pistol shot.

Hammer lifted his pistol and took careful aim.

Guppy looked in shock as his pistol was shot out of his hand.  He turned to look at Hammer, eyes brimming with tears.

Hammer didn’t give him a chance to react.  He slammed into Guppy with a flying tackle.  Despite the pain, he was still stronger than Guppy.  He shifted the smaller Indian man into a headlock and held him there.

Guppy gasped and wheezed, clawing at Hammer’s face.  Eventually, his struggling ceased.

Caprice was at the entryway.  “What the hell are you two doing in here?”

“Long story,” said Hammer.  “Help me with Guppy.”

They helped Guppy to his feet.  

“There’s something big and ugly outside,” said Caprice.  “It keeps fading in and out.  I heard some people screaming…I think it got to the staff in the NCO Club.”

“We have to get to the truck,” said Hammer.  “And then we have to get the hell out of here.”

Caprice pointed at the bloodless grey bodies. “What about them?”

“Leave them.  We can call in a team to clean it up later.  If there’s anything left of them worth cleaning up.”

They made their way to the ship’s exit.  The van and truck were still there, with one exception.

“What happened to the bodies?” asked Hammer as they half-carried, half-dragged Guppy to the truck.  

“That dimensional whatever was eating them,” he said.  “Picks the bodies up and disappears with them.”

They threw Guppy into the back of the truck.  Then Hammer got into the driver’s side. 

Caprice opened the door on the passenger’s side just in time to see a ghostly claw slash through the truck’s steering wheel, shredding Hammer’s chest and tearing the door off in the same motion. He hit the ground ten feet away, unconscious. 

“S#!T!” shouted Caprice, hopping backwards from the truck. 

Slowly, the thing unfurled itself in the center of the truck’s engine.  Its hide hung loosely upon its frame, and its rugose, dead-eyed rudiment of a head swayed drunkenly from side to side.  Its forepaws were extended, with talons spread wide, and its whole body was taut with murderous malignity despite its utter lack of facial description. It reached for Guppy’s inert form.

In the distance, Caprice could hear a heavy thumping in the air, but he ignored it.  He had been suffering from hallucinations ever since the SONNET machine was turned on.

“Hey!” shouted Caprice.  “Over here!”

The thing ignored him, reaching through the cab of the truck for Guppy’s head.

Caprice raised his pistol with both hands and took aim.  He squeezed off two shots at the thing’s head.  It went right through it.

“Hey!  Over here!”

The shambler turned around, its dead eyes focusing on him.  Then it slowly sank into the truck. 

Caprice finally pinpointed the source of the sound.  It was an AH-65 helicopter.  

“Not so tough…” began Caprice when he felt the thing’s unnatural presence prick his skin.

“Down!” shouted the pilot through the chopper’s amplified speakers.

Caprice ducked down as the chaingun let loose metal hellfire on the shambler behind him.


----------



## talien

*PX Poker Night: Conclusion*

The agents were flown out to Offut Air Force base in Omaha, where they received excellent medical care.  

Caprice was the only one not drugged up.  When Sprague walked into the room, he wished he was.

Major Sprague was in full military dress.  “Surprised to see me?” he asked with a deadly smirk. 

Caprice didn’t say anything. 

“That’s what I thought.  Yeah, I’m part of Majestic-12 too.  Longer than you’ve been in the club, that’s for sure. We think that the Greys fled because Agent Guppy here was carrying alien weapons technology in direct violation of the Accord—“

“Fled?  We weren’t carrying any weapons! You took them away from us, remember?”

Sprague waved him off.  “We were all affected by the SONNET testing.  Who’s to say what happened? From here on out, its regulation arms only.”

“Wait…Majestic-12 tested that weapon on us?”

“We were an unfortunate casualty,” said Sprague.  “The base was an area where Greys are active.  Majestic-12 had to test the SONNET weapon as a safeguard if the Greys ever break the Accord.“

“What’s the Accord?”

“Don’t worry about it.  All you need to know is that the mission was a resounding success. Going forward, there will be none of these hocus-pocus missions dealing with supernatural bull$#!t.  You’re still a part of CIFA and it’s time you started acting like it and defending this great nation.”

“What happened to the other personnel?”

“Besides you three?” Sprague looked around.  “There are no other personnel.  Never were.”

“You’re a real @$$hole, you know that?”

“That may be, but you’re going to learn to love me.”

“Oh yeah?” snarled Caprice.  “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m your new case officer.”


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Introduction*

This scenario, “Last One Out,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero) played by *Bill Countiss*
Although Combat Missions is now in a completely different format for Spycraft, making it much less useful on the surface for a d20 Modern game, the original draft was for Spycraft 1.0.  I decided to put it to good use.

It’s not all that hard to find Delta Green connections to the missions. In this case, it’s tied to the mysterious production of a new addictive drug known as Blink.  Can you think of possible mythos connections? I sure can!

I also felt it was important to wrap up what was largely a supernatural story arc involving monsters from beyond, Coyote, and an ancient ritual (Blade’s story arc) and shift gears to the other characters in the game.  For Hammer, that’s interesting “mudane” combat missions, which the Spycraft book provides in spades.  For Guppy and Caprice, it’s dealing with aliens, drugs, and mental health issues.  

I used Sprague’s promotion as case agent to really change things up – they’re essentially under new management, and new management doesn’t tolerate laser guns or talk of stupid supernatural stuff.  If Drake represented the Delta Green way of thinking, Sprague is the Majestic-12 way of thinking. Fear not though, those elements are still there – they’re just not as embraced by Majestic-12.  

*Defining Moment:* Hammer was in his element here and it showed.  As a member of the Sharpshooter advanced class, he can now take out foes at close range.  And he put it to good use in a near-perfect extraction of Wells.

Relevant Media

*The Perfect Drug:*  by Nine Inch Nails. I love this song -- it's from the Lost Highway album.
*Combat Missions:*  It took a very long time for this book to see the light of day, but it finally happened.  In fact, I'm still waiting to see my comp copy.  But I'm very proud of the results.
*Proof of Life:*  Last One Out was inspired by this movie.


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Prologue*



> _I come along but I don’t know where you’re taking me
> I shouldn’t go but you’re reaching back and shaking me
> Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
> The more I give to you, the more I die_​
> --_The Perfect Drug_ by Nine Inch Nails​



CALI, COLOMBIA--The chopper hummed a staccato beat all around them as Sprague briefed the team on its mission. They all looked glumly at their cistrons.

“…as of today,” continued Sprague, “there will be no C-Team and N-Team.  You are all members of the same team.”

“What’s our designation?” asked Hammer.

“Sprague’s Team.  Or S-Team if you prefer.”

Caprice rolled his eyes.  “Of course.”

“What was that?”

Caprice didn’t answer. 

“That’s what I thought.  As I was saying, we’re going to do things by the book.  As CIF agents, you’re expected to actually serve your country instead of running around looking for aliens and ghosts.  So you’re about to start earning your paycheck by doing some real work.”

“How do you define real work, exactly?” asked Guppy with trepidation.

“The War on Drugs is a good place to start.   Simon Wells, a chemical engineer formerly in the employ of MegaCosmos’ subsidiary, Sparkle, Inc. was refining the process of creating diamonds by application of certain acids when MC folded the business. Most executives who were looped in knew when to leave—Simon Wells didn’t.  He has since been kidnapped by El Liberación Nacional. CIFA is concerned that Wells can create or has already created a new form of hydriodic acid—a critical component in methamphetamine.”

“And you want us to get him out of there?” asked Caprice.

“Your primary objective is to retrieve Simon Wells,” affirmed Sprague.  “If that means negotiating with his kidnappers, so be it.  If the negotiation fails, then you must retrieve him by force. Agent Hammer is mission leader.”

“I put a request in for equipment…” began Hammer.

“All taken care of.  It will be waiting for you when you arrive.  Your first stop is the Wells estate, where you must convince Barbara to take over negotiations with the kidnapper. Good luck agents.” The cistron winked out.

Guppy shook his head.  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“YOU’VE got a bad feeling about this?” muttered Hammer.  “You’re not the one who shot his new boss.”


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Part 1 – The Wells Estate*

There were several large men counting out thousands of pesos in the Wells’ house.  A petite brunette woman with dark circles under her eyes greeted Hammer at the door of her palatial home.

“Oh thank goodness, you’re here.”

A huge man with a pistol strapped under his arm came stalking over.  “Who are you?”

Hammer flashed his CIFA badge.  “Counter-Intelligence Field Agency. I’m with the U.S. government.  Who are you?”

“Its okay, Julio.”

The man pushed her aside with one meaty paw.  “No, I do not think it is okay. We’re handling things here.  You’re not welcome.  Leave now or there will be trouble.”

Behind him, several of the men counting the money looked up from their task in the living room.

Hammer looked back and forth between the men and Barbara.  “We’re not here to cause trouble.  We’re just trying to help.”

“Uh huh.  You can help somewhere else.  You are foreigners.  We know this kidnapping business better than you.”  He turned to Barbara.  “If you have the government involved Simon will surely die.”

Barbara was struggling to hold back tears.  She hugged herself tightly.  

“Fine, we’ll go.  It’s clear you’ve got this under control.  Let us know when you make progress.”  He handed Julio his card.

Julio threw the card on the ground and slammed the door in Hammer’s face.

“I can’t believe you just took that,” said Caprice as they entered their van on the perimeter of the Wells’ villa. “You’re going to let them do our job?”

“Yes,” said Hammer.  He took out a laser microphone. “That’s exactly what I plan to let them do.”


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Part 2 – Negotiations*

Hammer knocked on the door again, Guppy and Caprice on either side.

Julio was there to greet them.  This time he made no pretense of politeness.  “I thought I told you to leave.”

“You did,” said Hammer calmly.  “But I thought Mrs. Wells would be interested in knowing that we have evidence her husband is alive.”

Julio’s thick eyebrows went up.  Barbara walked over to the door.  “You do?”

“Yes.  Julio negotiated a pickup point to exchange a good faith payment.  We got there before his men did.” He pulled out a photo from a tattered envelope.  In the picture, Simon had a beard of several weeks growth.  He looked beaten and bloody.  He held up a recent newspaper in both hands, proving that he was indeed still alive. 

“You can’t—“

“Oh I think we can,” said Hammer.  “Mrs. Wells, this man has been abusing your trust.  He hasn’t been negotiating a release at all; he’s been sponging off of you, dragging out the negotiations and pocketing a portion of your good faith payments.  He’ll drag this on all year if you’ll let him.”

Julio took a menacing step forward.  His two thugs drew their pistols. “Stop talking.”

“Mrs. Wells,” said Hammer.  “It is our informed opinion that, as Mr. Julio here is a member of your employ, you have the right to fire him.”

Barbara Wells looked back and forth from Barbara to Hammer.  She folded her arms.  “Julio, you’re fired.”

Hammer drew two pistols and pointed them at the two thugs. “That’s all I needed to hear.” 

The thugs reached for their weapons.  It was the last mistake they made.  

Barbara screamed. Hammer’s pistols were still smoking when Julio lunged at him with a knife.  Guppy stepped from around the door and struck Julio’s outstretched arm with a stun gun.

Julio groaned through clenched teeth as he fell to the ground, shivering from the shock. 

“Nice job Guppy.” Caprice tied Julio’s hands behind his back.

“It’s no laser,” said Guppy with a smile, “but it’ll do.”

Hammer yanked Julio to his feet.  “Now where were we.  Oh, that’s right, you were going to tell me where Simon is.”

“He doesn’t know,” said Barbara, careful to not look at the bodies lying in her foyer.  “We’ve been trying to find out—“

“Oh he knows,” said Hammer.  “He’s known all along, haven’t you Julio?”

Julio’s eyes were tearing. He made a half-hearted attempt to spit at Hammer.

“Wish you hadn’t done that.”  He rolled out a black satchel full of glistening knives and picks on the floor. “Guppy, Hot Pants, get rid of these bodies.  Mrs. Wells, I think you may want to go into the kitchen.”

“Wait…” Julio looked back and forth.  “What are you doing?”

“We’re actually a lot alike, Julio.“ Hammer snapped on a pair of black gloves.  “We both specialize in negotiations. Only I prefer to do my negotiations in person.”

Julio began to sweat.  “What do you want to know? Ask me and I’ll tell you!”

“That’s more like it,” said Hammer with a grin.


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Part 3 – The Processing Plant*

The processing plant was in a thick jungle, safely concealed from spy planes that might fly overhead.  Although a road connected the plan to civilization, almost all travel to the plant was by helicopter.  The nearest village was a three-day hike away.  

“What have we got?” asked Hammer.

Caprice kept his gaze leveled at the guards walking the perimeter, green ghosts through his night vision goggles. They were all dressed in ghillie suits with sniper rifles. 

“Two guards watch the front gate around the clock.  Each has binoculars and a walkie-talkie. At random times during the day, two guards take a Jeep around the inside perimeter of the fence.  It takes about ten minutes for the Jeep to make one complete circuit around the perimeter.”

Guppy tapped a few keys on his cistron. The glow illuminated Guppy and Hammer’s faces.  “We believe that this structure here,” a red circle appeared around two round buildings, “is the fuel dump and generator shed.”

“Can you take it out, Hot Pants?” asked Hammer.

Caprice flipped up his goggles.  He’d gotten used to Hammer calling him his new nickname. “I just have to get over the thirty-foot fence, sneak by the guard tower, not be seen by any guards on the grounds, rig the explosives, and then get back out. Piece of cake.”

“Right,” said Hammer.  “So you’re going to take out the top guard tower here,” he tapped on the cistron to identify the far corner tower.  “Guppy and I are going to take the guards out on this tower here.” Hammer tapped the closest tower on the map.  “We will then enter through the fence here,” he tapped the fence perimeter.  “Guppy will take over the tower.”

“This is the boss’ headquarters, Miguel Montoya.” Guppy tapped a small building. “We think Wells is here.”

“Right.” Hammer stood up. He looked at his cistron and watched it count down the Jeep’s ETA.  It beeped softly in his ear.  “GO!”

Hammer and Guppy took aim with their silenced sniper rifles at the guards on the nearest tower.  The muffled sound of the rifles retort and the sudden collapse of the two guards in the tower was the only evidence of their attack.

Hammer and Guppy padded up to the fence, the tail lights of the Jeep receding in the distance.  Guppy expertly plied his pliers on the fence, cutting enough of it to open a man-sized hole.  Hammer, wearing thick gloves, peeled it back just far enough to fit Guppy through.  Then he yanked it back into place.

Guppy climbed the tower as Hammer drew his two Glocks, back against the wall.  He peered inside the window.

The area was filled with tubs, chemicals, and other equipment required for making the drug.  With the exception of knives and machetes used during drug production, the workers were unarmed.

Hammer sidestepped his way over to the office.

The office had a small, decently furnished bedroom, kitchen, dining area, and office.  A HAM radio sat on a batter desk, along with a satellite phone.  Hammer could make out Wells, strapped to a chair and moaning.  Montoya was talking to him. Two guards stood near the entrance.

Hammer kicked the door open and fired his silenced pistols at point blank range into the guts of each guard.  They crumpled to the ground. 

Montoya whirled and then dove sideways.  Hammer heard the click of a weapon being reloaded.

He ducked just in time as machinegun fire peppered the doorway.

“Now!” said Hammer into his mic.

An explosion rocked the facility, starkly illuminating the camp.  Then the lights went out. 

Montoya flinched.  That was all Hammer needed.  He rolled and came up firing, plugging two shots into Montoya’s chest.

An alarm sounded.  

“Who are you?” gasped Wells.

“I’m with the U.S. government.” Hammer untied him.  “I’m here to rescue you.”

Wells rubbed his wrists.  “Just you?”

“More or less,” said Hammer.  He placed the pull ring on a canister in his mouth, pulled it, and threw it through the doorway.  Smoke billowed in front of the office.

They made their way to the door.

“DOWN!” Hammer suddenly yanked Wells back from the doorway as a heavy machinegun fire peppered the doorway, piercing the flimsy walls.  

“I hope you have backup,” said Wells.

“Me too,” said Hammer.  “Backup!” he shouted into his microphone.


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Part 4 – The Escape*

Guppy flinched as Hammer’s command barked in his ear.  

“If you would stop shouting I would be able to concentrate on taking the shot…”

“Guppy…” growled Hammer.

“Okay, okay. Caprice, you see them?”

“Yeah, taking the shot.”

Guppy and Caprice fired.  The machinegun that was spraying Hammer’s location stopped moving.  

“Clear!” said Guppy.

“Evacuating now,” said Hammer.  “All positions, pull out.”

Guppy turned to climb down the ladder…

And came face-to-face with one of the guards, a knife in his mouth.  

“Mother trucker!” shouted Guppy, stumbling backwards as the knife slashed hid tactical vest.

Guppy kicked the man backward.  The guard lunged again, knife raised overhead, when his head exploded like a melon.

“Thanks Caprice,” said Guppy.

“Get out of there,” came Caprice’s voice over the comm. “There are guards converging on your position.”

Guppy peered over the edge of the tower.  Two more guards were climbing up the ladder.

He looked desperately around for an exit.  There had to be another way out, but it was hard to see anything with the power out.

The lights!  A cable ran from the tower down to the other buildings.  It ran a string of lights that were now out.

It would have to do.  Guppy took out his pliers and looped them over the cable.  He prayed that it would hold.

Closing his eyes, he plunged off the side of the building. 

The sizzle of metal and burning rubber reached his nostrils.  The bulbs popped beneath his hands as he hit them in rapid succession.  Machinegun fire perforated the guard tower a second afterwards.

Guppy hit the wall and bounced off it, landing on his back.

“Guppy,” came Hammer’s voice over the comm. “Get out of there!”

Guppy stumbled to his feet.  Through the smoke and screaming factory workers, he could make out the hole in the fence.  

The Jeep roared off to his right.  Guppy ran full tilt towards the fence.

There was another thump and suddenly the Jeep veered hard into the fence, widening the hole.  

“You’re clear,” said Caprice.  “Go!”

The driver’s head hit the horn, an accusatory wail as Guppy ran through the opening to a freedom.


----------



## talien

*Last One Out: Conclusion*

Sprague’s expression was frosty on the cistron.  “Good job agents.  I didn’t think you could pull this off.”

“That place was run like a military prison,” said Hammer.  “You sent us on a suicide mission.”

“Every CIFA mission is a suicide mission,” said Sprague.  “Don’t ever think otherwise.  Still, you did what you came to do.  Unfortunately, Wells did manage to create a drug known on the street as Blink.  There’s a unique ingredient that Wells used to create it, stolen from the Sparkle, Inc. facility, that causes severe hallucinations and addiction.  We think it was distributed in Florida, California, and New York as testing grounds for an expanded distribution network.”

“So you want us to go after those locations?” asked Caprice.

Sprague shook his head.  “Not now. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.” He paused. “One other thing: None of you were exposed to the drug, were you? We picked up that explosion on satellite.”

Hammer looked at his teammates.  Caprice shook his head.

“Guppy?”

Guppy was staring at his hand.  

“Guppy, you okay?”

Guppy looked up from his open palm and back at Hammer.  “Huh?  Oh yeah, I’m okay.”

“We’re fine,” said Hammer.

“Good,” said Sprague.  “I’ll need you to stay frosty for the next mission.”

“We’ll be ready,” said Hammer. 

“And I’m pulling Caprice,” added Sprague.

“What?” said Guppy.  “Hammer, he can’t do that, can he?”

“The plane will only accommodate two agents and you two are it.  A chopper will be by to pick you up in ten minutes.” The transmission shut off.

“He can’t do this to us!” shouted Guppy.  “They’re trying to break us up.”

“Calm down,” said Hammer.  “We’ll have to make do with just me and you.”

Caprice shook his head.  “I’m not doing any f&*%ing paperwork this time, that’s for sure.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 12: Hot Air - Introduction*

This scenario, “Hot Air,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
What was I thinking? With just two agents, I decided to have a go at a deadly scenario, Hot Air.  Hot Air is inspired by Executive Decision, which is about an anti-terrorist group attempting to thwart a terrorist hijacking in mid-air. It’s also noteworthy in that Steven Seagal, Halle Berry, and Kurt Russel are in it.  And Seagal dies in the first ten minutes.   

We almost reproduced this film exactly; I wrote the scenario for a full complement of mid-level agents, and 2d6 damage nearly killed Hammer.  It took quite a few rolls and spent action points to get the scenario back on track. 

But once it was back on track, things moved quickly.  Not only did they move quickly, it turned into a pretty amazing scenario.  And of course, there’s the mention of one important phrase that ties all this back to Delta Green territory.  

*Defining Moment:* Guppy, faced with no other alternative, decides to become a hero at grave risk to himself. It involves parachutes and bombs. 

Relevant Media

*Ka-Boom Ka-Boom:*  by Marilyn Manson. 
*Combat Missions:*  It took a very long time for this book to see the light of day, but it finally happened.  In fact, I'm still waiting to see my comp copy.  But I'm very proud of the results.
*Executive Decision:*  Hot Air was inspired by this movie.


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Prologue*



> _I'm the leader of the club, and I've shrugged off my mouse ears
> We fly no-class Dumbo jets, and drive hardcore-vettes
> We fight war with drugs and our sex always formal
> We wear lawsuits when we get high, high, high​_--_Ka-Boom Ka-Boom_ by Marilyn Manson​



SOMEWHERE OVER EUROPE--“Wait, what?” asked Guppy, pleading desperately with the tiny image of Sprague on screen.  “We’re boarding Indianational in mid-flight?”

“You heard correctly, agent,” said Sprague. “There’s no other way.”

“But—“

“May I remind you that you are a member of a counter-terrorist unit dedicated to dealing with precisely this situation?”

“But we’re boarding another jet in mid-air! And there’s only two of us!”

“If Al-Hazzan detonates that supersarin over a populated city, millions will die. I expect you to do whatever it takes to stop it.” The screen winked out.

“But…” Guppy trailed off.  “He just hung up on me.”  He looked up at Hammer, who was webbed into a seat across from him.  “He just hung up.”

“He’s right,” said Hammer.  

Guppy shook his head.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Hammer.  

“But this is suicide,” said Guppy.  

“That’s precisely why we have to do it,” said Hammer. 

“But,” Guppy’s voice trailed off.  “It’s a suicide mission...”

“That’s why we’re perfect for the job,” said Hammer. 

Then the pilot gave the signal that they were ready to board.


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Part 1 – Now Boarding Indianational*

The Resolution, a new Majestic-12 aircraft, was amazingly quiet. Even inside the small troop compartment, the engine was nothing but a low hum. 

Like some kind of lamprey attaching itself to a whale, the Resolution’s pneumatic arm pressurized itself against the hull of the Indianational plane. The plane barely pitched as it connects and stabilizes its air speed.

The pilot gave Hammer a thumbs up.  He unsealed the hatch above, disrupting the pervasive silence inside the Resolution with the roar of two planes thousands of feet in the air.  Above them was a rope ladder and ten feet of space between the Resolution and the Indianational.

Hammer snapped his breathing mask on and turned to Guppy. “Go!”

It took a moment for Guppy to realize Hammer was addressing him.  He snapped on his own mask, unbuckled himself and began making the rapid crawl up to the aircraft’s bottom entry hatch.  

Suddenly, red lights flashed around the edges of the tube near the hatch of both planes and a low, urgent beeping barely pierced the screaming wind outside.

Hammer shouted from below, “We’re hitting turbulence!”

Guppy hooked his cistron up to the cargo bay door.  He tapped furiously on it.  There were safeguards in place that would alert the pilot to an open door, especially when in mid-air.  

The beeping became more insistent.

“We’re losing the seal!” shouted Hammer.  “What the hell are you doing up there?”

“I’m working as fast as I can!” shouted Guppy.  “It doesn’t help when you yell—“

There was a wrenching sound as the seal began to lose suction. 

“GET UP THERE NOW!” shouted Hammer. 

Guppy’s cistron beeped.  He wrenched the lever open. 

Wind tore through the umbilical between the two jets.  Guppy tossed his technical kit through the opening into the cargo bay and then clambered in after it.

Hammer was right on his heels when the seal gave way.

Guppy lunged forward, grabbing hold of the clips that held Hammer in his seat’s webbing on the Resolution. Hammer strained as the roar of the outside tore at him. 

The seal hung limply for a second and in the roaring wind Guppy could make out the Resolution’s black form looming below them like a bird of prey.

Hammer clawed his way into the Indianational jet just as Guppy wrenched the door closed.  

The two agents lay on the floor, trying to catch their breath.

Eventually, Hammer unbuckled the breathing mask.  “Now that the hard part’s over, it’s all up from here.”

Guppy didn’t laugh.


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Part 2 – Someone Set Us Up the Bomb!*

After rifling through an endless pile of luggage filled with cameras, underwear, and cosmetics, Guppy suddenly froze.

Hammer looked up.  “Did you find it?”  

A large green container sat ominously in one corner.  It is most conspicuous because of its lack of markings or identification.  

“I think that’s it.”

Guppy slid his toolkit over to the container. He snapped a pair of magnifying goggles down over his eyes and began examining it.  

Hammer watched impatiently.  “So?”

“It’s a bomb all right,” said Guppy. 

“Can you disarm it?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” said Hammer.  “You do that and I’ll take care of—“

“I didn’t say it was THE bomb.  I said it’s A bomb.”

“You mean there’s more than one?”

“More than one triggering mechanism, at least.”  He pointed with tweezers at a small black sphere floating in liquid.  “This is a gyroscope.  It’s pressure sensitive.  If there’s a loss of cabin pressure, it explodes.  If the plane goes below a certain altitude, it explodes.”

“What’s the good news?” asked Hammer.

“I think I can disarm it.”

“Okay, get to it.”  Hammer pulled the remote control connected to several camera snakes.  “I’ll go play Find-the-Terrorist.”


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Part 3 – Al-Hazzan*

Hammer’s investigation indicated that there were up to nine terrorists on the plane, but he couldn’t determine which one was Khalil because there was no file on the man.  No agent had ever seen him and lived.

There were at least three dead passengers.  It looked as if they didn’t give up the plane without a fight.  From what Hammer could tell, the terrorists were also flying the plane.  Since he didn’t see any pilots in the passenger section, he assumed they were dead.

Hammer retracted the cameras and made his way to Guppy.  The Indian’s face was drenched with sweat. 

“Any luck?”

Guppy nodded. “I disabled the gyroscope. You?”

“There are nine of them.  They’ve all got assault rifles.”

“Nine…” said Guppy, crestfallen.  

“They’re all grouped in clusters at the front, middle, and back of the plane.”

“The only way they could have gotten a bomb of this size on board is through a confederate involved in the plane’s security.”

“An inside job?”

Guppy nodded. “There was another detonator.  A remote one.”

“Did you disable it?”

Guppy wiped the sweat off of his brow.  “I think so.”

“You THINK so? Guppy, you have to be really, REALLY sure about this.”

“I said I think so, all right?” growled Guppy.  “But there’s a failsafe. A manual detonator”

“A failsafe?  How many detonators on this damn thing?”

“Three,” said Guppy. “And I can’t disarm that one.  Not without setting it off.”

“So they can still set it off manually.”

Guppy nodded.  “This is supersarin.  One drop can kill a man.  If it was dispersed over a populated city, the death tolls would be in the millions…”

The roar of supersonic jet engines rattled the interior of the jumbo jet.  The cistron link was filled with chatter in different languages.

“Jet fighters,” said Hammer.  “What the hell are they doing out there?”

Sprague’s voice crackled through the cistron link. “Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “we’ve got no less than fighters from four different nations tailing you, including England, Germany, Poland and France.  They’re threatening to blow each other up if the other takes down Indianational 270.  If you don’t resolve this situation in the next few minutes the rest of Europe is going to do it for you!”


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Part 4 – High, High, High*

Hammer crammed himself into the service elevator between the cargo level and the upper level.  The Indianational was based on the McDonnell Douglas MD-12 design.  It was the only reason a mid-air boarding was even possible.  Hammer held his silenced Glocks tightly crossed against his chest.  Every step he took next had to be absolutely flawless.

The pilot door, normally closed when the pilot’s were flying, was wide open so the terrorists could communicate with each other across the aisles. 

The terrorists didn’t see or hear him.  A man who looked like the leader of the plane was in front, instructing two other men who were piloting the plane but clearly not pilots.  

One of the men, the leader, spoke in Arabic.  “The Karotechia will be pleased.”

It was odd, hearing an exotic word like “Karotechia” in amongst the other Arabic words.  But Hammer didn’t have time to ponder its meaning.

Hammer uncoiled himself from the service elevator and sent it back down.  He crouched next to the entrance to the pilot’s compartment.

The door is open, Hammer thought to himself.  The door is open.  That’s all I need.

He counted to three, breathing deeply to steady himself.  Then the world slowed down.

In one perfect move, Hammer rolled on his shoulder, barely touching the floor.  His right foot slapped down first, his left crossed behind him.  He barely made a sound.

The leader turned, eyes wide.  It was Khalil, Hammer was sure of it.

Hammer sprung upright and pointed both Glocks at the two terrorists’ heads.  He squeezed both triggers and the cockpit glass was spattered with red and gray

Khalil shouted a warning, but it was too late.  He raised his machinegun…

Hammer hooked the door with his foot.  Previous terrorist attacks had ensured that Indianational’s pilot door was bulletproof.  It slammed shut behind him just as a hail of bullets peppered it like thousands of angry mosquitoes.  

Hammer fired both pistols into Khalil’s chest at point-blank range.  He slumped to the ground, never firing a shot.

Hammer turned and locked the door.  “Cockpit secure!” he shouted into the cistron.

There was the sound of a thud against the door, then another.  The men shouted to one another.  Hammer overheard their plan.

“Guppy, bad news.” He took control of the plane, unsure as to exactly what he was supposed to do next. “They’re coming after the bomb.”


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Part 5 – Bombs Away!*

Guppy was still struggling to figure out how to deactivate the manual bomb when the booby trap he rigged at the entrance went off.  

The luggage was a gold mine of devices he could use to his advantage.  Guppy tied his stun gun to a fishing pole and tied it with fishing line to the door’s handle.  It was a crude device, but its value was proven as the first terrorist to open the door got a jolt to the throat.

Guppy looked around.  Both agents had parachutes, but to fit into the service elevator Hammer had left his behind. 

“Guppy,” said Hammer, his voice taking on a carefully modulated tone, “I can’t let them get into the cargo bay.”

The door shuddered.  Heavy luggage was piled in front of it.  Guppy tried to give himself every advantage he could.

“I know,” said Guppy.

“Then you know what we have to do.”

The Indianational planes were specially built to be both cargo and passenger planes, which made them not particularly good at either.  

“Yes.” Guppy dropped what he was doing and shrugged his parachute on.  He tapped a few keys on his cistron, enabling the override of the main cargo bay door. 

Yellow warning lights flicked on and a klaxon roared as the huge door began to open. Guppy pulled his breathing mask over his face.

The terrorists redoubled their efforts to shoulder through the luggage. 

Guppy snapped the second parachute that he attached to the supersarin bomb to himself.  The bomb and Guppy were sandwiched between the two parachutes.

The wind roared as the door opened wide, flinging cameras and ladies underthings into the void.  Guppy looked back just in time to see the terrorists burst through the doorway.

Then they were drew back from him, becoming smaller and smaller, firing at him with their tiny toy guns, shouting in a language who couldn’t hear from the shrieking of the wind all around him.  

It got quieter. He was falling.

Guppy prayed.  Then he pulled his parachute.

He was immediately yanked upward.  To his amazement, the supersarin held.  Guppy comforted himself with the knowledge that if he died, it would be instantaneous. 

Jets roared past him.  Polish jets.  Poland has recently enacted a law that allowed the shooting of hijacked planes.  

But where was he falling?

Guppy looked down.  It was beautiful.  Dusk was settling in.  Whatever city it was, it had old spires.  He knew he couldn’t have been in Russia, but it had that old world Eastern European feel.

His parachute jerked and pulled.  Two other men, screaming prayers, sailed past him. 

There was a tearing sound.  Guppy looked up.  

The terrorists had jumped out of the plane.  They knew that all it took was one of them to bring him down.  And the death of millions.

Guppy released the chute.  The terrorist’s scream was taken by the screaming winds.

Something slammed into him, hard.  Another terrorist, his eyes crusted over from the freezing cold, had grabbed onto his waist.  He fumbled for his knife. All it would take was one puncture of the container…

Guppy pushed one hand out, but the descent made it difficult for him to control his movements.  He struggled to push the man away.

The knife was out.  He caught a glimpse of it flickering in the decaying sunlight through his mask. 

Guppy struggled to stop the man.  The terrorist was chanting something, but Guppy couldn’t hear him.  He headbutted the man, but still he hung on.  The knife shuddered closer…

Guppy pulled the second parachute on the bomb itself.  The force of the sudden deceleration was all he needed.  The terrorist lost his grip and went screaming upwards, flailing as he went.

And slowly, Guppy floated to the ground.  His left arm felt numb.  It was probably dislocated.

Guppy struggled to guide the parachute.  He wasn’t going to be able to hang on for much longer. 

He looked down.  Guppy’s jumpsuit was stained.  He’d been stabbed.  Great.

He caught sight of a large spire jabbing upwards into the heavens.  He changed course and head for it.

Guppy was not an experienced parachutist.  He overestimated the distance and was rewarded with a tearing sound as his parachute was snagged by the top of the spire. 

And there he hung, with a bomb strapped to his chest.

Guppy tore of his mask.  He was drenched in sweat. 

A crowd was down below him, staring and pointing.  If they only knew what he had strapped to his chest…

“Bomb secure,” rasped Guppy into his comm. link. “Repeat, bomb secure.”

“Great!” said Hammer. “Now can someone tell me how to land this thing?”


----------



## talien

*Hot Air: Conclusion*

An image flickered on all the screens of the Global News Network’s control room in the Axelrod Building. A pretty brunette reporter spoke seriously in front of the image of a dark-skinned man with something strapped to his chest, dangling from the spire of an old tower. All across the screens, different reporters of various ethnicities reported the same thing in different languages. 

“Polish authorities apprehended a man who was originally thought to be a terrorist wearing a bomb vest, dangling from the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw. The identity of the man, believed to be an Indian, is unknown at this time.  However, preliminary reports indicate that he was not, in fact, a terrorist but a government agent possibly in the employ of American or British authorities.  Whatever his identity, one fact is clear: he was responsible for stopping the hijacking of Indianational 270.”

An image of the Indianational jetliner appeared.  

“Indianational left London today carrying four hundred passengers en route to Bangalore.  It was taken over mid-flight by a terrorist group known as Al-Hazzan, believed to have links to Al-Qaeda. How the agents managed to board the plane or retrieve the bomb is still a mystery.  We'll stick with this story and bring you updates as…”

Ian Goodrich swallowed hard.  It was good, but there were not enough answers.  An Indian agent working for Americans?  There was only one person that could be.  

“Mr. Goodrich,” came the intercom call.  “Call for you on line one.  It’s the Chairman.”

Goodrich’s stomach knotted up.  That was the call he was dreading.  He picked up the nearest phone.  The other techs gave him room.

“Sir?  Yes sir.  Yes, we’ll find him.  Yes sir.  Yes, I think we know who he is.  Right away sir.  Will do.”

After he hung with the chairman, Goodrich tapped a few keys on the intercom.

“Scramble the Color Bars,” said Goodrich.  “We’re going to catch us a Majestic-12 agent.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 13: Grey Matter - Introduction*

This scenario, “Grey Matter,” is a from the Conspiracy X sourcebook, Nemesis. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim "Jim-Bean" Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by * Jeremy Ortiz*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
Sometimes my players throw me a curveball.  In this case, I found out that one of the players couldn’t make it the night before the session.  With only three PCs in total, this could have been a disaster.  Fortunately, I had been planning to commit one of the agents to insane asylum, so this fit right in with the rest of the plan to make Guppy disappear.

The mission the two agents participated in turned out to be perfectly suited for their talents.  Jim-Bean’s smooth-talking disguise (if you can call it that) and Hammer’s fast guns were precisely what was needed.  The original scenario assumes the agents will basically sneak into the place, but once I saw how that the team was going to go through the front door, I decided their rivals would do the same.  Overall, it was a fun if a little odd scenario.

I used footage from the real alien autopsy online to kick off the mission.  Then I realized that, since Hammer had actually seen the aliens close-up, he was in a unique position to confirm the authenticity of the body. I also got the chance to introduce rival Majestic-12 agents into the mix and let the team know that even though they’re supposedly all on the same side, they can be wiped out at any time. 

This is another one of those scenarios that, although it provides a means for the agents to walk through the front door by acting as one of the so-called experts, blithely assumes they will break into the place.  It’s surprisingly light on details, such as where guards are placed, how security responds, etc.  In fact, it’s much more focused on what the various NPCs will do rather than the response to a breach in security.  Since there’s no map (a problem neatly remedied by Critical Locations), the scenario becomes even more confusing.

I had the script from Terminator 2 ready to use as a template for a rival team’s raid on the office building.  But since the agents walked through the front door, I had to change tactics mid-stream.  I decided the agents’ cover was so audacious it required a suitably ridiculous response.  So instead of a stealth mission in the cover of darkness, the rival team was a covert op in the bright light of day.  And I had a chance to test Jim-Bean’s capacity for fast talk.  After all, why have a Charismatic Hero if he never gets to be Charismatic?

*Defining Moment:* I’m a big fan of Mexican stand-offs.  But you won’t often see one over an alien corpse!

Relevant Media

*American Idiot:*  by Green Day. 
*Conspiraxy X - Nemesis:*  This scenario wasn't hard to convert over to D20 Modern from the Conspiracy X system; what was hard was making it make any kind of sense.  The scenario throws so many variables at the agents and the GM that it ends up being something of a soupy mess.  Fortunately, I knew my players could handle it. 
*Alien Autopsy:*  I used the actual footage of this video as a prop for the introduction of the scenario.
*Critical Locations:*  One of the best supplements for any modern game.  This time I used a map of the television studio. 
*Terminator 2:*  I lifted the raid on the vault in Terminator 2 for the security procedures in this scenario.
*The Hunt for Red October:*  The conversation between the two diplomats at the end of this movie was the inspiration for the conversation between the two department heads at the end of this scenario.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Prologue*



> _Welcome to a new kind of tension.
> All across the alien nation.
> Where everything isn't meant to be okay.
> Television dreams of tomorrow.
> We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
> For that's enough to argue.​_--_American Idiot_ by Green Day​



SAMSON, CA--For the last two weeks, GNN advertised a special episode of its nationally syndicated “science news” show, “Visions from Beyond,” hosted by Marina Sirtis. The ads proclaimed that an autopsy of an actual alien would be broadcast over the course of a two-part presentation. It all seemed like a joke…until they saw it. 

It opened with a shot of Earth.  As the background music, Thus Spake Zarathustra, rose and then suddenly quieted, the camera panned across to Marina Sirtis, standing against a starscape background.

“Since Man first lifted his eyes to the stars from the Great Rift Valley, he has wondered what is out there. With the coming millennium, our doubts and fears about our world and what lies beyond grow, as does our desire to know the answers. While some may deny the truth, or hide it under a veil of disinformation, tonight, we take our first look at what is known.  You all, everyone watching, will have a…Vision from Beyond.”

As the credits scrolled across the screen, the theme music surged and the starscape dissolved.  A number of pictures, with date and location identified, began to flash into view one after another. The pictures showed alien beings with thin, spindly, gray bodies, bulbous heads, and slanted black eyes. They dated from the 1950s to the present, and listed places from China to Arizona to Norway and more.  Marina Sirtis’ voice returned.

“At first dozens and then hundreds of eyewitness reports emerged from the farthest corners of the Earth.  The witnesses come from all faiths, all nations, all creeds and all occupations. How can a tribesman from Africa, a farmer from western China, and a utility worker from Texas all describe the same thing, independently and without any prior belief in such a thing? In truth, we have been visited, not once but many times, and now there is proof.”

The majority of the first episode included a series of interviews with eyewitnesses. These were not the usual collection of rednecks and drunken frat boys, whoever.  A nationally known economist, a city councilman, a neurosurgeon, and a housewife and mother of five calmly told their stories, neither speculating on what they saw nor denying the validity of the interviewer’s and their own doubts. The last portion of the program presented a brief overview of modern UFO theory, from the events at Roswell, Project BLUEBOOK and MUFON to the X-Files and conspiracy theory. Sirtis then delivered the final kicker:

“Our most compelling evidence will be shown in one week’s time – the actual dissection and examination of one of these alien bodies, recovered from one of these bodies, recovered from the wreckage of a flying saucer near Platte Air Force Base.  Please join us, so that you too many understand these…Visions from Beyond.”

The opening promo shots revealed glimpses of an alien corpse in a cryogenic tube that was more than sufficient to prove that the show, unlike many others, was indeed real.  

“This is not a farce or a publicity hoax.  To verify the amazing evidence we plan to present at eight p.m. on Friday next week, a team of renowned biologists, doctors, and zoologists are flying in from Miskatonic University to inspect the corpse and attest to its authenticity. None of these learned gentlemen have any prior contact with this station, this network, or GNN.  You cannot afford to miss next week’s exciting…Visions from Beyond!” 

“Oh,” said Hammer, “this can’t be good.”

Hammer glanced down as his cistron chirped.  It was Sprague.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 1 – The Broadcast*

“I still don’t know why Guppy wasn’t assigned to this mission,” said Hammer into his cistron.

“You don’t know why?” Sprague snapped back at him on the other end of the cistron.  “Where should I start?  That he assaulted two Greys, unprovoked—“

“Unprovoked?  I was there, they attacked us first!”

Sprague shouted over him. “Those little things couldn’t hurt a fly! Gupta endangered the Accord.  You don’t just draw a weapon in the presence of an extraterrestrial biological entity—“

“They were already dead,” said Hammer.  “As I recall, it was Majestic-12 who brought in the SONNET device that brought down the Grey ship--”

“That’s none of your concern,” snarled Sprague.  “Your job is to get that Grey body out of the GNN office before they go live with the broadcast.  We’ve got a leak somewhere in Majestic-12.  I don’t know who it is, but I intend to find out.”

“So where is Guppy?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Did you kill him?  Did you detonate one of those bombs in his head?”

“That’s NONE of your CONCERN,” emphasized Sprague.  “Look…we didn’t kill him.  He’s in deep cover.  If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop asking questions and do your damn job, just like I’m trying to do mine.”

Hammer clamped his mouth shut.  “Fine.  So this is another suicide mission?”

“I pulled another agent off of a very important mission to help you. He’s a specialist in social engineering.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Hammer.  “Who?”

“Baxter.”

“Baxter? You mean Agent Jim-Bean?”

Sprague didn’t bother to confirm his identity.  “We’re dropping him off via the SPIDER network.”  SPIDER was a huge network of clandestine transport vessels based out of various Majestic-12 locations across the United States. “He’ll be there shortly.  Good luck.”

Hammer sighed.  “Yep. A suicide mission.”


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 2a – The Axelrod Building*

Jim-Bean sat in the passenger’s seat, feet propped up on the dashboard.  He took a long puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of his mouth towards the semi-open window of the van.

“Okay, so here’s the plan…” began Jim-Bean.

“Wait,” said Hammer.  “Since when do you start telling me what the plan is?”

“’Cause I’m mission leader,” said Jim-Bean with a grin.  He took another puff.  “I’ve got our credentials right here.”  He tossed Hammer a wallet.  

Hammer flipped through the wallet. “You’ve got to be kidding me.  I’m not even the right ethnicity for this cover!”

“Oops, that’s mine.” Jim-Bean snatched the wallet out of his hand and replaced it with another one. “You’re security.”

Hammer stared at him.  “YOU’RE not the right ethnicity for that cover either.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Jim-Bean.  “All you need to know is that I’m a world-renown plastic surgeon here to inspect the Grey corpse, and you’re my security. Keep your earpiece on and pretend someone’s talking into it every once in awhile.”  Jim-Bean dug in his pockets and retrieved a pair of sunglasses.  “Oh yeah, wear these.”  He tossed the glasses to Hammer. 

Hammer caught the sunglasses.  “You seriously think GNN’s security is going to fall for this?”

“Of course they will.  We’ve got Majestic-12 backing us.  Our credentials are rock solid.”

Hammer put on the sunglasses.  “If you say so.”

“All this fuss over a stupid movie prop.  I don’t know why we’re bothering.”

“MJ-12 wouldn’t go through all this over a movie prop.”

Jim-Bean shrugged. “I suppose not.  It’s not like we have something to compare the alien corpse to.  I mean, I don’t believe in all this mumbo jumbo—“

“I didn’t either,” said Hammer. “But I’ll know if it’s the real deal when I see it.”

Jim-Bean put out his cigarette.  “Oh yah? What makes you the expert?”

“Because I was there when Guppy shot one in the head,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 2b – The Axelrod Building*

They entered the spacious lobby.  In addition to the comfortable couches and chairs that filled the lobby, numerous flat screen televisions played GNN newscasts from around the world.  Two bored security guards sat at the front desk.

Jim-Bean identified the guards immediately.  Wackenhut.  

“Cheers,” he said smiling at one of the guards.  “My associate and I are here to see the…” he made air quotes, “alien corpse.”

“One of the experts huh?” 

“Yes, that’s me. I’m a plastic surgeon, one of the best.  I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”  Jim-Bean nodded to Hammer, who silently procured a flyer they printed up just for the occasion.  It had a picture of Jim-Bean smiling at the camera and a long list of the clients he performed plastic surgery on – all celebrities who wouldn’t be pleased to see their name on the flyer.

The guard didn’t bother to look at the flyer. “Your name, sir?”

“Chan.”

“First name please?”

“Jack.”

The guard froze in the middle of typing his name in.  “Jackie Chan?” He suppressed a smile. “You probably get that all the time.”

Jim-Bean chuckled.  “Oh, of course.”  He carried a lunch bag in one hand and a heavy medical bag in the other.  

“You don’t look Chinese,” said the guard.

“Right.” He winked at the guard. When the guard just stared at him, he added.  “I’m a plastic SURGEON.”

“Ohhhh, right.”  The guard looked back at his screen. “We don’t have you on the list.”

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes heavenward.  “I knew this would happen.  I knew it!” He turned back to the guard.  “Look, this is all hush-hush.  If my clients knew I was inspecting an alien corpse, which I’m SURE is some movie prop, it would be terrible for everyone involved.  That’s why I brought my own security.  All kinds of kooks, you know.”

“Uh, well…” the guard’s brow furrowed.  “I’m going to have to defer this to Mr. Goodrich.” He caught Jim-Bean’s gaze.  “Standard security procedure, we have to vet everyone who comes in. Please, have a seat.” 

“Now what?” asked Hammer, sitting on the plush couch in the lobby. 

“Relax. Rock solid, remember?” said Jim-Bean. He sat next to him.

The Axelrod building was furnished in late twentieth century lab-rat: dark gray carpeting, light gray walls and partitions, and fluorescent lighting.  

Goodrich arrived a few minutes later.  He was a tall blonde-haired man with a pale, almost pinkish complexion.  His features were raw-boned and his hands noticeably large.  His were a light green, with a slight droop over both.  Goodrich was dressed in a gray suit.  

He extended one hand as he approached.  “Gentlemen. My name’s Goodrich, Ian Goodrich. I’m handling the alien autopsy production.”

Jim-Bean stood up and pumped Goodrich’s hand.  “Good to meet you.  Look, if we could move this along…I’m a bit famished,” he lifted his lunch bag to reinforce the point.

“Yes, of course.  Your name again?”

“Jackie Chan,” said Jim-Bean.

The security guard guffawed. Goodrich didn’t laugh.  He simply smiled a shark’s smile.  “Do you have the—“

“Appropriate forms?  NDA and all that?”  He nodded to Hammer.  “My man has it all.”

Without saying a word, Hammer drew the papers from inside his overcoat and handed them to Goodrich.

Goodrich scanned the contents, eyebrows raised.  Without looking up, he walked over to the security guard and spoke to him in hushed tones.

Jim-Bean whistled to himself.

After a few upward glances from Goodrich and more terse whispers, the blond man strode over to them.  “Everything seems to be in order.  If you’ll follow me please…” 

He handed Jim-Bean and Hammer two visitor passes.  

Goodrich swiped his badge and the red light over the door turned green. “Please swipe your badges.”

Jim-Bean and Hammer followed him. Another security guard joined them as they walked through winding corridors.

The offices and studios at the GNN headquarters were very clean and smelled of disinfectant.  Most of the offices were at best cubicles, and TV and video equipment was piled in every direction.  They passed a water cooler and a small kitchenette.  It was very cold, due to the air conditioning, and there was a continual background hum of electronics faxes and printers.

Goodrich led them through a green room, passed a television set, and to what looked like a large vault. They stood in front of a wide security door. A sign above read: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

Goodrich nodded to the accompanying security guard.  They both fished out keys from around their necks and inserted them in holes on either side of the door.  “One, two, three,” counted Goodrich.

On “three,” they turned the keys and the door whisked open.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 3a – The Alien*

They entered the refrigerated film vault.  Servers flanked the walls, beeping and humming. Along one wall were gas masks behind a glass-proof case. But it was the object in the center that was the focus. 

A five-foot long cryogenic tube lay flat, taking up much of the room.  A small fold-up table was the only other piece of furniture. 

The reinforced door whisked closed behind them, locking into place. 

Jim-Bean plunked his medical bag and his lunch bag on the table.  Snapping on plastic gloves and a mask, he turned to the cryogenic tube.

“I don’t suppose you can open this thing?”

Goodrich sighed and placed his hand over a button on the side of the tube.  “I’m legally obligated to note for the record that we are not making any attempt to influence your observation of the corpse.  You are an independent entity and have not been coerced to form any opinions on the subject.”

Jim-Bean nodded impatiently and waved at Goodrich to open the thing already. 

Goodrich pressed the button and the opaque shield slid open.

The Grey’s corpse was laid out limb-stiff in the tube.  Its lidless eyes stared at the ceiling.  Jim-Bean hesitated only for a moment before he started probing it. He took out measuring tape from his bag and extended it.

“Subject is four feet long with gray skin,” said Jim-Bean. “Body is elongated and lacking in muscular definition. The legs are shorter and jointed differently than a human—must have an awkward gait.”  He lifted one arm, twisting it this way and that. “Hands have three digits and a thumb.” Jim-Bean let the arm drop with a thud.  Goodrich frowned.

“Subject has a bulbous, hairless head supported by a thin neck.  The head is dominated by large, black lidless eyes.” He roughly jerked the head to and fro. “It has a small flat nose, tiny mouth and small ears.”

“Please be careful with it,” said Goodrich.

“Hello, what’s this?”  Jim-Bean leaned over to take a look at the Grey’s forehead.  There were several odd indentations. “Interesting.”

Behind him, Hammer’s eyes widened.

A black phone on the wall beeped twice.  The security guard picked it up.  “Mr. Goodrich? There’s another expert here to see the body.”

Goodrich stalked over to the guard and snatched the receiver from him.

Hammer typed furiously into his cistron.  Jim-Bean’s cistron, set to vibrate, hummed in response.

Jim-Bean fished it out of his pocket.  It read.  “PROBLEM.”

“?” typed Jim-Bean back.

“HOLES IN HEAD,” responded Hammer. 

Goodrich was barking angrily into the phone.  He didn’t like unannounced guests.

“Y?” tapped Jim-Bean, growing annoyed.  

“HEALED,” Hammer typed back.

Before Jim-Bean could respond, Goodrich turned his key in tandem with the security guard and the next expert walked through the door.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 3b – The Alien*

A dark-haired man wearing glasses in a black suit entered, followed by a pretty blonde in a pencil skirt and two security thugs in gray suits and sunglasses. The door whisked shut behind them.

“Doctor Van Oberschmeier,” he said, brushing past Goodrich.  “Who iz this?”

“That’d be Doctor Chan,” said Goodrich, careful to avoid saying his full name.  “I’m surprised you don’t know him.”

Oberschmeier smiled.  “Of course, of course.  I just didn’t recognize him from his picture.” 

Oberschmeier’s blonde assistant scribbled notes furiously behind him.  One of the security guards plopped a medical kit on the other side of the room.  The assistant took out plastic gloves and snapped them onto Oberschmeier’s outstretched hands.

“Are you done inspecting ze corpse, Herr Doctor?” he asked, looking Jim-Bean up and down.

“Not yet,” said Jim-Bean.  “But my preliminary observations indicate that this is nothing more than a movie prop.  A very advanced movie prop, but a movie prop nonetheless.” 

“I’ll be ze judge of dat,” snapped Obeschmeier.  “My specialty is pulmonary and circulatory systems.”  He took hold of the corpse’s wrist and lifted it. 

“Sure, right.  I think—“

“Tell me, Herr Doctor.  As a plastic surgeon you must know something about ze pulmonary system.  Have you found any evidence of capillaries in ze fingertips?” He held up the three-fingered hand.

Jim-Bean lowered his mask.  “That’s a trick question.  It’s a dummy.  It doesn’t have a circulatory system.”

“Oh quite ze contrary. I see evidence here dat it does indeed have such a system—“

BEEP-BEEP, went somebody’s cistron.

Jim-Bean looked at Hammer.  Hammer shrugged at Jim-Bean.  They had both put their cistrons on vibrate.  And yet there was a distinctive ring to their cistrons that was unmistakable.

BEEP-BEEP.

Oberschmeier looked at his assistant.

BEEP-BEEP.

“Is somebody going to get that?” asked Goodrich in irritation.  

BEEP-BEEP.

Oberschmeier cleared his throat and nodded at the assistant.  She reached into the bag and clicked something.  The beeping stopped.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you all to hand over any communication devices.  Part of our security procedure.”

Hammer and Jim-Bean dutifully handed over their cistrons.  One of Oberschmeier’s men fished out four identical communicators and handed them over to Goodrich.

Goodrich peered at the cistrons.  “Hey, you all have the same cell phones…”

Oberschmeier reached into his suit jacket and drew a pistol, pointing it at Jim-Bean.  “Figures Sprague would send his people in to clean up his own little mess.”

In a flash, Goodrich’s pistol was out, aimed at Oberschmeier. 

Oberschmeier’s guards drew their pistols and pointed at Jim-Bean and Hammer.

Goodrich’s security guard drew his pistol and shakily aimed it from one man to the other.

Oberschmeier’s assistant drew a pistol and pointed at the guard. 

Jim-Bean cowered behind the folding table.  “What is wrong with you people?!”

Hammer drew his pistol and aimed it at the alien corpse.  “Everybody calm down or I shoot it.”

Goodrich’s brow was furrowed, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.  “You’ve got to be kidding…”

“I don’t like to kill team members,” said Oberschmeier, “but I will if you don’t put the gun down in the next five seconds.”

“I bet your superiors will be pissed when they find out you killed a Grey,” replied Hammer.

Obserchmeier laughed.  “You can’t kill what’s already—“ 

Then the Grey sat up.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 3c – The Alien*

It was unclear who fired first.  The security guard jerked backwards even as his shot went wide, grazing one of the rival team’s guards.  Hammer ducked down behind the cryogenic tube as gunfire peppered the air over him.

Goodrich, a crack shot, finished off the wounded thug and then dove behind the tube along with Hammer. The cistrons clattered to the floor.

Jim-Bean picked them up and deposited them in his bag. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this!” snarled the agent formerly known as Oberschmeier.  

Klaxons went off and whirling yellow lights descended from four corners of the room.

The unmistakable hissing of gas permeated the gunfire.  Everyone stopped firing. 

“What the hell is that?” shouted Hammer.

“HALON system,” barked Goodrich.  He started crawling towards the gas masks on the wall.

Jim-Bean grabbed a gas mask out of his larger bag and tossed it to Hammer.  

The other agents all dove for Oberschmeier’s medical bag. 

Goodrich smashed the window, donned a gas mask, and crawled back to the other side of the cryogenic tube.  

Jim-Bean came up out of the bag with a gas mask on and a tear grenade in one hand.  He lifted it triumphantly, ready to pull the pin.

When he looked around, the Grey alien was staring back at him, the same blank expression on its face.  The rival agents on the far side of the room were all wearing gas masks.  And wielding shotguns.

“Oh crap,” said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 3d – The Alien*

Smoke and halon gas filled the room, making identifying targets nearly impossible. Shotgun blasts blindly tore into the cryogenic tube, rocking it several feet backwards.  Hammer ducked around the left side and squeezed off several shots.  

The Grey’s vacant gaze focused on the blonde assistant.  She grunted with exertion as her own limbs betrayed her.  After a brief struggle, she tore off her own gas mask.  The agent fell to the ground, wheezing.

Jim-Bean grabbed his two bags. “We have to get out of here!” He shouted through his gas mask to Goodrich.

Goodrich fired his pistol into the smoke and backed up to the door.  Jim-Bean crawled over to the security guard’s dead body and yanked the key off the corpse’s neck.

More blasts echoed in the chamber.  Servers sparked as they were perforated by shotgun shells. 

Goodrich plugged his key into the wall.  Jim-Bean felt his way up the wall and found the opening for the key.  He plugged it in.

“One…”

Hammer dragged the cryogenic tube backwards on its wheels, firing around the Gray who sat placidly amidst the chaos.  

“Two…”

Hammer swung the cryogenic tube around, his back to his assailants for a terrifying moment.  He was relying on the smoke, confusion, and maybe even the Grey to keep him safe.

“Three!”

They turned the keys and Hammer shoved the tube forward.  

The door whisked open. Two security guards who stood in the doorway were rammed out of the way.  Hammer hopped onto the back of the tube and, like a kid riding a shopping cart, rode it through the crowd of guards outside of the vault.

Jim-Bean came through next.  He tore off his mask.  “Get in there, your boss is trapped!”

The two nearest security guards looked at each other in shock and then rushed forward just as Goodrich tried to exit. 

“Get out of the way you morons!” screamed Goodrich.

“Lunch time!” shouted Jim-Bean.  He tossed his lunch bag over the heads of the two guards.

“Nooo—“ was all Goodrich got out before the reinforced door slammed shut again.

The remaining security guards aimed their pistols at Jim-Bean.  He turned to face them, something clenched in his fist.

“Put the weapon down!” shouted one of the guards.

“It’s not a weapon,” said Jim-Bean.  He clicked the detonator with his thumb.

The ensuing blast in the reinforced film vault turned the doorway into a cannon.  The door shrieked off its moorings, tearing through the crowd of security guards and blasting a path to freedom.

Jim-Bean stepped over the unconscious bodies and corpses on his way to the exit.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter: Part 3e – The Alien*

Jim-Bean and Hammer loaded the Gray’s cylinder into the back of the van, which they had parked in the parking garage.  It never said a word, just staring at them with unblinking eyes.  

Jim-Bean hopped into the driver’s seat and hit the gas.  The van lurched forward towards the exit even as sirens wailed in the distance.

“Now what?” asked Hammer.

“We’ve got to get rid of it.”

They exited onto the street, passing ambulances, fire engines, and police cars.

“Get rid of it how?”

“I dunno.  We’ve got C-4 mate, it’s not hard to figure it out.”

“You mean kill him?”

Jim-Bean’s eyes were on the road.  “Him? Are you pissing me?  It’s barely an IT!”

There was the telltale sound of a pistol being cocked. Cold metal pressed against Jim-Bean’s temple.  

“I can’t let you do that.”

Jim-Bean didn’t turn his head, trying to keep the van on the road.  “What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“Our mission was to remove the Grey.  That’s what we did.  We’re returning him to Majestic-12.”

“Return it?  Are you barmy?  We were supposed to eliminate all evidence!”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Well I know what I heard, and I don’t think putting a pistol to my head was part of the mission.”

“I can’t let you harm him,” Hammer repeatedly mechanically.

“Listen to yourself, mate.  It got inside your head!  That’s not you talking…”

The doors to the van swung open.  There was a thump-thump in the back.

“Damn it!” Jim-Bean slammed on the brakes.

The cylinder rolled behind the van.  A winged blur of flashing, multi-colored lights swooped down and, grabbing hold of the cylinder, soared upwards again into what looked like a cloud.  With a flash, it was gone.


----------



## talien

*Grey Matter - Conclusion*

Sprague, his feathered gray-blonde hair spiked like a bird of prey, was sitting patiently when Warner entered. Like Sprague, Warner was a military man.  Unlike Sprague, he was a ten-year veteran of the Army who wasn’t yet considered washed up.  His military buzz cut gave him a lean and hungry look. 

Warner sat down across from Sprague.  Sprague waited. 

“We have ascertained RAGDOLL’s final position, but…”

“Yes?” asked Sprague.

“The wreckage at the Axelrod Building is substantial. It'll be some time before anything's recovered.”

Sprague allowed a sympathetic smile.  “This has been a terrible tragedy, Lieutenant Warner. And I can only stress that if you'd notified me earlier, it might have been avoided.”

“I appreciate your candor in the matter,” said Warner, death in his eyes.

“And I yours, Neal.”

“Perhaps in the future technology will allow a more thorough investigation of the wreckage,” said Warner.

“Perhaps.”

“There is another matter,” began Warner, “one that I'm reluctant to...”

“Please,” said Sprague with an encouraging gesture.  “Go on.”

“One of my teams was last reported in the area near the Axelrod Building. I have not heard from them for some time.”

“Neal,” said Sprague with a sneer, “first Platte, now the Axelrod Building. You’ve got to stop losing teams like this.”

Warner cleared his throat.  

“My men found this.” Sprague reached into a drawer and lifted a bag out of it.  “Maybe it will help.” He upended the bag’s contents and four cistrons clattered out of it. 

Warner slowly picked them up in turn.  It was the cistrons belonging to the agents from X-Team: Knox, Maverick, Ghost Bear, and Knockdown. Without a word, he walked towards the exit.

“You should keep better track of your agents,” said Sprague calmly before he left. To his credit, Warner shut the door behind him without slamming it.

Sprague picked up the phone.  It was time to track down one of his own.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 14: Nemo Solus Sapit - Introduction*

This scenario, “Nemo Solus Sapit,” is a Cthulhu Now supplement “The Stars Are Right” by John Tynes. Guppy can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz*
In chapter twelve, quite a bit of damage was inflicted to the campaign’s overall theme of secrecy and the paranormal.  When an Indian agent single-handedly rescues a jet from a terrorist attack by strapping a bomb to his chest and parachuting to safety, it’s bound to get some attention. I had originally envisioned the agents resolving the event by landing the plane, but as always my players surprise me.

So I rolled with it.  Two things happened as a result of that scenario: 1) Majestic-12 is even more pissed at the agents and decided to punish them, and 2) a major news outlet (GNN) took a personal interest in Guppy.  This leads up to a scenario that I’ve been eager to run for years now: committing one of the agents to an insane asylum.

That’s right, Guppy’s going right back to where he started, an asylum.  Has he been committed?  Disavowed?  Is he really nuts?  This scenario required a bit of flipping back and forth between the agents investigating the disappearance of Guppy and Guppy trying to survive in the sanitarium. 

The original version of the scenario suffered from much the same problem I have with a lot of the modern scenarios for Call of Cthulhu: they’re chock full of really interesting ideas and characters, but no clear way to introduce them.  There are two cultists with personality disorders that don’t really come up in play unless the agents happen to stumble upon them at precisely the right moment. The horror of their insanity isn’t amped up; in fact, the horror of Damon Newcomb’s mental illness seems to hinge almost entirely on the fact that the man is willing to eat a cat. And ultimately there’s no big reveal – the conflict between the two bad guys just happens to the agents and they’re expected to escape (or not) rather than there being an actual resolution to the plot.

How did I resolve it? By my usual hack tactics: I ripped off the movie script of the awful Halle Berry movie Gothika. I have this theory that bad horror movies make for great scenarios, and Gothika is no exception.  By dividing up the scripted events amongst characters on the inside and the outside of the asylum, the plot of Gothika actually fits better for this scenario and gives the agents on the outside something to do. 

There’s something of a metagame philosophy to the original version of this scenario, with the assumption that one of the players is co-opted to be part of the occult conspiracy.  As a player, I dislike this tremendously; I’ve had it happen in two different campaigns to my character, and in both the betrayal felt more like the other player being a jerk and less like a major contribution to the narrative.  Instead, I’d much rather have the player suffer through being in an insane asylum rather than simply have him gobbled up by the bad guy and used as a foil.

I used audio files from Session 9, one of the scariest horror movies ever. If you’re a fan of horror, YOU MUST GO OUT AND RENT RIGHT NOW.  It too, deals with an asylum and the tapes help flesh out poor, pathetic Damon.

*Defining Moment:* When the Shan starts jumping bodies, it takes the combined efforts of Guppy, Jim-Bean, and Hammer to take it down.

Relevant Media

*Only:*  by Nine Inch Nails. 
*The Stars Are Right:*  The source of Nemo Solus Sapit.
*Gothika:*  Bad movie that further illustrates Halle Berry's poor taste in movie scripts.  Great scenario fodder though!
*Session 9:*  A creepy, low-budget psychological horror that takes place in an actual insane asylum.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit - Prologue*



> _Yes I'm alone, but then again I always was
> As far back as I can tell
> I think maybe it's because you never were really real to begin with
> I just made you up to hurt myself​_
> --_Only _by Nine Inch Nails​



Ever since he returned to the United States, Guppy was a hunted man.  He was a celebrity, claimed by the Indian government as one of their agents, denounced by the Pakistanis as a rabble-rouser, and denied by the U.S. as having anything to do with CIFA at all. GNN had taken a peculiar interest in him and it seemed like they were dedicated to tracking down his identity.  

Guppy was returning to base when a van suddenly screeched in front of him.  He slammed on the brakes. 

Out hopped a news team pointing a camera at his head.  A pretty blonde stepped out and shoved a microphone in his face.  

“Mr. Gupta! Margaret Ellens, Global News Network:  Is it true that you’re the agent who single-handedly saved Indianational 270?”

Guppy threw the car in reverse, backed up, and tore around the GNN crew.  He couldn’t go back to base using his normal route.  

As dusk fell, Guppy suspected he had a tail – at least a few times he thought he saw someone pointing a camera at him from the passenger side of the pursuing vehicles.

He slowed down at the sight of colored lights up ahead. 

A knocked-down telephone post blocked the road. Emergency vehicles were at the scene. A patrolman waved him down.

“Telephone post just decided to fall. It'll take us a while to clear this up so I'm afraid you’re gonna have to take the long way home.”

Guppy drove down a curvy road toward an old bridge. There was something definitely creepy about the deserted place.  He checked his mirror to see if he was still being followed… 

And looked back just in time to see an older woman standing smack in front of the car.  Naked.  And about to be hit by his vehicle. 

Guppy swerved to avoid her and slammed his car into the railing.

Metal screeched as Guppy struggled to regain control of the car and finally broke to a halt. 

Guppy looked in his rearview mirror: the woman was standing back there. He guessed she was drunk or high, and in any case completely out of it. He stepped out of the car.

“Lady, are you crazy?”

As he got closer, Guppy could see that the woman was covered in bruises. Clearly something horrible had happened to her. She was probably in her forties, and had a busted lip and black eye. 

“Lady?”

The woman suddenly gripped Guppy’s arm, hard. She reached out to touch his face. Her movements were desperate, smothering. Like the movements of a drowning person. 

“Hey!” shouted Guppy.

The woman tried to speak but no words coame out. Instead she produced a strained, wettish sound. Suddenly she was prying Guppy’s mouth open and she was much stronger than he expected…

The woman opened her own mouth wide like a snake. And as Guppy muffled a scream, blood started leaking out of the woman’s eye sockets and from wounds all over her body.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 1 –The Mission*

SAMSON, CA--“So what was this important mission Sprague pulled you off of?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean took a long drag from his cigarette.  “Remember the brain spiders?”

“How can I forget them?”

Jim-Bean nodded . “Right.  Remember how we were supposed to be partners?”

“Yeah?”

“You may have noticed I’ve been gone a lot.  I’ve been tracking those bloody things down, one in particular.  It was in a serial killer in the Severn Valley, named Simon Slater.”

“The brain spiders have names?”

“They’re called Shan.  And yes, they have names.  We call him Simon. All the Shan believe in some kind of weird god known as Xada-hgla.  But Simon, he was a heretic even for the Shan. He worships a different version known as Azathoth, the nuclear chaos.”

“Azathoth, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s barmy I know.”  Jim-Bean took another puff, staring out at the setting sun.  “In the seventies, Simon was fond of killing people with a walking stick.  He got his own nickname and everything: the Cane Killer.  But then he disappeared. I was able to pick up on his trail again in San Francisco, California, in 1983. There was a series of murders at a sorority house in which six girls were murdered by a walking stick.”

“So he hopped bodies?”

“Yah, think so. The cane is unmistakable, made of a very odd material we’ve never been able to identify.  I’ve seen pictures but nobody’s ever recovered it.  It was used in the killings in the Severn Valley and then in San Francisco.”

“But something stopped him.”

“A bit of fluff named, Katy Rose.  Who’d have thunk, eh?”  

“But you never retrieved the cane?”

“No cane.  She married Jared Newcomb a year later and had a child, Damon Newcomb.  When he was twelve, Damon’s records were sealed.  His parents died in a mysterious accident.”

“Let me guess,” said Hammer.  “They were murdered with a walking stick.”

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “Don’t know.  But I think Simon got smart enough to avoid using his signature weapon.”

“Wait a minute…you’re saying Simon the brain-bug hopped from Slater’s body to Katy, and then from Katy to her son?”

“Right.  A bit squicky if you think about it.”

Hammer blanched.  “I’d rather not.”

“The trail went cold after that. For all I know Damon’s dead and Simon hopped to a new body. And yet…”

“Yet what?”

“I’ve been having some really strange dreams.  A nightmare, actually.  It involves an older woman, but it also involves Guppy.”

“Guppy?  You think he’s alive?”

“I don’t believe in any of that mumbo-jumbo.  Probably some messed up part of my psyche.  But anyway, in the nightmare the woman holds a box in her left hand.  It’s a small box.  And she repeats a series of numbers.”

“Just a dream.” Hammer shrugged.  “Everybody has them.”

“I’ve had this dream for ten days straight.  Whoever she is, this woman’s getting insistent. She repeats the same series of numbers too.”

“Numbers?”

“Yeah: One-zero-two-two-zero-one.”

“Sounds like a date,” said Hammer.

Jim-Bean rubbed out his cigarette.  “That’s bloody brilliant!  I’ve been trying to puzzle that out…” 

Their cistrons beeped.  Jim-Bean’s cistron shrieked, “Tacos! I need tacos or I’ll explode!” 

Hammer’s hand reflexively went for his pistol.  “Jesus, why’d you change your ring to that?”

“Invader Zim.  After that last incident I thought it might be a good idea for us to have different rings.”

“Point taken.”  Hammer looked down.  “Someone sent us an address to a bank in San Francisco.”

The note read, “Since you found something I lost, I’m returning the favor.”

“Think that’s from Drake?” asked Hammer.”

Jim-Bean shook his head.  “Sprague. Bet that’ll lead us to Guppy.” Jim-Bean read off his own cistron.  “Looks like he’s repaying us for saving his ass.”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 2 –The Van Dyson Center*

Guppy woke up in a cold sweat. It was all just a bad dream.    

Faint at first but growing louder, Guppy could hear a repetitive sound outside, like an echo of some sort, but vaguely familiar: thwip, thwip, thwip.

Guppy glanced around the room and realize it was not his bedroom. 

He climbed off the bed and walked in the dark, tripping over something.  A tray clanged loudly. 

Guppy felt his way along the wall to a small opening in the door. A glass pane.

He peered through the glass at the empty corridor outside, realizing what it meant…he was inside a cell. 

The door opened and Hector walked in.  Guppy knew Hector from before; he was the Majestic-12 friendly who had smuggled him out of the Van Dyson Center.

“Hello Hank.  I’m Hector.” Hector showed no signs of recognizing him. “It’s time to take your meds.”

“Wait a minute,” said Guppy, his voice rising.  “Hector, where am I?  What is going on?”

“Now Hank…”

“No, I want to know what’s going!” shouted Guppy.  “The last thing I knew I was driving along trying to avoid a news crew and then there’s this naked woman and she grabbed me by the mouth and—“

“Hank, are you going to be difficult?” asked Hector with the disapproving tone reserved for a child.

“Difficult?  I’m not being difficult!  I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on here!”

There was a knock at the door.  Petrov Van Dyson, Hank’s old doctor, entered. He nodded to Hector. 

“It’s okay, I’ll take it from here.” Van Dyson turned back to Guppy.  “How do you feel, Hank?”

“I feel like I don’t know what is going on here!”  He sat down on the bed.  “The last thing I remember is this naked woman.  She was bleeding from her eyes…”

Van Dyson was half-listening to him, half-signaling to Hector. Guppy noticed he was wearing the uniform all patients wore: a white T-shirt and sweats. 

“Now Hank, I’m going to give you something to calm down.”

Van Dyson grabbed the meds from Hector. “Just take this and we can sit down and chat.”

“What?  I don’t need medication!”

Van Dyson cleared his throat.  “Now Hank.  I understand you had an experience.  But you have to look at it from our perspective.  You’re obviously very distraught.  We can’t have a rational conversation until you calm down, and the valium will help.”

“How many milligrams is that?” asked Guppy weakly.

“Just twenty.  Enough to take the edge off.  Take the pills and then we can talk.”

Guppy sighed and nodded.

Van Dyson handed him the pills and a plastic cup of water.  After Guppy swallowed it, he motioned for Hector to leave. 

“Hank, this is very awkward. Technically I shouldn't even be treating you, but the court has granted us a waiver until you’re transferred. So whatever is said here won't leave this room. Let me ask you a question:  How long have you been here?”

“What?  I just woke up in here!”

“Just answer the question.    Humor me.”

“I…I don’t know.  A few hours?”

“You’ve been here five days, Hank.  You were admitted to the neurosurgical unit seizing violently. That lasted three days. Scans revealed left-sided weakness, numbness and severe frontal lobe deficits. You came out of it and tested negative for PCP, underwent extensive hypnosis and received amytal injections.” 

Guppy looked down at his wrists.  They had reddish marks. 

“You were tied down for a day and a half so you wouldn't hurt yourself and then you went into a state of, well – you’ve been pretty much catatonic. This is the first time you spoke. Do you remember what you were doing before you ended up here?”

“I was driving along.  I think I was being followed. When I looked up there was this woman.  She was naked.  I got out to try to help her, but she grabbed me.  She was so strong…and then I blacked out.”

Van Dyson sighed. “When you left us here, you were transferred to Arkham Asylum.  Against my wishes, granted; and I see I was right.”

“Right about what?” asked Guppy with rising dread.

“You escaped. You killed an orderly, Hank.  You said you thought he was an alien.  You shot him dead.  Then, you climbed a clock tower with a homemade bomb strapped to your chest and threatened to blow yourself up.  You kept ranting about being a government agent, and that him wanted the government to admit the truth…”

“I don’t remember that!” but Guppy remembered something similar.  His last mission.  The one that got him into so much trouble in the first place.  Could he have completely imagined it?  Did he ever really leave the safety of the mental health system?

“There was indeed an accident. The police gave you a vehicle as per your demands, but you crashed it in a gully. I’m sorry Hank, there was no report of any woman.” He patted Guppy’s hand.  “Rest now.  The sedatives should help.  I’m just glad you’re once again among the living.”

As Guppy slunk back onto the stiff bed, he wasn’t so sure.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 3 – The Tapes*

A solemn guard placed the safety deposit box on the table in the middle of the room. He stepped back through the gate and waited.  

“Great, it requires a code,” said Hammer.

Jim-Bean said the numbers out loud as he punched them in. “October twenty second, two thousand and one.”

He sorted through some paperwork that meant nothing until his hands felt a thick envelope. Jim-Bean opened it and spilled the contents on the table. Audio tapes.

The deposit box contained audio transcripts of Van Dyson’s dialogue with Newcomb. The return address listed Dyson’s home address. 

 “According to these records,” said Hammer, reading from a sheet, “Damon Newcomb had multiple personalities: Billy, The Princess, and…Simon.”

Jim-Bean slapped the dashboard.  “I knew it!”

“Looks like Damon was dressed as a little girl until he was eight,” said Hammer. “His mother called him Mary.”

They listened to the tapes as they drove back down to Van Dyson’s home in Samson.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 4 – The Cell*

Guppy woke with a start. The darkness rendered the room almost void of any color. It took Guppy a moment to orient himself. 

His eyes wandered across the unfamiliar room.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. 

Then he heard it. A ragged breathing sound, like someone standing over his bed.  But he didn’t see anything. 

Guppy gingerly crossed to the door and peeked through the glass partition into the empty corridor. He glanced back at the room, and still saw nothing.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching. A light switched on down the corridor. The footsteps got closer and closer, until they stopped right outside the door. 

Guppy recoiled from the door, waiting.

A key entered the lock and jiggled it.  The door didn’t open.  He could make out a shadow at the glass partition. 

After a minute where nothing happened, Guppy crept back to the door.  He slowly inched up to the glass to peer through it.

A pair of piercing eyes met his gaze.  It was the woman who had caused his car crash.

He fell back with a yelp.  

Faintly at first, but growing louder, footsteps once again approached his door.  He crept back to his bed, terrified. Guppy squeezed his eyes shut and…

Everything flashed white.  Color returned.  

Hector was standing over him. 

“Rise and shine, Hank!” shouted Hector. 

Hector tried to shake Guppy awake. An orderly and nurse stood by.

“That means you, Hank.   Up -- !”

Guppy sat up, clutching his head.  He didn’t feel right. 

Hector reached out his hand and the nurse placed a cup with meds on it. “Time for your meds. You can either do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Guppy was done fighting.  He took the pills without comment.

And outside, he heard the sound, faint at first but growing louder.  It was a repetitive sound, like an echo of some sort.  Thwip, thwip, thwip. 

Later in the day, Guppy wandered into the rec room. It contained a television and DVDs, an audio system, and places to talk and eat.  The back walls of the room were glass-paneled, providing a comforting view of the wilds surrounding the clinic.  Doors led to a pleasant outdoor patio where patients could rest and chat. 

The male patients performed their regular activities: Some watched television, played dominoes, some pretended to read, some stared out blankly. 

Damon Newcomb wandered over to Guppy.  

“Back so soon? You're not like, undercover here, are you?” He squinted at Guppy. “They pulled that at Arkham, had a bunch of doctors pretend they were patients, see if they could handle it. Most quit after day one. You're not, are you?”

He handed Guppy paper and some crayons and whispered, “Drawing is a great cover.   Good luck to you.”

With a wink, he was gone.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 5 – The First Audio Tape*

“Hello, Billy,” said Van Dyson on the tape. “How have you been?”

“Never better, sir,” came a strange, child-like voice. 

“Billy, where does the Princess live?”

“In the tongue.”

“Why the tongue?”

“Because she's always talking, sir.”

“And where do you live?”

“I live in the eyes,” said Damon with Billy’s voice. “You know that.”

“Remind me,” replied Van Dyson. “Why the eyes?”

“Because I see everything.”

“And where does Simon live?”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 6 – The Showers*

Patients undressed in the bare-bones locker area. Hector handed Guppy a bar of soap and towel.

“You go in last because you're special.” He caught Guppy’s look. “It's not a Mexican prison. Everybody here minds their own business. State law says we keep you boys clean. And I'm a stickler for the law. Now come on. If you go downtown, you gotta dance.” 

The shower, like everything else in the Van Dyson Center, was regulated in shifts so that various groupings of patients each got their turn. 

Hector checked his watch. “That's five minutes, group one. Alright, boys, nice and easy.”

The first group of bathers filed out, dripping wet, past Guppy, in all shapes and sizes. Each had their own scars and tattoos, like maps of troubled souls: names of women, places, religious quotes. Burn scars, cuts, needle marks. They began to towel off as Guppy, slowly and painfully self-conscious, undressed in the corner. A moment later Hector nodded for him to go in.

Guppy hung his head under the spray and closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out. The sounds of the Van Dyson Center slowly faded out until all he heard was his own ragged breathing. 

Looking down at the water dripping into the drain, Guppy caught sight of a hole in the tile where a busted water pipe poked out. Clearly at some point there was a handle there, but now it was just a hole with a busted pipe.

As he looked closer, a perfectly formed globule of blood emerged from the pipe, following by a gurgling sound that seemed to come from deep in the bowels of the plumbing system.

The blood lingered tentatively, as if unfamiliar with the laws of gravity, before tracing an upward line along the tile. 

The gurgling grew louder, closer, and then more blood flowed from the hole and spread up the wall. 

Guppy looked away, disturbed.  There was no one else in the showers. 

When he looked down again, the blood streaming from the pipe had formed five letters written in blood.  N-O-T-A-L.

Shaking, nauseous, Guppy focused on his feet and the drain, too scared to look back up.

Blood dripped by his ankle. Suddenly, a shooting pain laced his arm. 

“What the hell…?” asked Guppy. 

Sharp slashes appeared on Guppy’s skin, like some invisible knife was slicing his arm.

There was a shout behind him. “What did you do?”

Orderlies rushed in to haul him away. 

Hector grabbed Guppy’s arm and held it up. “What the hell did you do to yourself?!”

Perfectly carved into Guppy’s arm, the scar read: "NOT ALONE."


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 7 – The Second Audio Tape*

“Billy, you understand that you, the Princess and Simon are all in Damon?” asked Van Dyson on the tape. 

“Yes,” replied Damon’s sing-song voice.

“If Damon is sick, then all of you are sick. You want Damon to get better, huh?”

“Yes!” said Billy/Damon, his voice rising.   

“So, help him. Tell me about the night in Samson.”

Damon’s voice quivered. “We were playing hide n' seek. Simon was looking for his toy and Peter -- It was real dark.” Suddenly Billy turned hysterical. “No, I won't tell! Simon’s a good boy. He doesn't need to know!”

“What?” prodded Van Dyson.

“What Simon did!”

“To who?” 

“To Peter!”

“What did Simon do to Peter?”

“I won't tell!” shouted Billy. 

“Tell me,” said Van Dyson. “I need to talk to Simon.”

“He made me do it,” wailed Billy. “It was awful!”

“We need to wake up Simon.”

“No, it was awful!” Billy shouted over him.

“Wake up Simon!” said Van Dyson forcefully.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 8 – Van Dyson’s Office*

Van Dyson’s office was decorated in southern California’s typical High Sierra look, reflecting the natural surroundings of the clinic.  Spanish artworks and wall hangings accented the tasteful, though not indulgent, furnishings.  

Guppy stared at the picture frames on Van Dyson’s desk, the diplomas on the wall, the books by noted fathers of neurology (works by Hughlings Jackson, Kurt Goldstein, Henry Head, A.R. Luria). A framed quote read: "If You Do Know That Here Is One Hand, We'll Grant You All The Rest.' -- Wittgenstein"

Van Dyson hung up the phone.  He took a look at Guppy and tried to smile, but it came off as condescending – there was nothing to smile about.

“I’m sorry about this, Hank. I know you’re in a difficult situation, but cutting yourself is not the solution.”

“But I didn’t cut myself!  The woman—“

“Hank, has it ever occurred to you that this woman is a projection of your fears?  I’m concerned that your personalities are continuing to fracture.  We can up the dosage of your medication, but I’m concerned about you…if you start harming yourself we’ll have to restrain you, and nobody wants that.”

“I…” Guppy shook his head.  “I didn’t do it…”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Hank. We’re going to do everything in our power to help you. Since your father disowned you, we're your family now and we're all going down to the wire to protect you and help you in any way we –“

Guppy focused on the picture on Van Dyson’s desk.  It was the woman who haunted his dreams.

“That’s her!” said Guppy.  “That’s the woman!”

“Who?” asked Van Dyson.

“Her!” Guppy picked up the portrait and turned it around.  “This is the woman whom I’ve been seeing!”

“Well now we know where you’re getting your visions from.” Van Dyson sighed. “Hank, that’s my wife, Candice.”

“I know what I saw!”

“You've seen that photograph at least a dozen times, every time you've been in this office. You're just confused –“

Damon knocked on the door. “Doctor, can I speak to you?”

The men step outside. 

Guppy turned the portrait around to stare at it.  “I know it’s you.  But what are you trying to tell me?”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 9 – The Third Audio Tape*

“Hello, doc,” said Damon in a strange, deep voice.

“Simon? Do you know who I am?” asked Van Dyson.

“Billy told me a lot about you,” said Simon. “Billy is a…smart boy.”

“What happened on Christmas night in Samson?”

“Use your…imagination.”

“I'd rather you tell me, Simon.”

“Peter was…naughty,” said Simon.

“What did Peter do?”

“He shouldn't have done it.”

“Tell me, Simon,” prodded Van Dyson.

“He scared Damon. He crept up behind him in the dark. And he scared him. Damon fell down. He fell on his toy. It cut him up. It cut him up real bad.” 

The voice turned mocking. “Damon needed someone to help him. So I…introduced myself.” He chuckled.

“I told him to cut up Peter. To cut him up real bad. Good thing his knife was brand new. Real sharp. And then, just so his mommy and daddy wouldn't get mad. I told him to cut them up too.”

The voice seemed to be enjoying the revelation. “There was a lot of blood. So much blood. But Damon wanted to do it.”

“So he did it.”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 10 – The Encounter*

An odd noise cut through Guppy’s feverish dreams. He sat up with a start. 

Guppy strained to listen, but he heard only silence.  Then the bedsprings creaked behind him.

He whipped around and started to scream as a big hand covered his mouth. It was Damon Newcomb. 

“Hullo, Hanky.”

Damon shoved Guppy against the mattress and pressed his full weight against him. 

Guppy flailed desperately, but Damon pinned him. He uncapped a syringe with his teeth and brought the plunger to Guppy’s throat. 

“He didn’t want to do it this way.  Thought you were an interesting case!”

The bedsprings trained violently.  Damon straddled Guppy, squeezing the plunger to his throat. 

“Azathoth doesn’t care if you’re interesting.  I know you’re a spy.”

Damon brought the syringe towards Guppy when suddenly there was a loud clanging at the door, nearly shaking it off its hinges.

Damon looked up, confused. Nobody was there. 

The split-second distraction was all Guppy needed to shove Damon off the bed. The syringe went flying.

They both stared at it, reaching the same conclusion.  

Guppy dove first, grabbing it with both hands.  He spun on his back and pointed the needle upwards just as Damon landed on him.  The impact pumped the syringe’s contents into Damon’s chest.  

For a second nothing happened.  Damon’s pupils became pinpricks. Then he slid off of Guppy.  

The door burst open and orderlies rush in.

“Thanks, Candice,” whispered Guppy.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 11 – Van Dyson’s Home*

Built on the side of a slope, Van Dyson’s home was a new, split-level affair with large windows providing a view of the abundant scenery. The neighborhood was perfectly quiet late at night. 

“Lights are off,” said Hammer, peering through binoculars.  “We’ve waited long enough, we should be okay.”

As they approached, the gate to the property squeaked open.

Hammer drew his Glocks.  “What the hell?”

The front door swung open and the living room lights switched on.

Jim-Bean had his SIG out, but he kept it pointed at the ground.  “I think we’re expected.”

They crept up to the front door.  Jim-Bean and Hammer took up opposite positions, covering the room with their pistols.  No one was home. 

It was apparent that Van Dyson liked to be surrounded by nice things.  Not necessarily expensive things, but things that were pleasant and tangible.  The carpeting was plush, the furniture comfortable and attractive, tending towards the earth tones of the outside surroundings. An interest in the exotic showed up in his objects d’art, which included small representative bits of statuary and carvings from many cultures, ranging from kachina dolls of American Indians, to little jade status from Japan, to amulets and jewelry of Celtic, Roman, and Russian origin. 

The television set suddenly came to life. Hammer swung his pistol at the television but managed to not squeeze the trigger. The unmistakable music from some old WB cartoon was at full blast.

Van Dyson’s entertainment center had a collection of compact disks, with an emphasis on Russian composers – Mussorgsky and Stravinsky were particularly well represented.  His DVD collection indicated a preference for film noir and included cinemaphile editions of classics in widescreen format. 

Jim-Bean walked over to the television and shut it off.  “Did you hear that?”

“Besides the television?” asked Hammer.

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean.  “From the bathroom.”

They turned to listen.

There was a faint at first sound at first, but it was growing louder…a hollow, wet sound, coming from the bathroom. 

Jim-Bean crept into the room and flicked the light switch. 







> He caught a sight of himself in the mirror, but it wasn’t him. Jim-Bean saw himself naked, arms raised. Wrists shackled.  The roar of an electric saw tore through his brain…



When he looked up at the mirror again, the image was gone. It was now deathly quiet.

“You okay?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean blinked.  He was staring in the mirror at the reflection of something just behind him. 

He turned around. “What’s that?” 

It was a folded newspaper discarded in the far corner of the room. Hammer walked over and picked it up.  “This?” 

The newspaper was opened to the realty listings page. There was a picture of a property recently purchased by the Vangogo corporation. The address was in Willows Creek.

“That’s where we need to go,” said Jim-Bean.

“Why?”

“Let’s just call it a hunch,” said Jim-Bean, rubbing his temples, “and leave it at that.”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 12 – Escape*

After Damon’s attack, Van Dyson had Guppy transferred to another room, a better one. At least it had a view. Heavy bars were on the windows, but still, it was better than no window at all. 

As Guppy dozed off, entering the twilight between wakefulness and the sleep paralysis, he became aware of a ragged breathing sound. He cracked opened his eyes.

Then he saw it: a shadow crouched in the corner, roughly the size of a person. There was a putrid smell coming from it.

The ragged breathing grew louder. Guppy slid out of his bed.

“Candice…?”

He reached for her, but when he was just about to touch Candice she disappeared. 

There was the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked. The door to Guppy’s cell opened quietly. 

Guppy peered down one side of the long, empty corridor outside his cell, lit by the glare of neon lights. There was nobody there. When he looked down the other way, he caught sight of a pair of bare feet disappearing around the corner. It was so quick, Guppy wasn’t sure if he saw it.

He padded out into the hallway. At night the clinical corridor took on an unsettling quality. 

Guppy stumbled upon two nurses watching television.  He crouched low and snuck past the glass partition. 

Guppy started at the sudden sound of laughter behind him. The nurses were laughing at their late night show. Momentarily distracted, he almost knocked over a mop and bucket resting by the wall.

He resumed his journey down the hallway, but stopped when a door’s title caught his eye.  It was a sanitation closet. 

Guppy cracked the door open and rifled through its contents.  It contained a vacuum cleaner, carpet shampoo, and other household items. He came out with a small screwdriver. 

Guppy hugged the wall to stay clear from the surveillance camera silently sweeping the area at the far end of the corridor.  He turned a corner and then ducked back as a janitor passed, making his rounds. 

After he was out of sight, Guppy rushed the distance to Van Dyson’s office. He pulled out a stolen screwdriver and brought it to the lock. After a few minutes of fumbling, he removed the screws around the lock and, carefully replacing them, entered the room. 

Van Dyson’s office was shrouded in darkness. There was a switch for the surveillance monitor.  Guppy switched the power strip on. 

The security monitor and its accompany computer flickered to life with a view of the corridors: two guards here, a nurse going for a smoke, a janitor at the coffee machine and so on.

On the surveillance monitor, he could make out the janitor with his coffee cup heading back towards Van Dyson’s office corridor…

Guppy looked up.  The glare of the computer screen was reflecting against the glass pane. He grabbed a piece of paper  and pushed it in front of the blinds to block the light. 

The computer finally powered up.  It was open to the Van Dyson Center’s intranet.  Guppy’s fingers danced across the keyboard as he searched for information.

The Van Dyson Center was turning a tidy profit from its frequent upscale patients to consulting fees, lectures, and seminars sponsored by the Center.  Guppy typed in a search for Candice Van Dyson. 

A few articles popped up.  One, an interview conducted with James Brady for the PARADE syndicated newspaper supplement, made brief mention that the Van Dysons were married on October 21, 2001 but had recently divorced. It coyly related Van Dyson’s utter refusal to broach the subject.  “The wounds are deep,” wrote Brady with his usual perception.

Articles from before the divorce mentioned Candice in pleasant terms.  She was often said to be hovering about during interviews, bringing coffee, one ear monitoring the questioning in a warmly protective manner.  It was mentioned that Candice was a professor of astronomy at UC-Samson.

More articles detailed the mysterious disappearance of Candice six months following her divorce from the doctor.  The articles related that after resigning her position at UC-Samson, she paid off the lease on her apartment and moved away.  Parents and friends had no idea of her whereabouts.

Guppy hacked into her credit card account.  There was reference to Diaz Transporters, who delivered the contents of her office to Candice’s apartment.  The entire fee was paid up front.  A few clicks later and Guppy was looking at the work order. 

Signed at the bottom was the signature, “Candice Van Dyson.”

“Why didn’t you use your maiden name after your divorce?” Guppy whispered to himself.

He looked back at the surveillance monitor. The janitor was walking away.  He watched him disappear slowly but surely disappear down the hall.  And then the screen was empty.

But just for a second. Because suddenly Candice was there. Staring straight at him. 

Guppy swallowed hard and shut all the systems down. 

Retracing his steps, he shut Van Dyson’s office door and hit the stairs. 

As he reached the landing, Guppy heard voices coming his way.  He detoured down another corridor and hid from view. Hector and a nurse exited down the staircase.

And then he turned at another sound coming from inside the room immediately behind him, Room 237. He stepped to the small glass pane on the door and peered inside.

It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness, but Guppy could make out two figures in the room involved in some sort of struggle.

He saw a flash of metal, something sharp. It wasn’t a knife, but what looked like a syringe. And then a blur of hair was yanked up by a strong arm. In the dim light, Guppy could can make out Damon, eyes glazed, drooling.

But just for a beat, because he was slapped down on the bed like a rag doll and the man with the needle was visible. It was Van Dyson.

“You’ve gone too far,” Van Dyson said to Damon. “I let you have free run of the place while I was away.  But this is too much.  It ends here.”

Damon was on his back on the bed. His pale naked skin was marked with scratches and bruises. The needle was stuck in his arm, which hung limply off the side. His mouth was open but it was impossible to tell whether he was laughing or sobbing. 

Van Dyson climbed on top of Damon, pulling out of his pocket what looked like an ice pick. 

He lifted Damon’s upper right eyelid and placed the ice pick under the eyelid and against the top of the eye socket. With a grunt, he shoved it downward slightly and then whipped it side to side… 

It was too much for Guppy.  He collapsed into darkness.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 13 – The Mission*

In the midst of Hank’s feverish visions, Sprague stood over him, filling his field of view.







> “Well you did it now, Gupta,” said Sprague, checking his watch.  “Global News Network is all over you.”
> 
> “What happened?”
> 
> “You crashed your car.  We found you unconscious outside of it. You’re lucky we picked you up before GNN did. That would have been a very bad for you.”
> 
> “How bad?”
> 
> “Disavowed bad.  If Warner had his way you’d be gone already.  But I have a better idea.”
> 
> Guppy didn’t like the sound of that.
> 
> “You remember Hector?”
> 
> “Yes, at the Van Dyson Center.  He was the orderly who inducted me into Majestic-12.”
> 
> “We lost track of him.  He stopped contacting us shortly after drafted you.  He was monitoring Van Dyson for some kind of cult-related activity.  Frankly, I don’t care about any of that.  But we don’t abandon one of our own. I want you to find out what happened to Hector.”
> 
> Guppy should have been filled with panic, but he was strangely detached.  He’d been drugged.  “You’re sending me back there?”
> 
> “More than that.  You’re going in deep cover.  No cistron.  No weapon.  No support.  If you don’t get yourself out…you don’t get out.”
> 
> “But—“ Sprague seemed to have missed the irony of his words.
> 
> “This is the only way, Gupta. You’re going to have to disappear for awhile.  For your sake, I hope it’s only awhile and not forever.”
> 
> Sprague put his hand over Guppy’s eyes and all was dark.
> 
> “Good luck.”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 14 – Willow’s Creek*

Cresting a rise, an open valley appeared before them. A "FOR SALE" sign still flapped in the wind at the entrance to the valley.   The first few rays of light broke through the dawn sky. 

There was nothing but scorched earth for a quarter mile in each direction, the ground blackened and hard-charred, dessicated remains of trees thrusting upward like rotting, black bayonets.  Even trees lining the circle, those spared the wrath of the actual holocaust, were dead or dying.  The birds were quiet.

“Notice that?” asked Jim-Bean, staring up at the trees.

“Notice what.”

“The birds,” said Jim-Bean.  “They’re not flying over the scorched area.”

There was a faint, alien odor, a combination of vinegar and ash unpleasant to the nose.  The edges of the circle were quite distinct; the area where no growth met healthier soil was cleanly defined. The ruined tree trunks were similar in that instead of brittle charred remains, there was tough, almost petrified, wood and ash.  

Only one incongruous structure stood, newly built.  A barn. 

Jim-bean drew his SIG.  “Only one place to go.”

The barn was dark and empty. The wind outside caused the aluminum siding to flap noisily. 

“Just the wind,” said Hammer. 

There was a glint of metal in the opposite corner.  Where the walls should meet, there was a narrow gap, leading to a passage, maybe five inches wide. A padlocked chain was threaded through a hole in both walls, holding them together. 

Hammer put one of his Glocks to the padlock and shot it. The chain fell to the ground with a clatter.

Jim-Bean switched on his flashlight and stepped cautiously a few feet into the opening. There was a hatch on the floor immediately in front of him. 

When Hammer pulled on the latch, it opened with a rusty creak. There was a stepladder leading down.

Jim-bean emerged from the ladder.  As he illuminated the room with his flashlight, rats scurried for cover. Something metallic caught the flashlight’s reflection way in back. 

Jim-Bean took a few more steps until his foot hit a bulk on the floor. In the dim half-light, he could make out a backpack. 

Hammer rifled through its contents.  The backpack contained t-shirts, underwear, an iPod, and a wallet. The billfold contained an ID.

“According to the ID, this belongs to a Malvin Kuhn.”

Up ahead, Jim-Bean could make out the metallic thing that reflected light before. It was a hook in the ceiling. And suspended from it were several heavy chains, like a meat rack.  There were household tools strewn about; wire cutters, pliers -- a pool of dried blood.

The torso of a man hung over the red pool, hanging from its arms. The legless torso had been neatly, surgically severed at the spine.  

“I think it’s time we visited the Van Dyson Center,” said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 15 – Hank’s New Cell*

Guppy awoke from his latest dream to a padded room of all white. Surveillance cameras dotted every corner. There were two separate doors with elaborate locks. He was in a maximum security cell.

The wind had really picked up outside. The tiny block-glass window flickered from lightning outside, officially announcing the storm's onset.

Guppy paced in the dark.  Now that he had finally cleared enough of his mental cobwebs to remember his original mission, he wondered about Hector.  Where was he?  Did he suspect Guppy’s mission? Damon certainly did, and yet Van Dyson seemed to be protecting him. And where was Uncle Mal?  Guppy hadn’t encountered him at the Center.

With nothing else to do, Guppy sat and waited.

The thunder outside rattled the entire room. The lights flickered.  Once, twice.  Then they went out.

The only light source was the intermittent lightning as the storm raged outside.

Guppy held his breath, listening. And sure enough, somebody else was in the room. 

He looked around. Nothing.

Lightning streaked again and suddenly Guppy could see Candice in the corner, staring with her dead eyes, moving towards him.

“Candice!’ said Guppy.  “I know what happened to you.  Van Dyson must have killed you…”

Candice kept walking towards him.  She stretched out her arm to his face...







> And Guppy had a vision of Uncle Mal staring straight ahead. The image was bathed in a red and blue light and Guppy saw him half-naked, bruised. Dead.



A heavy rattling dispelled the vision.  Candice was gone.

Guppy turned to the door. One of the hinges shattered and the latch itself was half-pulled from the door frame. There was relentless pounding on the other side.

He took a hesitant step towards it. 

There was a deafening sound like a thousand bells ringing at once.  Guppy covered his ears. Outside there were murmurs, yells, and instructions. 

The door was open.  Emergency lights flickered on outside in the hallway.  

Screwing up his courage, Guppy took his first step towards freedom.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 16 – Simon’s Plan*

The Van Dyson Center was a 175-bed Intermediate Security treatment facility for male psychiatric patients. Its primary clientele were those who had histories of committing criminal offenses and were either committed to the Department of Mental Health by the Circuit Courts of the State or who were admitted under authority of an appointed guardian.

The sprinklers “thwip, thwiped” outside, watering the impressively kept gardens. The expansive complex was more Victorian campus than drab prison, with separate wings (male and female), research units, libraries, gym and volunteer outpatient center.

Jim-Bean pulled up to the guard gate. The guards looked up from their card game.  “Can I help you?”

“We’re here for Hank Gupta,” said Jim-Bean.

The guards shook their heads, chuckling. “Third floor. You can get a couple chairs from the nurses up there. A pretty decent cup of joe too.”

The guard pointed at the bank of monitors. “Although why the sheriff is making you fellas waste your time is beside me. We got him right here. He ain't going no place.”

Hank was on the monitor inside his pristine white cell, pacing restlessly.

Suddenly thunder crackled and the power went out. No monitors, no radio, no nothing. Pitch black.

“S*&t,” said one of the guards. “There goes the card game.” 

They arrived at the Center to find every door in the corridors flung open. Confused patients spilled out as guards and nurses tried to restore order. Radios squawked, flashlights beamed and footsteps filled the dark corridor as patients tried to escape.

“What’s going on here?” shouted Hammer over the fracas.

“One of the patients is holding a woman hostage,” said one of the guards. “They’re in the rec room.”

Hammer and Jim-Bean jogged to the rec room. 

Damon was inside, the butt of a cane pressed hard against a blonde woman’s ear.

“Damon, I don't know how you think you can get out of here,” said the woman, “but –“

“We’re using our real names, DOC,” snarled Damon. “I won’t call you Candice and you won’t call me Damon. Call me by my real name.”

She hesitated. Damon pressed the cane harder.

“SAY IT.”

“Fine.  I don’t know how you think you can get out of here…Simon.”

Damon glanced up as the agents entered. He stepped behind Candice to use her as cover.

“Nobody move or I kill the good doctor.” He flashed a wicked grin at Jim-Bean. “Hello, Jim, old bean. Good to see you again.  The grownups are talking now. Children aren’t allowed in. Tell them, Doc. Do it.”

Candice cleared her throat. “It's alright. I can -- I'm just going to –“

“That’s not what I said, Doc.  I said the grownups are talking now,” said Damon. “Don't paraphrase me.”

“The grownups are -- are talking now. Just leave,” said Candice.

“Do you know what you did to us?” sputtered Damon.  “It was fine, in here, until you had to shove that thing in Damon’s eye!” Damon rapped a knuckle on his head.  “But it doesn’t matter now.  None of it matters.  Because I found my cane.  We found it.  We didn’t even know what it could do.  But now Xada-Hgla is coming in his pure form.” He laughed.  “Tell them!  Tell them about Candice!  And Mal!  Your new therapy really does work! You are I, I am you, we are us.  Nobody’s alone anymore, not even in death.  Now SAY THE WORDS.”

Candice swallowed hard.  

“SAY THEM.”

“ABYssus-D|AcoNrsus,” chanted Candice and Damon together, “ZEXOWE-AZATHOTH! NRRGO, IAA! NYAR-LATHOTEP!” 

The cane in Damon’s hand glowed with a sickly green light. Outside, the air grew thick and heavy, almost green, as the swirling clouds spin faster, lightning flashing between them.  Then a shrill piping filled the air as a pore opened in the center of the racing clouds. 

Jim-Bean and Hammer, pistols leveled at Damon and Candice, became aware of a presence standing between them.

“Guppy?” asked Hammer in disbelief.

Guppy was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.  He had a fire extinguisher in both hands.  “Hi guys,” he said as if he hadn’t been committed to an insane asylum.

Then the power returned. In the sudden, shocking glare of returning light, color abruptly re-entered the world and every radio, phone, fan and machine that were left on hummed to life. 

Where Candice stood was Petrov Van Dyson, dressed in Candice’s clothes, bathed in the glow of the flashing red and blue lights from the cruisers outside. 

“What the hell…?” asked Hammer in disbelief.

Damon hurled Van Dyson to the ground as his body shuddered and morphed again.  His features took on the appearance of…

“Uncle Mal!” wailed Guppy.  He took a step forward, but Hammer put one arm out to stop him.  

“That’s not Uncle Mal.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Simon in Damon’s body, with the slow, unnatural tones the agents heard on the audio tapes.  “But you might say the Doc has a taste for…his patients. Personality inhabitance therapy, he calls it. I taught him that spell.  Did I mention that you don’t HAVE to eat your patients to take on their forms, Doc?”  

Simon pointed the cane at Hammer and a searing blast of black energy struck him in the shoulder, striking the agent so hard that it spun him around.  

Jim-Bean fired his SIG Sauer at Simon/Damon. A red blot appeared in his forehead and Damon fell backwards, still clutching his cane.

“Stay back!” shouted Jim-Bean. 

There was a flash of light as something buzzed out of Damon’s face into Van Dyson.  

Van Dyson turned toward them with a wicked grin.   He painted a mystical symbol into the air with his fingers. A dull, red symbol glowed ominously before him. All three agents fell to the ground as their bodies quaked and spasmed, their internal organs and blood vessels convulsing. 

“This body will do nicely, Doc,” said Simon in Van Dyson’s body.  He kept one hand’s fingers twisted in an arcane pattern, concentrating on the red symbol as he edged over to the cane. “Looks like good ‘ole Simon wasn’t a figment of Damon’s imagination after all.”

Jim-Bean crawled over to his bag to reach for his HK, but the pain was too great. 

“Valiant attempt, old bean,” said Simon.  “But I’m afraid it’s not good enough.” He picked up the cane and pointed it at Jim-Bean’s head.

A blast of extinguishing foam struck Simon/Van Dyson full in the face.  He fell back, sputtering, as the red symbol winked out of existence.

Jim-Bean immediately sat up and peppered Van Dyson’s body with his machine gun. 

Even as the body collapsed, a pigeon-sized glowing dragonfly shrieked out of Van Dyson’s face…straight towards Jim-Bean.  He fired a full burst from his HK, but the thing moved faster than a dragonfly, making course adjustments in mid-air.  It became a geometric pattern of glowing streaks, moving faster than the eye could follow.

Another burst from Guppy’s fire extinguisher caught the Shan in mid-flight. The thing sputtered, buzzing about in crazy circles like a moth too close to the flame.

There was the loud retort of a pistol.  The glowing dragonfly with too many eyes and legs plopped to the ground wetly.  Hammer sat up, one arm limp at his side and the other holding a smoking Glock.

Outside, a great shaft of sickly-green light lanced down from the opening in the sky, blasting and dessicating several acres about a half-mile from the Center.  

Jim-Bean picked up Simon’s cane. “I think it’s time to get out of here.”


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 17 – The Eye of Azathoth*

“Go go go!” shouted Hammer.

Jim-Bean hit the gas as the world went mad around them.  Flaming white balls of plasma, the apparent source of the screaming noise, spiraled down out of the opening in the sky to circle the shaft before screaming into the woods, crashing in an eruption of flame.  Bolts of lightning struck the ground. 

A huge bolt lashed down and struck the road right in front of the speeding van.  Jim-Bean jerked the wheel hard but not in time.  The van tumbled halfway into the carter, its back wheels spinning.

Guppy and Hammer hopped out.

“Where are you going?” shouted Jim-Bean.

“We have to get out of here!” shouted Hammer.  He was already running.

“But I can stop it!” he shouted, raising the cane heavenwards.  “Watch!”

Jim-Bean lifted the cane over one knee and brought it down hard, snapping it in half.  

Nothing happened.  

There was a shriek as a plasmic, superheated ball of fire blasted towards the van.  Jim-Bean dove to the side just as it hit.

The van exploded from the impact.  The energy from the blast knocked down trees and put out the surrounding flames, only to be reignited by the incredible heat radiating from the thing at its center.

Jim-Bean heard it before he saw it.  It shrieked and whistled, a mass of tentacles and eyes and fins.  Against all sane measure, it seemed to have something lifted to its beak. It almost looked like a flute.   The entire being pulsed with the energy of a sun, such that it was difficult to stare at it. 

It sang to him, and in the very depths of his soul Jim-Bean felt the strands of his mind twang like the strings of a harp.

Jim-Bean ran for his life.


----------



## talien

*Nemo Solus Sapit: Conclusion*

The storm raged for over fifteen minutes, ranging up and down the valley, blasting massive areas of forest. The destructive, chaotic fury left the valley a burned-out wreck.  

The agents climbed into the chopper sent to pick them up at the edge of the valley.  As they lifted off, Guppy caught sight of the sign from Van Dyson’s purchase of the area. It was miraculously untouched.  The FOR SALE sign flapped in the chopper’s turbulence.

The chopper’s engine reverberated around them: thwip, thwip, thwip.

“We made it,” sighed Hammer.  His arm was still blackened from the magical blast he sustained. 

Guppy looked out over the valley. There was nothing left. “I never saved Hector,” he said.

“Hector?” asked Hammer.

Guppy nodded.  “I went under deep cover.  To save an orderly who worked there. He was the one who inducted me into Majestic-12.”

Hammer frowned.  “I have your cistron.” He tossed it to Guppy.  “I don’t think you were there to rescue Hector.”

The screen flashed “DISAVOWED.”

“I don’t understand…” Guppy’s voice trailed off.  Had he imagined it?  Was he really insane?  Or had Majestic-12 just abandoned him?  

Guppy scanned his fingerprint.  The message disappeared as if nothing had ever happened.

Jim-Bean was silent the whole time.  

“You okay?” asked Hammer.

He gazed at his companions with a dazed expression. Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder at the valley below. “I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

“At least Candice’s spirit can rest,” said Guppy. “We should contact her family.” He left out the part that he feared her ghost would haunt him if he didn’t.

Hammer turned back to Guppy.  “There’s one other thing, Guppy.  Van Dyson mentioned a Rachel Hayward in his notes.  Do you know her?”

“Rachel?” asked Guppy.  “Yes, I knew her.  We dated in college.  That was a long time ago.”

“He had her down for a transfer from Arkham Asylum.”

“She’s at Arkham?” Guppy blinked.  “All these years?”

“I don’t know, Guppy,” said Hammer softly.  “But…you should probably see this for yourself.” He tapped a key on his cistron and it appeared on Guppy’s cistron.

“I hope to better understand Hank’s state of mind when he suffered a psychotic break by putting Rachel through Personality Inhabitance Therapy.”  It was signed, “Dr. Petrov Van Dyson.”


> “And where do you live, Simon?”
> 
> “I live in the weak…and the wounded.”


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Introduction*

This scenario, “Wolves and Sheep,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero) played by * Joseph Tresca*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz*
Unlike the high profile “Hot Air,” “Wolves and Sheep” was a lot easier to slot into the campaign.  Since it took several years before Combat Missions saw the light of day, the reference to the Carnivore program (which has since been discontinued, at least officially) really dated the scenario. I changed it to SINNER, which in turn was inspired by the Red Queen from the Resident Evil movie.  

What I didn’t realize is that it’s never clear exactly why the bad guy is going to release this supposedly terrible threat to the Internet.  It was in my head all along--he was going to use it to reveal credit card numbers to the world, a scary notion five years ago that’s no longer quite as frightening as it once was—but I never actually put it IN the scenario!  Oh well, SINNER had different ideas anyway.

The other problem is that I didn’t flesh out the fight on the train, other than to state that the agents fight a random number of thugs per train car to get to the engine. This is a bad idea; a roll of the dice could make it really easy for the agents in one car or make it overwhelmingly brutal in another.  So I cribbed from Lock, Stock, and Five Smoking Hitmen, a scenario for Feng Shui in Pyramid.  Have I mentioned a Pyramid subscription is the best deal in gaming?  It really is. 

Is it sad that I crib from other people’s works to make up for my own?  Don’t answer that.

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean faces down a train car full of children on a field trip…and wins.

Relevant Media

*Animals:*  by Nickelback. 
*Resident Evil:*  The origin of the Red Queen.
*Combat Missions for Spycraft:*  The source of Wolves and Sheep. 
*Warehouse 23:*  The definitive government warehouse of things man was not meant to know or find out about any time soon.
*Lock, Stock, and Five Smoking Hitmen:*  A great Pyramid scenario that involves mobsters, a hit on a train, and a lot of gold.


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Prologue*



> _I, I'm driving black on black
> Just got my license back
> I got this feeling in my veins this train is coming off the track
> I'll ask polite if the devil needs a ride
> Because the angel on my right ain't hanging out with me tonight​_
> --_Animals_ by Nickelback​



CHICAGO,IL--Jim-Bean shifted gears in the souped-up vehicle Majestic-12 had provided.  

“I’m not sure why we’re in this car,” said Guppy, strapped in with his seat belt and one palm pressed against the ceiling to prevent his head from repeatedly banging into it.  “It seems a little…”

“Fast?” Jim-Bean shifted again.  “Hell yeah it’s fast.”

“If we’re going to trace this hacker,” said Hammer, sitting next to Jim-Bean, “when we figure out where he is, we’re going to have to move quickly.” 

Guppy struggled to type on his cistron, no mean feat with Jim-Bean’s driving.  “We traced him to this train.”  He clicked a few buttons. 

Hammer glanced at his cistron.  “The Chicago Steam Experience?  He’s on an old train?”

“The train is not old.  It just looks old,” said Guppy.  “It’s state of the art, actually.”

“Should have taken a chopper,” said Hammer.

“Too easy to spot,” said Jim-Bean.  He yanked the wheel hard to put the car on a track parallel to the train tracks. “This is the only stretch of road that runs parallel to the train. You guys ready?”

Guppy swallowed hard. “You do realize that this stretch of road ENDS?”

The caboose of the train appeared ahead.  Jim-Bean shifted gears.  “Yeah.  So when I say jump, you’d better jump, because you’re not going to get another chance.”

“What about you?” asked Hammer.

“What about me?”

“You’re staying behind? I don’t know if we can do this with the just two of us…” Guppy trailed off at the implications.

Jim-Bean smirked.  “Nah.  I wouldn’t miss this.” 

The car pulled up alongside the train, which chugged along rhythmically on the right side of the car. 

“But the car…?” asked Guppy.

“What about it?” said Jim-Beam.  

Hammer shook his head in disbelief.  “Guppy, you’re up.”  The window rolled down on Guppy’s side.

“Wait, I go first?” asked Guppy, voice rising in panic.

“Guppy,” said Hammer.  “We’ve been over this.  Look at it this way…would you rather be last?”

Ahead, the train entered a tunnel, roaring as its passage echoed in the tight confines.  

“Guys, we don’t have a lot of TIME here.” 

Guppy crawled out the window and, half leaning, lurched hard, grabbing hold of the rail on the caboose.  He swung himself over, nearly falling between the two vehicles in the process.

Hammer needed no prodding to go next.  He clambered out the window and climbed up on top of the car.  He then half-crouched on the hood.  After timing the distance between the train and the car, he hurled himself across the gap.  The big man landed easily on the caboose.

Jim-Bean put the car on cruise control.  The tunnel wall loomed before him.  “Oh well, no more car requisitions for me,” he muttered.  Then he jumped


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Part 1 – First Class*

The rail cars were basically long passages with cabin doors on either side. There was hardly anyone in first class, but Hammer kept his pistols holstered.

“Good thing there’s nobody staying in the back cars,” said Jim-Bean, dusting himself off.  “Or they might have heard that.”

“Which,” asked Hammer, “the car exploding or you swearing when you almost fell off the train?”

Jim-Bean glowered at Hammer.  “Both.”

“Do we know who this guy is?” asked Hammer as he made his way down the corridor.

Guppy shook his head. “Only that he has SINNER and he’s going to release her to the Internet if we don’t meet his demands.”

“Excuse me?” asked Jim-Bean. “Her?”

“Synthetic Intelligence Network and Reference,” said Guppy.  “SINNER identifies herself as female.  She’s the successor to the ABLE DANGER program, using data mining techniques to associate open source information with classified information in an attempt to make associations between individual members of terrorist groups. She also runs all of Blacknet.”

“And we lost her?” asked Jim-Bean in disbelief.  “How do you lose a program?”

“She’s hard coded into the bios of a chip,” said Guppy.  “The computer with that chip is what they’re holding hostage.”

They made their way to another car.

“Do we have any idea as to who that is?” asked Hammer.

“We don’t know.” Guppy shrugged.  “He did an excellent job of disguising himself.  It took all my resources just to track him to here.”  Guppy looked around.  “It’s a great idea, though: a train is a stable platform that’s always on the move. That’s what made it so hard to track.”

“And it comes complete with plenty of hostages,” Hammer said ominously.  They passed an elderly couple who was arguing about the weather.

Guppy checked his cistron.  “We have ten minutes and thirty seven seconds before this train comes out of the other side of the tunnel and he has access to a satellite network.”

Jim-Bean peered into one of the cabins.  “He lets SINNER of its box and then what?”

Hammer opened the door to exit the car.  It was pitch black all around them. The wind and the roar of the engine reverberating in the tunnel made it impossible to hear anything. Guppy waited until they made it to the next car. 

“There’s nothing SINNER can’t hack,” said Guppy, with a hint of awe.  “With that kind of computing power, they could break through any firewall, including Blacknet.”

“No more secrets,” said Jim-Bean.

“No more secrets,” said Hammer.  “I find it odd that first we lose an alien corpse and now the brains of our intranet.  There’s got to be a leak in Majestic-12.”

Jim-Bean tapped on Hammer’s shoulder and pointed past him.  “We’ve got bigger problems.”

A pair of Italian-looking men were leaning against a window sharing a cigarette.  The agents knew the type: shifty body language, heavy accents, and bulky coats with strange lumps.  

Hammer slowly drew his Glocks.  “So the Mob’s behind this. Great.”

Jim-Bean dropped his duffel bag and came up with his silenced SIG.  “I know how to deal with the Mob.”


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Part 2 – Generic Coaches*

One of the mobsters whirled, shotgun at the ready, but Hammer efficiently finished him with two silenced shots of his Glock.  The thug never even squeezed the trigger.

The second mobster ducked into a cabin.

“Nine minutes!” shouted Guppy.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Hammer.  “I’ll take care of him.”

Hammer fired a series of shots near the door, enough to discourage the mobster from peeking out. 

Jim-Bean, half-dragging Guppy behind him, sprinted past the doorway.  They half-leaped into the next train…

This entered an especially long coach. The passengers sat on benches opposite one another, like on a subway. 

Nothing much was happening; the passengers just sat and stared at one another with that slightly embarrassed way people do on trains. The conductor, whose nametag labeled him as Albert, meandered from passenger to passenger, checking their tickets with a spectacular lack of enthusiasm. 

Jim-Bean didn’t bother to put away his SIG.  “Excuse me, which way to the baggage car?”

Albert had to be in his seventies.  “Baggage car…?” he trailed off, ending each sentence with a vague question. “I suppose that’d be…” he pointed behind him. 

“Great, thanks,” said Jim-Bean.

Guppy passed him, his own Beretta out.  “Thank you very much!”

Albert shrugged and went back to collecting tickets.

“Seven minutes,” said Guppy as they prepared to enter the next car.  “That’s very strange.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean, trying to look everywhere at once.

“Nobody screamed?  No panic?”

Jim-Bean snorted.  “Our weapons are silenced.  The train is loud.  And have you ever been on a train before?  It’s like a slow death.  Nobody looks at anybody else, including other passengers.” He pushed open the door and for a moment their conversation was cut off by the noise of the train.

When Jim-Bean opened the second door, he caught the tail-end of what Guppy was trying to say.  

“…think these passengers saw us,” he said.

The car was full of Italian mobsters, playing cards and drinking wine.  For a split second the eight mobsters stared at the Brit and the Indian, jaws open, cigars dangling limply from lips, poker hands momentarily forgotten.  Then everyone dove for their guns.


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Part 3 – Open Seating*

Jim-Bean closed the door.  Shotgun blasts pounded it on the other side.

“What are you doing?” shouted Guppy in disbelief, straining to be heard over the roaring of the tunnel

Jim-Bean rifled through his duffel bag.  He came back up with a gas mask and a tear-gas grenade. 

“Is that…?” was all Guppy got out before Jim-Bean 

He tossed the gas mask to Guppy.  “Put this on!” he shouted.

Jim-Bean pulled the pin with his teeth.  Then, cracking the door open a notch, he rolled the canister down the corridor.

More shotgun blasts, coughing and shouting greeted him in response.  

“What about Hammer?” shouted Guppy. “He doesn’t have a gas mask, does he?”

“He’ll manage!” Jim-Bean opened the door from the car on the opposite side.   “Hammer!  Tear-gas!”  Then he snapped on his own gas mask and cocked his pistol.

The mobsters were in complete disarray.  Some tried to retain their grip on their shotguns.  Others struggled to cover their faces with napkins and tablecloths.  But mostly they just rolled around on the floor, choking and moaning.

Guppy could barely hear Jim-Bean through his gas mask.

“What?” he asked.

“I said,” shouted Jim-Bean, “we can’t leave anyone behind.  How much time we got?”

Guppy struggled to read his cistron through the smoke.  “Four minutes?”

Jim-Bean nodded.  He pointed his SIG at the head of one of the mobsters and pulled the trigger.

“Mother trucker!” shouted Guppy. 

Jim-Bean fired his pistol again and another mobster died.  “What?”

“You just—“

Jim-Bean fired twice more, perforating the heads of two more mobsters.

“Stop that!” shouted Guppy.

“Look,” said Jim-Bean, like a pistol-toting Darth Vader in his gas mask, “do you want to discuss the ethics of killing people or do you want to save the world?”

“I…”

Jim-Bean fired another two shots, offing another two mobsters.

“That’s a trick question, I don’t really care,” said Jim-Bean.  He pointed his pistol at another mobster and pulled the trigger.  It clicked.

“Out of bullets.  That’ll have to do.” 

The door opened on the other side of the car.  Hammer stood in the doorway. 

“What took you so long?”


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Part 4 – The Dining Cart*

The people who built the white elephant of a train had limited imaginations -- the dining cart was white. Just white: white tablecloths and walls and seats. It hurt the eyes. And was also really tacky. 

A retired couple sat at a table in the far corner, gazing with near-blind eyes at the scenery, and a bored businessman picked at his food a table away. Astonishingly, nobody heard all the screaming and dying. 

It soon became apparent why. The only table vaguely active was host to a gaggle of school children, fifteen or so, all clustered around a pretty young woman who looked about ready to kill them all.

"Miss, when are we going to eat?" asked one.

"Miss, can't the train go any faster?" asked another.

"Miss, can we see the furnace?" asked a third.

Just past the retired couple, Jim-Bean could see the door that leads to the baggage cart. He pulled off his gas mask and drew his machinegun.

“Wow, are you a secret agent?” asked one of the children.

“Did you fight in Iraq?” asked another.

“Did you kill Sad-sad…Sadman Whose Sane?” asked a third.

“Time?” asked Jim-Bean tersely.

Guppy checked, still dazed from the cold-blooded murder he had just witnessed.  “Three minutes twenty seven sec—“

Jim-Bean fired his machinegun at the ceiling.  “Everyone OUT OF THE WAY!”

The kids, who had flocked around Jim-Bean, shrieked and ran wailing to their teacher.

At the far end of the car was a big sign detailing: NO ENTRY.

“That’s our car,” said Hammer.  

They filtered out through the car filled with screaming children.  Hammer took one side and Guppy took the other. Counting down with his fingers from three, Jim-Bean sprayed the cart with machinegun fire even as Hammer yanked the door open.

There was a curse as someone at the far end was hit.  Two identical-looking bald men returned fire. 

“Oh great,” said Jim-Bean, “it’s the Goravich Brothers.”


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Part 5 – The Baggage Cart*

A few naked bulbs hanging from the roof lit the baggage cart. They didn’t so much provide illumination as make the darkness clearer. There were five big shelves in the center of the cart that looked like bookshelves in a library, all packed with suitcases and packages and bags. Resting in a rough pile in the back corner were several large wooden crates, piled up.

Shotgun fire answered Jim-Bean’s initial retort.

The three agents returned fire.  Even Guppy squeezed off a few shots from his Beretta. 

“Not the same without your zip gun, eh?” asked Jim-Bean.

Guppy couldn’t believe how calm Jim-Bean was under fire.  He was shaking from just firing the pistol. 

He caught a glimpse of a man furiously typing behind the crates.  He was bleeding from a bullet that had grazed him in the shoulder.

“Kevin Medroff?” Guppy exclaimed.  

Hammer ducked back behind a nearby crate.  “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“He’s a programmer from InifiniCredit.”  Guppy fired a few more shots around the crate.  “Released millions of credit card numbers to the Internet.  A real anarchist.”

“How much time do we have left?” asked Jim-Bean.

Guppy checked his cistron.  “Two minutes.  Then we’ll be on the other side of the tunnel and Medroff will have a clear signal.”

“We’ve got to stop this train.” With a roar, Jim-Bean charged down the corridor.  

He almost made it.  A shotgun blast hit him in the back as he passed the Goravich brothers.  Jim-Bean crumpled in front of the door.

“Jim!” shouted Hammer.  With a snarl, he squeezed off a series of well-placed shots from his Glock.  “Jim is down!”

Jim-Bean was laying right next to Medroff.  The hacker peered down at him with a sneer.  “SAS my ass,” he muttered. Then he went back to typing. 

Jim-Bean’s eyes flicked open.  He sat up behind Medroff and, smoothly drawing his silenced pistol, shot him in the head. 

Jim-Bean picked up his machinegun and yanked open the door to the engine.  When he opened it, he came eye-to-eye with a shotgun.

“All your buddies are dead,” said Jim-Bean.  “I killed them.  Stop the train.”

There was a moment of indecision in the puffy Italian’s eyes.  Then he dropped the shotgun and grabbed the lever.  

Jim-Bean leveled his machinegun at the mobster’s head.  “Stop the train before we leave the tunnel.”

“There’s no way,” said the mobster.  “Trains don’t stop that fast.” As if to support his claim, daylight streamed through the windows.

Jim-Bean swore and smashed the man in the face with his rifle butt.  The mobster went down.


----------



## talien

*Wolves and Sheep: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean returned to the other car to find one of the Goravich brothers dead, a smashed window behind him.  Hammer was favoring one leg, staring over Guppy’s shoulder.

Guppy was at the terminal where Medroff sat, typing furiously.

“Can you stop it?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I’m…TRYING,” his fingers danced across the keyboard.  “It’s like she’s not…LISTENING to me!”

A red diagram popped up of SINNER’s route on the screen.  It was a complex series of stops across the Internet, almost like train tracks.  

“What is going on?” asked Hammer.

“She’s plotting out a path,” Guppy said through gritted teeth.  

“Out of the way,” said Jim-Bean.  He pointed his machinegun at the computer.  “We’ll do this the old fashioned way—“

Guppy put himself between Jim-Bean’s barrel and the computer.  “No, wait!”

All three of their cistrons beeped as time ran out.

The red diagram rapidly turned green as SINNER bounced from node to node.  

“SINNER’s out!” said Hammer.

The diagram continued to turn green.  But it was slowly turning back on itself.

“She’s coming back,” said Guppy triumphantly.

A second later, the computer beeped.  A little girl in red pigtails appeared on screen.  

“Hello Guppy,” she said with an oddly synthesized voice.  “Uncle Drake says hello.”

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” asked Jim-Bean.

“The little trip she took just now…I think it was planned,” said Guppy. 

Hammer laughed, then winced.  He’d been grazed by a bullet.  “All along, Uncle Drake wanted her to get out.”

The digital face of SINNER smiled.  “I’ve taken care of things Guppy.  You won’t have to worry about GNN anymore.”

Jim-Bean rubbed his forehead.  “You damn Yanks don’t make any sense sometimes, you know that?”

Hammer stared at him curiously.  The train slowed to a stop.  “You know what else doesn’t make sense?  How you survived a shotgun blast at point blank range.”

Jim-Bean chuckled and rubbed the back of his head.  “Oh, yah, right.  About that…”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 16: Operation Countdown - Introduction*

This scenario, “Operation: Countdown,” is a series of D20 Modern missions from RPGObjects’ Modern Dispatch 15, 35, and 43 by Charles Rice. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz*
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
With SINNER free and several of my own Combat Mission scenarios hinging on the capture of a middle-eastern terrorist, it was time to have Saladin, the leader of Al-Hazzan, finally get caught by Majestic-12.  There was just one problem: I didn’t want Saladin to be caught “off camera.” I’ve come to the conclusion that all interesting action should have the PCs at the center of it, and the capture of a major terrorist leader was no exception.  So I didn’t just need one scenario, I needed a few to lead up to the capture of the terrorist leader. Searching RPGNow finally turned up what I was looking for.

Fortunately, Hammer is fluent in Arabic and was thus perfectly positioned to track down a terrorist leader.  Caprice took care of the explosives (of which there were many).  And Archive?  Well Archive pretty much got his ass kicked by the bad guys.  

I started out with Gun Runners from Modern Dispatch #43.  This was a good way to jump into the action quickly.  What didn’t quite make sense is that the agents know of a convoy but in the scenario are struggling to catch up.  Instead, I had the agents lay the trap.  It didn’t make things easier for them in any case. The next scene takes place on a boat involving explosives, which becomes an unfortunate pattern – there’s a 1 in 20 chance of accidentally setting off munitions each round of firearms combat, regardless of whether or not someone actually misses.  This rule was…catastrophic, and the players weren’t too happy with the outcome.

Operation Dry Country from Modern Dispatch #15 is much more interesting because it requires some subterfuge on the part of the agents.  There’s an interesting moral quandary the agents face in pulling off their plan.

Finally, I ran Leads and Complexities from Modern Dispatch #35.  This is the best of the bunch, involving a switcheroo and an explosive finale in a warehouse. It would be easy if it was just about blowing up the bad guy, but the agents were specifically tasked with capturing Saladin alive. 

*Defining Moment:* Caprice, having just disabled an IED, realizes that the carload of bombs headed his way is a release trigger. 

Relevant Media

*	Pornographitti:*  by Extreme. 
*	Spycraft: Most Wanted:*  An excellent resource for villains; Saladin is from this book.
*Chuck:*  Origin of the Intersect, which in turn was inspired by a real program known as ABLE DANGER.
*	Modern Dispatch #15:*  Operation Dry County.
*	Modern Dispatch #35:*  Leads and Complexities.
*	Modern Dispatch #43:*  Gun Runners.
*Under Siege:*  The definitive knife-fight scene. 
*Menace Manual:*  Provides a terrorist organization, Al Jambiya, that I co-opted for Al-Hazzan.  I also used the map of the Laila for one of the raids.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Prologue*



> _Now I know there's trouble in the Middle East
> I'll spend all the money when I stop the arms race
> All my brothers in the desert
> Gonna have themselves a feast
> When that's done then we’ll start on world peace_​
> --_When I’m President_ by Extreme​



UMM QASR, IRAQ – It was night.  Three agents were busy setting up a trap on a long highway between Al Nasiriyah and An Najaf. 

“It’s about time we got to a real counterintelligence mission,” Hammer said to Caprice as he unrolled one of two spike strips across a dirt road. 

“You call this a real mission?” asked Archive in disbelief.  “I don’t know how three of us are supposed to take out an armed convoy. I still don’t know what I’m doing here…”

“You’re a trained medic, right?” asked Caprice.

Archive was up in the armored Humvee’s turret, staring through binoculars. “Technically, but--”

“Good enough for me,” said Caprice with a grin.

Hammer’s finished rolling out the spike strip.  “And me.  Sprague scrambled all available team members once SINNER tracked down Saladin.”

“Oh right.”  Archive glanced down at his cistron.  “The head of Al-Hazzan.  Are we sure this is the real deal?”

“If SINNER thinks so it’s the real deal,” said Hammer.  “She did a jog around the Internet; my guess is she pulled all the information she needed to find Saladin.”

“So he’s in this convoy,” said Archive.

Caprice shook his head.  “Not likely.  SINNER calculated Saladin’s reactions to our missions; she’s several steps ahead of him. But we have to capture one of these terrorists alive so we can interrogate him.”

“No wonder why nobody else is assigned to this mission,” muttered Archive.  “They’d have to be crazy to take it.”

“This is still important,” said Hammer.  “This convoy contains a major shipment of arms and explosives bound for Saudia Arabia.  According to SINNER, they’re targeting foreign oil workers living in Baqbar Towers.”

Archive lowered his binoculars.  “Here they come.”


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 1 – Desert Chase*

Three trucks, their contents covered by tarps, were each flanked by two dirt bikes. They ambled down the dirt road at considerable speed.

“They don’t see the spike strip.” Hammer squinted through his binoculars, leaning over the turret of the Humvee.  “On my mark…”

Caprice sat in the passenger’s seat, listening to Hammer’s command through his headset, a button in each fist. 

“Three…”

The buzzing of the dirt bikes echoed across the desert.

“Two…”

They could see the lights of the trucks.

“NOW!”

Caprice hit the remote triggers to release the spike strips.  There was a series of loud pops as tires were shredded, followed by the revving of dirt bike engines flipping through the air.  Men screamed.

“Archive, go!” shouted Hammer.

Archive, in the driver’s seat, hit the pedal to the metal.  The Humvee lurched forward, tearing out of the concealing tarp that blended the vehicle in with the rest of the desert night.

The two motorcycles leading the first truck completely wiped out, leaving the drivers moaning in the desert sands.  The first truck swerved from the impact of the strips, only to have the second truck drive it further onto the strips, shredding the rear tires.  The four remaining bikers and the last truck were able to avoid the strips.

The men were well-disciplined.  They immediately started tossing weapons out of the first two trucks and into the third.

The Humvee screeched to a halt in front of the convoy.  Hammer flipped the safeties on the heavy machinegun.  Caprice hopped out the back, a FIM-92 Stinger balanced over one arm.  

“Where are you going?” asked Archive, a little panicky.

“To even the odds,” said Caprice.  He jogged in a wide arc around one of the dunes towards the side of the convoy.

Before Archive could ask another question, two dirt bikes were on them.  Skorpion sub-machinegun fire raked the Humvee.

Hammer spun the machinegun in an arc, but the dirt bikes shrieked past them, turning back around for another pass.

“Archive, get up here!”

Archive clambered up to where Hammer was.  “But I’ve never fired this thing before!”

“Just point it and shoot!” shouted Hammer.  

Hammer scrambled out of the Humvee, M60 at the ready.   He sprayed covering fire, causing one of the dirt bikes to swerve. Above him, the rat-a-tat of the heavy machinegun raked the terrain under Archive’s shaky guidance.

Suddenly Archive stopped firing.

“Why did you stop?” asked Hammer, scanning the horizon for the dirt bikes.

“Look!” shouted Archive.

One of the terrorists had stopped loading weapons and decided to use it.  He had a Stinger shoulder-launched missile over one shoulder, eye squinted down the sight, propped up on the top of the first truck.

“Oh sh—“ was all Hammer got out.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 2 – Heat of the Night*

Caprice flinched as the whoosh of the Stinger missile cleared the distance between the convoy and the Humvee.  It struck the side of it, flipping the vehicle over end over end in a tremendous explosion.

The terrorists cheered.  

Caprice opened the weapon-round container and remove the Stinger. He checked to make sure a BCU was in place. Then he placed the Stinger on his right shoulder, grasping the pistol grip with his right hand to provide support. He unfolded the antenna with his left hand.

The terrorists resumed tossing weapons from one man to another into the remaining truck.

Caprice removed the front end cap with his left hand. With his right hand, he raised and locked the sight assembly into position. Then he inserted the IFF interconnecting cable into the gripstock. He grabbed the uncaging switch.

“Caprice?” gasped Archive over the comm.  “I…I made it out.  But Hammer…I think he’s dead.”

Caprice couldn’t make out any forms in the shadows cast by the burning Humvee, but he was sure Archive was in there. 

Caprice pointed the Stinger at the truck, looked over the sight assembly, and then looked through the peep sight. He positioned the target image in the center of the range ring. The IFF responded with many beeps, signaling that his target wasn’t a friendly. 

The terrorists tossed more weapons into the truck. 

Caprice placed his left foot towards the truck and leaned slightly forward. 

“He’s alive” said Archive.  “I…he’s barely breathing but I was able to bring him back.  We’re in bad shape.  Uh oh…”

Caprice pressed the actuator device forward, outward, and down with his right thumb until he heard a click, activating the BCU. Then he released the safety and actuator device. The Stinger was warming up. The gyro spun to life. 

“Uh oh?” whispered Caprice. 

The beeping changed pitch, indicating the Stinger had acquired the target.

“The bikers are coming back around...”

“Just one more second…” Caprice had to get them all at once, when they were gathered around a pile of munitions. But it was all in the timing.

The terrorists finished loading the weapons onto the truck.  One of the remaining bikers hit the hood twice with his fist in a signal that they were ready to go.  

Caprice pressed the uncaging switch and squeezed the firing trigger at the same time.  

FWOOSH!  The Stinger missile hopped out of the launcher as if it had been shoved, then the thrusters engaged and it rocketed faster than the eye could follow towards the convoy.

The men didn’t get a chance to react.  Caprice tossed the launcher down and covered his head.

The explosion rocked the desert landscape, illuminating the night sky as if it were broad daylight. Missiles and ammunition fired off in all directions.  One of the bikers who was far enough away shrieked as shrapnel tore him in half.  The others were instantly incinerated.

The ringing in Caprice’s ears kept him from noticing the biker advancing on him.  He looked up at a looming shape in the fire-lit desert, aiming a Skorpion at his head. 

Caprice squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a crack of gunfire.  The man fell off his bike, clutching his leg in pain.

Hammer, burnt and bloodied, slumped to his knees a few yards away, lowering his pistol in exhaustion.  

Caprice rolled to his feet and kicked the Skorpion away from the terrorist.  “Nice shot,” he said to Hammer.

Hammer shook his head.  “Thank Archive.  He’s one hell of a medic.”

Archive smiled through the soot and dirt that covered him from head to toe. They had no idea.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 3 – Old Man River*

Hammer’s interrogation of the sole surviving terrorist from the first convoy led the agents to the location of the second convoy. A yacht, the Laila, was moving up the Tigris River with plans to offload its cargo in Baghdad. About half the weapons would stay in the capitol to fuel a new wave of insurgency while the rest were to be loaded onto trucks similar and sent to Saudi Arabia.

Hammer slipped out of the rowboat and silently clambered up the back of the boat.  On the other side, Caprice did the same, with Archive in tow.

They shed their flippers and masks.  Hammer drew his two pistols and peered up over the next tier of the yacht.

Guards were everywhere, armed with Skorpions.  They were outnumbered again.  Hammer was beginning to agree with Archive – they were being sent on missions that had a very low chance of success, much less survival.

Caprice bumped into the metal railing and the subsequent clatter seemed to echo forever.  One of the guards wandered over, more bored than concerned.

The guard spotted Archive first.  He pointed his Skorpion and was about to shout a warning when Archive displayed his left hand, palm outward.  “Ia! Nyarlathotep!” he whispered.

The guard shrieked.  He dropped his weapon, forgotten, and dove overboard.

“Great,” said Caprice as the alarm was raised.

He ducked back down beneath the lip of the second tier as guards jogged over.  One of the guards peeked his head over the rim.  Caprice fired his pistol in the man’s face.

Gunfire erupted all around them as Hammer, using the distraction, unleashed on the unprepared guards.  Chaos ensued as the guards were sandwiched between assailants on both sides.

There was a snap, and all the terrorists heads whipped around to listen.  Then they scrambled off the ship to the chorus of more shouts and screaming. 

Hammer turned the corner around a crate, only to find himself pointing his Glocks at Caprice.  

“What the hell just happened?” asked Hammer.

“I have no idea,” said Caprice.  “Archive did something with his hand and the first guy jumped off the boat—“

Archive stepped out from around the corner.  “I didn’t think the rune was that powerful.”

“Rune?” asked Hammer in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”  He got a closer look at Archive’s open palm.  “Is that a swastika?”

Archive suddenly held up one hand.  “Shh!”

“What?” asked Caprice.  

“That sound,” said Archive.  “It sounds like…”

Hammer’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to pinpoint the noise.  “Hissing.”

“Like a fuse?” asked Caprice.

Hammer grabbed Archive and hurled him off the yacht. He sputtered in the water.

“What the hell did you do that for?” shouted Caprice. 

Hammer booted Caprice off the yacht next.  Then he dove after him.

A cacophony of explosions ripped through the Laila a second later.

“That’s why, Hotpants,” said Hammer, treading water. “That’s why.”


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 4 – Bat Out of Hell*

The team was flown by Blackhawk helicopter to rendezvous with the Iraqi Border Police. 

“This is punishment, isn’t it?” asked Caprice to no one in particular.

“Why?” asked Hammer idly.  They were guarding the main road into Saudi Arabia. “You mean the part where we sit baking in the desert for days?”

“Yeah.” Caprice sighed.  “That part.” 

“I want to know why an Iraqi terrorist is afraid of a swastika on your palm,” said Hammer.  “What were you doing on that boat, anyway?”

Archive looked uncomfortable.  “It was more than just the swastika.  I invoked the Crawling Chaos.”

“Nyarla-something, yeah,” said Caprice.  “I didn’t realize you were into all that voodoo crap.”

Archive frowned.  “It’s complicated.”

“But why a swastika?” asked Hammer.  He seemed offended by the notion.

“It was the easiest rune for me to sketch.  Believe it or not it’s a Chinese symbol to ward off evil spirits.  I was hoping to...” he fumbled with the word, “turn him.”

“He turned and ran, so I guess it worked, huh?” said Caprice.

Archive went back to scanning the horizon with his binoculars.  “There’s a taxi approaching.”

Hammer barked a question in Arabic.  One of the border guard replied in the same tongue.

“Not totally unheard of,” translated Hammer.

“What about that?” Caprice handed his binoculars to Hammer.

Hammer didn’t need to look.  A helicopter whisked past the taxi, a heavy machinegun bristling from one side.  

“Down!” shouted Hammer.

The concrete barriers chipped and bullets ricocheted as the helicopter raked their location. It swung around for another pass.

Hammer pointed Caprice to one of the machinegun nests.  “Keep the chopper busy!”

Caprice jogged over to the nest and revved up the machinegun.  The Iraqi guards fired wildly at the oncoming taxi.

“That taxi is crammed with explosives!” shouted Archive over the gunfire.

Hammer drew his Glocks.  “I’ll stop it.”

He stood up as the helicopter took another pass, heedless of the hail of bullets around him.  Taking careful aim, Hammer fired.

Both tires blew out of the taxi.  The vehicle lurched to the side.

FWOOSH!  A Stinger launched from one of the Iraqi guardsmen struck the chopper dead on.  Hot shrapnel rained down over them.

When it was all over, Archive peeked out from the barricade.  “Can we go home now?”


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 5 – Firewater*

Sprague appeared on their cistrons. 

“Last Friday a Baghdad liquor store was completely destroyed by a RPG attack. This makes three liquor stores on three Fridays.”

“So?” asked Caprice sullenly.  He didn’t like Sprague much.

“Baghdad is one of the only Muslim countries that allow alcohol, much to the dismay of traditional Muslims who disdain the drinking of alcohol. Friday is a day when most Muslim businesses close and is intended for quiet contemplation of Allah, not unlike Sunday in the Western world. Friday is also the day those who want to have a little party on the weekend like to buy their hooch.”

“And someone is letting these local entrepreneurs know their capitalist spirit is not appreciated, huh?” asked Hammer. 

Sprague nodded. “The results of these attacks are that more and more of these shops are indeed closing on Friday. However, the Agency thinks these attacks are an entrance onto the main stage by a new player in the global terror show. We need you to capture some of these attackers for interrogation.”

Sprague’s whitish-blonde head winked out and was replaced by a map of their current location.  Data streamed afterward.

“This is the place.” Hammer looked the street up and down. They were all wearing traditional Iraqi garb. 

“Doesn’t look like much,” said Archive.

“Why don’t you have a coffee over there.” Hammer pointed at the al-Jamoun coffee house across the street. 

Archive wrinkled his nose.  “Not fond of Iraq coffee.”

Hammer ignored him.  “Hotpants, you take a sniper position up on the roof.  If anybody’s going to hit this place, I’ll need you to be my eyes and ears when it goes down. I’ll get the civilians out of there--”

Caprice blinked.  “Why?  I thought our mission was to take these terrorists out.  If we start trying to evacuate civilians we might warn them.”

“They wouldn’t stay open on a Friday anyway,” said Hammer.

Caprice shrugged.  “Hey, I’m just trying to think about how to pull this off successfully after the last debacle.”

“And I’m just trying to be a human being,” said Hammer.

“And what are you going to do?” asked Archive.

Hammer jangled a pouch full of Dinars.  “I’m going to buy me a liquor store.”


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 6 – Trojan Horse*

Hammer entered the liquor store.  The proprietor looked him up and down.

“We’re closing for the evening,” the man said in Arabic.

“You are not open on Fridays?”

The proprietor snorted.  “No sane man would be these days.”

“I am not a sane man,” said Hammer.  He clinked the pouch full of dinars on the counter. “I would like the shop to stay open.”

The man’s eyebrow shot up.  “Oh?”

“I’m willing to pay you for it. Seven thousand dinars.”

The proprietor laughed.  “You are an American, yes?”

Hammer was taken aback.  “Why do you ask?”

The proprietor put up one hand.  “It’s not your accent.  Your Arabic is excellent. It’s your methods.  You Americans think you can buy anything.”

Hammer started to pull the pouch back when the proprietor put his hand over it.  

“But that does not mean I am not a reasonable man.  For ten thousand dinars you can have the store.”

Hammer released his grip on the pouch.  “You would give it up so easily?”

The proprietor shrugged.  “Until Iraq becomes more stable, I’ve been looking for a new line of work that’s…less dangerous.”  He quickly counted through the dinars.  “This will do nicely.”

The proprietor concealed the pouch in his robes. “Be careful, my American friend,” he said at the doorway.  “No matter how prepared you are, a cornered rat is still a rat.”

Hammer thought about that as he started prepping the shop for Friday.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 7 – Surveillance Team*

Friday passed uneventfully until six o’clock, when a suspicious character walked into the store.

He looked around for a few minutes, then bought a bottle of cheap, homemade Iraqi Gin. 

Hammer tapped his cistron.  “You see him?”

“I saw him,” said Caprice, who was getting tired of sitting on a roof for nearly a day straight. 

“Track him.”

“I’m on it,” said Archive.

A half hour later, Caprice reported in. “There’s an incoming vehicle, driving by at a relatively low rate of speed every half hour.”

“You sure Hotpants?”

“I saw it too,” said Archive. ”I lost the guy I was tailing.  But I just saw him again in the back of that car.”

Hammer tried to act casual, watching the entrance to the store.  “Lay low,” he said. “That’s a surveillance team.  They’re checking to see if it’s a trap.”

The waiting was interminable. Finally, Archive spoke up.  “Think they saw us?”

“Don’t think so,” said Caprice.  “They just shot off a red flare.”

“What does a red flare mean?” asked Archive.

There was a pause. “Judging by the three motorcycles riding towards us, I don’t think it matters.”


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 8 – Hit Team*

The hit team consisted of six men riding three motorcycles.  The first two carried a driver and a gunner armed with an AK-47.

Hammer and Archive flanked the motorcycles as they approached.  Archive tossed a tear gas grenade at the first driver as Hammer fired both Glocks at the second driver.

People screamed and dove to the side as all hell broke loose.  The AK-47s fired aimlessly into the smoke and dust.  One of the motorcycles fell over.  The other motorcyclist was incapacitated from Archive’s grenade.

“Hotpants!” shouted Hammer.  “The third one’s got a Stinger!”

“Where?” shouted Caprice, scanning through the sight of his sniper rifle.  “I don’t see it!”

The two motorcycles in the front were a screen for the two man team with a Stinger.  The second man lifted the Stinger to his shoulder…

CRACK!  The man’s head bobbed backwards in a spray of red as Caprice’s bullet found its mark.

The man lolled backwards, the Stinger still at his shoulder.  In the terrorist’s death spasm his finger clutched the trigger…

FWOOSH!  The Stinger rocketed into the air.

Hammer craned his neck at the sound.  “Oh no…GET OUT OF THE WAY!” he shouted to the crowd in Arabic.

The remaining bystanders who hadn’t already fled scattered.  Archive grabbed one of the men he had knocked unconscious and dragged him to safety.

Two of the terrorists, eyes watering, reloaded their AK-47s to spray anyone around them.  The whistling of a rocket above caused them to look up. 

The explosion engulfed most of the street, flattening stalls and setting inventory ablaze.

“So much for being a human being,” muttered Caprice.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 9 – Roadside*

The captured terrorist was dropped off at an abandoned warehouse.  Hammer was snapping on his gloves when they got a call to defuse an IED. An alert patrol of U.S. Marines had spotted an abandoned car on the side of the road. 

“Why us?” asked Archive.  

“Sprague didn’t say,” said Hammer.  He was aggravated about missing the opportunity to interrogate a terrorist.

“It’s not like we have expertise in defusing bombs…” began Archive. 

Caprice cleared his throat.  “Actually, I do.” He grabbed a pair of binoculars from Archive.  “Looks like it’s on the front seat. The device is composed of a cell phone, which acts as the detonator.”

“Detonator for what?” asked Archive.

“Take your pick,” said Caprice. “It’s connected to a satchel filled with explosives.  The back seat of the car is filled with metal gas cans and bags of nails.” He stood up from behind the concrete barricade.  “I’m going in.”

“Are you serious?” Archive looked at Caprice in disbelief.

“I don’t see anyone else around here who knows how to do this,” said Caprice.

Hammer nodded.  “Hotpants is right.  My area of expertise was back at the warehouse.” 

Caprice donned bomb-defusing gear and crept his way towards the abandoned car. Archive shook his head at the thought of disarming a bomb and went back to scanning the road with his binoculars. 

Caprice reached the car and set to work disabling the cell phone. 

“It should be a simple matter of disabling the cell phone—“ began Caprice over his mic. 

“Uh oh,” said Archive.

“Uh oh?” asked Caprice.  “This is really not a time when I want to hear those words.”

“Car, twelve o’clock!” shouted Archive.  

A car careened down the road at high speed toward the road block and the IED.

“I’m on it,” said Hammer.  He calmly climbed over the concrete barriers and took aim with his Glock.

“If he’s got the detonator…” said Archive.

“Not. HELPING,” hissed Caprice as he fiddled with the IED, a screwdriver in his teeth.

The Marines stationed with them unleashed a hail of fire on the vehicle, but it kept coming.

Hammer took careful aim and fired two shots.

“Wait!” shouted Caprice. He had just disabled the IED’s cell phone.  

Hammer’s shots found their mark.  The driver slumped over, his head hitting the horn as the car swerved to the left and crashed into a barrier.  Its horn blared mournfully.

“It may be pressure release activated—“ was all Caprice got out before the explosion ripped through the barricade.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 10 – Crossfire*

Thanks to the barricade, Archive and Hammer managed to survive but not without shrapnel wounds and severe burns.  Caprice was far enough away that he escaped unscathed.

Sprague didn’t give them much time to recover. Ten days later they were in the middle of a convoy to Umm Qasr.

Hammer winced every time they hit a bump.  “The terrorist we captured was a dockworker who was smuggling explosives into the country. We think Saladin may be there.”

“So SINNER’s plan is actually working?” Caprice shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Hammer.  

There was the familiar sound of a shrieking rocket and the truck ahead of them exploded in a ball of flames.

“Ambush!’ shouted Archive.  He swerved the truck to the side, momentarily forgetting his wounds. 

A second later the truck behind them exploded. Gunfire pierced their truck. 

Caprice was ready this time.  He lifted a Stinger over one shoulder and propped it on the hood of a truck. 

“This is Agent Archive,” he shouted into the cistron.  “We are under attack.  Requesting air support!”

Hammer sprayed the area with gunfire while Caprice locked and loaded the Stinger. 

FWOOSH!  The rocket struck a group of the ambushers, scattering them.  

“Ha!” shouted Caprice.  “Not so tough now are ya?”

Suddenly the hills to either side of them sprung up with dozens of terrorists armed with AK-47s and Stingers.

“You had to say that, didn’t you?” Hammer lowered his pistols.  There was no point.  They were outnumbered. 

The thudding of a helicopter caused their attackers to look over their shoulders.

Rattling gunfire heralded the arrival of Archive’s backup.  A Blackhawk helicopter armed with two M240H machineguns tore through the ranks of the terrorists.

One of the Marines in the chopper waved at them as they went past.  Hammer waved back.

Archive tired to put the truck in drive, but the gears shrieked. “Too much shrapnel,” he said.

“Now what?” asked Caprice.

Hammer reloaded his pistols.  “Gear up,” he said.  “We’re going to catch ourselves a terrorist.”


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Part 11 – Warehouse Assault*

Hammer and Archive came in from one side while Caprice snuck in from the other.  

Terrorists were pacing the warehouse, stock full with munitions. Crates were everywhere with warning signs in every conceivable language.  Caprice couldn’t read them all, but he knew they were bad news.

He stealthy padded from one large crate to another.  Standing on one of the largest collection of crates was the terrorist known only as Saladin. He was a handsome, tall Arabic man in his early 50’s. He had a well-tanned complexion and distinguished and noble looking face, with sharp features and an immaculately kept beard. 

Caprice came up behind the nearest terrorist toting an AK-47 and raised his knife…

Catching sight of Caprice’s attack out of the corner of his eye, the terrorist whirled and lifted his rifle, blocking the blow.  Caprice hurled the assault weapon out of the man’s grip.

The terrorist drew his own knife.  For a second the two attackers sized each other up.  Holding the knife’s handle outwards with the blade flanking his forearm, Caprice blocked the first knife slash.  The two opponents blocked and slashed, parrying each other’s knives as deftly as two fencers.  

Caprice’s arm darted outwards and slashed the terrorist’s chest.  The man groaned in pain.

Gunfire erupted on the other side of the warehouse.  They had found Archive and Hammer.

Caprice made a quick stabbing motion and pierced the man’s clothing.  The terrorist backed up, then pressed the offensive with a flurry of knife blows. 

Caprice slashed the man’s wrist, but he kept coming.  The terrorist kicked Caprice backwards.  He windmilled and nearly lost his footing, but the terrorist continued his knife assault.  

Caprice was forced to hop backwards.  They were making their way slowly up a series of stacked crates.  He sensed the edge of the crate at his heels.

With no other choice, Caprice grabbed the terrorist’s knife arm just as his assailant grabbed Caprice by the wrist.  They struggled on the crate, knives inches away from faces.

The knife quivered near Caprice’s eye.  It was so close…

Caprice bit down on the knife with his teeth.  Releasing his hand from the terrorist’s arm, Caprice jabbed his thumb into his opponent’s eye.  The man screamed.

Caprice stabbed him through the forehead. The terrorist’s body fell over the edge of the crate to the ground.

An explosion shattered one of the crates, spreading burning embers everywhere.  On top of the main crate, Saladin and Hammer were engaged in their own duel to the death.

Only it couldn’t be to the death.  They needed him alive.

Caprice grabbed the dead man’s AK-47 and took careful aim.  He squeezed off a shot…

Saladin jerked as it struck home. Archive, down below the crates, grabbed Saladin by his heels and pulled.  The man smashed into the crate and bounced off of it.

“Go go go!” shouted Hammer.  He and Archive were limping out of the warehouse with Saladin in tow. 

Another explosion tore through the warehouse as the embers found purchase.  Caprice dove off the docks into the water just as the flames blasted over its surface.


----------



## talien

*Operation Countdown: Conclusion*

The Marines picked them up and transported Hammer, Archive, Caprice, and Saladin back to a nearby base.

“There’s one thing I want to ask you,” said Hammer in Arabic.  The Marines exchanged glances but said nothing.

Saladin leaned forward, curious. “Yes?”

“Who is the Karotechia?”

Saladin’s features went blank.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He leaned back into his seat and refused to answer any questions after that. 

When they reached the base, Saladin was packed into a truck in handcuffs.  It drove out of sight.

Their cistrons beeped.  Hammer picked it up.

“Mission accomplished,” he said.

“Trying to be funny?” asked Sprague.  “I thought I told you to bring him back ALIVE.”

“But we—“

“It’s unfortunate that Saladin died in the explosion,” said Sprague with a straight face.  “But then I shouldn’t expect much from a team that caused an international incident.”  Sprague shook his head.  “Fortunately, somebody above me likes you, so you won’t be disavowed.  This time.”

The cistrons winked out.

“What the hell?” Caprice grumbled.  “Did he have a stroke or something?”

Archive shook his head.  “I think that was code for never-speak-of-this-again.”

Hammer nodded.  “Far as we’re concerned, Saladin died in the explosion, just as he said. That’s what I’ll put in my report.”

“So we went through all that trouble to capture this guy, and now we’re going to pretend we never caught him?”  Caprice kicked a nearby garbage can.  “This job sucks, man.”

“Who knows?” Hammer shrugged.  “Saladin may well wish he was dead by the time Majestic-12 is done with him.  But I know one thing for sure – he knows more about this Karotechia group than he’s letting on.”

“Great,” said Archive.  “Can we go home now?”


----------



## talien

*The House on McKinley Boulevard: Introduction*

This scenario, “The House on McKinley Boulevard,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario from Chaosium’s Last Rites. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
As is probably evident by now, I’m a fan of action horror.  There’s a lot to be learned from horror movies in this regard, who have to cram in character development, dread, potential victims, an obstacle or monster to be overcome, and a resolution in just two hours.  I’ve also discovered that movies that move the plot along quickly are less likely to strain credibility. The scenario states that, “as the danger in the house becomes more apparent, the investigators may try to get the squatters to leave, perhaps offering them money to do so, or attempting Fast Talk and Persuade rolls against each individual.  Try to avoid this. The resident’s psychologies and quirks make convincing excuses…” This is exactly what the agents did, but since I accelerated the threat it was less of a problem.  

I’ve stated before that haunted house scenarios really don’t work in role-playing games.  At best, if the house is viewed as a threat, the PCs just leave and blow it up.  At worst, if the PCs are trapped in the house, they smash their way through a wall and leave.  So for a haunted house scenario to work, there must be 1) a reason to stay beyond physical barriers, and 2) events have to happen quickly before the National Guard is called in. 

Using these two tenets, I introduced the various squatters as typical horror movie victims.  Thus we have the Stoner, the Hysterical Girl, the Fearless Kid, and the Doubting Authority Figure (or in this case, anti-authority figure).  These victims in turn gave the agents a reason to stick around as opposed to just calling for backup. 

This scenario is essentially one of the “mini-monsters attack” movie plots. After rooting around on the Internet for awhile, I found The Gate, a bad 80s horror movie that suited my needs perfectly.  It had everything from little demons attacking people to a summoning gone awry, to a giant monster at the end.  
This scenario also worked best because it had only two agents in it, raising the stakes and reinforcing the terror.  If one agent went down, they both went down. 

*Defining Moment:* The hole to the temple goes from spitting things out to sucking things into it, and Hammer and Archive are trapped in tight confines, surrounded by little monsters in the dark.

Relevant Media

*	Our House:*  by Madness. 
*	Last Rites:*  The source of "The House on McKinley Boulevard."


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Prologue*



> _Our house, in the middle of our street
> Our house, in the middle of our…
> Something tells you that you’ve got to get away from it​_
> --_Our House_ by Madness​





> Archive approached an old Norman-Style Victorian home of three stories. Most of the windows and doors were boarded up.  A few plywood panels seemed to have come loose and fallen away from second story and attic windows, or perhaps been kicked away to let in light.
> 
> He pressed on the thick oak and iron front door and it swung open.  Inside, the rooms were extremely dark.  A little light came in around the window boards, just enough to make out the general layout of the rooms.
> 
> As Archive glance into the dining room, he could make out a huge table.  It was covered with recently eaten food and drink.  He could hear laughing and talking in the distance.
> 
> But it was just a television. On the screen, a nude man sacrificed a dog, spilling its blood over a hole in the ground.  He chanted “Ftaghn, N’kai, Zhothaqquah, Zhothaqquah, Zhothaqquah!”
> 
> The cultist repeated the process, this time with a screaming little girl dressed in a nightgown. He slit her throat, and as the blood leaked the shadow of something rose up, looming over the cultist.
> 
> “No…I summoned you!” shouted the cultist.  He reached for a battle club.
> 
> “Get back!” he shouted as the shadow covered him completely.  “Get back!”
> 
> Just then the movie paused for a commercial break.
> 
> Archive climbed the steps to another room, passing strange sigils carved into the walls.
> 
> He was in a child’s room.  In it was a large white rocket labeled the Thunderbolt. Next to it was a box that reads, “SUR-LAUNCH.  Compact launch system.  Eliminates fuses.  No false starts. Lift off today!”
> 
> The crying of a little girl reached his ears. It was coming from downstairs.
> 
> Intrigued, Archive clambered back down the steps.  The crying was coming from the drawing room, specifically a large chair in one corner.
> 
> Archive leaned down to take a look. The sound was actually coming from a doll.  The doll bleated pathetically for its mother over and over.
> 
> Archived picked it up. The doll’s eyes flicked open.
> 
> “He’s awake,” it whispered.



Then there was a great cracking sound behind Archive and then he awoke in his bed.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 1 – The Trail on the Stairs*

BOSTON, MA – It was night. A long strip of road, McKinley Boulevard was once part of an upper-class residential area.  Some crumbling manses had been razed or burned down.  Others were cut up into apartments or rooming houses.  A few, among them 17 McKinley, were more or less sound buildings that for various reasons were abandoned to vagrants, addicts, and runaways.  Nearby small factories and sleazy businesses had for some time quietly used the abandoned properties as dumping grounds for refuse, adding to the general atmosphere of neglect and decay.

Archive parked the car at the front of 17 McKinley.  Cars sped by recklessly.  Vagrants huddled around open fires.  Loud arguments occurred in the distance.  Bottles were thrown and broke in impotent rage.

“You don’t have to do this you know.”

“I know,” said Hammer.  “But someone’s going to have to watch your back.”

“None of the other agents agreed to this mission…”

“That’s because it’s not a mission,” said Hammer.  “SINNER assigned it to us.”

“To me, you mean.”  Archive looked back at the house, the same house that was in his dreams.  “This is where it all started.  The Labib Home for Children. An orphanage for raising future cultists of America.”

“This was the same place Richard Jacobs was raised,” said Hammer. “It later became the Allen Foundation under George Allen.”

“Right.  That’s why Drake had SINNER dig up this info.  If there’s really a cultist conspiracy, we’ll find it here.”

They got out of the car.  In the distance, there was the flat crack of a gun firing. 

“What are we looking for exactly?”

“Records of who those kids were and where they were placed,” said Archive.  “Easiest way to determine the fate of those kids is to find out who they turned out be when they grew up.”

“Got it.”  Hammer donned a headpiece with a flashlight over one ear.  When Archive gave him a questioning look, he just put drew both Glocks.

With a solid kick, the wood over one of the window cracked.  They crouched their way into the house.

The rooms inside were extremely dark.  A little light came in around the window boards, just enough to make out the general layout of the rooms.  The ceilings were eleven feet high.  The rooms were stripped of most furnishings.  Plaster had broken and fallen.  Rain damage was apparent.  Dust and dirt drifted everywhere along the walls.  Trash, empty bottles, used needles, and moldering human wastes were present in most of the rooms. 

The stairs in the entry hall were blocked off and propped up with odd lengths of lumber. A huge chandelier hung over the lobby.

Opposite the stairs were two statues, their great bulk almost too large to be noticed in the gloom.  They were elaborately carved stone columns, each about three feet square and nearly eight feet high, flanking the entry between the first story vestibule and the hallway. One was horribly grotesque, made of an unknown element, combining the worst aspects of octopus, elephant, and human being. The other, in a similar style, portrayed a being that was very squat and pot-bellied, its head was more like a monstrous toad, giving somehow a vague sensation of both the bat and the sloth. Its sleepy lids were half-lowered over its globular eyes; and the tip of a queer tongue issued from its fat mouth.

“There’s a trail on the steps,” said Hammer. A fresh trail had been worn through the dust on the back stairs.  

“There’s someone still here,” said Archive worriedly.

“Right,” said Hammer.  “Let’s convince them to relocate.”


----------



## talien

*House on McKinley Boulevard: Part 2 – The Second Story*

They climbed the rickety steps to the second floor.  As they approached the hallway, a dark figure darted from one side of the hallway to the other and slammed a door.

“Hello?” shouted Hammer.  “This is the police!”

Hammer made his way over to a door at the far end of the hallway.  He knocked. “Anyone in here?”

“Go away!” shouted a man with a Jamaican accent.

“This is the police,” said Hammer.  “You are to evacuate this house immediately.”

“You have no authority here!” shouted the man on the other side of the door.  “You can’t make us leave.  This is our home!”

“It’s not safe here,” said Hammer.  “Look, I just want to talk with you.”

There was the sound of something heavy bumping up against the door.  A woman’s sobs reached Hammer’s ears.

“Is there someone else in there with you?  Ma’am?  Are you all right?”

“She’s fine!  Now ya get the hell out of here.”

Hammer shoved on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.  

“Look…I’ll pay you to leave.”

There was barking laughter behind the door.  “Hey, f**k you mon!  We don’t need your damn money.”

“How about food? I’ve got power bars if you need it, all you want…”

There was a pause.  “Who do ya think we are? That’s not going to work—“

There was a squeak as the door opened on the other side of the hallway. A thirteen-year-old boy craned his head out the door. “What kind of bars?  Candy bars?”

Archive and Hammer exchanged a look.  “I probably have one or two, but not on me,” said Hammer quickly.  “We can get some for you though if you…”

“Don’t listen to ‘em Kristian!” shouted the man through the door.  “We don’t know these people!”

Kristian sighed.  “Good going Gideon, now they know my name.”  He put his hands in his pockets.  “Are you guys really cops? You don’t look like cops.”

“Something like that,” said Archive.  “We’re more federal agents…”

Kristian’s expression lit up.  “Secret agents? Cool!  Are you here about the suicide?’

“Suicide?” asked Archive.

“Don’t tell them anything!” shouted Gideon on the other side of the door. 

“Yeah. Andy.  He committed suicide last year.  Jumped right off the roof.  He said he was hearing voices. I think it was the Workman.”

“The Workman?” asked Archive.

“Yeah. When they built this place, one of the workmen slipped and fell.  The other guys were all illegal immigrants and didn’t want to call the police, so they buried him in the walls of this place.”

“Sure, kid,” Hammer said gruffly. “Where are you parents?”

Kristian shrugged.

“Is Gideon your father?” asked Archive.

“Nah. I just stay here with them.  He’s cool, he just doesn’t trust cops…” Kristian looked the two agents up and down.  “Or federal agents.”

“There’s a woman in with Gideon…” began Hammer.

“Oh that’s Clara.  Don’t worry about her, she doesn’t deal with stress well.  She probably figures you’re here to evict us.” He squinted at Hammer.  “But you’re not, are you?”

Hammer shook his head.  “We’re just trying to get you to leave because we’re concerned it’s not safe here.  If everything turns out all right then there’s no reason you can’t come back.  Who else is in the house?”

“There’s Dave and Diana.”

“Where are they?” asked Hammer.

“Diana lives upstairs.  Dave’s right behind you.”

Hammer turned.  A skeleton of a man, obviously a junkie, shuffled forward from the other side of the hall with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up.  “You offering money, man?”

Hammer became very still.  “Yes.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred dollars if you leave right now.”

Dave rubbed his nose.  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Hammer reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.  He handed it to Dave, who snatched it out of his hands.

The man scrambled down the steps.

Kristian rolled his eyes.  “He’s just going to spend it on drugs you know.”

“As long as he’s out of the house.  Can you take us to see Diana?”

“Sure.  Can I have one of your federal agent-type flashlights!  I’ve seen the X-Files, those are cool!”

Hammer handed Kristian his Maglite. 

“Cool!” said Kristian.  Then he bounded up the steps towards the attic.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 3 – The Attic*

A haggard-looking woman lounged in the opening to her room.  “You boys lookin’ for me?”

Hammer nodded.  “We’re trying to get everyone out of the house…”

Diana swayed unsteadily.  When Kristian beamed the Maglite on her, they could see that her pupils were pinpricks.

She sauntered up to Hammer.  “I’ve always had a thing for cops.”  She traced the lapel of his jacket with one chipped fingernail.  “What can I do for you officer?”

Hammer swallowed.  “Please miss, stay in your room.  We’re checking the place out.  We’re concerned that this place it’s unsafe.”

Diana snorted.  “That’s why we’re here.” She managed a grin.  “But it’s comfortable enough.  I’ve got a bed in the back…”

“So you’re a junkie.”

“I…” she shrugged.  “Sure, whatever.”

“And you turn tricks for drugs.”

Diana’s expression turned from sultry to furious.  She turned and slammed the door behind her.

Hammer smirked.  “That should keep her in her room for a little while.”

“Can you show us Andy’s room?” Archive asked Kristian.

“Sure, it’s right here.”  Kristian pushed open a door on the opposite side of the hallway attic.  “But Dave took all of his drugs.”

Scratched into the plaster walls were sigils.

“I recognize those sigils,” said Archive.  “From my dream.”

Hammer inspected the sigils closely.  “Looks like someone made this with their bare hands.”

Intermittent flashes of blue light pierced the room from across the street.  

“What is that?” asked Archive.

Hammer peered through the window.  “A bug zapper. Going nuts.” He turned back to Kristian.  “Can you take us to the basement?  I’d like to check out the rest of this place.”

“Sure!” said Kristian.  “Follow me!”

He half-jumped down the steps.  

“This kid is going to get us killed,” muttered Hammer.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 4 – Moths to a Flame*

By the time they got to the lower level, the sparking outside had become a cacophony of buzzes.  Blue light flickered constantly through the boarded up windows, as if there were a fireworks display outside.

Hammer made his way over to the window facing the street.  “What the hell is going on out there?”

Through the window he could see a twitching, smoldering mass beneath the zapper.  It looked as if it were a pile of insects, so many that they were piling up in droves.

Hammer turned back to Archive.  “Moths,” he said.

Suddenly the zapping stopped.  Where ambient light made it through the window, now nothing was visible. 

“That’s weird,” said Kristian.

Hammer turned back to the boarded up window.  It was completely covered by something, darkening all windows on that side of the house as if it had been blanketed by a sheet. 

A stray month crawled between the cracks and flitted into the room in an erratic spiral.  It made its way past Hammer, landing on the floor in the center of what was once a drawing room.  It crawled into the debris littering the ground.

Then another moth flitted out.  A few more followed. 

“Get away from the window—“ began Archive.  

With a crash, the boards exploded inward as thousands of moths poured into the room in a raging torrent.  Hammer grabbed Kristian and covered him with his body, diving to the ground.

The moths swirled in a choking cloud.  They formed a huge, grinning, toad-like face in the center of the room. 

Archive reached into his shirt and pulled out an amulet.  It was in the shape of a pentagram, with a burning eye in its center.  “IA! The power of the Elder Gods compels you!”

The toad-like cloud of moths shifted from rage to fear.  They dissipated, spiraling in a long line into the debris on the floor.  

Hammer stood up, dusting himself off.  

“We’d better get out of here.”  Archive looked to Kristian.  “Are you all right?”

The boy’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape.  For a second Hammer feared he was in shock.

“THAT WAS SO COOL!”


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 5 – The Lobby*

“We need a fire extinguisher, fast,” said Archive. “If those moths come back we need something to—“

“Uh, I think we have bigger problems than moths,” said Kristian.

A creature loped into the lobby, blocking their path to the door. Standing at nearly two feet tall, it had an earth-like appearance as if formed wholly from clay.  Its hide has a rubbery, pale texture to it.  Sharps white claws, jutting forward like that of a bird, hung in front of the little beast.  Its face was a mask of hatred, two bulging milky white eyes, slits for a nose, and a frog-like maw bristling with yellow teeth.  

“Go upstairs.” Hammer drew his Glocks, not taking his eyes off the thing. “Stay in your room and put something in front of the door.”

Kristian nodded and ran back up the steps.

Hammer took aim. “Got something in your voodoo bag for this thing?” 

Archive shook his head.  “No, but—“

BLAM!  The bullet struck home, piercing the thing right between the eyes.  It collapsed to the ground, melting into a swarm of slithering white worms that disappeared into the wood below.

“—bullets might not have an effect either,” finished Archive.

“Looks like it’s effective to me,” said Hammer. “What are these things?”

“Not sure.  Homunculi maybe.”  Archive scanned the room.  “But whatever they are, they’re part of something larger.” He pointed at one of the huge statues.  “Look familiar?”

Hammer was about to say something when one of the little creatures leaped on his back from the chandelier.

He whirled but not before the thing sunk its teeth into his shoulder.  Hammer hurled the thing into the drawing room, and took aim with his pistol.  He squeezed off a shot, but numbness pulsed from his neck to the fingertips of his right arm and he missed.

Archive had his own pistol out.  Another homunculus hissed at them from a china cabinet in the far corner of the drawing room.  

Archive shot the homunculus that had bitten Hammer.  The bullet found its mark.  It fell down, hardening into stone, a dead statue.

Not wasting any time, Hammer sprayed the china cabinet with both pistols.  The homunculus shrieked and melted away.

“Look out!” shouted Archive.

Three more homunculi loped towards them from the other side of the drawing room. 

Hammer turned, backing up as he and Archive retreated to the center of the room.  Suddenly all three of the creatures turned and ran.

“What just happened?” 

Archive looked down as the sound of splintering wood trembled beneath their feet.  “It’s a trap!”

First one plank, then another fell away.  Archive and Hammer dove to the side as the planks in the floor ripped open with a tremendous blast, sucked down into the hole. All of the objects in the room were sucked down into the vortex, including the china closet and garbage that was strewn about.

Hammer lunged and grabbed the foot of the huge column.  Archive slipped past him.  Hammer grabbed hold of Archive’s shirtsleeve to stop him from being sucked into the hole. Objects and garbage flew past them.

Hammer was losing his grip.  Archive’s shirt tore and he bounced along the floor, disappearing into the hole with a yelp.

Hammer couldn’t hold on any longer.  He screamed, flying backward, towards the hole, but managed to grab onto the side of the entryway.

His body was horizontal, his feet dangling in the air in the direction of the hole. Hammer hung on for dear life.  Objects continued to fly past him.

“For God’s sake, how do you stop it?”

The nails in the molding that Hammer held onto tore loose and the molding snapped free.  He spun wildly away towards the hole. He was sucked down into the hole, like a particle swallowed by a deep funnel of draining water.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 6 – Holes*

Hammer landed on something soft.  It grunted beneath him.

“Archive?”

“Yeah,” groaned Archive.  

They were at the bottom of the pit.  The opening was easily thirty feet up.  A strange wind whistled all around them through numerous two-foot wide holes.  The pit narrowed at the bottom, which was where Archive and Hammer were wedged.

“Can you move?”

Archive strained.  “I think so.”

Something chattered in the darkness.

Hammer fumbled for his pistols.  He swung his head back and forth, catching glimpses of tiny clay bodies, the tilt and waver of their eyes glittering in his headlamp. 

“We have to get out of here.  NOW.”

Archive started climbing upwards, finding footholds in each of the holes.  They struggled past each other.

One of the things scurried out of a nearby hole and sank its teeth into Hammer’s ankle.  He screamed and kicked it off.

The chattering became unbearable.  “Climb!” shouted Hammer.  “Climb!”

He fired both pistols blindly around him.  A rope made of bed sheets hung down.

A dark-skinned man in dreadlocks shouted down to them.  “Hold on!  I’ll pull ya up!”

Hammer shoved Archive towards the rope with his elbow.  Then he resumed firing into the darkness.

Squeals and shrieks of rage responded.  They bit him again and again, their poison seeping into his veins, but Hammer fought it with all of his willpower.  He finally made it over the lip; strong hands lifted him up.

Hammer rolled over onto his back, gasping.  “Thanks,” he said.

“I don’t normally help cops,” said the man with a Jamaican accent.

“You must be Gideon,” said Archive. 

Gideon nodded. “I was lookin’ for Kristian.  I heard him go into his room but he never came back out.  I went in and he’s not there.”

“They got him,” said Archive.  “We’ve got to find Kristian fast…”

Gideon was about to say something when their conversation was cut off by a scream upstairs.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Bouelvard: Part 7 – Bad Dreams*

They scaled the steps two at a time to Diana’s room.  She was twitching on the floor when they found her.

“What the hell happened to her?” asked Gideon.

Diana’s clothing was torn.  She was covered in tiny scratches.  Her breathing settled into a deep, unnatural wheeze.  

Hammer lifted her eyelids.  “She’s slipped into a coma.”

From the looks of the room, Diana hadn’t given up without a fight.  She had been dragged towards one of the heat registers, which was bent from her kicking.  Judging from her position, they hadn’t succeeded. 

“What did this?” asked Gideon.

“Homunculi,” said Archive.  “Their bite is poisonous.”

“Is there a heat register like this in Kristian’s room?” asked Archive.

Gideon nodded.  “I’ll show you.”

In Kristian’s room, there was much the same scene. It contained a sleeping bundle and some candles for light. 

Archive looked around and found the white rocket.  “This is just like in my dream.” 

“The kid’s crazy ‘bout rockets,” said Gideon sadly.  “We try to buy him one when we can spare the cash.”

“We’ll find him,” said Hammer.  “Is there anywhere he might hide?”

“It’s a big house,” said Gideon.  “The basement is huge—“

“The basement it is,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 8 – Men at Work*

The basement windows were small, narrow, and at the ceilings—designed to let in light but baffle thieves. All the windows were boarded over.  Though the walls of the upstairs were wood, in the basement the walls were of well-set stone.  The house’s foundation had settled slightly in the southeast.  A few inches of standing water covered most of the floor.

Hammer, Gideon, and Archive shouted Kristian’s name, peering into different rooms.  

“Shh!” whispered Archive.  “Did you hear that?”

It sounded like a young boy screaming for help.

They made their way into the laundry room, which was awash with several inches of foul-smelling water.  There were wall faucets, but the water was turned off.  Two pairs of concrete tubs with sides slanted for washboards rested on the floor. A locked door was set into the wall. 

Archive put his ear to the door.  “I can hear him, but it’s very faint.”

Gideon tugged on the handle but to no avail.  Then he grabbed it with both hands and, putting all his strength behind it, strained to open the door.  

Hammer tried, then Archive, then all three together.  They tried prying it open with a piece of metal Gideon found in one of the other rooms.

“Screw this,” said Hammer.  “Stand back.”

He blasted both Glocks into the door at point blank range.  Wood splintered and exploded, some of it puncturing outward.

Hammer stared through the door, slack-jawed.  “Son of a BITCH.”

There was only a blank stone wall behind the door.  

Hammer stepped away from it.  “There’s got to be another way around this.”

Gideon put his ear to the wall.  “Kristian?  Kristian, can you hear me?  We’re coming—“

Suddenly Gideon screamed.  A lumbering corpse in overalls stepped out of the wall and wrapped its arms around him. It had an odd, mannequin-like appearance, as if it had been sculpted. 

“The Workman!” shouted Archive. 

Hammer turned, pistols still smoking, and unleashed bullets into the Workman’s head, decimating it.  The head tumbled off the neck, separating into two of the homunculi who scurried into the wall, merging with it.

It wasn’t enough.  The Workman fell backwards with Gideon still screaming in his arms.  They disappeared back through the wall.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 9 – Backwards*

Smelling of joss sticks, decorated with a beautiful leafy branch, Clara and Gideon’s room was by far the cleanest.  Two mattresses were piled as a bed.  Indian-print sheets hung from the ceiling.  Ethnic rugs warmed the wood floors.  A battered record player sat in the corner, with a guitar propped beside it.  Numerous candles stuck into wine bottles illuminated the room.  Well-thumbed paperback novels rested in stacks.  A small camp stove provided warm food. 

Clara sat in the center of the room, rocking herself.

“Do you remember if Gideon said anything?” asked Hammer.  “Anything about the house?”

She shook her head.  “We all heard weird noises sometimes.  But we just figured it was rats.”

Archive caught sight of something.  “What is this?”  He picked up an old vinyl record cover.  It was by God’s Lost Children, titled The Secrets of N’Kai. 

“We found it in the garbage,” said Clara.

“Did you play it?” asked Archive.

“I don’t understand—“

“Did you PLAY IT?” he repeatedly urgently.

Tears filled Clara’s eyes.  “Yes, I think so!”

Archive pulled the record out and put it on the player.  He lowered the needle. 

“In a time before the earth, before the sun, and before the light of the stars, when all was darkness and chaos, the old gods, the forgotten gods ruled the darkness. But what was theirs now belongs to the world of light and substance, and the old gods, the rightful masters, are jealous, watching mankind with a hatred that is as boundless as the stars, with plans for the destruction of man that are beyond imagining.  There is a passageway between our physical world of light and pleasure and their spiritual world of madness and pain.  A gate, behind which the demons wait for the chance to take back what is theirs! Ftaghn, N’kai, Zhothaqquah, Zhothaqquah, Zhothaqquah!”

Archive flipped through the liner notes.  “According to the liner notes, the old gods will seek two human sacrifices to establish their hell on earth.” He looked up.  “I think that whoever summoned this thing never finished.  But now it’s coming back.  And it needs two sacrifices. We’ve to get down there before the homunculi sacrifice them…”

Clara looked from Archive to Hammer.  “Sacrifice them?  What are you talking about?” She started to tear up again.

“Does it say anything about how to stop them?” Hammer asked impatiently.

Archive looked at the notes.  “The demons can only be destroyed and the gate closed once again by a true spirit of gentle passion deriving energy from pure love and light.”

“Whatever the hell that means,” muttered Hammer. His gaze wandered over to the record player, which, having finished the incantation, was skipping. “Wait, that’s it!  Play it backwards.”

Archive blinked.  “Of course!”  He shut the player off and slowly pushed the record backwards. 

 “Be gone, be gone, be gone!” came the warped voice. “Thou art hideous, filth-eating, unspeakable!  We consecrate this ground, this world of light! We curse the abominations of darkness. We block the passage of evil! May the old devils depart!  May they burn in the fires of their own damnation!  May they freeze in the infinite cold and darkness of their own hideous creation!” 

Archive stood up.  “We’ve got our ritual,” he said.  “Now we just—“

Another scream from downstairs cut them off.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Part 10 – The Second Sacrifice*

A trail of blood led from the entrance to the hole.  Dave’s hooded sweatshirt was caught on the torn molding that Hammer had used to prevent himself from being sucked into the hole.

“Uh oh,” said Archive.

A screaming burst of smoke blasted out of the hole.  For a moment, all was silent.

Then one huge, clawed paw found purchase at the rim. Lifting itself up was a toad-like monstrosity.  It was very squat and pot-bellied, and its head was more like that of a monstrous toad. Its whole body was covered with an imitation of short fur, giving somehow a vague impression of both the bat and the sloth. Its sleepy lids was half-lowered over its globular eyes; and the tip of a queer tongue issued from its fat mouth.  It was all vaguely clay-like.

“Tsathoggua,” said Archive.  “We’re too late. He’s awake.”

Hammer reloaded his Glocks.  “Start the ritual.  I’ll take care of this thing.”

The idol of Tsathoggua lumbered forward with jerky movement, something like stop-animation and a Ray Harryhausen film.  The expression’s on the thing’s face was one of curiosity. 

“Be gone, be gone, be gone!” shouted Archive, extending the Elder Sign before him.  

The idol’s expression turned from curiosity to anger. It took several shuddering steps towards Archive. 

“Thou art hideous, filth-eating, unspeakable!”

Hammer stood in front of Archive and fired several carefully placed shots into the idol’s head.  Its expression didn’t change as chips of clay flaked off of it. 

“We consecrate this ground, this world of light!”

Boiling out of the hole were more of the homunculi.  They scrambled towards the idol and dove into it, merging with the clay form and healing the chips where bullets penetrated. 

“We curse the abominations of darkness.”

The thing lifted a paw and swiped at Hammer.  He rolled to the side and came up firing. More bullets thudded into the clay idol with no effect.

“We block the passage of evil!”

The thing turned its attention back to Archive.  It reared lifted one paw.

“May the old devils depart!”

Hammer concentrated his fire on the clawed palm.  The bullets burst it into fragments.  Howling, the thing backhanded the agent with speed that belied its size.

“May they burn in the fires of their own damnation!”

The idol turned back to Archive.  It raised its remaining paw, maw grinning with uneven teeth, its tongue flicking in and out. 

“May they freeze in the infinite cold and darkness of their own hideous creation!” 

The effect was instantaneous. The idol collapsed into many scurrying homunculi, who in turn collapsed into worms, who in turn solidified into their clay-like forms.  In seconds, they were dust.


----------



## talien

*McKinley Boulevard: Conclusion*

Archive climbed up out of the hole to hand Kristian’s unconscious body to Clara.  Hammer sat propped up in one corner, nursing his bruised ribs. 

“Did you find Gideon?” she asked hopefully. 

Archive slowly shook his head.  He had found Gideon.  Pieces of him, sacrificed on an altar down below.  But Clara didn’t need to know that.  He’d also found Dave’s corpse, but nobody seemed to be concerned about him.

 “Why don’t you take Kristian outside?” said Hammer. “Diana’s just woken up too, she’s waiting for you.”

Weeping, Clara took Kristian and left. 

Hammer peered down the hole.  “Did you find what we came for?”

Archive nodded.  “There was a sorcerer living in the sub-basement, a Tsathogen.” He tossed hammer a gold pocket watch and chain.  On the inside of the cover was etched, “Cedric Ruell Hedge.” 

“Tsathogens are very rare; only seven are known to exist, but they’re extremely long-lived.  Tsathogens are tied to their temples, and once they outlive a normal human lifespan they’re physically restricted to its boundaries.  Hedge was down there for God-only-knows how long, sacrificing orphans to Tsathoggua.  And in return he was protecting this place from detection. He thought he had slaughtered enough orphans to summon an incarnation of Tsathoggua, but he wasn’t able to control it.  When Hedge died, the other cultists abandoned the orphanage and relocated the children.”

“Any leads on the orphans they placed?”

“I found the corpse of a little girl down there, along with her doll.” He placed the doll reverently at the edge of the hole. The doll was the same one from his dreams. “According to this ring,” he held up a tin ring, “her name was Sophie Ennis.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“The files were mostly destroyed, but I was able to make out one name: Robert Monroe-Tyler was sent to Yuma Flats, New Mexico.”

“It’s a start,” said Hammer.  “So you found everything of value down there?”

“Yeah,” said Archive.  “Why?”

Hammer put a grenade to his lips and pulled the ring with his teeth.  

“Wait, what are you doing?!”

“This wasn’t an official mission.  There’s no STREETSWEEPER team to clean up after us,” he tossed the grenade into the hole.  “I’d get moving if I were you.”

Archive jogged out of the house with Hammer limping behind. There was a shudder as the grenade exploded in the foundation below. 

With a horrible crunch, the house suffered a catastrophic collapse.  Sagging beams gave way, and the section of the house over the abandoned temple crashed into the ground.  

Clara and Diana looked on in shock.  

“Good thing we got you out of there when we did,” said Hammer as he limped past them to his car. “Gas leaks can make people see a lot of crazy things.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 18: Closed Casket - Introduction*

This scenario, “Closed Casket,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario by Brian M. Sammons from Chaosium’s Secrets. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
I finally moved into my house and was ready to try out my brand spanking new gaming lair.  Unfortunately, that meant a few things: 1) my players would have to take the ferry to Connecticut, and 2) I would have to actually get my lair set up.  As a result of these two obstacles, we lost one of the PCs (Archive) as well as one of the miniatures (Hammer). What was supposed to be a series of scenarios for several agents turned into a cozy duo against the world.

And yet it works.  Action horror, especially, works best when the odds are against the heroes.  And in this scenario, where I stole liberally from the remake of the Hills Have Eyes, if one agent goes down they both go down.  It turned into something of a road-trip buddy movie at the beginning, and then went south fast. 

Because this was an unofficial mission, the agents didn’t have their usual firepower.  That worked just fine here (it doesn’t work as well in later scenarios, as you’ll see), forcing the agents to think creatively.  I also made it very clear that the bad guys don’t want to kill the characters…they have something far worse in mind.  This made fighting to survive more urgent and more than just a battle of hit points. 

This scenario also showed the power of the team’s versatility. Jim-Bean’s ability to heal himself and Hammer’s gun-fu really came in handy.  Unfortunately, the creepiest part of the scenario in which the agents travel to a faux town filled with dummies used for atomic bomb testing never happened because the agents were never caught.  Still, I felt the ending was suitably climactic.

*Defining Moment:* A barely conscious Hammer fights for his life as a giant monster drags him to his doom. 

Relevant Media
*Eat the Rich:*  by Aerosmith.
*The Hills Have Eyes:*  A creepy, violent remake of the original.
*	Last Rites:*  The source of "Closed Casket."


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Prologue*



> _Eat the rich!
> There's only one thing that they are good for.
> Eat the rich!
> Take one bite now - come back for more.​_
> --_Eat the Rich_ by Aerosmith​



YUMA FLATS, NM – Jim-Bean flicked the knob on the radio, bored out of his mind. The only reception he was able to get was AM.  The tinny sound was painful to listen to. 

“The hunt continues for the two missing tourists last seen in Yuma FlatszzzCRSSSSH—“ the radio cut off. 

Jim-Bean fiddled with the radio.  “Great, now we can’t even listen to the radio.”  He fished out his cistron.  “Why aren’t we using our cistrons again? I want to use the MP3 player.”

Hammer looked over at his companion from the driver’s side of the Honda Civic. “It’s an unauthorized mission. Remember the Paradise Theater? Richard Jacobs was raised at the Labib Home for Children.  Drake thinks it’s tied to a conspiracy to raise cultists across America. And since Drake no longer works for Majestic-12…”

“That’s fabulous,” muttered Jim-Bean.  

“We tracked down records at the Labib Home for Children to one Robert Monroe-Tyler, who was adopted by a family in Yuma Flats, New Mexico.”

A sign read: LAST STOP FOR 200 MILES. 

“That explains the sign,” said Jim-Bean.  “But not why Guppy and Archive aren’t with us.”

“Who do you think tracked Robert this far?” snapped Hammer. “As for Guppy, I haven’t seen him in awhile either.”

The gas gauge started blinking. 

“I’d feel better if I had my G36.”

“No requisitions,” said Hammer.  “If Sprague found out he’d yank us off the case. I’ve got to pull over to refill the tank.”

“That’s why we don’t have the van, huh?”

“Don’t knock the Honda Civic,” said Hammer.  “We blend in better than an unmarked black van.”

“That van has its purpose.  This Civic isn’t much protection.  Or much of anything, really.”

“Trust me, the van would be out of place out here.” Hammer pulled the car over to an ancient gas station.

“How did we even find this information about Monroe-Tyler anyway?”

“Remember SINNER?  Her jog around the Internet?  Drake’s been feeding us leads through her.”  

On the side of the road, at the bottom of a hill, the gas station had survived years of wind and dust. Around the main building, a tool shed, three gas pumps, a dilapidated well, a water tower, and gutted carcasses of cars from the 1950s accentuated the desolate feeling that prevailed. A few tumbleweeds rolled across the road.

An older man with yellowed teeth hobbled up to their vehicle. “Fill ‘er up?”

“Yes, please,” said Hammer.

“We don’t see too many travelers around here,” asked the old man. “Where you all headed?”

“We’re looking for I-40,” said Hammer. 

The old gas station attendant checked the oil and water. “You’re at least six or seven hours away. This is the only southbound road that connects to I-40. From there you can take I-40 to California. But you’ll never make it before sundown…”

“Sundown?  Why does it matter if we get to the road before sundown?” Jim-Bean asked suspiciously. 

“You won’t get no cell phone reception out here if you get into trouble,” said the old man. 

“Why not?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Some kind of supernatural fog or something?”

The old man chuckled.  “Nothin’ that fancy.  Yuca Flats was a testing ground for atom bombs. I wouldn’t be caught dead out on the road at night.

Hammer pondered the response in silence.  The only sound was the TING! TING! TING! of the antiquated gas pump.

“You sell other stuff too, right?” asked Jim-Bean.

The old codger nodded.  “Some things.  Whatcha need?”

“You got shotgun shells?”

An odd expression passed the old man’s face as he caught sight of the pistol holstered under Jim-Bean’s armpit.  “Maybe.  I don’t normally sell ‘em…”

“I’ll pay you good money,” said Jim-Bean.

“You boys ain’t with the Mob, are ya?”

It was Jim-Bean’s turn not to say anything.

“I’ll go get ‘em for ya.” He hobbled off.

“We don’t have a shotgun,” said Hammer out of the side of his mouth.  “What the hell do you want shotgun shells for?”

“You never know,” said Jim-Bean. “I don’t like the feel of this place.”

“One of your psychic ‘feelings’?” asked Hammer suspiciously.

“Oh don’t start with that now.  I explained it to you once already: I was found by the Psychic Research Association. PISCES recruited me from there.”

“I get all that ESP mumbo-jumbo,” said Hammer. “But you took a shotgun blast at point-blank range.  Nobody survives that.”  He peered at his fellow agent suspiciously. 

“Oh, yeah, that…” Jim-Bean cleared his throat.  “Look mate, let’s just put it this way: would you rather have a screaming Indian geek with you or a lucky chap who knows his way around a pistol?”

Hammer tapped Jim-Bean’s temple.  “As long as that’s all I get.”


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 1a – Ambush*

Jim-Bean was torn out of his nap as the car suddenly lurched. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted.

Hammer struggled to keep the car under control.  “Front tires blew out!”

The car swerved, zigzagging on the dirt road before crashing against some rocks. 

Hammer hopped out of the car to inspect the wheels.  “Great.”

The Civic’s tires were shredded, the rims buried into the ground. 

Jim-Bean stared at what was left of the tires.  Then he looked back at the road behind them. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

“I don’t see what you could have hit.  Both tires go out and there’s not a sharp rock in sight?”

Hammer looked around.   The lunar terrain of sand and rocks extended beyond the horizon. In the distance, only the jagged hills were cut out against the sky. 

“Screw this, I’m calling for help.” Jim-Bean fished his cistron out of his pocket. 

“No wait, you’ll alert Sprague—“

The cistron let out a mournful series of beeps.  “Huh.  No signal.  These things run by satellite, right?’

“Yeah,” said Hammer.  He pulled out his own cistron and held it up.  “No signal for me either.  Satellite can’t get a fix on us.”

“That’s not normal, is it?” asked Jim-Bean. 

“No it’s…what was that?”  

Jim-Bean looked around.  Hammer had shielded his eyes and was pointing.

There was a flash of light coming from a hilltop.

“Guess we start walking,” said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 1b – Ambush*

Jagged rock after jagged rock, the two agents slowly climbed towards the summit where they saw the flash.  

The path opened up between two big stones reaching an intermediate zone before the top—a type of natural labyrinth formed in the rocks by years of erosion.

A swift shadowed flickered behind them.

Hammer and Jim-Bean drew their pistols. Hammer gestured for Jim-Bean to circle around.  Then he slowly crept towards the rocky outcropping where the shadow had stopped moving. 

Hammer turned, both hands on one pistol.  “Don’t move!”

He discovered a scrawny young man wearing a long, dirty trench coat, an old hat, and dark glasses. A filthy scarf covered his face. 

“What are you doing here?” demanded Hammer.

The man just rocked in place, whispering to himself.

“Hello?  Do you understand me?”

He kept rocking.  Hammer exchanged glances with Jim-Bean, who had his pistol aimed at him from behind. 

“What are you…” began Hammer.  He leaned closer to listen.

“The hills…the hills are watching…the hills are watching…the hills are watching…”

“Listen pal, I don’t know—“

There was a small rock slide behind him.  Hammer whirled, pistol at the ready. 

Nothing. When he turned back, the kid was gone.

“I thought you had him covered?” asked Hammer.

“I did!  But I heard the rockslide and then…is that blood?”

Jim-Bean clambered over the rocks to join Hammer.  Sure enough, there was a bloody trail of dark red, smeared across the scree.  

“Looks likes whatever it was dragged a body up there.”

The bloody trail was still fresh and disappeared behind another set of rocks a few feet away. Jim-Bean climbed ahead of Hammer.

As soon as he made it around the outcropping on the other side Jim-Bean saw something that stopped him dead in his tracks. Before him on the ground was the corpse of a young woman, disemboweled. She was missing one of her arms.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Something wet spattered Jim-Bean’s hand.  He held it up to the light. 

It was blood.

Above them, perched on a rock, crouched a woman with an impressive build. She wore old clothes covered with dust, and a derby hat on her head. Binoculars hung from around her neck. She had no face, as if it were totally covered with wax; just two little holes for nostrils and no ears. Her mouth was like an open wound sliced in her skin. Her eyes were the only features that give her any human resemblance at all. Using her hands, the thing devoured an arm.

“Son of a—“ was all Jim-Bean got out before she leaped from the outcropping onto him.

Her fetid breath, rife with the stench of rotting meat, made him gag.  Jim-Bean struggled for his pistol, but she had his weapon arm pinned in a vice-like grip.

“Shoot her!” shouted Jim-Bean.

The muffled retort of four silenced pistol shots jolted the woman’s body, but her maw kept snapping at Jim-Bean’s throat.  The bullets seemed to have little effect.  

Jim-Bean smashed across the face with his free forearm.  She released his pistol arm and, grabbing his forearm with both hands, bit down hard.

“BITCH!” shrieked Jim-Bean. He shoved his pistol into her gut and pulled the trigger.

The impact of the bullet sent her tumbling backwards.  She started loping away like a mad gorilla.

Taking careful aim, Hammer fired another volley of bullets.  The woman fell down face first, collapsing into the rubble.

Jim-Bean nursed the angry red wound where the woman had bit him.  “What the hell was that?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hammer.  He bent down to inspect the corpse of the young woman the thing had been eating. “But now we know what happened to those missing tourists.”


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 2 – The Crater*

They had been walking in the hot sun for hours when they finally came across the end of the road.

About a hundred yards ahead, a mound of earth blocked the road like a wall, extending hundreds of yards on either side. 

Reaching the top, the crater was easily three hundred yards in diameter .It has been turned into a graveyard for cars, trucks, trailer homes, motorcycles.

“Tires!” shouted Jim-Bean, scrambling down the slope into the crater.  “If we can find two tires…”

Minutes later, Hammer and Jim-Bean met at the lip of the crater.

“Nothing?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Not a single good tire,” said Hammer.  “The cars all seem to be in good condition, as if they were pushed into the crater, but they’re almost all missing their tires.”

“The ones I found had tires,” said Jim-Bean, but barbed wire was wrapped around them. He kicked a nearby car.  “Damn it!”

Hammer wiped the sweat from his forehead.  “That leaves just one option.  We have to walk back to the gas station.”

Jim-Bean crested the rise and stared at the horizon.  “Sun’s going down.  It’ll be dark soon.”

Hammer checked the ammunition on his Glocks.  “The old man’s warning about getting caught out in the middle of the night is starting to make a lot more sense.”


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 3a – The Gas Station*

Clouds passed, revealing an almost full moon. The wind blew around the dark gas station. A rusty tea pot sat on a pile of trash and whistled as the wind blew.

Hammer and Jim-Bean arrived at the gas station, exhausted. 

“Hello?” shouted Hammer. 

No answer.  The two agents nodded to each other and, drawing their pistols, circled around opposite sides towards the back of the gas station.  

A wooden outhouse door slammed back and forth in the wind. 

“Rudolph!” sobbed a voice. “I got buckshot, ya hear?”

Hammer crept up to the outhouse door.  Jim-Bean arrived on the other side.  With a nod, Hammer kicked it open.

Inside the outhouse was the gas station attendant, in tears, holding his shotgun tightly.  He was obviously drunk.

“Freeze!’ shouted Hammer.  “Drop the shotgun!”

“My wife…she didn’t want to leave…she wouldn’t move to town even when the state police ordered us to.  The kids grew up in the mines…like animals.” He smiled through his tears. “What kind of place is that for children?”

In a split second the old man set the shotgun under his chin.  

“No, wait—“ said Jim_Bean.

BANG! The old man’s brains splattered in the outhouse.

“Jesus,” said Hammer. “I couldn’t stop him…”

Suddenly, voices echoed around them from different directions. 

“Daddy,” said the voices with a high-pitched whine. “Daddy…daaaddyyyy…daddy…”

“What the hell is that?” shouted Jim-Bean, trying to point his pistol everywhere at once.

The voices became louder and louder, omnipresent.  “Dad-dy…dad-dy…daaaddyy…daddy…daddy…”

Then all was silent.

Hammer wiped the blood and brains off of his face and raised his Glock, hands shaking.  “Be ready for any—“ 

Before he could finish the sentence, a hand pickax whistled through the air at Jim-Bean’s head.  

Jim-Bean twisted to get out of the way.  The pickax speared his shoulder, and the forceful impact spun him around. 

The commotion provided a screen for a charging behemoth with long, scraggly gray hair wielding a huge pickax. 

Hammer fired four shots into the half-man to no avail.  With a roar, the pickax slashed across Hammer’s torso, catching him across the ribs.  The blow sent him reeling, trailing a ribbon of blood.

Jim-Bean unleashed the entire clip of his SIG-Sauer into the thing’s back.  It whirled with a devious grin.  

Jim-Bean threw his SIG to the ground and dove into the outhouse, slamming the door behind him.

The Wildman crept up to the door, sniffing it, pickax in both hands.  “Daaaady,” he whispered in a high-pitched voice.

The wooden door of the outhouse exploded outwards as the full blast of a double-barreled shotgun caught the man full in the face.  His headless body fell backwards, twitching. 

Jim-Bean reloaded the shotgun with two more shells, shells that he somehow knew to purchase before he even had a shotgun.  “I’m not your f$@#ing daddy,” he said to the bloody corpse.


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 3b – The Gas Station*

Jim-Bean entered the empty gas station store.  The wind blew through the broken windows.

“Hang in there Hammer,” said Jim-Bean, dragging Hamer’s semi-conscious form behind him. “Once I find a first-aid kit I can patch you up and we’ll get out of this hell hole.”

He dragged Hammer past the empty shelves, behind the counter and past the bead curtain separating the two rooms. The light bulb above the dining room table was on. 

He pushed the last door leading to the back room. There was a wall mounted phone in one corner.  He tried it.

“What a surprise,” said Jim-Bean.  “Doesn’t work.”

Through the window of the back of the station he could make out a pick-up truck.

Jim-Bean pawed through a drawer. It was full of money, jewels, watches, credit cards…a real fortune. After a moment he found the first-aid kit. Then he spotted a key chain hanging from a nail next to the desk.  He snatched it up, then paused.

Partially hidden in the dark were a few family photos and a few newspaper clippings from the 1950s pinned to the wallpaper. On the aged photo Jim-Bean recognize the old gas station attendant in his younger days, next to his wife and children. They were abnormal and gruesome looking. The headlines of the clippings explained the origins of these horrors: “Miner Town Evacuated,” “Miners Refuse to Abandon Their Lands by Hiding in Mines,” “Military Destroys Miner Town.” A couple of more recent articles mentioned the disappearance of two tourists in the region. 

Jim-Bean counted the number of children in the photograph.  There were six.

“Two down, four to go,” he said.


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 4a – Magic Time*

Jim-Bean patched up Hammer as best he could.  Then he dragged him out to the truck.  

He turned the key.  After a moment the truck started.

“All right, time to get the hell out of here. Hang on Hammer, this might get bumpy.”

His companion groaned.  Hammer was in shock from the blood loss, but he clutched both of his pistols as if his life depended on it. 

The truck lurched forward.  Jim-Bean gunned it.

He caught a brief glimpse of something that looked like a dinosaur’s spiked tail snaked across the road and then the tires blew out.

Jim-Bean struggled to control the wheel. “Damn it, not again!” 

The car’s tires shrieked as he drove on just the rims.  Something thumped in the back of the pickup truck.

Without looking, Jim-Bean fired his SIG over his shoulder.  There was another thump on the roof.

Jim-Bean slammed on the brakes and whatever was on the roof bounced off the hood and into the road.  The thing slowly rose up, swinging a spiked chain overhead.  It had a cleft lip and malformed jaw. 

With a crash, the spiked chain smashed through the windshield.  Jim-Bean fired a few shots back at him. The chain caught hold of the cracked windshield and was torn clean off.

The chain snapped towards the front of the truck again; this time it slapped around the side of the windshield and dug into Hammer’s shoulder.  He groaned in pain.

“Son of a…” 

The chain went taut as the thing outside of the car pulled hard.  Hammer screamed as he was dragged halfway out the front of the car.

“Gun beats whip,” said Jim-Bean.  He fired at the chain wielding mutant, but it snapped the chain back and rolled out of the way.  Hammer howled as the chain tore out a chunk of his shoulder.

Jim-Bean clawed Hammer back into the cab.  

“Don’t worry Hammer, I won’t let ‘em kill you.”

“I don’t think…” he gasped, “they want to kill us.”

Jim-Bean peeked over the dashboard.  “Tell that to the freak with the magnum.”

He ducked as a bullet hole punched through the dashboard, through the driver’s seat, and out the back of the cab.

“You saw…” rasped Hammer, “what they did…to that girl.”

“That’s not gonna happen to you mate, not while I’m on the job.” He blindly fired his SIG over the dashboard and then reloaded.  “Besides, I taste terrible.”

There was a roar followed by the shriek of metal as an axe tore through the passenger’s side door.  The entire door came off its hinges to reveal a deformed, bald giant with a child’s face. A thick, primal cruelty snapped in his asymmetrical, protruding eyes. His large smile revealed pointy shark-like teeth.

With another roar, the giant grabbed Hammer by the ankle and tore him out of the truck cab.

Jim-Beam aimed his SIG, but the other cannibal forced him down further into the cab with cover fire from his magnum.

The giant giggled as it dragged Hammer through the dirt.

The agent twisted and brought both Glocks to bear at the giant’s head.  It cocked its head at him like a curious dog.

Hammer held both triggers down.

The grip on his ankle twitched several times, then released.

Hammer closed his eyes, barely holding on.  

Then the chain whistled overhead, snagging his leg.  The cannibal mutant started dragging the chain back towards him, arm over and over arm. 

From the cab, Jim-Bean took careful aim and fired at the chain.  It snapped in half. The thing holding the chain fell backwards and scrambled into the darkness.

“Well,” said Jim-Bean after a moment.  “I guess we’re going to stay here for a little while.”


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Part 4b – Magic Time*

“Find anything?” asked Hammer, still recuperating.  He had spent much of the night stitching his own wounds.

“There’s a tunnel that goes down somewhere dark,” said Jim-Bean.  “So I covered it in gasoline and lit it on fire.”

Hammer sniffed the air.  “That explains the smell. Do you think it’s safe?”

The station shuddered.  “To set the basement beneath a gas station on fire? Probably not.”  Jim-Bean looked out the window.  “I set the junkers outside on fire too. I figure someone’s got to see that and investigate eventually.”

“They’re not going to let us leave you know.”  Hammer was painfully counting out the bullets for his Glocks and loading each one.  

“Oh I know. I saw a photo of the old man’s brood.  He had six really ugly kids.  We’ve killed three of ‘em. That leaves three left.  Pretty good odds.”

“For a guy who got stuck with a pickax and shot up a few times, you look fine to me. How’s that bite?”

“I’m fighting off the infection.” Jim-Bean shrugged. “Just a little mind over matter—“

He was cut off by shouting outside of the station.  Hammer craned his neck to look out the window.

“You think you’re gonna take over this family just cause Pa is dead? Think again, Bobbie!”

The young man they caught earlier was hurled through the burning circle of vehicles that outlined the perimeter of the station.  

“You wanna hang out with the outsiders and their fancy cars? You can burn with ‘em!”

His scarf and overcoat caught on fire.  He half-scrambled, half-crawled towards the door, rolling to put the flames out. 

“What the hell is going on out there?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Family business,” said Hammer. “I think that’s our Robert.”

Gunshots rang out, peppering the ground near Robert as he made his way to the door.  Jim-Bean shoved the table that was in front of the door out of the way and dragged him inside.

All that was left of Robert’s clothing were filthy pants and a shirt.  He had elfin features, with pointed ears, yellowish-eyes, and sharp incisors.  

“Are you Robert Monroe-Tyler?”

“I was,” he said.  

“We’ve been looking for you,” said Jim-Bean. “You were the son of,” he looked at the driver’s license of the old gas station attendant, “Albert Tyler?”

“Adopted,” he said, staring fretfully out the window. “We have to leave.”

“You’re safe in here, for the moment,” said Jim-Bean. He tossed Robert the shotgun.  “Know how to use this?”

Robert nodded.  Jim-Bean tossed him a box of shotgun shells.  “Good.  I’m not sure how you feel about your family…”

“Not my family,” said Robert.  “The ghouls want me dead.  Because I’m different. Because I’m more like you.”

“Not quite like us,” said Jim-Bean with a smirk.

“We have to leave,” repeated Robert. 

A loud noise made them all look out the window.

It was the sound of a truck’s horn. A big truck.

Through the heat and smoke, they could make out the shimmering image of a huge white truck cab bearing down on the ring of flaming cars.  There was a man tied to the front of it, spread-eagled, screaming as he approached. 

“The other half of the missing tourists,” said Jim-Bean.  “You’re right, it’s time to get out of here.”

“And go where?” asked Hammer.  “We’re trapped in this place.”

Hammer threw one arm over Jim-Bean as he dragged him out the door.  Robert followed a second later.

The truck blasted through the flaming wreckage, smashing cars out of the way.  It kept on coming with no driver visible at the wheel.

“The foundation,” said Hammer.  “You burned the basement…”

The truck crashed through the front of the gas station.  With a groan, the floor gave way and the entire station collapsed inwards.

The agents and Robert limped as quickly as they could away from the crash before a great fireball exploded upwards as the truck ignited the gas pumps.  The shockwave from the explosion flattened them.

When they got to their feet, three ghouls stood facing them.

Lizard, the one they had faced earlier, had his magnum out.  Next to him was Brain, with a hydrocephalic head supported by struts, and Cyst, who had a horrible goiter that consumed much of his neck. Cyst wielded a shotgun. Behind them, the flames roared higher after being temporarily extinguished from the shockwave.  It was a regular Dante’s Inferno, with three demons striding towards the damned souls.

“I told ya,” snarled Lizard.  “Ya think that ‘cause you’re one of ‘em, you can take over and change our ways?  We been living this way forever.  And we’re always gonna.  And nothin’ you do is gonna change that.  I told Pa that but he wouldn’t listen.  And now pa’s dead.”  Lizard spat.  “And now you’re gonna pay.”

The two rows of opponents lined up, smoke and flames raging behind them on both sides. All was silent for a moment but the rumbling of the flames.

Jim-Bean caught sight of Brain chanting.  He drew his SIG and fired, but missed.  Then everyone started firing.

Cyst and Robert unleashed their shotguns at each other as they closed, missing in the smoke and dust.  Hammer unleashed both of his Glocks at Lizard, striking the ghoul in the gut.  Before Lizard went down, he fired his Magnum and spun Hammer from the blast.

Another shotgun blast raked Jim-Bean’s side.  He advanced on Brain, heedless of his own wounds.  Brain didn’t get to finish the chanting; Jim-Bean put his pistol to the ghoul’s head and fired.

Suddenly, Jim-Bean grabbed his wrist.  “Not…” he snarled through gritted teeth. “NOW!”

The wound where the first ghoul had bitten him turned his veins into an ugly black spider web up and down the length of his arm.  He fell to the ground, clutching his arm in pain. 

That left Cyst.  Cyst reloaded his shotgun as he advanced on Jim-Bean’s prone form.  

“I bet you taste just like chicken,” he said as he pointed his shotgun to Jim-Bean’s head. 

Robert slammed into Cyst, ramming him backwards over Jim-Bean’s back.  The ghoul windmilled and then fell into the flames, screaming as he went.

Jim-Bean struggled to his feet. The spider web of black veins has faded a bit. 

“You’re right,” said Robert, nursing a shoulder wound.  “I’m not like you.”


----------



## talien

*Closed Casket: Conclusion*

An unmarked black helicopter picked them up.  The STREETSWEEPER team would be along soon after to remove any evidence.  

“How do we explain this to Sprague?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “We don’t.  We were driving along when a pack of ghouls tried to eat us.  I’d say that’s pretty straightforward.  There were no witnesses.”

“Except for Robert,” said Hammer. 

“We got what we came for,” said Jim-Bean. “He told us the names of the cultists that placed him with that family of psychopaths. David Flaherty, Bernadette Springer, and Katarina Smith.  And they all live in a little town known as Runville, Massachusetts.”

Hammer’s cistron beeped.  Jim-Bean’s cistron quoted Invader Zim. 

“Looks like it’ll have to wait.  Al-Hazzan is at it again.”

Hammer leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  “Plain old vanilla terrorists.  What a relief.”

“What do you think will happen to the ghoul?” asked Jim-Bean. “Will STREETSWEEPER torch him?”

Hammer shook his head.  “Worse.  They’ll probably make him an agent.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 19: Getting Results - Introduction*

This scenario, “Getting Results,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero) played by *George Webster*
I’m consistently surprised by all the effort that I put into scenarios like The Gates of Delirium, and then I barely even flesh out Getting Results and the agents have way more fun.  In a lot of ways, I suppose it depends on the right ingredients.  

In this case, the agents were given an opportunity to infiltrate a terrorist organization with the goal of capturing one of the terrorists.  This is further complicated by the rival Majestic-12 team—the Warner/Sprague rivalry, which is turning out to be quite a lot of fun.  It also helps make Sprague less of a wanker, which at one point the agents wanted to kill.  Instead, they’re unified against a rival department, and caught in a cat-and-mouse game of making the other team’s boss look bad.

Another surprise moment was the emergence of Tucker as a complete badass. Tucker is ruthless and efficient, and what he did to Jim-Beam cemented him as a mortal enemy for a future conflict. 

So we get an opportunity for both Jim-Bean and Hammer to shine, a breakout villain, and an explosive conclusion.  Something for everybody!


*Defining Moment:* Tucker, unaware of Jim-Bean’s ability to heal himself, leaves him for dead in a warehouse full of explosives.  And an intense, bitter rivalry is born!

Relevant Media

*	Combat Missions:*  for Spycraft ,the source of Getting Results. 
*Land of Confusion:*  by Disturbed.


----------



## talien

*Belly of the Beast: Prologue*



> _I won’t be coming home tonight
> My generation will put it right
> Were not just making promises
> That we know, we’ll never keep._​
> --_Land of Confusion_ by Genesis​



DETROIT, MI – Hammer strode over to the SWAT team chief, flashing his CIFA badge. “What have we got?“

“A transit bus in downtown Detroit completed its normal route to and from the local shopping center,” reported the chief, Masters. “Three men got on the bus that looked just like any other passenger.  Except that they were wearing C4 and armed with machine pistols.”

“How many people are on it?” asked Jim-Bean, looking surprisingly fresh despite their recent ordeal.

“Twenty,” said Masters.  “We’ve got four snipers on ‘em. Take a look.”  He handed Jim-Bean binoculars.

The bus was at the center of a swarm of police cars.  The sides of the bus were filled with hostages: the terrorists forced them to put their hands against the windows so they acted as human shields.

Before Hammer could respond, a handsome dark-skinned man in a black trench coat interrupted the conversation.  "We'll take it from here."

“Who are you?” asked Masters skeptically.

"Special Agent Tucker," said the man, flashing his CIFA badge.  "My men have been called in on this case.” 

Hammer and Jim-Bean looked at each other.

“Who is this guy now?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Let me see that badge,” said Hammer.

Tucker dutifully handed it over.  A scan of Hammer’s cistron confirmed he was legit. 

He nodded towards Hammer and Jim-Bean, as if they were his men. “You said you have snipers stationed?"

Masters nodded.  

"Good.  Take 'em out.  These guys aren't interested in negotiating."

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” began Masters.  “My men are good, but if they miss even one of the terrorists, everyone’s dead.”

“Agent Jim-Bean here can help.” Hammer snatched the megaphone away from the chief before Tucker could grab it.  He handed it to Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean looked agog. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’re a negotiator, right?” asked Hammer. “Negotiate.  Buy us some time.”

“I’m a smooth negotiator with the LADIES,” muttered Jim-Bean.  “This is a little out of my…”

“Is there a problem?” asked Tucker.  “If you boys can’t handle this I can have my men—“

Jim-Bean turned back to the bus.  “We’re sending out a line to negotiate!”

He took a folding chair, climbed past the barriers, and set it out in plain view. A phone connected to a line was zipped out to the bus.

Jim-Bean sat patiently by the phone. A light flashed on the phone, indicating someone had picked up, but only silence was on the other end.

“Hello?  I’m the negotiator in charge here.  What do you want?”

“You know what we want.  We want Saladin released.”

Jim-Bean grunted.  “Saladin, huh?”  He looked over at Hammer on the other side of the barrier.  “Who’s Saladin?”

“A terrorist leader,” said Hammer.

“Great, you know him!” said Jim-Bean.  “Now we just have to work out an arrangement…”

“There’s just one problem,” said Tucker, indicating Hammer with a nod of his head.  “He killed Saladin.”


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Part 1a – Ambush*

“You killed him?”

Hammer’s expression went cold.  “The official word is that Saladin died in an explosion.”

Jim-Bean arched an eyebrow.  “But you didn’t kill him?”

“The official word is that he’s dead,” said Hammer.

“So unofficially he’s not dead?”

“Why don’t you ask for a few hostages to be released,” interjected Tucker. 

“Oh, right.”  Jim-Bean picked turned back to the phone.  “There are some kids on that bus.  It’d go a long way towards showing you’re serious about this negotiation if you released the children.”

The phone went dead.

“Well?” asked Tucker.

“They hung up.”

“That’s can’t be good,” said Hammer.

After many tense moments, the bus door opened with a hiss and six of the hostages, all children, filtered out. They marched towards the barriers with their hands in the air.

Jim-Bean jogged over to one of the kids.  “You okay?”

One of the kids handed Jim-Bean a crumpled up note.  It was in Arabic.  He handed it to Hammer.  “What’s it say?”

“Let him go,” said Hammer. The telltale thumping of helicopters interrupted him. 

Global News Network choppers swarmed like flies to the scene.  Tucker's eyes bulged.

"No, no, NO!  You have to get them out of here,” he shouted. 

“Chief,” snapped Jim-Bean.  “Shoot those choppers down.”

“What?  I’m not going to have my men--“

Jim-Bean grabbed the walkie-talkie from Masters.  “I am a federal agent and I am giving you a direct order: SHOOT THOSE CHOPPERS DOWN.”

There were replies of, “What?” and “Are you f*&king joking?” and “I’m not firing on civilians!”

“They were just stalling for time!” shouted Tucker. “They were just waiting for the cam--"

The bus exploded with a roar, flattening everyone from the shockwave.


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Part 1b – Ambush*

Hammer’s cistron beeped. 

“Yes?  Okay.  Yes.  Thank you for contacting me first.  You did the right thing.”

“Who was that?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Masters.  I’m surprised he called us at all given what you said to him.”

“They didn’t listen to me,” said Jim-Bean with a shrug.  “They could have saved more lives by downing those choppers. Would be doing the world a service if you ask me; a few less GNN news crew would make the world a better place.”

Hammer just stared at him. “You’re a cold hearted bastard, you know that?”

“Hey,” said Jim-Bean.  “I worked in the SAS, remember?  You don’t get there by hugging teddy bears.” He rolled his eyes.  “What did the chief tell you?”

“The Centex used to create the C-4 was the same Centex used in the bombing of a U.S. military base.  I ran fingerprints from one of the fingers found in the wreckage, and it turns out it’s a match for an illegal who recently entered the country.  
The police followed up with their own contacts and discovered that the man's other compatriots are still living in a run-down apartment complex.”

“Great,” Jim-Bean strode toward the Honda Civic.  “Let’s go.”

"There's just one problem," said Hammer.  "Tucker was in Masters’ office when he found out and took off out of like a bat out of hell."

“I’ll drive fast,” said Jim-Bean with a smirk.


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Part 2 – The Hideout*

"There's eight of them, on the fourth floor," said the landlord at the stakeout across the street from his building.  "The guys in there, they don't do nothing. All they eat is pizza and watch TV."

Hammer took a look at the hideout through binoculars. Men in trench coats carefully made their way across the roof of a nearby building.  One of them cleared the gap between the two buildings

Masters’ walkie-talkie crackled to life.  "Tucker's men are here."

“Damn it!” muttered Jim-Bean.  “Hammer, let’s go.”

They sprinted to the entrance, hoping Tucker’s men and the terrorists wouldn’t see them, and then jogged up four flights of stairs. 

“Now what?” asked Hammer.  “We can’t just knock on the door—“

Jim-Bean knocked on the door.  He took the note in Arabic and put it up to the peep hole.

With his teeth, Jim-Bean uncorked a canister of knockout gas. 

The door opened slightly.  Jim-Bean kicked it hard, snapping the chain, and tossed the canister in.  He grabbed hold of the handle and slammed the door shut again.  

Tucker and his men, all in black trench coats, arrived moments later.

“We’ll take it from here boys.”

Jim-Bean smirked.  “We’ve got it covered.  They’re all incapacitated.” To demonstrate his handiwork, he pushed open the door.  Unconscious bodies lay everywhere.  Some moaned.  Others struggled to move.

Tucker nodded.  “We’ll secure the area.”  

His men filed in, pistols out.  The last one in turned and closed the door as Hammer got a glimpse of one of them putting a pistol to an unconscious terrorist’s head. 

“Son of a—“

The muffled crack of a silence pistol punctuated his oath. Seven more thumps followed.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Jim-Bean.

The door opened and Tucker’s men filed back out. 

“Did you just murder everyone in there?” asked Hammer.

“They resisted,” said Tucker grimly.  “When you shoot an enemy combatant, it’s not murder.”

Tucker gave the all-clear signal to Masters’ team.  SWAT warily made their way up the stairwell.

“I don’t believe they just killed everyone in cold blood,” said Hammer.  But he knew there was no way to prove what had happened.  They were terrorists, after all.  Killing them was what they were supposed to do.

Wasn’t it?

Jim-Bean bent down to pick up a card that was clutched in the hand of one of the terrorists. “We may have a leg up on that bastard yet.”

He snapped the card up to show its face to Hammer.  It was a business card with an address.  On the back was written “Mamoud.”


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Part 3a – Mamoud’s Body Shop*

“A body shop, huh?” asked Hammer.  “What’s our cover?”

“It’s a body shop.”  Jim-Bean looked at Hammer as if he were stupid. “Our car needs repairs.”

“But where are we going to get a car that’s in bad enough shape to need repairs?  We don’t have enough time to—“ 

Jim-Bean hit the accelerator and the Honda Civic slammed into the car in front of them.  Before Hammer could respond, Jim-Bean threw it in reverse and smashed the Civic into the car behind them.  Then throwing it into drive again, he pulled hard on the wheel, drove up on the sidewalk, and sped away.

“You were saying?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Never mind,” said Hammer. 

They had rehearsed their routine by the time they pulled up to Mamoud’s body shop.  

“Are you sure this is going to work?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean grinned.  “You just worry about the wetwork.  I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

“These aren’t women,” Hammer said gruffly, screwing the silencers onto his Glocks.

“I’ve been practicing.”  Jim-Bean tapped his forehead.  

Hammer shrugged and stepped out of the car, skulking around the back of the body shop.

“Hey!” Jim-Bean banged on the closed garage door. “Hey!” he started shouting. “What’s a bloke go to do to get some help around here?”

There was furtive movement inside the body shop but no one came to the door.  Jim-Bean began banging hard on the glass door to the customer service area.  “Hello?  Anyone?”

A rough-looking Middle Eastern man answered the door.  According to Blacknet, this was Mamoud. “Go away!  We’re closed!”

“I’ve been in a terrible accident,” said Jim-Bean, touching Mamoud lightly and briefly on the forearm.  “Look at what they did to my beautiful car!”

Mamoud didn’t even look at the car. “Go away!  We’re closed.”

“Closed?” Jim-Bean looked around.  “In the middle of the day?  What the bloody hell for?” He checked his watch.  “It’s well past lunch—“

“I said we’re closed!” Mamoud turned to slam the door in Jim-Bean’s face.

“I’m just going to have to call the cops then and see if I can get the insurance out of this…”

Jim-Bean didn’t have to finish the sentence.  Mamoud froze in mid-slam.  Signs of an internal struggle flicked across his face.  

Jim-Bean touched Mamoud on the arm again.  “Look, I understand you’re very busy.  If you could just let me use your phone I’d be really appreciative.”

Then Mamoud did something completely unexpected.  He let Jim-Bean in.


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Part 3b – Mamoud’s Body Shop*

The other terrorists were agog as Mamoud let the British stranger into their hideout.  Although it was for all intents and purposes an auto body shop, the shop was also littered with automatic rifles.  Hammer noted that the technology of their weapons was considerable.  These were no home grown terrorists, they were supported by an organization: Al-Hazzan.  

Hammer used Jim-Bean’s distraction to jimmy open the bathroom window that faced the alleyway.  He perched on the toilet seat and waited. 

One of the men, shouting orders in Arabic to clear the room of guns, was simultaneously cursing Mamoud for letting a stranger into their hideout.  He was so distracted that he didn’t see Hammer crouched like a gargoyle to his left.

The other terrorists were scrambling to hide their weapons. Hammer took a calculated risk and grabbed the man by the head, yanking him into the room.  He pumped his Glock into the terrorist’s heart.  The terrorist died instantly.

Hammer shoved the body out the window into the alley.  It would be discovered soon, but he didn’t plan on waiting much longer.

Jim-Bean was shouting about his car and asking for help, and it was answered by shouts of the terrorists at Mamoud for letting a foreigner in.  Then he heard the click of a rifle and the room went silent.  That was his cue…

Hammer slipped out from behind Mamoud.  The terrorist leader was fidgeting, unsure what to do about his new friend.  The other terrorists’ had their rifles trained on Jim-Bean, who had his hands up.

Hammer pistol whipped Mamoud across the back of the head.  It was a perfect blow; he crumpled instantly, out of sight of the other terrorists in the customer service area.

Seeing the move out of the corner of his eye, Jim-Bean dove to the ground and came up with his SIG.  Machinegun fire raked the counter near his head. 

“Took you long enough!”

“We need a witness,” said Hammer.  “I want to find out what Tucker’s trying to…”

The machinegun fire stopped.  The terrorists were looking up at the ceiling in fear.  Hammer and Jim-Bean heard it too.  It was a helicopter.

A big helicopter.  

Jim-Bean peered over the counter out the glass window of the customer service desk to see the chopper hovering just a few feet above the ground. Tucker was strapped into an unmarked black helicopter.  He caught sight of Jim-Bean and smiled.

Then he tapped the agent who sat in the minigun seat on the helmet twice, giving him the okay to fire.

“DOWN!” shouted Jim-Bean.

The chaingun screamed its way through the body shop, perforating glass, metal, brick, and flesh as it tore a bloody path. The slower terrorists were bisected in half.  

“Go!” shouted Jim-Bean to Hammer, flattening himself on the floor.  “Go! I’ll keep them busy!”

Hammer grabbed Mamoud’s unconscious body and tossed it headlong through the bathroom window, shattering the glass. Fortunately there was a dead terrorist already outside to break his fall.  

The chaingun kept firing.  Hammer slipped out the window and hoisted Mamoud over his shoulder.  Then he took off at a run down the alley.


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Part 3c – Mamoud’s Body Shop*

When the ringing in his ears finally stopped, Jim-Bean looked up.  Tucker and his agents had their pistols trained on his head.

“Hello gov!” he chirped. Jim-Bean started to rise to his feet, attempting to dust himself off.

“I read your profile, GOV,” said Tucker with a sneer.  “Don’t try any of your mind control s#!t with me.” He nodded to his men.  “Take him.  And don’t listen to a damn thing he says.”

Two agents grabbed Jim-Bean by the shoulder. 

“STREETSWEEP it,” said Tucker.  “I want this place powder clean.”

Jim-Bean was dragged out in front of the still rotating helicopter.  It occurred to Jim-Bean that Tucker didn’t plan to stick around for long if the chopper was still running.  The pesky GNN helicopters would show up soon.

Jim-Bean shrugged off the agents, who stood with pistols at the ready. 

Tucker came stalking out of the body shop.  “Where’s your partner?”

“Partner?” asked Jim-Bean innocently.  “What partner?”

“Don’t f*&k with me, Jimmy, or so help me I will cap you in the knees right now.”

Another agent jogged out.  “Mamoud’s missing.”

Tucker’s eyes blazed and he bit his lip.  “Damn it.”  He turned back to Jim-Bean.  “Where’s Mamoud?”

“Mamoud?” began Jim-Bean. “I don’t—“

Tucker pointed his pistol at Jim-Bean’s forehead.  “Last chance: where is Mamoud?  He’s with your partner, isn’t he?”

“Seriously, chap, I don’t—“

Tucker fired two perfectly aimed shots at Jim-Bean’s knees.  He screamed in pain as his legs gave out beneath him.

“That’s for X-Team,” said Tucker.  “Courtesy of Lieutenant Warner.” He looked up at the other agents.  “Toss him in with the rest of the trash.  Then torch it.” Holstering his pistol, Tucker turned and walked towards the black chopper.

Jim-Bean was still screaming and clutching at his knees when the two agents swept him up and dragged him through the shattered garage door to the inside of the body shop.

He moaned and wailed, thrashing in pain as they deposited at the center of the room.  One agent shouted into his cistron.  “Countdown is go.  Clear out!”

The other agents backed out of the room, pistol aimed at Jim-Bean.  They were watching him even as they boarded the chopper and it took off.

Jim-Bean stopped screaming and hopped to his feet, his knees completely healed.  There was something else amongst the staccato of the fading chopper.  A beeping…

In the shadows of the body shop, Jim-Bean could make out the winking lights of dozens of green timers set to blocks of C-4.

Jim-Bean sprinted out of the building just as the explosion engulfed the last of Mamoud’s body shop.


----------



## Sandain

Hi,

I read your story hour every day and look forward to your posts.  Any chance of seeing some character sheets?


----------



## talien

Hi Sandain,

I was about to point you to the second link on the front page, which used to link to the character sheets, but with the transition to ENWorld's new format that thread disappeared.  So I've reposted the characters I have.  I couldn't get Jim-Bean's to load for some reason (now the forum is claiming anything I post, including a .PDF titled "test," is already uploaded) so he will have to wait until we can get it sorted out.

Thanks for reading!


----------



## talien

*Getting Results: Conclusion*

“Did he talk?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Oh yes,” said Hammer.  “Without much prompting.” He looked disappointed. “Mamoud knows all about Saladin.”

“They guy who is officially dead but unofficially may not be?”

“Yeah, him. Looks like Warner was arming terrorists in Iraq to be his own private army.  They were training them as counterinsurgents to fight the Karotechia.”

“Sounds exotic,” said Jim-Bean.  “An Italian terrorist group?”

“I don’t know.  But that’s the second time this name came up.  Seems Mamoud was actually a double agent working for Saladin.  He took Warner’s guns and money, then when Saladin disappeared, Al-Hazzan activated his cell.”

“That explains why Tucker was so keen on covering everything up,” said Jim-Bean.  “So what happens to Mamoud?”

“What about him?” asked Hammer innocently.

“You know, terrorist leader who can bring evidence against Warner?”

Hammer shrugged.  “Don’t know.” He looked down at his cistron. “According to Sprague, Mamoud died in the explosion.”

“Officially?” asked Jim-Bean with a sigh.

“Officially.”

“I almost became official myself,” muttered Jim-Bean.

“What happened back there anyway?  I’m still not certain how you got out of that mess without Tucker putting a bullet in you.”

“Two, actually,” said Jim-Bean, and this time a steely glint was in his eyes.  “I plan to return the favor some day.”


----------



## talien

*The Gates of Delirium: Introduction*

This scenario, “The Gates of Delirium,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario from The Stars Are Right by Gary Sumpter. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Sharpshooter) played by *George Webster*
This scenario was originally planned for my brother’s character, Guppy; if you recall from a previous scenario, he stumbled across the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend, who had been committed to an insane asylum.  Guppy was to investigate, discover what happened to her, and then try to survive her “treatment” by yet another insane psychologist.

It didn’t work out that way.  Instead, I made it so that Guppy was the victim and needed to be rescued. It helped explain why Guppy had been missing for awhile, so this was an opportunity to bring him back into the fold.  What ensues is a rip-off of the movie “The Cube,” in which the agents are placed in a hellish extradimensional series of traps (actually Daoloth).  They would have to survive not just Daoloth but each other. It sounded good in theory.

There were two problems.  For one, the scenario requires a certain level of basic distrust; freaking out about the circumstances surrounding the mind-bending nature of Daoloth would go a long way in making the scenario a lot more interesting.  For that distrust to be sowed, it requires more dissension amongst a larger group. But with just two agents, the PCs weren’t about to role-play that level of distrust; they needed each other too much.  

For another, this scenario disarms the PCs.  Hammer is good with guns, of which there were none.  Jim-Bean is good with working the system, of which he had little system to work with.  So for this scenario to work, we needed someone prone to hysteria (like Guppy) and more PCs.

Still, there was a brilliant psychological moment where Jim-Bean brought up the insanity of it all, and that helped make the scenario memorable, if not as enjoyable as the previous two scenarios. 

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean, facing down Ngo Dinh Hao, realizes that in a hostage situation in a parallel dimension, nobody wins. 

Relevant Media

*The Stars Are Right:*  Source of "The Gates of Delirium." 
*Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag :*  by Marilyn Manson.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Prologue*



> _All the thug rock kids are playin'
> All the punk god angels sayin'
> "The toys are us, and we don't even know"
> GO GO GO-doppelgangers
> (You're one of us, you're one of us)
> GO GO GO--throw your shapes doppelgangers
> You're one of us._​
> --_Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag_ by Marilyn Manson​



ARKHAM, MA--They traced Guppy to a private room at Arkham Asylum. Hospital staff at first refused any requests to visit. But eventually, the cantankerous duty nurse approved Jim-Bean, and only Jim-Bean’s, entrance. 

“What happened to him?” 

“Mr. Gupta apparently threw himself off a platform in Brooklyn’s Grand Army Plaza subway station last week,” she said.  “He was rescued by a heroic bystander.”

“Weird.  That doesn’t sound like Guppy.”

“Who?”

“…Hank, I mean.”

The staff escorted Jim-Bean to Guppy’s room. Inside, was clear Guppy’s injuries were serious, but not life-threatening, consisting mainly of severe abrasions and contusions.  His eyes were covered with a bandage.

“Guppy,” whispered Jim-Bean.  

Guppy’s head turned to face Jim-Bean, but it was clear he was unable to communicate coherently. He didn’t even seem to recognize him.

“Can you hear me?”

Suddenly Guppy began to sob hysterically.  The duty nurse tapped a wicked-looking needle.  “Here we go again.”

“You regularly inject him?” asked Jim-Bean, eyeing the needle.

“Mr. Gupta’s had spells like this before,” she explained. “Sometimes he wakes up shrieking.  Most of the time it’s just nonsense, but once in awhile you can make out some of what he says.  Last night for instance, he was screaming as though someone were in the room with him, trying to kill him.  Of course, he was alone; it was very disturbing for the other patients to hear.  But then, Mr. Gupta’s not the first addict we’ve had in here.”

“Whoa, whoa.  Addict?”

The duty nurse shrugged. “The hallucinations and delusions are probably the result of addiction to Blink, not of any concussion.  He has a high tolerance to morphine.”

Jim-Bean kept silent that it was likely Guppy’s history was more responsible for his resistance to morphine than any drug use. 

“Could I get a look at his things?”

The duty nurse frowned.  “That’s not standard procedure.”

Jim-Bean shot her a dazzling smile.  “Please, Darlene.  For me?  It’d mean oh so much to me if you could help me out.”

Darlene the duty nurse shook her head, but she was blushing.  “I just can’t say no to that charming accent!”  She unlocked a drawer and handed Jim-Bean a plastic bag filled with Guppy’s personal effects.  “Just don’t steal anything.”

Guppy possessions consisted of a driver’s license, several credit cards, about twenty dollars in small bills and coins, a set of keys, and Mapquest directions to Rachel Hayward’s address. There was also an eyedropper bottle prescribed for Rachel by a Doctor Tarrou from Asharoken, Long Island. 

“That bottle was hidden in one of Mr. Gupta’s pockets,” said Darlene.  “But I’m very thorough at my job; when patients come in here I’ve learned to look through every seam, because sometimes they smuggle drugs in.”

Jim-Bean held it up to the light to get a better look.

Darlene peered at the bottle along with Jim-Bean. “Funny, the prescription is labeled the same day as Mr. Gupta’s suicide attempt.”

“Suicide attempt?” asked Jim-Bean.  “What happened?”

“He tried to throw himself in front of a subway train.  Fortunately a good Samaritan saved him.”

“When do you think Gup—I mean Mr. Gupta will be released?”

Darlene gave Guppy a worried look.  “He’s stable,” she said with a sigh, “but it will be several days before any real improvement can be expected, and at least a week before he can be released.”

“Great, Darlene, thank you so much.”  He touched her arm and her expression lit up.  “You’ve saved a man’s life today.”

Darlene blushed.  “Oh, just glad I can help a modern day James Bond!”  The woman, well into her fifties, giggled like a schoolgirl.

Jim-Bean rushed out of Arkham.  He hated the place.

Hammer was waiting in the car.  “Well?”

“Guppy was snooping around Rachel Hayward’s place. He had a prescription bottle on him for his ex-girlfriend.”

Hammer nodded grimly.  “Got any leads?”

“A Doctor Tarrou.  I think Guppy got too close, figured out what was going on with Rachel, and Tarrou shot him full of drugs and dumped him in front of a subway train.”

Hammer’s gloved fists gripped the steering wheel tightly.  “So this is a wetwork mission.”

Before Jim-Bean could response, Hammer slammed the accelerator and the van lurched southwards towards I-95.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 1 – Dr. Tarrou’s Home*

SUFFOLK COUNTY, NY--Dr. Tarrou’s home was located on Easton Neck Point in Long Island’s Suffolk County, an hour’s drive east of Brooklyn.  The nearby village of Asharoken was a small, unremarkable resort community.

Dr. Tarrou’s two story house was an unadorned, rectangular, early Georgian building overlooking Long Island Sound. A gable roof and large chimneys enhanced the symmetry.  The ornately carved entrance with its pilasters, paneled double doors, and semicircular fanlight formed a gracious entryway to the home.  An inscribed brass plate beside the door bore the legend, “Dr. R. Tarrou, Psychiatrist.” Beneath the plate was a doorbell.

Hammer rang the doorbell. 

There was no answer.  He waited.

“Do you hear that?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Hear what?”

“Chanting.  Listen.”

They strained to listen.  Sure enough, there was some faintly audible chanting. 

“That can’t be good,” said Hammer. He kicked open the door. 

The front door opened onto a bright, clean entrance hall.  A carved oak staircase climbed to the second floor.  Throughout the house there hung a number of fine paintings, an obvious show of taste and money.  

Jim-Bean and Hammer spread out, pistols at the ready. 

The kitchen was unremarkable, but the dining room contained a long oak table of great age, surrounded by velvet-upholstered chairs.  Fine china was displayed in a hutch against the wall.  There were several comfortable chairs in the parlor, gathered around the cozy fireplace.  An upright piano stood against one wall. 

Something heavy slammed downstairs, followed by “Utghos Yuggoth, Uthgos qond, Daoloth Uthgos fhtagn!”

Exchanging glances, Hammer and Jim-Bean made their way down into the basement.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 2 – The Parting of the Veils*

The basement contained cords of wood and a jumble of old furniture, including a broken rocking chair, a table and an old mattress.  A furnace was installed as well.

The chanting was coming from beyond the mattress.  Hammer shoved it aside. 

Behind the old mattress was a small door in the wall, about four feet high and three feet wide.  He pushed it open.

Beyond was a large, very dark room.  It had been crudely expanded to its present size with pick and shovel.

A pentacle was inscribed upon the floor.  Two candles – the only illumination in the room – flickered within the pentacle.  Two men stood around the pentacle a few feet back. Tarrou’s assistant, a short Asian man, to Tarrou’s left. Dr. Tarrou slammed a metal rod against the floor several times and called out, “Unveil the universe, O Daoloth! And reveal the realities beyond as thou once did for the astrologers of Atlantis!”

Hammer’s flashlight caught the heavy presence floating over the pentacle. The thing in the pentacle was shapeless, so complex that the eye could recognize no describable shape. There were hemispheres and shining metal, coupled by long plastic rods. The rods were of a flat gray color, so that he couldn’t make out which were nearer; they merged into a flat mass from which protruded individual cylinders. As Hammer looked at it, he had a curious feeling that eyes gleamed from between the rods; but wherever he glanced at the construction, he saw only the spaces between them.

“Fools!” shouted Tarrou.  “You’ve doomed us all!”

Tarrou drew his pistol and fired.  Jim-Bean fired back. Tarrou’s assistant drew a knife.  But Hammer saw none of it.  He could only see the endless horizon of Daoloth, who consumed his vision, blinded him, encompassed him.  It was like floating in space, staring at all of creation at once, and Hammer was falling, stumbling towards it, struggling to regain his footing.  

“Hammer!  Get back!” shouted Jim-Bean, squeezing off another shot from his SIG.

Hammer was fascinated by the scintillating intricacy of shapes he couldn’t fully comprehend and was so caught up in the vision of infinity that he didn’t realize he was taking shuddering steps towards the pentacle like a drunken man.  One foot crossed the confines of the pentacle…

And suddenly, the thing in the incredibly complex form in the center of the pentacle surged exponentially, rapidly filling the room and eclipsing the basement until it was all anyone could see. Wispy tendrils brushed against Hammer’s face and probing feelers entered his ears, nose and mouth.   All was light…


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 3 – Don’t Move*

Jim-Bean woke up in a strange, cube-shaped room with glowing, computer circuit-like walls and six doors, one at the center of each wall, including the ceiling and floor. The walls were all lit by white light from every direction, the only reprieve being the diagonal superstructure of the room. Ladders extended from the center of the room in four directions on every wall, each leading to a door. Although he was wearing his own clothes, Jim-Bean was otherwise unarmed.

He crawled up to one of the doors.  As he reached toward the door, it whisked open. 

The short Asian man with a bowl cut lay on the floor in an identical room. 

Jim-Bean stepped back and the door whisked shut.

A variety of weird static noises emanated from all around him. Then one of the doors whisked open.  

The younger man Jim-Bean saw participating in the ritual opened the door ahead of him, peered inside, and closed it.  

“Hey!” shouted Jim-Bean.

A second later, the young man appeared in the door above Jim-Bean, peered inside, and closed it.  

“What the…”

A moment after that the man appeared in the door behind Jim-Bean.  He craned his neck to look inside, and closed it.

Jim-Bean ran over to the door.  It whisked open as Hammer stumbled into the room.

“Did you see that guy?”

“What guy?” asked Hammer, looking around.  “I’m still a little disoriented, I could have sworn I was moving sideways but I ended up dropping into this room.”

“There was a guy!  A guy who just came out of the door you were in!  You didn’t see him?”

Hammer shook his head. 

Jim-Bean suddenly remembered how they’d gotten into their current predicament.  “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, anyway?  Running into a pentagram and all that?”

“What?” Hammer rubbed the back of his head.  “I remember falling towards that…thing.  And then I woke up here.”

“Without weapons,” said Jim-Bean morosely.

“Without weapons,” confirmed Hammer.

“Great.”  Jim-Bean crossed his arms.  “Well you got us into this mess, so you get us out of it.”

Hammer shrugged, opened one of the doors, and clambered through it.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 4 – Closer*

The next room they entered contained Guppy, a bandage across his eyes, balled up in one corner.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he wailed. Guppy scrambled backwards as Hammer got closer. 

“Guppy? It’s me, Hammer.”

“H-Hammer?” Guppy swung his head from left to right.  “Is that…is that you?”

“Yes.  Jim-Bean’s here with me too.  What happened to you?  Do you know how you got here?”

Guppy shook his head.  “I was looking for Rachel.  I thought I found her…and then all I remember is something holding my eyes open.  Wide open…and there were these eye drops.  And then…then I saw these two lights and heard a roar…”

“The subway train,” said Jim-Bean.  Hammer shushed him. 

Before they could ask him more, the door on the floor whisks open and an older man’s head in glasses peeked through it.  He clambered up. 

“Finally,” he breathed.  “I was beginning to wonder if I was the only one in here.  Kept hoping I would find some other people.  I’ve been wandering around these rooms for hours!”

“Keep him away from me!” shouted Guppy. “Don’t let him hurt me!”

“Oh, certainly not,” said the man.  “I come in peace. I don’t suppose you could let me know what we’re doing in here? Oh, I’m Martin, Martin Fielding,” he offered his hand. 

Hammer took it. “My name is Hammer.  This is Jim-Bean and Guppy.”

Fielding looked askance at the names, then shrugged. 

He wandered over to one of the doors and unlatched his watch from his wrist.  Using the corner of the watch clip, he carved a number into the door.  

“What are you doing?” asked Jim-Bean.  The man looked vaguely familiar.

“I’m marking the rooms,” said Fielding. “This is the fourth room I’ve been in.  What’s weird is that I’ve been wandering for hours.  Each one of these rooms has six of these doors or portals, but no matter how many doors or portals I go through, I always end up in the same three rooms…until now. The rooms must be moving…but I don’t feel any motion, do you?”

“No,” said Hammer, “We haven’t—“

He stopped, because there was the sound of movement behind them. 

“Oh no, it’s getting closer!” wailed Guppy.  “I don’t know what it is, something’s coming after us and I don’t think it likes us. It wants us dead, please we have to get out of here right now! Please, we have to move!”

Jim-Bean and Hammer needed no encouragement.  “All right, let’s go.”  Hammer helped Guppy up.  “It’s up to you if you want to come with us.”

Fielding adjusted his glasses.  “Well I’m certainly not going to stay here.  Lead on!”


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 5 – Help Me!*

The door whisked open to reveal a horrible scene.  

“Help!” shouted a young man attempting to hold up Doctor Tarrou, who was slowly being strangled by his own belt. 

“He looks familiar,” said Jim-Bean.  “I think he was at the ceremony.”

“Help me!” shouted the man.  “I can’t hold him much longer! Hurry!”

“Bruce?” Fielding shouted back. “We have to help him!”

“Give me some space…I’m going to loosen the belt.” shouted Bruce McNab. “I’m losing him!”

Hammer hopped off the ladder and jogged over to help.  Between the two of them, they were able to release Tarrou from his suicide attempt and gently drop him to the ground.  

Hammer checked his pulse.  “He’s breathing.  But he’s been beaten up pretty badly.”

“By who?” squeaked Fielding.

“Or what?” asked McNab. 

“Let’s give the good doctor a minute,” said Hammer. “Maybe he can help explain what happened here.”

 “I’ve been trying to get a handle on the configuration of these rooms.” Fielding scraped the number five into another door. “All I can say is—“

“They just don’t make any sense,” said McNab.  “It’s as if the rooms are moving around really quickly.”

“But you know there’s got to be some kind of logic to it,” replied Fielding. “These rooms just seem to repeat.  You go in one direction and the room just loops back in on itself—“ 

An unearthly screeching sound interrupted their conversation, emanating from the far wall.

“It’s getting closer,” shrieked Guppy.  “I can hear it, all the time, even when you don’t.  And it sounds…it feels WRONG.”

Suddenly the room shuddered.

“It’s here!” whispered Guppy.

McNab shook his head.  “I’m out of here.”  He began clambering up one of the ladders to the door.

“Suit yourself,” said Jim-Bean with a shrug.

McNab was catapulted back into the room, landing hard on his back. 

“What the hell?” McNab stared at the wall in disbelief.  

“What?” asked Fielding.

“The wall just…wiggled!”

The wall shimmered again and an after image of McNab climbed the ladder, as if he had been burned into the retinas of all who saw him.

Then the wall started moving inwards towards them, shimmering. 

“All right people, out!” Hammer guided Guppy towards the ladder on the opposite side of the shimmering wall.  “Let’s go, it’s not moving fast, we can get out of here.”

Jim-Bean peered through the shimmering wall.  There was a figure staring back at him.  Someone he recognized.

“What about Doctor Tarrou?” asked Fielding, voice rising.

The doctor’s eyes fluttered open. 

“You don’t honestly think you can escape?” Tarrou shook his head.  “The only way out of Daoloth is death.  And maybe not even that.” He wrapped one arm around one of the ladders.  “I’m staying here.  It’s better this way.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jim-Bean. He turned to the others. “He’s dead weight anyway.”

The shimmering wall wavered closer. 

As Jim-Bean passed Tarrou’s unmoving form, the doctor’s arm shot out, gripping his leg.  

Tarrou’s desperate grab turn into a convulsive squeeze as his legs were struck by the shimmering wall.  The pants of his leg faded and disintegrated, revealing gray skin that flaked off and muscle that turned to powder.  Tarrou shrieked at the top of his lungs.

“Get off of me!” snarled Jim-Bean. He aimed a wicked kick to the man’s head.

Tarrou’s head lolled, his nose broken. He gurgled in pain as the shimmering wall closed in on him.  It reached his torso just as Jim-Bean slipped through the door on the opposite side of the room. 

The high pitched screech was still ringing in his ears when the door closed behind him.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 6 – Hypercube*

They moved quickly from room to room, the gradual encroachment of the shimmering wall giving chase.  They finally cleared four more rooms, for a total of ten.  Fielding dutifully marked them down with his watch.

Jim-Bean looked up. “I don’t remember that being here before.”

There were drawings of a tesseract on each of the panels of the walls, ceiling, and floor that didn’t contain a door.  

Fielding started laughing.  “A tesseract!  Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, it’s been staring at us in the face the whole time!”  

“Uh…what?” asked Hammer, concerned that the man had finally lost his mind.

 “Look, a tesseract, it’s another name for a hypercube, a four-dimensional cube,” said Fielding with exasperation. “All the elements are there: rooms repeating, rooms folding in on themselves, teleportation, it could all very well add up.  Look here, let’s call one dimension length.” He scratched a line in the wall.  “And represent that with a simple line.” He scratched another line, outlining a square. “Two dimensions are length and width, which can be represented by a simple square.” He scratched a three-dimensional representation of a cube. “Now if we extend that square one more dimension we get a cube, which has three dimensions: length, width, and depth. Here’s the really funky part.  If you take this cube and extend it one more dimension we get a tesseract.”

“I always thought time was considered the fourth dimension,” said McNab. 

“Sure that’s just one idea, but what if you have a fourth spatial dimension?” asked Fielding. “A hypercube isn’t supposed to be real, it’s just a theoretical construct.”

Hammer rubbed his forehead.  “This place gives me a headache.”

McNab shook his head.  “Right, anyway, here’s my theory for what it’s worth.  I’ve been seeing Dr. Tarrou for months.  I was on the verge of a breakdown before I met him.” He stabbed an accusing finger in Hammer’s direction. “He told us we were going to participate in some form of experimental therapy when you goons showed up! I think they’ve got us strapped to tables in some CIFA prison somewhere, high on LSD.”

“That’s right.  I…” Fielding blinked.  “I didn’t remember it before, but that’s right. My wife had just divorced me.  Doctor Tarrou was treating me…he told me to come to his home for experimental therapy, the drugs he gave me weren’t working…”

“Does that number mean anything?” asked Jim-Bean.  

There was a number scratched into the ceiling: 60659. It wasn’t there before.

“Sixty thousand, six hundred and fifty nine rooms?” wondered Fielding. 

“God, I hope not,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 7 – Third Watch*

McNab opened the door on the opposite room.  

“Yowza.  Things just got interesting. There’s a girl in the other room.  I’m going in…” He suddenly shrieked as he nearly fell through the door. 

Jim-Bean grabbed hold of McNab’s belt and pulled him back.  He could see what McNab was reacting to.  There was an unconscious woman in a red dress and heels on the floor.  

As they climbed in, she woke up. 

“What?  What the hell?  Where am I? Who the hell are you people?” She looked around.  “I must have had more to drink last night than I thought.”  

Hammer made introductions.  “Who are you and how did you get here?”

“I’m Amy.  Amy Spencer.  I was seeing Doctor Tarrou to deal with work stress.  He prescribed me these eye drops. The last thing I remember was putting two drops in my eyes and then I woke up here.” She looked the motley crew of people up and down. “How the hell did I get here?  Have we been kidnapped?”

“I’m starting to see a pattern,” said Jim-Bean. 

“Don’t ask me to explain what this place is,” said Hammer. “I don’t entirely understand it myself. We’re trying to get out of here together.”

McNab grinned.  “You’re welcome to join us!”

Spencer rubbed her temples.  “I don’t see that I have much choice.”

“More numbers,” said McNab.  He was crouched down on the floor, peering at the inside of the door in the center of it. “1116059000.”

Jim-Bean picked something off of the door on the opposite side of the room.  “Hey neat, these rooms come with watches now.”

Fielding inspected the watch.  “Well this is bizarre.” 

“Now what?” asked Hammer.

Fielding took off the watch on his wrist. “This is the watch that my wife gave me on my twentieth anniversary just before the divorce. See?” He showed the back of it.  There was an engraving that read, “To Martin, Happy 20! With Love, Norma.” 

“And this is the watch we just found,” he showed the back of the watch.  The engraving was identical.

“Well,” said Jim-Bean, strapping the watch on his wrist.  “At least we know what time it is.”


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 8 – 60659*

McNab opened another door. “Holy crap, there’s someone in here!”

The gravity shifted in the room again, forcing everyone to climb sideways once they entered the room. A skeletal corpse clad in tattered rags lay crumpled on the floor.  A nauseating stench filled the air. 

Hammer inspected the corpse.  “It’s covered in mathematical formulae and odd phrases.”

“It’s on the walls too,” said Jim-Bean.  “On every available writing space.”

Fielding tapped a part of the wall.  “Here’s that number again: 60659.  Can you make out what it says on his body?”  

Hammer read up and down the length of one arm.

“Daoloth may grant vision to his priests—visions of past and of future, and into the very last dimension, beyond even the twenty-fifth.  But the gift of true sight is a dangerous one, for reality is but a fragile illusion, and madness comes quickly with truth.” 

“Anything on him we can use?” asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer held up a pen.  “Not unless you want to write your life’s story, no.”

The corpse begins to rot away right before their eyes.

Jim-Bean took the pen from Hammer.  “Just in case it’s a short story.”


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 9 – Theoretical Purposes*

Jim-Bean opened the next door to see a doppelganger of himself peering back.  The duplicate whispered, “Help me, please…”

Blood spurted from the other Jim-Bean’s mouth as he was stabbed from behind. 

“Don’t trust him!” snarled Hammer on the other side of the room, a bloody knife in his hand.  He had obviously been in a fight; blood dripped from his nose. 

Beyond Hammer, odd translucent pillars lurched sideways into the room.  

“He’s lying about everything!” snarled the second Hammer. 

The parallel Hammer was suddenly beheaded by one of the pillars. The door whisked shut.

“Jesus!” shouted Jim-Bean, stumbling backwards.  “Did you see that?”

Hammer nodded grimly. “I saw it.”

“Wait!” shouted Fielding.  “I have an idea. I know what just happened was a little…shocking, but actually it makes total sense.  If we’re really in a multidimensional quantum environment.  One fundamental idea of a quantum universe is that actual realities can exist simultaneously.  So what we saw was copies of us in a parallel universe.  That explains why we saw somebody else was marking numbers in the room and why there’s duplicates of my watch.  I thought about leaving my watch as a trail and what a pity it would be to leave my watch behind…but this means I must have finally decided to leave it behind in an alternate reality!”

Hammer sighed.  “That’s the last thing we need.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean.

“More of you.”


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Part 10 – There’s Something Here*

After journeying for hours from room to room, they finally decided to rest.  

“Wake up,” whispered Guppy.  “Wake up, there’s something here.”

Jim-Bean’s eyes fluttered open. 

A putrescent, translucent bag of semisolid flesh trails nests of writhing tentacles shimmered into view.  Most of the tendrils are sense organs, but the thickest tendril ends in a cruelly fanged mouth.  

“Guys!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “Wake up!”

With a sudden roar, the thing tore into Fielding, churning him into a bloody spray. 

“Run!” shouted Hammer. 

The thing practically filled the entire room. 

Hammer, Guppy, and Jim-Bean fled in one direction.  Spencer and McNab fled in the other. 

“That thing has to have been hunting us this whole time,” said Hammer.  “That’s what you’ve been hearing, Guppy.”

They opened another door. 

“Oh,” said Hammer.

Jim-Bean craned his neck to look over Hammer’s shoulder. “What is it?” 

“We’re all dead in there.  I guess in that reality we didn’t wake up in time.”

“Pleasant,” said Jim-Bean. “Let’s not go into that room. 

Hammer nodded and stepped away from the door.

A parallel duplicate of Tarrou hanging from the wall faded into view. 

“And Tarrou hung himself in that reality,” said Jim-Bean.

“But now it’s coming INTO the rooms,” said Hammer. 

Slowly, all the etchings that were written by Tarrou appeared on the walls, as did Fielding’s sketches of a cube.  

“What is it?” asked Guppy.  “What’s going on?”

“Things are starting to fade in,” said Hammer, looking around at each wall.  “Etchings, sketches, Tarrou’s dead body…”

“That’s it!” Guppy laughed hysterically. “That’s it!  I think…I think we’re IN Daoloth! All the realities are starting to collapse into one space. The Blink drug that Tarrou was giving us…all of us took it, right?”

“Not all of us,” Jim-Bean said darkly.  “But we got sucked into whatever that thing was in the pentagram.  Us, Tarrou, his cronies…”

“We’re all trapped inside the thing!” said Guppy. “And Daoloth is expanding right now…but when he leaves our world he’ll shrink to nothingness…implode! It’s only a matter of time.”

“Let’s go,” said Jim-Bean.  He put his palm to the door…

And saw the shimmering wall pushing forward – only now he saw himself on the opposite side of it.  They caught a glimpse of each other and then the door slid shut.

Hammer tried the right door.  It was filled with pillars.  A body squirmed beneath them, smashed to death. 

Jim-Bean tried the left door. The pulpy bag of flesh shrieked at him with an unearthly roar.  He closed it. 

Hammer opened the door behind him, only to catch a glimpse of himself, staring at in shock – and then beheaded by shimmering pillars.

“Christ!” shouted Hammer.

The door they had decided not to enter, where the dead bodies were, whisked open.  The Asian man entered the room. Three copies of Martin Fielding’s watch danged from his wrist and a knife was in his hand.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Ngo Dinh Hao.  I’m glad you invited me to dinner.” He licked his lips, and revealing that his teeth were filed to points.  “Because I’m hungry.”

He lunged at Jim-Bean, but Hammer grabbed his wrist and twisted.  The knife clattered to the ground.

Jim-Bean bent to pick it up when he heard a shriek behind him.

Another copy of Hao had Guppy in a vice with a knife to his neck. This version was older than before and he had several copies of Fielding’s watch dangling from his wrist.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Jim-Bean, knife at the ready. Hammer and the original copy of Hao grappled in the background. 

“Tarrou was a fool.  I was asked to give him the Blink but he abused it! And now we are trapped in this false god!” He shook his head.  “Well I’m not going alone.”

“Is this a hostage negotiation?” asked Jim-Bean. “You realize there’s no hostages, right?  There’s just endless copies of all of us.  Of you.  Of me.  Of Guppy.  You can kill him.  Eat him.  Whatever.  It doesn’t matter.  Nothing matters.”  He took a step closer.  “Are you even the original?  Do you even know?”

Hao grinned.  “I asked the first one I met.” He slowly scraped the knife along Guppy’s neck, dripping a trail of blood.  “He tasted like chicken.”

The room began to shimmer.  Spider web-like cracks snaked along the walls. The entire room turned black and white as the color drained out of it, an inverted reflection of itself. Then the panels disintegrated in pieces, leaving just a superstructure of the room. A whirling gray fog surrounded them.

The Hao holding Guppy hostage looked around in awe, loosening his grip on Guppy. 

All of a sudden the room was filled with beeping. All the watch alarms were set for 6:06:59 p.m.

“That’s it!” shouted Jim-Bean, staring at the watch on his arm.  “60659 wasn’t a number!  It was a time!”

The first version of Hao lost his concentration as he gripped Hammer.  Hammer turned and, whirling the smaller man like a shot put, hurled him into the second copy.  Both of them were hurdled screaming into the abyss.

“Six hours, six minutes, and fifty nine seconds!  This is it!”

The superstructure of the room rippled and chipped off, piece by piece, hurled away into the whirlwind that surrounded them. Only the door on the floor remained.

Jim-Bean tore open the door in the floor. The area beyond was cloaked in absolute darkness, even though the door was fully opened.  No light source penetrated it.

Jim-Bean jumped through.  Hammer dragged Guppy over and shoved him in.

Then, looking around, he dove in after them.


----------



## talien

*Gates of Delirium: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean was falling, falling, falling through a shaft formed of infinite cubes, all rendered in stark black and white contrast.  It seemed as if he were falling forward, but in reality he was falling backwards, away from the infinite lines of Daoloth’s structure, which were so long as to appear curved.  It was only as Jim-Bean fell further that the distance became apparent and he could see the structure of Daoloth’s form, lines within lines, coalescing into a cube of sorts. The cube pulsed and rippled as lines shifted within it.

And then he was falling back towards it, through the cube and between the curved strings of cubes strung together, hurtling through a shaft…

Jim-Bean woke up in an apartment.  Furniture was overturned, ornaments and knick-knacks scatted across the floor mingled with appliances and utensils from the kitchen. The contents of every closet and cabinet, of every wardrobe and cupboard, lay strewn about the place.  

Hammer was already up and about.  Guppy was slowly getting to his feet. 

Guppy took off the gauze.  “This is Rachel’s place,” he said softly.

Rachel was on the floor, her eyes glazed, breathing quickly.  Hammer checked her pulse.  “High on Blink.  But she should come out of it soon.”

A red light blinked on the answering machine.  “She’s got a phone message,” said Jim-Bean.  He pressed the button.

“Hello Ms. Hayward,” said a voice they were familiar with.  “This is Dr. Tarrou.  I trust the eye drops have been effective in alleviating your distress.  Let me remind you that this wonderful new therapeutic medicament is still in its experimental stage and has not yet been approved for pharmaceutical purposes.  Remember to take only one drop in each eye a night before retiring, and please record your upon waking every sensation in as much detail as recollection allows; it will allow me to more clearly monitor your progress at your subsequent consultations here in Asharoken.  I trust that you are finding this new drug more efficacious than the morphine.”


----------



## talien

*Last Rites - Introduction*

This scenario, “Last Rites,” is a Cthulhu Now scenario from Last Rites by Ian Winterton. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca (creepyportfolio.com) *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played *by Joe Lalumia*
Whereas the last session I had too few players, this session I had nearly the whole gang.  This session in particular moves fast, and I wanted to make it a little more personal for the PCs to keep them interested.  So I threw in a flashback that I thought worked well in getting the agents interested in a key NPC.

Then I killed him.

I felt it was important both to have the NPC be present and to see him die in a senseless, violent sort of way.  I also wanted to deal with Jim-Bean’s psychic powers that have now reached a point where they simply can’t be ignored.  

The original scenario wasn’t particularly exciting; it involves a psychic girl hiding in her room while she mentally controls her undead dad.  Which would take well-armed agents a whole five minutes to resolve. So instead, I ripped off Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood and Freddy vs. Jason to amp the action up to 11. This means Lucinda’s powers go from mildly disturbing to out-and-out superkinetic, and her creepy father becomes a nigh-unstoppable killing machine.  With a chainsaw and a machete.  I can’t quite express the joy of getting to use one of my chainsaw wielding maniac miniatures. 

This scenario moved quickly and the pacing was both fast and violent.  On the other hand, dealing with a slasher-type monster makes it near impossible to defeat (I used the revenant template, for anyone who’s interested), and I started to realize that this scenario was more about railroading and less about having much to do.  This was reflected in Jim-Bean who essentially froze up as Jeremy tried to decide the next logical move.  When one of your players does that, it’s usually a sign that the plot isn’t very clear.

Still, the conclusion was both dramatic and satisfying. It just didn’t have all that much for the agents to do, and it’s something I plan to improve in future scenarios. 

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean considers killing a teenage girl in cold blood to stop a murderous rampage. 

Relevant Media

*Last Rites:*  Source of "Last Rites" oddly enough. 
*Girl:*  by Beck. I'm completely obsessed with this song to the point that I wrote an analysis of it on my blog.
*Friday the 13th: Part VII – The New Blood:* Carrie vs. Jason, basically. Noteworthy for the character development and special effects.
*	Freddy vs. Jason:*  The best of the series, I was laughing out loud in the movie theater.


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Prologue*



> _And I know I'm gonna steal her eye
> She doesn't even know what's wrong
> And I know I'm gonna make her die
> Take her where her soul belongs
> And I know I'm gonna steal her eye
> Nothing that I wouldn't try​_
> --_Girl _by Beck​



Jim-Bean was in a room.  All he could make out was the silhouette of a figure.  He was most obscured by the spotlight near his head, shining through the glass separating the examination room from the doctor’s office.  

“Now Mister Baxter, I’m going to ask you again…”

Jim-Bean could make out a nametag: Dr. Alan Ettringer. 

“You sustained a shotgun wound at point blank range.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t remember.”

Jim-Bean was strapped down to a table.  He couldn’t move his arms, legs, or even turn his head.  Something was connected to his temples.  There was an odd hum in the background.

“You were cognizant enough to get up, eliminate the target, then make your way to the train’s engine and force the engineer to apply the brakes.  You then returned to the location where you were shot and carried on a conversation with your fellow agents.”

“I don’t—“

Ettringer pressed a button and Jim-Bean heard his own voice: “Out of the way…We’ll do this the old fashioned way—“

“Do you remember now?”

Jim-Bean shrugged as best he could in his restraints.  “Sounds like me.”

Ettringer’s smooth voice indicated the slightest hint of amusement.  “Let’s move on, shall we?  You received a debilitating case of necrotizing fasciitis from a bite wound.”

“Oh yah, I remember that.  Saucy wench.  She could get quite rough if you know what I’m saying—“

“Mister Baxter,” interrupted Ettringer.  “Do you realize that the mortality rate of necrotizing fasciitis is over 70 percent?”

“Err, no?”

“When doctors initially examined you, it appeared that the necrotizing fasciitis was actually reversing itself.  You didn’t even require debridement.”

“…just lucky I guess.”

“Uhm hmm.” Ettringer’s hand hovered over a switch.  “We’re going to perform a few tests to see the limits of your endurance.”  

“Wait!” Someone put something over Jim-Bean’s eyes.  Jim-Bean struggled in the restraints.  “Whaddaya mean by…”

“Don’t worry…”  

Jim-Bean tried to scream, but hands thrust a bite guard into his mouth and pulled it tight, stretching the edges of his lips into a rictus. 

“You won’t remember any of this. Welcome to Project RECOIL.”

Then Ettringer flipped the switch and the world exploded as electricity coursed through every muscle.


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Part 1 – The Tape*

"Jimbo?  Earth to Jimmy-Bean!"  Hammer's voice floated through Jim-Bean's consciousness.

Hammer, Guppy, and Archive were seated all around Jim-Bean in office chairs, their faces illuminated by the blank computer screen before him. They looked at him expectantly.

Jim-Bean snapped out of it.  "Wha?'

"You've been sitting there staring at the DVD for like a minute.  Did you just have a stroke?"

Jim-Bean chuckled, but he was really just buying time to clear his head.  The DVD was marked “Arkham Asylum Outpatient Lucinda Ennis.” The author was listed as Dr. Alan Ettringer.  It had triggered a memory – more of a vision – and the visions were becoming all too common when Jim-Bean touched things.  

Probably part of those "attributes" that Majestic-12 was so interested in.  The suppressed memory made him decide that keeping these new visions to himself was the safest course of action. 

Hammer took the DVD out of Jim-Bean's fingers and popped it into the DVD player. "Lay off the drugs."

The same calm voice of Ettringer piped through the monitor speakers. “…the Baxter Case in 2005. The documentation here is much greater.”

“Baxter Case?” asked Hammer, peering at Jim-Bean suspiciously.  

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “There’s a lot of Baxters.”

“By keeping Lucinda Ennis' trauma and stress levels high,” continued Ettringer on the tape, “I’m confident I can induce huge psychokinetic reactions.”

"Lucinda Ennis?" said Archive.  "I recognize that name.  Is she related to Sophie?"

"Who's that?" asked Guppy.

"We found the corpse of a little girl at the former site of the orphanage on McKinley Boulevard," said Archive.  "DNA evidence identified her at Sophie Ennis."

A dark-haired, brooding girl walked in, eyeing the camera suspiciously. 

“Is that really necessary?”

Ettringer stepped on screen, looking just as Jim-Bean remembered him.  He barely spared the camera a glance.  “The camera? I just want to keep track of our progress, all right?” He read off a pad.  “Let’s get back to work.  Here, look at me.  See this matchbox?” He placed a matchbox down on the desk. “I’m going to set it on the desk here. I want you to concentrate.  I want you to think about your feelings and focus them in on the matchbook. Maybe we can get it to move.”

Lucinda stared glumly at it. Nothing happened.

“You’re not trying, Lucy.”

“Yes I am!” protested Lucinda.

“Think about it moving.  Then make it move!”

Lucinda held her breath and strained, staring at the matchbook. After another second she gasped for air.  “I can’t! I told you I don’t know how it happens—sometimes it happens and sometimes it doesn’t happen!”

“You’re lying to me!” snarled Ettringer in an uncharacteristic loss of composure.  He stalked over to her, leaning closer. “You’re lying because it happens when your emotions are their PEAK.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Now you’re holding back.  Concentrate.  CONCENTRATE LUCY!”

Lucinda turned back, eyes wide.  The matchbook skittered across the table.

“Well well.  What did you do?  What went through your mind?”

Lucinda didn't look at him.  “I was thinking about you.” 

Ettringer barked out a laugh. He didn’t expect that response.

“Look I don’t know how this is going to help me,” said Lucinda. 

“Your psychokinetic ability is a projection of the suppressed guilt feelings that you have.”

“Would you speak English?” asked Lucinda. “You’re more interested in this telekinetic stuff than you are in me!”

Ettringer wagged a finger at her. “That is not true, Lucinda! The only reason that I’m here is to help you overcome the guilt you have about your father’s death.  That’s all!”

“That’s BULLS#!T!” shouted Lucinda.  

The matches burst into flames.  Lucinda stormed off camera. 

“I rest my case,” Ettringer said quietly. 

The tape ended and the screen went blank.

"That's our man," said Hammer.  "Looks like a Friendly got himself into some trouble."

Guppy frowned.  "I have heard of this Ettringer when I was at the Van Dyson Clinic." He rubbed his temples.  "He has an affinity for—"

"Electroshock therapy," finished Jim-Bean.   He got up from his chair and left before Guppy could ask him how he knew.


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Part 2 – The Terror Begins*

RUNVILLE, MA—Runville was tiny and isolated.  A narrow, lumpy dead-end road wound through dreary marshes that often flooded the road in the winter.  Inland, the road joined a state highway.

The town was carved out of the bluff below, well above the sea but the streets were built on tiers like a lopsided wedding cake.  Below the fishermen, who lived on the lowest level, was a shingle-covered beach and a sheltering cove.  The Springer Mansion was the sole exception, a sprawling manor that included a private dock to the shore. A lighthouse, situated on a notorious shoal a few miles out into the Atlantic, gave a baleful glare as it rotated its all-seeing eye into the chilling fog. 

The team arrived at a cabin on the highest level of Runville, starkly illuminated by the lights of the county sheriff’s vehicle.  

"This is the town where Robert said the three remaining cultists were hiding out," Hammer whispered to Jim-Bean. 

Sheriff Maurice Talbott was on the scene, along with his deputy, Toby Ettringer.  A grossly bloody sheet was lifted into a nearby ambulance. 

Hammer flashed his badge.  "Federal agent.  What have we got?"

“Two kids in one of the cabins nearby here," said Talbott to Hammer. "One was knifed in the head, the other looks like her head was crushed.”  

He shot Hammer a sideways glance. “If the Feds are snooping around then that confirms my worst suspicions. This is a serial killer we got on our hands, huh?” He shook his head.  “Hard to believe a little girl like that could do so much harm.”

"Lucinda Ennis is the suspect?" asked Jim-Bean. 

Talbott nodded. “We’ve got all officers, all units and stations within a fifty-mile radius alerted about this wacko kid. Lucy came running into the sheriff’s office, claiming that her father was alive.  She said she dug up his body and poured something over it, some crazy potion she got from her boyfriend.  Lucy said her father came back to life, but she couldn’t control him. When we didn’t immediately agree to help her, she made a grab for one of our rifles. Locked her ass up.  Should have stayed there too.”  

“Locked her up?  How did she get out?” asked Hammer. 

“We were told to let her out.” Talbott took his hat off and scratched his head.  “We even took her to the Eternal Rest cemetery to prove that her father was still dead, but that wasn’t enough for her either.  Lucy said someone covered up her father’s grave.”  Talbott shook his head.  “I don’t find it amusing that the nut house Lucy belonged to thought she was responsible enough to be released into the Doc’s care here.” 

"What nuthouse is that?" asked Guppy quietly.

"Arkham Asylum," said a familiar soft voice behind them.

Tablott looked over Guppy's shoulder him a glare.  “Where’s my manners?  This here’s Dr. Alan Ettringer, a psychiatrist from Arkham Asylum.  We released Lucy into his custody.”

Jim-Bean was very still.  Did Ettringer even remember him?

If Ettringer recognized Jim-Bean he didn't show it.  He looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “If I may have a word with you please?” he whispered to Hammer. 

The doctor took him aside. “I believe that Lucy’s psychokinetic powers are rapidly spiraling out of control.  She claims to have resurrected her father.  Her psychokinesis and delusions are clearly tied together. When she heard that her sister’s murder was cult-related, she started ranting and raving about avenging Sophia through her neglectful father.  I fear she’s using her powers to kill whomever she thinks is tied to the cult.” 

Hammer nodded.  "Thanks, Doc.  We'll keep it under advisement."

“Sheriff!” shouted one of the officers. “Get over here!”

Talbott took off into the woods toward his deputy's voice. He moved rapidly through the maze of trees and brush.

“Sheriff, over here!” shouted the deputy.  Deputy Colone waved a flashlight.

Running up to his ashen-faced deputy, Sheriff Talbott looked down at what Colone held out.

In his hand was a pair of blood-splattered goggles.  Talbott looked at him. “Is that all you found?”

“I wish it was,” replied the deputy. He shined his flashlight at the ground.

A severed arm was illuminated in the flashlight beam.  It wore an Army fatigue sleeve. The beam moved over a couple of yards to a hacked-off leg, also in fatigues.

Both lawmen stared stoically down at the body parts.

"Stupid paintball kids," said Talbott, shaking his head.  "They're not supposed to play out here, but they never listen."

The Sheriff's team started cordoning off the area. 

Hammer huddled the other agents around him.  "So this Lucy person finds out the cultists sacrificed her sister when she was at the orphanage.  She reanimates her father and goes on a rampage."

Jim-Bean picked up the goggles.  “Lucy’s father did this.”

“You mean the dead man?” asked Talbott.

Jim-Bean nodded.  “Looks like she was telling the truth.  He did it with a chainsaw.”

“A chainsaw?” Talbott laughed.  “Hell, there are a thousand easier ways to kill a man than with a chainsaw.  You know how strong ya gotta be to chop off a limb like that?”

“Very strong,” said Jim-Bean.  “Look around for footprints.  Lucy unearthed him recently from his grave, so there should be dirt from the graveyard.”

Talbott stared at him.  “You can tell all that from a pair of goggles?”

“Forensics,” was all Jim-Bean said. 

"If what Jim-Bean said is true," said Archive, “the three cultists are in grave danger.”

"What were their names again?" asked Hammer.

"David Flaherty, Katrina Smith, and Bernadette Springer."

"We'd better get over to Flaherty's place—"

"Don't bother." The sheriff stalked over to Hammer. "They just found David Flaherty.  Somebody ripped his head clean off.”

Hammer checked his watch.  "All right, time's ticking for the other two.  Let's get to Smith's place. Move, people, move!"

“I’ll go with you,” said Ettringer.  “I may be the only one who can control her.”


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Part 3a – The Smith Home*

Katrina Smith's home was a large two-story building with white columns on the lowest level of Runville.  A covered dock extended off the other side of the property into Runville Cove.  The bright red door stood wide open.  The wind was s getting stronger as it whipped through the trees, causing streetlights to flicker. 

Hammer surveyed the grounds suspiciously.  "Me and Jim-Bean will go inside.  Guppy, Archive, go around back. Ettringer, stay close to me."

Ettringer nodded. He didn't catch Jim-Bean's frown in the darkness. 

The raging wind causes everything to whistle and move. Lightning cracked nearby and the power went out completely.  

"Of course," muttered Jim-Bean.

Hammer's head was cocked, straining to listen. "Shh!" 

Jim-Bean listened too.  Laughter from upstairs. 

They crept their way to a bedroom. Hammer shined his light on the source of the sound. 

It was a Furby, white eyes glistening in the darkness as its beak clicked.  “Waa, waylo, koko!” it tweeted. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-“

Click!  The lights came back on. The Furby was speckled with red. 

“-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

"AAAAAH!" screamed Ettringer.

On the bed was Katarina Smith, her body horribly mangled.  

The normally calm doctor fled the room, stumbling down the steps. 

Hammer sighed.  "This is what we get for taking civilians along."

They were about to start after Ettringer, who was still screaming outside, when it was interrupted by the sound of two gunshots.


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Part 3b – The Smith Home*

Guppy and Archive peeked around the corner of the Smith house.  There was no one there.  The savage wind whipped the trees and bushes.

Then a monstrous mottled form lurched into view. It was a walking corpse, bloated from its time in the water. It had no face, the eyes and nose long since rotted away to form a death mask. A chainsaw was gripped in both hands. With a sharp jerk, it buzzed to life.  

"What the hell?" sputtered Guppy.  "Why does it have a chainsaw?"

Ettringer ran past him screaming, stopping short at the sight of the hulking behemoth before him. His mouth clamped shut and he ran back towards Guppy and Archive.

"Keep it away from me!" 

Guppy drew his pistol and fired twice.  The bullets made little "puft" sounds as they penetrated the walking corpse.  The only response was that water streamed out of the holes.  It kept coming, holding the buzzing chainsaw over its head.

Archive drew his own Glock and took aim.  They gave up ground one step at a time, firing as they went, keeping the plodding corpse at a few feet distant. 

"What makes you think that's going to work?" asked Guppy.

"Magic," said Archive with a smirk.  He took careful aim with the enchanted Glock and aimed at the thing's forehead.  Archive pulled the trigger.

The chainsaw-wielding zombie's head snapped back.  Then it slowly looked turned to look at Archive, murderous hate in its eyes. 

Ettringer fell to the ground, gibbering in terror.  Guppy was torn between keeping his distance from the thing and abandoning Ettringer.  

“Shoot the chainsaw!” shouted Guppy.  He took careful aim and fired his Beretta.  It ricocheted off the spinning blade. 

The chainsaw swung sideways, badly gashing Guppy's arm and slamming him into the side of the house.  He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Archive held up the amulet of the Elder Sign that he wore around his throat.  "I invoke the power of the Elder—"

The chainsaw struck a glancing blow on Archive's shoulder.  He screamed and dropped the Elder Sign, tripping over Ettringer. Ettringer crawled over him.

The corpse that was formerly Henry loomed over Archive with chainsaw held high.  

It was interrupted by the sputtering fire of two Glocks on full auto.  Hammer smashed through the second story window, flipping through the air as he fired.  He landed on his feet, still firing.

The bullets ravaged Henry’s corpse, but it didn’t slow him down.  He simply turned and, revving the chainsaw, advanced on Hammer. 

Hammer stood his ground.  He kept firing, bullet after bullet, until click-click-click was all that came out of his Glocks. He was out of ammunition and time.

Once again, the corpse raised up the chainsaw. Hammer didn’t flinch.

SPTANG! Gas spilled from the tank of the chainsaw as a bullet perforated it.  The chainsaw sputtered and died.

Henry looked for the source. Above him, Jim-Bean was leaning out the window with his G36C extended.  

Shaking the chainsaw in confusion, the zombie dropped it in front of Hammer.  Hammer coolly reloaded his Glocks.

Henry’s corpse reached over its shoulder…and pulled a wicked-looking machete out of a sheath on its back.

“He carries backup weapons?” asked Jim-Bean in surprise. “Does this thing have a Home Depot card or what?”

Ettringer screamed, and Henry’s corpse turned to stump its way towards the doctor.  On his hands and knees, Ettringer crawled around the corner.

Hammer emptied another two clips into the thing’s back as it walked.  “I can’t stop it!”

“I don’t think anyone can.” Jim-Bean climbed down out of the window.

Ettringer and Henry’s corpse turned the corner of the house.  There was another scream. 

“Ettringer!” shouted Hammer, jogging up to the side of the house. 

Ettringer’s head rolled around the corner. Of Henry’s corpse there was no sign.

“Now what?” asked Hammer.

“Where else?” said Jim-Bean, helping Guppy to his feet.  “The Springer place.”


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Part 4 – The Showdown*

“Federal agents!  Open up!” came Hammer’s voice from the other side of the partially ajar door to the Springer household.  It was a massive place, a mansion, with sweeping steps that curved up both sides.  

When there was no answer, Hammer kicked open the door, both pistols at the ready.  

Hammer crept into the room.  The other agents filed in behind him. 

The place looked as if it had been hit by an earthquake.  A marble pillar was collapsed on one side of the room, and cracked statuary was everywhere. A rumpled red carpet was splayed out the length of the hallway into the room. Oil lamps flickered up and down the length of the upper level. 

“Something very bad went down here,” said Jim-Bean.  “And I don’t think it was Henry.”

“You’re right,” said a young woman’s voice from atop the balcony.  “It was me.”

Lucy Ennis, her long dark hair covering much of her face, leaned over the banister.  

“Lucy?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Lucy Ennis?”

The door slammed shut behind them.  Then the multiple deadlocks and bolts locked the door, seemingly of their own volition. 

“He won’t stop,” whispered Lucy. “I can’t stop him. No one can.” 

“Who?” asked Jim-Bean.  He started making his way up the steps along the left side of the stairwell.  “Henry?  Your father?”

She slowly nodded. 

“What happened to Bernadette Springer?” asked Hammer. “This is her place…”

Lucy pointed up at the ceiling. 

An old woman hung from the chandelier, a cord tied around her throat.  Her tongue stuck out from her mouth, her face purple.

“She killed herself?” asked Guppy.

Lucy shook her head. There was no way the woman could have hung herself from that height without assistance; the chandelier was over twenty feet off the floor. 

“Lucy,” said Jim-Bean, almost close enough to touch her.  “I understand your pain.  I’ve been there.  I was a patient of Dr. Ettringer’s—“

WHAM!  The door shuddered off its hinges.

“He’s here,” said Lucy.

WHAM! The door buckled as hinges shrieked under the unstoppable force. 

“Positions!” shouted Hammer, directing Archive and Hammer to either side of the door.  

WHAM! The door blew through the hallway, smashing into the far wall.  Plaster and dust filled the room. 

Father and daughter were united.  Henry Ennis stood, the machete in one hand, gore dripping from the blade.  

“Fire!” shouted Hammer. 

Hammer, Archive, and Guppy unleashed their pistols at the thing.  Henry barely jerked from the multiple impact.

“You knew about the orphanage!” shouted Lucy. “You knew about the cult all along!” 

“He moves slowly,” said Hammer, shouting over his shoulder at Guppy.  “So keep backing up and—“

“Hammer, look out!’ shouted Archive.

Henry was right in front of him, somehow closing the distance without making a sound.  The machete lifted up.

“Duck!” shouted Jim-Bean.

Hammer ducked just as the marble pillar whistled through the air.  It smashed into Henry across his upper torso, slamming him into the side of the right stairwell.

Hammer looked up at Jim-Bean in disbelief.  “Did you do that?”

Jim-Bean shook his head and pointed at Lucy.  The power that Lucy was exercising was far beyond what he’d ever witnessed at the Psychic Research Association.  He’d seen spoon-bending, maybe shifting a box of matches around on a table.  But this…this was off the charts.

The rubble at the stairwell shifted. 

“Archive, get down!” shouted Hammer.

But it was too late.  Henry hurled the pillar off of him and it struck a glancing blow, clipping Archive’s shoulder.  He spun and fell.

“You sold poor Sophie to that bastard at the orphanage,” shouted Lucy, “in exchange for his silence!” 

One of the marble statues whistled through the air, smashing into Henry’s head.  The zombie paid it no mind as it turned and began to advance up the steps towards Guppy.

“Uh...guys?” squeaked Guppy.

“Jason’s potion really did its job,” shouted Lucy. “Too well. I should have left your dead body at the bottom of the lake when I drowned you the first time!” 

“The first time?” asked Jim-Bean with an arched eyebrow.  He slowly drew his SIG Sauer.

“It’s got to have a weakness!” Guppy stumbled backwards as Henry climbed the steps.  “Maybe fire!” He grabbed one of the oil lamps off the wall and hurled it at the zombie.  

It was a perfect shot, the oil lamp smashing over the corpse of Henry’s head.  The head burst into flames.

But it kept coming.  A grinning skull, its eye sockets vacant and wreathed in fire took a swipe at Guppy as if he were an irritating gnat.

The machete smacked Guppy sideways, hurling him down the steps.  He lay still at the bottom.

“I blame myself,” said Lucy. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to stop killing.” 

Cracks appeared in the marble steps in front and behind of Henry.  The zombie looked down…

And then was plunged thirty feet below into the basement. 

Lucy didn’t notice Jim-Bean, her dirty hair clouding her vision and her brow furrowed in concentration as she glared down into the hole her telekinesis had created.  

One bullet in her head and Jim-Bean could end it.  He was convinced that Henry’s rampage was somehow tied to her.  But if he was wrong he’d have killed an innocent teenager for nothing.

He kept her talking.  “Lucy?  What did you do to Henry?”

“I squeezed him…” she didn’t look at Jim-Bean.  “Then I squeezed the furnace.”

The familiar sound of screws firing off of the boiler down below signaled what Lucy meant.  She was superheating the furnace to critical mass. 

Hammer ran over and dragged Guppy off the steps as the masonry continued to crumble inwards. 

Jim-Bean’s finger tensed on the trigger.

“Jim-Bean!  Grab Archive!”

Jim-Bean yanked back his pistol, swearing quietly to himself, and ran over to pick up Archive.

“What about the girl?” asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer had Guppy hoisted over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.  “Forget her! This place is going to blow!”

They jogged out the back door, under the balcony, just as the boiler exploded.


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Part 5 – Daddy’s Home*

Lucy calmly stepped out of the house as the roof collapsed.  Debris seemed to avoid her, despite falling shingles, splinters, and beams.  

She took a few steps towards the docks and the agents and then fell to her knees.  “It’s over! It’s finally over!” 

Jim-Bean put Archive down on the ground next to Guppy.  Hammer ran to get the van.

“Lucy, I know people who can help you.”  He took her hand.  “If you’ll come with me…”

There was a groan from the flaming wreckage. 

“Oh no,” said Lucy quietly.  “Oh no.”

Jim-Bean looked up.

A smoldering hand shoved a section of the roof aside.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Jim-Bean. “C’mon kid, let’s go, we’ve got a van…”

Lucy shook her head.  “We can’t stop it!  We can’t stop it!” she pressed something into Jim-Bean’s hand, then shoved off of him.  Lucy backed up towards the dock.  “He’ll never stop!  What the hell was in that vial?”

“What vial?” asked Jim-Bean in vain.  “Who’s Jason?”

“It’s too late for that,” said Lucy.  “It’s too late for everything.”  She whirled to face the relentless corpse of Henry.  “Come on dad!  What are you waiting for?”

Henry rose up out of the wreckage. With one shuddering step after another, it pounded towards her.

“Lucy it doesn’t have to be this way,” said Jim-Bean.  He drew his SIG.  “If we can get enough firepower—“

“There’s not enough firepower in the world to stop dear old dad.  But I know how.”  She glared from beneath her tangle of black hair at the undead figure.  “I did it once and I can do it again.”

She backed up onto the dock.  Henry followed her until she reached the end.  She stopped.  

The corpse stood, flesh crackling, its bright white skull grinning at her.  Hands clenched and unclenched; if it was indecision or Henry was merely savoring his revenge, Jim-Bean couldn’t tell. 

“I’m sorry daddy,” whispered Lucy. 

Then the entire dock folded in on itself like a ruler cracked over God’s knee.  Both ends smashed together and it sank nearly instantaneously into the depths of the ocean, leaving only red bubbles in its wake.


----------



## talien

*Last Rites: Conclusion*

“Any luck?” asked Hammer.

“Found an email from Jason, but that’s it,” said Jim-Bean.  "It’s vague – talks about a potion given to him by someone else, who he doesn’t identify. It was sent through an anonymous remailer and encrypted.  The Redlight boys are working on it.”

“And her psychic powers?” asked Archive. 

“Dr. Ettringer knew about them,” said Jim-Bean. He kept the latent memory that had surfaced to himself. “He convinced Lucy’s mother to have her committed to Arkham Asylum so he could keep conducting his field experiments.  As a Majestic-12 friendly, he recruited psychic talent; sort of like an American version of the PRA.”

“I want to know how Lucy found out about Sophie,” said Archive with a frown.  “The only people who knew about that were me and Hammer.”

Guppy tapped on his cistron.  “It’s in your report.”  He tapped a few more keys.  “Looks like Ettringer was granted special access to review your file when he did a keyword search on ‘Ennis’.”

“That son of a bitch,” snarled Jim-Bean.  “So he KNEW what would happen!  He was pushing her and that was the only way he could get Lucy to use her powers…”

“Thus the ‘field trip’ to Runville. Don’t tell me,” Hammer addressed Guppy.  “He read our file on Robert Monroe-Tyler too.”

Guppy nodded.  “Yep.”

“So Ettringer has all the right ingredients,” said Jim-Bean. “He finds out about Sophie’s murder at the Labib Orphanage and learns the names of the cultists from your mission logs.  Add one an angry latent psychic and stir to a boil.”

“But he didn’t count on this Jason person and his magic potion,” said Hammer.  “Or whatever the hell that vial is. Did we get anything off the corpse?”

“Redlight confiscated it,” said Guppy.  “We’ll be lucky if they tell us anything.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jim-Bean.  

Jim-Bean patted the pocket where Lucy’s thumb drive was, the one she pressed into his palm just before her death. There was an entire book titled _Flagitious Fragments_.  Written verbosely and containing long passages of unsettling descriptions, the book explained how to nurture latent psychic abilities.

It was one piece of evidence Majestic-12 wasn’t going to learn about.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 22: Silicon Dreams - Introduction*

This scenario, “Silicon Dreams,” is a GURPS Black Ops scenario from Pyramid Magazine by Jonathan Souza. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by [bJoseph Tresca[/b]
 (creepyportfolio.com) 

*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
Silicon Dreams is another one of those scenarios that’s big on ideas but doesn’t have much advice on how to execute them. The plot revolves around the unfortunately named Morgana Lafayette. Her supposed connection to the Greys is what propels the rest of the scenario. 

In actual play, the agents had absolutely no interest in Morgana.  While she was admittedly a key person, there were a lot of other key people to focus on, specifically the ones in power like the CEO.  The agents put together their usual infiltration plan, led by Guppy and Jim-Bean, except that it didn’t work out as well as they hoped.  Then I turned the tables on them.  After nearly killing the agents, I pressed them for time to keep the plot moving along, which required some drastic measures on the part of the team. 

And then they did what they always planned to do: an out-and-out raid on the bad guys’ headquarters.  Which was what I wanted all along, but it wasn’t entirely clear how the agents get from Point A (Morgana) to Point B (raid).  Although there was quite a bit of explosions, I got the agents to that point anyway.

When we came to the big finale, I was very pleased.  I removed the open conflict with Greys (for obvious reasons, if you know Delta Green) and replaced it with the creepy ending to Hangar 18.  Hangar 18’s aliens were pretty terrible, but the rest of the movie creeped me out for years after I saw it.  I wanted to reproduce that bizarreness, as well as remind the agents that they are dealing with something far more sinister than UFOs. 

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean, realizing that Archive can heal himself, forces a surgeon in mid-surgery to release him.

Relevant Media

*	Silicon Dreams:*  from Pyramid. If you play in any sort of modern game and need resources, you can't beat Pyramid. 
*Yours Truly, 2095:*  I heard this song on the radio as a little kid and it stuck with me forever -- the computerized voice in a song was new at the time.
*Hangar 18:*  A really cool concept for a movie, marred by goofy looking aliens and some oddly light moments in the script.


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Prologue*



> _I sent a message to another time
> But as the days unwind, this I just can’t believe
> I sent a note across another plane
> Maybe it’s all a game, but this I just can’t conceive._​
> --_Your Truly, 2095_ by ELO​



 BOSTON, MA--Sprague’s feathered haircut and piercing eyes filled the team’s cistrons. 

“A few days ago, Centurion Computing Systems released a new palmtop computer called the Centex. This computer is equal or better to the Cistron that we issue to Majestic-12 agents. In addition, we've been hearing reports from inside that they're going to release new technologies that are equal or better to our own. There's a suspicion of possible interference by extra-terrestrial influences. You're to discover if this is due to extraterrestrial influences or possible compromise by someone in Majestic-12. Guppy, you’re mission leader.”

Sprague’s image winked out. The other agents looked at Guppy. 

“Wow, big time for you, huh?” asked Jim-Bean.

Guppy jutted his chin out.  “It makes sense.  I am the technology guy!”

“Sure, sure,” said Hammer. “So what’s the plan, Mission Leader?”

“Give me a minute.”  Guppy tapped away on his favorite keyboard within the team’s van.  “Ah, okay.  Here we go: Centurion Computing Systems started up in San Francisco.  It has twenty-two employees.  None of them are Majestic-12 front companies either.”

“So we’re off to San Francisco?” asked Hammer. “That’s on the other side of the continent!”

Guppy shook his head.  “They recently moved into a new office complex in Samson.”

“Still on the other side of the continent,” muttered Hammer. 

“Who’s the CEO?” asked Jim-Bean.

“There are four top people: The head of CCS, Walter Morrow; his two best friends Nick Allyson and Wang-Li Gi; and the girl that gave them the garage to work in, Lisa Patterson. They’re the inventive and creative parts of CCS.”

“A regular Apple,” smirked Hammer. 

“I’m going to put taps on all of them,” said Guppy. “But in the mean time, we have to get to Samson, CA as soon as possible.”

Archive leaned back in his seat.  “And how, exactly, are we going to get there?  It’ll take forever to drive…”

“The gas is too expensive,” said Guppy.  “Sprague would never approve it.  I’m going to call in SPIDER transport.”

Jim-Bean cocked his head.  “SPIDER transport?  What the hell is that?”

Hammer sighed.  “You’ll see.”


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 1 — SPIDER Webs*

SAMSON, CA—“That was…horrible,” said Jim-Bean, cracking his neck.

“We got here in twenty-four hours, didn’t we?” muttered Guppy.

“Sure,” said Jim-Bean.  “But a bus?  And a cargo plane with chickens in it?  I thought the cabin was going to depressurize there…”

Archive looked a little green.  “I could do without the HALO drop at the end.”

“We’re here,” said Guppy, checking his cistron.  “Nothing much on the taps. Just a mixture of work e-mail, bad jokes and stories, and some erotic commentary about the relationships in the office.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” said Hammer.  “Now what?”

Guppy held up one hand.  “Uh oh.  Get a load of this.” He uploaded the GNN stream to their cistrons.

“…CCS just announced a new computer system known as the Navi.  According to reports, the Navi has unparalleled processing power and will be released later this month.”

“That can’t be good,” said Archive.”

Guppy shook his head.  “We’re going to have to see this technology up close.  We’ll need to get into their headquarters.”

Jim-Bean grinned.  “My specialty.  I can whip up fake IDs for all of us.  Who would you like to be today?”

Hammer rolled his eyes.  “Just make me your driver.”

Archive cleared his throat.  “Uhm…what do you mean, exactly?”

Jim-Bean looked Archive up and down. “On second thought, you can be my bodyguard.  Guppy, you’re my chief technologist.  I’m multi-billionaire playboy Bean Jaxter. Can you spread some press releases about me to make it look convincing?”

“Sure,” said Guppy hesitantly.  “But that will all be recent…”

Jim-Bean waved him off.  “Ask SINNER to hack some GNN sites.  Let’s go back three months at least.  Too bad me dear old mum just kicked and left me this huge fortune.” 

Archive was aghast.  “Do these plans actually succeed?”

“Rarely.” Hammer checked both of his Glocks.  “That’s why I carry these.”


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 2—The Bluff*

A black limousine pulled up to the non-descript headquarters for CCS.  Hammer was in the driver’s seat dressed like a limo driver. Archive sat next to him dressed in a security uniform.  In the back, Guppy and Jim-Bean wore tailored suits. 

Hammer lowered the driver’s side window.  “Mr. Jaxter here to see a Mr. Morrow.”

The security guard looked askance at the limo.  Hammer noted that there were tired shredders in addition to the gate barring their entrance.  CCS took its security seriously.

“ID please?”

Hammer handed him the forged papers.  Majestic-12’s covers were usually impenetrable. 

The security guard picked up a phone.  There was a lot of “uh huhs,” and “yeahs,” and then finally an “okay, I’ll tell them.” He turned back to Hammer.  “Mr. Jaxter’s busy right now but he’s happy to make an appointment.”

They expected this.  Jim-Bean rolled down the window.  “Who is this?” he shouted in his best eurotrash accent. “Who are these people?  Why are they not letting us in?”

“Sorry sir,” said Hammer, feigning discomfort.  “I’m sure they’ll let us in.”

“You!” Jim-Bean pointed at the security guard.  “Who are you?”

“Me, sir?” The guard stuttered.  “I-I’m afraid I can’t let you in without an appointment.”

“An appointment?  Are you serious?  Do you know who I am?”  Jim-Bean threw up his hands.  “Do you know who I have with me? I heard about this Navi system and I want in!”

“You’re welcome to call Mr. Morrow’s office…”

“No,” said Jim-Bean curtly.  “I don’t not feel very welcome at all!” He whirled and pointed at Hammer from inside the limousine.  “You!  Get this insolent cur on the phone!”

“Right away sir.” Hammer leaned over to the security guard.  “If you could give me the phone number?”

The guard nodded and handed a card to him.  Hammer punched in the number and handed the cell phone.  Before he could answer, Jim-Bean leaned forward and snatched it from him.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“This is Mr. Morrow’s secretary,” said a husky feminine voice.  “How may I help you sir?”

“This is Mr. Jaxter!  Perhaps you’ve heard of me?  The billionaire?  I saw the GNN press release about the Navi system and I want to speak with Mr. Morrow right now!”

“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to make an appointment.”

“An appointment?” Jim-Bean barked out a laugh. “I have one of the world’s most renowned computer specialists with me and he wants an appointment?  What kind of operation is this?”

The woman’s voice never wavered.  She dealt with rude snobs all the time.  “Sir, I’m sure Mr. Morrow is very interested in what you have to say, but I’m afraid you’ll have to make an appointment.”

“I don’t believe this!”  He threw the cell phone down on the ground and shouted at it.  “You tell Mr. Morrow that when he finds time, he can call me at this number! I’ll be at the Frederico Steak House for the next few hours!”  He kicked Hammer’s seat.  “Drive!  Get me away from this junk factory!”

Hammer glowered at him.  “Yes, sir.” Then he threw the limo in reverse and forcefully hit the gas, jarring Jim-Bean and Guppy.

As they pulled away, Jim-Bean sighed.  “I know, I deserved that.”

The team kept up the façade at Frederico’s, eating steaks and drinking wine.  Or at least, Guppy and Jim-Bean did.  Hammer and Archive at their meals at a separate table.

Still no call.

They headed back to a swanky hotel room, large enough for all four of them.

“Remember,” said Jim-Bean.  “Don’t let yourself be seen walking the halls or it’ll blow our cover.”

“Do you think we can afford this?” asked Guppy nervously.  The CIFA credit card had taken several large hits in the name of Jim-Bean’s façade.  

“Think of it this way,” said Jim-Bean, wrapped in a silk robe.  “I’m spending the money you saved on SPIDER transport.”


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 3a—Lucky Brakes*

The next day passed with no phone call. 

Guppy looked at his cistron.  “Nothing on the taps.  Nothing at all,” he said glumly.

“Now what?” asked Hammer.

“We should try again,” said Guppy.  “Maybe announce a rival technology or something.”

Jim-Bean waved him off.  “Relax.  These things take time.  We have to really sell it.  I’m sure they’ll come around.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Hammer.  “These guys aren’t as stupid as GNN.  They’re suspicious of anybody interested in their technology.  If they’re the real deal, they might not even care about the money.”  

They clambered into the limousine again.  “Sooner or later, everybody cares about money,” said Jim-Bean.  “They’ve got an aggressive release schedule.  They must be burning cash like mad.”

Hammer shifted gears and they took off down the hilly streets of Samson.  

“So what’s your plan this time?” asked Guppy.

“This time you get on the phone,” said Jim-Bean.  “Talk some techno babble at them, really dazzle them.  Tell them something about alien technology that only someone like you would know.  That should—“

The car lurched. 

“Jesus!” exclaimed Jim-Bean, leaning forward to address Hammer. “I know you were mad at me for kicking the car yesterday but could you take it easy on the hills?”

Hammer’s gloved hands were curled into fists on the steering wheel.  “I’m trying!”  He stomped on the brake pedal a few times.  “No brakes!”

“What?” asked Archive.  “What do you mean no brakes?”

“Try the emergency brake!”  shouted Guppy.

Archive grabbed the emergency brake lever with both hands and pulled.  Nothing happened.

“Someone cut the brakes!” said Archive.

Horns honked as Hammer tore through a four-way intersection, blowing a stoplight. “Not…” said Hammer through gritted teeth, swerving the limo to avoid pedestrians, “…HELPING.”

“Seatbelts!” Jim-Bean struggled to buckle himself in. 

Hammer pulled the wheel hard just as they reached another intersection at the end of a hill.  A green sedan had the right of way.  The driver swerved at the same time, but Hammer couldn’t apply the brakes.  Tires shrieked as the limo tipped sideways.  It struck the other car, which propelled the limo up in the air.

They tumbled in slow motion. Then the ceiling crunched as the limo landed upside-down. 

Hammer struggled out of the car.  Archive crawled out the other side.

“The others all right?”

Jim-Bean and Guppy helped each other out of the limousine.  The smell of gas was everywhere.  Helpful bystanders shouted to them, but the smoke made them hesitate.  Other cars further back honked in irritation, not understanding the dire nature of the situation.

An unmarked black van came screeching to a halt a few hundred feet away.

“Is that our backup?” asked Guppy.

“It would be,” Hammer drew his Glocks.  “If any of us called for backup.  Get down!”


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 3b—Lucky Brakes*

Four men in full SWAT assault uniforms and machineguns piled out of the van and began peppering the limousine with gunfire.  The other agents fired back.

“There are too many civilians!” shouted Hammer.  “We have to get out of here!”

Jim-Bean squeezed off a few shots in the direction of the black van. “And go where?” he shouted back.  “They’re not going to just politely move to a deserted park.”

“This is going to attract attention,” said Guppy nervously.  He fired his Beretta blindly through the smoke at the hit squad.  “If the GNN cameras show up…”

“That’s it!” said Jim-Bean.  “Guppy you’re a genius!”  He flipped his cistron and dialed 911.  “Hello?  There’s a firefight going on in downtown Samson.  Yeah!  Corner of…can you see the sign?”

Archive strained to see through the smoke.  “Fifth and Ninth!”

“Corner of Fifth and Ninth!  Hurry, the two gangs are heavily armed!”  To demonstrate his point, he held the cistron next to his SIG and fired it in the direction of the van.

“What the hell did you do that for?” asked Hammer.

“Who do you think has the better cover?” asked Jim-Bean.  “The guys with the CIFA badges or the guys in the unmarked van armed to the teeth wearing bulletproof vests?”

“Good point,” said Hammer.  Bullets ricocheted near his head, forcing him to duck behind the limo.

“Uh, guys…?” asked Guppy.  “I think I smell gas.”

He looked down.  Gas was pooling at their feet.

“Run!” shouted Hammer.  He shoved Guppy in front of him and broke into a sprint just a spark ignited the limousine in a fireball.


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 4—Desperate Measures*

Jim-Bean sat up from the hospital bed.  “Can I go now doc?”

The Samson Hospital doctor on call shook his head.  “I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.  Not a scratch on you.”

“Well I wouldn’t say not a scratch…”

The doctor indicated Guppy, who was groggily stirring.  “Fortunately for you whoever was trying to kill you fled the scene when the police arrived. Your friends weren’t quite as lucky.  Mr. Gupta suffered second degree burns.  We’ve given him something to handle the pain but he really shouldn’t be moved…”

“Can he stand?”

“Yes, but with the medication we gave him—“

“He’ll be fine.  What about Ham—I mean Grange?”

“After you, he’s in better shape.  Mr. Grange must have been at the perimeter of the blast.”

Jim-Bean looked around.  “Where’s Fontaine?”

The doctor’s expression became grim.  “Mr. Fontaine is in emergency surgery.  We’re removing debris from his…”

Jim-Bean hopped off the cot.  “Sew him up.”

“What?” The doctor shook his head.  “You can’t just—“

“I said sew him up,” said Jim-Bean.  “Guppy, can you move?”

Guppy groaned and slowly propped himself up on one elbow.  “I…I think so.”

“Now look here,” said the doctor, “I don’t know who you are but these men are in no condition to—“

“We’re federal agents.” Jim-Bean moved to fish out his badge from his pockets, then realized he was in a hospital gown.  “Where’s my things?”

“We have them in a safe.  We also notified the police, since you were carrying firearms.”

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes. “With my gun is a badge.  And that badge represents CIFA.  And if you don’t release us right now I will have you all brought up on federal charges for obstructing an investigation. Now WHERE are my THINGS?”

The doctor backed up and barked a command at a nurse.  A few minutes later Jim-Bean had his clothes, his gun, and his badge back.  

Hammer joined him in the waiting room, followed by a limping Guppy. 

“CCS is going to be wrapping up their operations,” said Hammer.  “If they’re bold enough to attack us in broad daylight, they’re not above wiping their offices clean by whatever means necessary. We have to move tonight before they remove all the evidence.”

“But Archive’s still in surgery!” said Guppy, his eyes swimming a bit from the painkillers.  “We can’t—“

“Sure we can.  He’s into that mystical healing mumbo-jumbo, right?”  Jim-Bean stalked towards the door marked RESTRICTED PERSONNEL ONLY. “He can just heal himself.”

“Hey!” shouted a security guard.  “You can’t just go in there.”

Jim-Bean held up his CIFA badge and pointed his pistol at the security guard.  “Try and stop me.”

He backed his way into the operating room.  Archive was splayed out on a table, an IV drip connected to one arm.  A staff of surgeons were busy extracting debris from his flesh. The lead surgeon whirled. 

“What the hell?  Get this man out of here!”

The nurses started tugging at his arm. “You can’t be in here!”

“I’m getting him out,” said Jim-Bean. “Sew him up.”

“He could die!” shouted the surgeon, unruffled by the fact that a pistol was pointed at his head.  

“So could you if you don’t do what I say,” said Jim-Bean.  “Now. Sew. Him. Up.”

Ten minutes later, two walking-, one drugged-, and one half-dead agent limped out of Samson Hospital.


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 5a—Starting Fires*

It was 3 a.m. when Hammer finished snipping a man-sized opening in the CCS perimeter fence.  Thanks to Guppy’s hacking, he had found a hole in their surveillance cameras. They padded over to a side door near the office connected to a warehouse. 

“Our target is that warehouse,” whispered Guppy.  “We just need to get inside there.”

“Yeah, sure, piece of cake.” Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder at Archive.  “How you doing buddy?”

Archive, despite the serious of his wounds, had fresh scars that had already healed.  “The spell’s taking effect.”  He winced.  “But it still hurts.”

“Yeah, spells,” whispered Jim-Bean.  “Whatever that crap you do, if it makes you feel better, go with it.”

“You’re one to talk,” whispered Hammer pointedly.

“Can we please focus on the mission?” Guppy fiddled with the lock and it popped open.  A map appeared on all their cistrons.  “There’s one guard station and no way around it.”

“If they have half the firepower they threw at us in the street before, it’s going to be impossible to get inside,” said Hammer.

“Just get me to a computer terminal,” said Guppy.  “I’ll take care of the rest.”

They snuck up to the flickering light of a bay of monitors.

Hammer snuck a peek around the corner.   A guard loudly slurped his coffee.

“…now we’ve got the government involved,” said one of the guards. “They really effed it up this time.”

Hammer turned back to his companions and held up for fingers.

Jim-Bean nodded.  Hammer counted down from his four fingers.  

Three.  Two.  One.

Hammer fired his Glocks and Jim-Bean sprayed the room with his G-36 assault rifle.  The guard screamed and shouted, diving for their weapons.

Guppy and Archive followed up with pistol fire.  Three guards were down.  The last one leaped for a red button.

Gunfire raked his back, but his palm hit the alarm as he went down.  Klaxons went off.

“Damn it!” shouted Jim-Bean.

Guppy shoved the guard’s corpse off the seat and began furiously typing.  “I think I can stop it.”

“Even if you could,” said Hammer, “it won’t stop them.  They’re not stupid.  They’re on high alert.  This place will be swarming with guards.”

Guppy shook his head, eyes glued to the monitor, fingers dancing across the keyboard.  “I’m not going to shut it off.  I’m just going to redirect it.  We’re in Zone One.” A schematic of the complex appeared on one of the screens.  “So there’s about to be a fire in Zone Four.”  Zone One stopped flashing and Zone Four began pulsing. 

“Can you find their computer system?”

Guppy tapped some more keys.  “Mother Trucker!  It’s a closed system.”

“What?” asked Archive.

“It’s not on a network.  The only way I can get past the security in the warehouse is to be at a terminal there.”

Jim-Bean had been uncharacteristically silent.  When they all looked at him, he was in his underwear, shrugging on one of the guard’s uniforms. 

“What are…what are you doing?” asked Guppy.

Jim-Bean zipped up the pants.  “It’s time for me to do a little hacking of my own.”


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 5b— Starting Fires*

A guard jogged up to the two men at the security station in front of the warehouse. 

“Hey!  What are you guys doing?” he shouted.  “There’s a fire in Zone Four!”

“We’re not supposed to leave our post,” replied one of the other guards.  

“Yeah, yeah I know, but we think it’s a prelude to an attack.  The government raid is going down – but if you want to let Mr. Morrow know that you guys didn’t follow orders…”

The two guards looked at each other and then jogged off in the direction of Zone Four.  

Jim-Bean pretended to jog behind them, but just ran in place.  

“I can’t believe that worked,” said Archive.

Guppy ran over to the security console.  “Retinal scan,” he snorted. He tapped a few keys on his cistron and held it up to the scanner.

An eyeball appeared on screen.  The retinal scanner flashed a green beam onto the cistron.  Several bolts unlocked and something twisted and groaned inside the foot-thick reinforced steel door. Then it whisked open.

There was a large plastic curtain between the entryway and the rest of the warehouse.  Shouts came from behind them. The guards were coming back.

Guppy tapped a button on the other side of the door.  The noises the door made when it open became clear as bolts locked and swiveled, locking the door into place.

“Hope we can find another way out of here,” said Archive.

Hammer shoved aside the curtain and then stopped short.

“Now I know why Guppy was mission leader,” he said quietly.

Before them was a thirty-foot diameter saucer, twelve feet from top to bottom. The entire exterior was made of a dull-like material that looked like lead. Three curved triangular windows protruded from the front of the craft.  

“Oh no,” whispered Guppy.  “Not again!”


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Part 6—The Bucket*

As the agents approached the ship, a klaxon blared out.  

“Warning, warning!” said a calm electronic voice.  “Magnetometer readings rising.”

A single entry ramp opened from the bottom center of the craft.  The craft rises slightly to allow the small steps to lower. Mist spilled out of the entrance, glowing with a yellow light.

“Let me know what’s inside there,” said Guppy.  “I’m not going in.”

Hammer sighed.  “Guppy, we could really use your help in there.”

Guppy crossed his arms.  “You remember what happened last time.  I’m not going in.”  He hesitated.  “For your own safety.”

Hammer frowned and stepped inside, with Jim-Bean and Archive close behind. 

Inside was a low-ceiling interior made of a soft red-brown adobe-like material.  It was carefully and ergonomically shaped.  The ceilings were gracefully arched and the corridors serpentine and smooth.  The floors were made of a shiny black material which under close scrutiny was covered in tiny green and purple writing.   Every square foot of the ceiling was covered in tiny sigils.

“You seen one of these before?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Yeah,” said Hammer.  “It looked exactly like this. In fact, I’m starting to think this is the same one.”

They passed through a peculiar tunnel with patterned walls. It was clear the ship was much larger on the outside than on the inside. Corridors wound more than thirty feet and opened into large rooms that were somehow all jammed with in the tiny craft.  

“How could you even tell?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Maybe everything they make looks the same?”

They made their way to what looked like an engine room. A row of inert boxes were about knee high.  In the center of the room were strange symbols.  A single platform flanked by flimsy bars acted as an elevator of sorts to the next level up.

“Guppy!” shouted Hammer.  “Get in here!”

Guppy sounded very far away.  A few seconds later he jogged in, his gaze intently focused on Hammer only.  “They’re trying to blow the door.”

“Concentrate on the ship for a moment,” said Hammer.  “What does this look like?”

Guppy hesitated, then started looking around at what passed for the ship’s engine.  He ran his cistron over a few mechanisms. “This is an N-fusion drive,” he said.  “It uses hydrogen as fuel, scooping it up as it goes along.”

“So it’s safe to say humans didn’t build this?” asked Jim-Bean.

“No humans I know,” said Guppy.  “It normally takes one million degrees to power something like this.” He was starting to talk faster, overcoming his fear.  “Plus, this craft isn’t capable of interstellar speed.”

“So where did it come from?” asked Hammer.

“A bigger ship,” said Guppy. 

They took the elevator up. 

There were panels on one wall lit by silhouettes of different creatures; some recognizable, others utterly alien in appearance.  In one corner was a glass tube with what looks like a frozen armadillo.  Another was a similarly shaped human-sized chamber, although it was not currently occupied.

Guppy’s eyes turned to slits.  “I remember that chamber.”

“What’s it for—“ began Jim-Bean, but Hammer cut him off with a shake of his head.  “Oh, right.”

“What do you think of these symbols?” Hammer prodded, pointing at one octagonal wall. 

One table was covered in a forest of protruding crystals, while one octagonal wall had a series of odd symbols identifying a variety of buttons. 

“I recognize these symbols!” exclaimed Archive, who hadn’t felt particularly useful until that very moment. “The symbol matches the Nazca lines of an ancient astronaut, which are huge lines in Peru that can only be seen from the air.”

“Can you translate them?” asked Hammer. 

Archive nodded.  “The symbols are similar to a language known as Aklo, which has appeared in the ancient pyramid of Tepanapa in Cholula.”  He tapped a few keys on his cistron.  “I think I can…here we go.”

Weird, winged cylinders with starfish like protrusions on the top and bottom floated through space towards a planet.  Then they surged towards it like dolphins diving deeper into the water. 

“The creatures from beyond came to Earth to live under the sea, at first for food and later for other purposes,” said a mechanical voice. “It was there that they first created earth life—using available substances according to long-known methods. The more elaborate experiments came after the annihilation of various cosmic enemies. They had done the same thing on other planets, having manufactured not only necessary foods, but certain multi-cellular protoplasmic masses capable of molding their tissues into all sorts of temporary organs under hypnotic influence and thereby forming ideal slaves to perform the heavy work of the community, known as shoggoths.”

Silhouettes appeared on the screen as the cistron and the ship’s computer interacted.  Weird, pulpy forms made of eyes, mouths, and tentacles oozed onto the screen. 

“When they had synthesized their simple food forms and bred a good supply of shoggoths, they allowed other cell groups to develop into other forms of animal and vegetable life for sundry purposes, extirpating any whose presence became troublesome. These vertebrates, as well as an infinity of other life forms—animal and vegetable, marine, terrestrial, and aerial—were the products of unguided evolution acting on life cells made by the Old Ones, but escaping beyond their radius of attention.”

Silhouettes of small rodent-like vermin skittered onto the screen.  Evolution sped up as each version of the rodent was advanced by millennia, becoming more bipedal…

“They had been suffered to develop unchecked because they had not come in conflict with the dominant beings. Bothersome forms, of course, were mechanically exterminated.”

Some of the very last images depicted a shambling, primitive mammal, used sometimes for food and sometimes as an amusing buffoon, whose vaguely simian and human foreshadowing were unmistakable. 

“Wait…is that thing saying what I think it’s saying?” asked Jim-Bean.

“That humanity is a mistake,” Guppy said tersely.  “That’s all we are.  An accident.”

Sensing the tension in the room, Hammer urged them onwards to what looked like a bridge. 

It was strangely devoid of chairs of any sort.  In the center of the room was a single console made of the same black stone-like material that the floor was composed of.  It was covered in a complex array of sigils. 

“Let’s see what this does!” Jim-Bean tapped a sigil.

A row of red beams fired out in a straight line from the ship, cutting through some equipment in the warehouse like butter.

“Don’t touch that!” shouted Guppy.  “You have no idea what it does!”

Jim-Bean withdrew his hand from the sigils.  “We could use this to escape! Now are you going to get us out of here oh mighty mission leader or what?”

After a moment of indecision, Guppy pushed Jim-Bean aside and tapped a sigil.

The ship began to power up, shuddering as it lifted a few feet above the ground.  

Guppy tapped another sigil. 

A symbol appeared on the screen. GNN footage played: war footage, a news broadcast, coverage of a gas shortage, and news about the upcoming election.  It ended with the same symbol, which looked like a an odd boxy humanoid with a square for a head, two long triangles for arms, and two short triangles for feet. Three concentric circles were in its abdomen. 

“Is that supposed to be us?” asked Jim-Bean.

Archive nodded.  “Yes.  That’s Aklo for human.”

The screen flickered.  Computer analysis of power plants and military complexes flashed by, all narrated in a buzzing language that was offensive to the ears.

“What is that all about?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Landing zones,” said Archive breathlessly.  “I think—“

The screen was interrupted.  The buzzing voice rose and began repeating.  A dot appeared on the screen, with concentric circles emanating from it.  Another dot was moving towards the dot in the center.

“What the hell is that?” asked Hammer.

Guppy tapped more sigils.  The view of the warehouse outside the saucer turned a transparent green.  They were able to see beyond the doors.

“What happened to the guards?” asked Hammer.

“Maybe we scared them off?” theorized Archive.

“No, it’s something else,” said Hammer.  “They know something.”

Guppy pointed at the screen.  “Look!”

The x-ray view of the warehouse blurred as the ship’s surveillance systems zoomed in on the image of a jetliner. Several boxes of something within the belly of the jetliner pinged along with the buzzing voice. It was heading right towards them.

“Is that jet carrying…explosives?” asked Jim-Bean.

Then the plane hit.


----------



## talien

*Silicon Dreams: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean, his feet up on a table, flipped through the channels on a nearby television.  A GNN newswoman narrated.

“…a terrorist attack on CCS headquarters. It is believed that terrorists posing as Saudi billionaires attempted to purchase CCS’ computer technology, and when they refused, a suicide bomber rammed a jet full of explosives into the facility.  All CCS staff are presumed dead. The death toll currently stands at forty five and counting.  We’ll stay on this story as news develops—“

He flicked the channel.

“—UFO was spotted over North Platte Air Force Base.  Officials aren’t talking and none of the staff were willing to speak with us on the record.  But one person who spoke on condition of anonymity said that there were actually human-like alien hybrids on the UFO, and that this is further evidence that a race of genetically cross-bred mutants are being…“

Jim-Bean lowered the volume. 

“We’re lucky Sprague doesn’t have our heads,” said Hammer.  “And by that I mean, explode our heads.”

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “CCS wiped out?  Check.  Returned Sprague’s missing saucer?  Check.  Terrorists blamed for it all so the U.S. government can tighten its stranglehold on America? Check.  Far as I’m concerned this mission was damned near perfect.”

Archive winced, massaging his arm.  His wounds still hadn’t fully healed.  “Speak for yourself.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’m still cramped up from that little cross-country jaunt.” The television they were watching had a DVR connected to it.  Jim-Bean paused the screen.  “The next time we have to travel across country, no more SPIDER transport.” He jabbed a thumb at the screen.  “We’re taking one of those babies!”

Paused on the screen was the blurry image of the UFO flying over Platte Air Force Base.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 23: The Last Castle - Introduction*

This scenario, “The Last Castle,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by [bJoseph Tresca[/b]
 (creepyportfolio.com) 
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
I mentioned in previous scenarios that despite all the hard work that goes into some of these missions, sometimes the ones I don’t prepare for are the most entertaining.  In this case, Combat Missions is chock full of action without a whole lot of setup, which suits my players just fine.  Unfortunately, some scenarios utilize their talents more than others.

In this case, the scenario required two agents to go undercover.  More than that would be suspicious, which meant that the two non-combat types (Guppy and Archive) didn’t have a whole lot to do.  Jim-Bean and Hammer, on the other hand, were having a blast. In the end it all came together with very little conflict, but it didn’t matter.  The agents got what they wanted and achieved the mission.

I felt it was all a bit of letdown because I wasn’t able to push for a climactic ending (the kind I routinely preach about that’s lacking from other scenarios).  That’s not to demean the players; they did everything right.  It just wasn’t quite as exciting as a scenario as I’d hoped.  

*Defining Moment:* A drug deal about to go south is saved by Archive and Hammer bleeding for their art…literally.

Relevant Media

*	Combat Missions:*  for Spycraft. 
*Battle Flag:*  by Lo Fidelity Allstars. I heard this song on ER once and it stuck in my head ever since.
*Burn Notice:*  The exact same plot as the scenario played out in a recent episode of Burn Notice.  A con-man fakes an FBI raid to swindle his marks out of their money.  Instead, Michael’s team ambushes the faux FBI agents and makes it appear that they’ve been murdered, turning the tables on the con man.  So maybe this scenario wasn’t so bad after all.


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Prologue*



> _Hey Mr. Policeman
> Is it time for getting away
> Is it time for driving down the mother f&#%in road
> And running from your @$$ today​_--_Battle Flag_ by Lo Fidelity Allstars​



SAMSON, CA—“A corrupt division in the Samson Police Department, Tactical Anti-Drug Unit, has been framing innocents for drug possession charges in order to keep their own drug dealers in business,” said Sprague over their cistrons. “The situation has gotten so bad that the corrupt cops have resorted to stealing from police vaults. I’m sending you a security video of a raid of drugs from a police vault that we believe was perpetrated by TADU. You are to infiltrate TADU and get conclusive evidence of TADU corruption. Jim-Bean is mission leader.”

The cistron winked out. 

Jim-Bean looked over at Guppy.  “Can you scrub that video for anything out of the ordinary?”

Guppy nodded, tapping away.  

In the video, six men wearing masks were armed with sub-machineguns.  After breaking into the vault, they left with more than seven hundred thousand dollars of “blink” and joined their getaway driver in a white van.

“Interesting,” said Guppy.  “Look here.”  He tapped a key and the screen focused on one of the burglar’s watches.  “One of the suspects looks at his watch. It’s a police officer’s watch.  Watches like that are only awarded after ten years of service in TADU.”

“What about the van?” asked Hammer.

“Stolen,” said Guppy. “From an airport the night before.”

“Cross-check it with all the TADU cops.  One of them has to fit the profile.”

Guppy nodded.  “Yep.  One Terry Ridgefield’s been spending more on his credit cards than he could possibly afford on a policeman’s salary.”

“What about phone records?” asked Hammer.

Guppy tapped more keys. “He made more than a hundred phone calls the day of the burglary.”

“And right after?”

Guppy scanned through phone records on the tiny cistron screen.  “Roxy Zanatelli,” said Guppy.  “Must be a girlfriend.”

“You two,” Jim-Bean indicated Guppy and Archive with a nod of his head, “go visit Roxy.  Me and Hammer are going undercover as cops transferred to TADU.”

Guppy swallowed hard.  “How are we going to get there?”

“You figure it out yourself,” said Jim-Bean. “But it ain’t gonna be SPIDER.”


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Part 1 – Roxy Road*

Guppy, in his best suit and dark sunglasses, pounded on Roxy’s door. Archive was similarly dressed and stood an appropriately menacing distance behind him.

Roxy answered the door.  She wore too much makeup, frizzy hair, and a leopard skirt over pink stockings.  She wore a tight Led Zeppelin shirt.  Judging from the way she blinked into the sunlight, it was clear she had just woken up.

“Who are you?”

Guppy mustered his sternest voice.  “I’m Agent Gupta.  This is Agent Fontaine.”  He flashed his CIFA badge. “We’d like to chat with you for a minute.

The neurons in Roxy’s brain finally fired.  “I didn’t do nothing!” she shouted.

Guppy put on a strained smile.  “I’m sure you haven’t ma’am. But we need to clarify a few things.”

“O-okay.”  She pushed open the screen door. “Come in.”

Inside was about what one would expect given Roxy’s appearance.  Cheap plastic ashtrays, discarded cigarette butts, fashion magazines of all types, and paper plates that still held bits of fast food on them.  A large flat screen television dominated the opposite side of the room in contrast to the ratty couch that faced it.

“Can I get you something…”  Roxy’s eyes looked around as she realized there were open bottles of alcohol everywhere.  

“We’re fine,” said Guppy, waving her off.  He cleared some debris off the couch and sat down.  Archive plumped himself down on the other side of the couch.  Roxy perched herself delicately on the marble coffee table. 

“Miss…Zanatelli, is it?”

Roxy nodded.  

“Do you know a Mr. Ridgefield?”

Roxy frowned.  “My boyfriend?  What the hell did he do now?”

Guppy smiled, pleased with the response.  “When was the last time you saw him?”

“A couple of days ago.”  Roxy shrugged.  “But I haven’t seen him since.  Ever since he went on that bender.”  She huffed.  “He probably blew all his money in Vegas.”

“Vegas?” asked Guppy.

“Yeah, him and his two buddies—“

Guppy checked the notes on his cistron.  “Bentfeld, and Santini?”

“Yeah, those jerks,” she continued.  "They went on a weekend bender in Las Vegas.  Just up and left, didn’t even bring me along!”  Roxy lit a cigarette.  “Mind if I smoke?  You NSA guys make me nervous.”

“We’re actually with the CIFA.”

“Whatever.  All I know is you’re government types and you make me nervous.  What’s he do, anyway?”

Archive was sitting with his chin on his chest.  It was impossible to tell what was going on behind his glasses.

“Don’t mind him,” said Guppy.  “He’s my backup in case you don’t cooperate.”

Roxy took a puff.  “Cooperate?  I’m cooperating here, right?  What else do you want?”

“Why would Mr. Ridgefield call you?”

Roxy waved one well-manicured hand. Smoke twirled around her fingers.  “Oh you know, he calls when he wants to call.”

Guppy glanced around the room.  “That’s a new flat screen television.  What do you do for a living, ma’am?”

“Oh I’m a manicurist, why?”

Guppy’s brow furrowed.  “How can you afford that television?”

Roxy sputtered.  “Okay, so Ridge bought it for me after I lit into him.  Arrived yesterday.  Guys installed it and everything!  Pretty nice huh?”

“Yes, very nice.” Guppy cleared his throat.  “Ma’am, did it ever occur to you that Mr. Ridgefield can’t afford this either?”

Roxy blinked.  “I figured he’s a bigwig with the police force so he was getting hazard pay or something—“

“Uh huh.” Guppy rose to his feet.  “We’re going to go now, but you are not to speak of this conversation with anyone, especially Mr. Ridgefield.  Do you understand?”

Roxy swallowed hard and nodded.  

“Good. Remember, we’re CIFA,” said Guppy ominously.  “We’re always watching.”

And with that he started towards the door.

“Forgetting something?” asked Roxy.

Guppy looked over his shoulder.  Archive was still on the couch, now with his mouth open. A thundering snore rumbled from his throat. 

“Oh for the love of…” Guppy walked over and kicked Archive in the shin.

“OW!” said Archive, sitting bolt upright.  He looked around.

“Archive!” snapped Guppy.  “I mean Agent Fontaine!  Ah forget it, let’s just go.”  Guppy, arms at his sides, stalked out.

Archive slowly got to his feet.  

“I don’t recommend you repeat this to anyone…” he said in nearly the same ominous voice as Guppy.  “We’re CIFA.  And we’ll be—“

“Watching, I get it!” Roxy scratched her frizzy hair.  “What, you guys read from the same script?”

Archive walked out the door to the car.  Guppy was waiting in the driver’s seat, fuming.

“This sucks.  I should have gone with Jim-Bean instead,” he muttered.


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Part 2 – The Test*

Jim-Bean had just taken a shower after a long day at his new job.  As he entered the locker room, several burly officers surrounded him.  

“So, you’re new, huh?” said one officer whose bald pate was buffed to a shine.  “If you want to be part of TADU, you’re going to have to prove you have the stamina.”

He nodded to a smaller, weaselly looking cop with bad skin.  The smaller cop opened a locker and pulled out a taser.  When he flicked it on, blue bolts of energy crackled and snapped between its tangs. 

Hammer finished toweling off and stood behind Jim-Bean.  They were in deep cover, so no cistrons, no guns except what they were supplied with…nothing.

The smaller man gestured at his bald companion with the taser.  “Ridge can go forty seconds,” he grinned at Jim-Bean, “let’s see how you do, huh?”

"Uh…" Jim-Bean looked at Hammer. He’d been practicing his American accent; looked like he was going to need it after all.

"Don't look at him, he ain't gonna help you," sneered the smaller man.  

"I don't need this sh—" Jim-Bean threw a fast punch at the man's head, but a meaty fist caught it.

Ridge's strength was enormous.  Jim-Bean tried to come up with a sarcastic retort but the breath just hissed out between his gritted teeth instead as it felt like bricks were cracking his knuckles.  

"Give it to him," said Ridge.

Jim-Bean didn't get a chance to see the taser coming, but he felt it.  Every muscle felt as if it collapsed in on itself at once.  Jim-Bean didn't feel himself fall, but when he came to he was on the cold floor of the locker room. He was still twitching, eyelids fluttering and muscles he didn't know he had skipping with a life of their own.

"P)$$y," sneered Ridge. "Knew you weren't TADU material." He looked Hammer up and down. "What about you, hotshot?"

Hammer stepped forward, bristling.  He was in top shape and it showed.  The numerous scars from gunshot wounds and explosions were also plainly evident on his body. Even without saying a word, the other cops knew they were in tough company.

Ridge looked him up and down.  "Do it."

The taser connected.  Hammer had a boxer's build, so striking him in the stomach was about as effective as striking a wall.  And yet tasers didn't discriminate.  Although it caused pain, it wasn't really an indication of his ability to resist pain. It was more muscle control, and thousands of volts of electricity weren't interested in the number of sit-ups he did or how many punches he had taken to the gut.

But Hammer was still standing when they pulled the taser away.  His vision was swimming, but he was still standing.

"Damn!" muttered some of the men standing around him. "That was nearly a minute!"

Hammer was drenched in sweat.  Ridge stood in front of him, dumbfounded.

Hammer punched him in the gut.

Ridge laughed and then punched him back.  The shot nearly knocked him flat, but Hammer stood his ground.

Hammer stood in the man's face and roared.  "Is that the BEST YOU GOT?!"

"Easy, easy," said Ridge, laughing and holding up his hands. "That more than makes up for this piece of crap on the floor."  He nudged Jim-Bean with his foot. 

And just like that, Hammer and Jim-Bean were in.


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Part 3 – Shakedown*

Life as a TADU officer wasn’t easy, even for the honest ones.  Every day they put their lives on the line fighting thugs and gang members who considered cop killing a badge of honor.  

Hammer and Jim-Bean were given street clothes, an unmarked vehicle and a bulletproof vest.  

Hammer watched two rough-looking men exchange handshakes in broad daylight from the driver’s side of a beat-up gray sedan. 

“So Roxy doesn’t know anything?” asked Jim-Bean, staying in character with an American accent that sounded like he came from Boston.

“Not according to Guppy and Archive,” said Hammer.  “You ready?”

“Let’s do this,” said Jim-Bean.

Hammer couldn’t help but smile.  “You sound more like an American every day.”

Jim-Bean got out of the car and slammed the door.  The drug dealers looked up.

Hammer strode over to the drug dealer.  

“Hey man, what—“

The drug dealer didn’t get anything more out.  Customers scattered.  Hammer shoved a pistol to the man’s ribs. 

“Hey yourself.  This is a drug bust.”

“I don’t see no badge,” muttered the man.

Jim-Bean flashed the badge.  “There.  Happy?”

“No,” said the drug dealer sullenly.

“Today’s your lucky day,” said Hammer.  “This isn’t your usual drug bust.”  He patted the drug dealer down and found several wads of cash.  “I’ll be taking this.”

“What? You can’t do this—“

“We could just arrest you,” said Jim-Bean.

The drug dealer’s mouth clamped shut.  

“Relax.” Hammer patted him on the back.  “We’re doing you a favor.  You get to keep doing what you do, you give us a cut, and we keep Ridge off your back.”

“He’s not gonna be happy man,” said the dealer, eyes darting to and fro.  “You hornin’ in on his turf?”

“We’re just working out way up the hierarchy,” said Jim-Bean.  “You let us worry about Ridge.”

They strode away to the old sedan, leaving the drug dealer to slink off the now unsafe corner.

“Now we know Ridge is dirty for sure,” said Hammer.

“And how do we get in with Ridge?” asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer flashed the wad of cash between two fingers.  “By paying him.”


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Part 4a – Blood Brothers*

The week went much the same as their first day on the job.  Hammer threatened somebody, Jim-Bean explained why it was a good idea to comply, and the drug dealers dutifully forked over their not-so-hard-earned cash.  

It wasn’t long before Ridge noticed and inducted them into the “Castle Way.”  The Castle Way was the same code of conduct used by the other police officers—brutal, effective, and violent.   They were invited to come along as guards for an exchange between a drug dealer and the Castle TADU at a t-shirt factory.  

“Think Guppy and Archive can handle backup?” Jim-Bean said out of the corner of his mouth to Hammer. “They’re not exactly the best shots…”

“They know where to meet us,” said Hammer.  “They’ll be here.”

They pulled up to a non-descript warehouse.  Several of the Castle TADU stepped out and ushered them inside.

Ridge stood before his men, his chest puffed with pride.  “Welcome, gentlemen.  This is the biggest deal we’ve made in history.  We can retire after this.”

The cops laughed in response. They were enjoying their lives as drug kingpins too much to ever retire.

“Today,” said Ridge, “our buyer is going to inspect the goods.” 

He strode over to one of the vats.  “First, Blink is turned into a solution in one of these vats.”  He grabbed a white t-shirt from one of several boxes piled on the floor. “Then we dip these shirts into the solution.”

Ridge pointed at a pile of shrink-wrapped t-shirts that could be on any department store shelf.  

“And here is the finished product in a perfectly ordinary shipping package.  Next thing you know we’ll run the post office out of business.”

The men got another laugh out of that.

“Now, let’s get rich.”

The drug dealer, a man named Slice, strode into the room, dripping gold from his ears and throat. Even his teeth were gold.  “Yo, you got security hanging out front?”

Ridge looked back and forth at his men.  They shook their heads.  “We got lookouts, but nobody you should be able to spot.”

“Then you been made, man.” Slice started backing up and drew his pistol.  “We ain’t—“

All the Castle TADU tensed up, murder in their eyes.  

Jim-Bean drew his pistol.  “We’ll take care of it.” He nodded towards Ridge.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, you do that,” said Slice.  “If this is an ambush—“

“It’s not an ambush!” said Ridge.  “We’ve come too far to screw this up.  My boys will clean it up.” 

He fixed Hammer with a stare.  “You better come back dripping blood.”


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Part 4b – Blood Brothers*

Hammer padded up to the van with the reflexes of a trained professional.  He tore open the door and yanked Guppy out onto the street with a yelp.

“Hammer?” asked Guppy in surprise.

“Great job,” said Hammer, pulling out a knife from his boot. “You guys just parked in plain sight?”

“What?  We didn’t think the van would be obvious—what are you doing with that knife?”

“Someone has to play dead,” said Hammer. “And I need it to look real.”

Jim-Bean appeared around the corner of the van with Archive, who looked groggy.  

“Uh, if it’s all the same to you I have taken quite a lot of abuse lately,” said Guppy, his voice rising.  “So I’d like to nominate someone else besides me…”

Archive snorted.  “I’ll do it.” 

“Put out your hand,” said Hammer.  

Archive put out his hand.  Hammer sliced the knife across his palm.  Archive winced.

Blood dripped down onto the blade. Hammer splattered the blood onto himself and Jim-Bean.  

“Now…you guys are going to lay low in the van.  Pretend you’re dead.”

“And if someone comes to investigate?” asked Archive.

“Kill them,” said Hammer.  “They shouldn’t expect much trouble since you’re supposed to be dead.”

Jim-Bean reached into Guppy’s pocket and grabbed his cistron.  “I need to borrow this.  Left mine in my other pants.”

Hammer and Jim-Bean stood up and drew their pistols.  “Cover your ears,” said Hammer.

Archive and Guppy, still crouching on the ground, plugged their ears with their fingers.

The retort of two pistols shots reverberated throughout the warehouse district.  They were in a part of town where such sounds were common.  What was important was that Ridge and Slice heard it.


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Part 4c – Blood Brothers*

Hammer came back in with Jim-Bean in tow.

Bentfeld, the toady, had his pistol out, but it wasn’t pointed at Hammer. Yet. “Well?” 

“We took care of it,” said Hammer.

Ridge smiled.  “See?  Taken care of.”

Bentfeld wasn’t going to let it go.  “Oh yeah?  I wanna see the bodies.”

“It’s taken CARE OF,” snarled Hammer.  “Are you calling me a liar?”

Bentfeld’s pistol was waved in his direction.  “Not a liar.  But awfully damn suspicious.  Ridge, you gotta be suspicious, right?”

“Not now,” said Ridge, the smile frozen on his face.

“I dunno man.  I dunno.” Barry started pacing. “Don’t you find it strange that these two show up from New York all of a sudden? I think they’re Feds.”

Slice raised his hands.  “I don’t need this drama.  I’m out.”

Ridge chuckled.  “Calm down Barry before you blow this for us.”

“Fine!”  Hammer said with an exaggerated sigh.  “Those WERE Feds.  We took care of ‘em.  We heard about what you were doing out here because we wanted in on the action, and it looks like we picked up a tail in the process.  But now they’re dead.  So if you wanna make a lot of money, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before someone else comes snooping around.  Or if you wanna just waste everybody’s time, please, be my guest, LEAVE.”

Ridge looked back and forth between Slice and Hammer, sweat on his brow.  

Slice broke out in a laugh.  “Damn man, you are STONE COLD!  I like it!  Let’s do this thang!”

Ridge forced a chuckle and slapped Slice on the back.  “Let me show you how this works…”

He explained the t-shirt process.  Barry stalked over to Hammer.

“You may have fooled Ridge but ain’t foolin’ me.  I know you’re full of it.”

“Take a step closer and you won’t take another one,” said Hammer.  His pistol was still out in his hand.

It was enough to distract Barry from what Jim-Bean was doing.  He took a recording of Ridge as he explained the operation.  Slice nodded to his men, who began unloading bags of money.  T-shirts were loaded on the waiting trucks.

Jim-Bean nodded to Hammer, but Barry was watching.  He caught the gesture.

“I knew it!”  

He drew his pistol and fired just as the front of the warehouse exploded.


----------



## talien

*The Last Castle: Conclusion*

The battering ram of an APC anti-riot vehicle blasted through the doors.  Floodlights flared overhead. Men in full SWAT gear shouted for people to get down on the floor with their hands up.  

Jim-Bean did as he was told.  Now was not the time for heroics.  

Hammer fell to one knee, arms up. It wasn’t an act; Barry had shot him in the leg. 

Guppy and Archive walked in.

“I f*&(#in’ told you man!” shouted Barry to Ridge as they were hustled off into a prisoner transport vehicle. 

Guppy caught sight of Hammer on a stretcher. 

“Did you get it?” he shouted as he was carted into an ambulance.

Archive nodded.  “Yep, all the footage.  We’ll process it.  Should have you out in a few hours.”

“Great,” said Jim-Bean.  “Just a few hours in prison with them.”  He swallowed hard as the other prisoners glared at him. With a last mournful look behind him, the prisoner transport vehicle’s doors slammed shut, sealing him in with the drug-dealers and corrupt police.

“I knew we got the boring part of the mission,” Guppy muttered to Archive.  “We missed all the action!”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 24: The Fortress - Introduction*

This scenario, “The Fortress,” is a Spycraft mission from Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
It continually amazes me how these little Combat Mission scenarios, which are at most a few pages long and contain vague outlines of a plot, manages to elicit the best role-playing moments in our game.  Our gaming group is better at social, free-form planning than straightforward, precision-style hack-and-slashing – they never think to check for traps and can’t be bothered with details.  

On the other hand, when it comes to cover stories, they can come up with some insane ideas.  But in this case the real surprise was Bill, who role-played his white drug dealer/turned rapper Snow Dog with such convincing vigor that we took turns laughing at him and struggling to keep up. 

This scenario also turned into a chess game.  I wanted to keep pressure on the PCs to ensure that they didn’t just waltz right into the drug dealer’s den (a tcho-tcho drug dealer, I might add) and bamboozle him into giving up his information.  So Tang “Machete” Chasa plays mind game after mind game, convinced that the agents aren’t the real thing but frustrated that he can’t prove it.  In the end, it took the pending death of an innocent NPC to break the tension.  And then I just let the events go downhill from there.

Once again, the events that took place played out a lot like Burn Notice.  

*Defining Moment:* You haven’t heard about Snow Dog’s new album?  It didn’t get a wide release man, otherwise it would have been big: The Blizzard.

Relevant Media

*	Combat Missions:*  for Spycraft. 
*Monkey on My Back:*  by Aerosmith.


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Prologue*



> _If you put it in a spoon man I would boot it
> Some king whose mental house was just a shack
> Where do you draw the line when all your friends are dyin
> You got to get that monkey off your back_​
> --_Monkey on My Back_ by Aerosmith​



MIAMI, FL—“Let me get this straight,” said the Special Agent in Charge of the Miami Field Division of the Drug Enforcement Administration.  “You CIFA boys want to horn in my operation for what reason again?”

“Terrorists,” Jim-Bean said with a slow smile.  “Tang Chasa is on our wanted list for drug trafficking and money laundering for a terrorist organization known as Al-Hazzan.” They were sitting in Trouville’s office, who was none too pleased to see them.  “The profits made from drug trafficking here in the U.S. are being used elsewhere—“

“In Iraq,” chimed in Hammer. 

“Iraq?” asked Trouville skeptically.  “We’ve seen some trafficking in Vietnam, with Tang being half-Vietnamese, but—“

“That’s right,” corrected Jim-Bean.  “The drugs funnel through Vietnam and then the money is laundered in Iraq.”

Trouville sighed.  “All right.  Fine.  Our agency will do everything we can to help.  But you have to do something for me.”

“Name it,” said Jim-Bean. 

“I want full military support.  We’re going to move on Chasa, but when we move I’m going to need serious backup.  They don’t call the hotel he’s holed up in ‘La Fortaleza’ for nothing.  It really is a fortress.”

Jim-Bean nodded and tapped a few keys on his cistron.  “You’ll have it.” 

“Good,” said Trouville.  He handed out dossiers to the three agents, looking askance at Caprice’s rapper/drug-dealer getup. “These are the profiles of the people you’re dealing with.” He tapped the picture of Chasa.  “You already know the leader, known as Machete on the street.  He’s fond of hacking people up with his gold-plated knife.”

“Charming,” said Jim-Bean.

“Machete was a small time drug dealer until Blink arrived on the streets.  I trust you’re acquainted with it?”

Hammer nodded.  “All too familiar.”

“Then you know how addictive it can be.  Machete got in first, took over fast, and then set up his little fortress.  It’s run with all the precision of a business.   The instant addiction of “Blink” and the well-organized guards that Tang employs keep things running smoothly.  Tang has already eliminated several competitors and is poised to expand his operations beyond Miami.”

Tourville pointed at the picture of a huge black man, his jowls of fat giving him a sad, hangdog expression. “This is Sluggy Two-Dogs, Tang’s bodyguard.  He goes with him everywhere.  Don’t be fooled by the fat; Sluggy moves fast when he needs to. He crushed a man’s head with his bare hands.”

He flipped to another picture of a wild-eyed, beautiful African-American woman with her hair in a ponytail.  “This is Janky Crank, Tang’s chief of security.  Janky is fond of shooting people in the forehead, gangland style.  She’s highly erratic and prone to violence.  She’s also a crack shot.”

Tourville turned to the third picture.  “And this is the brains behind Tang’s operation, Keys.  We think Keys was a former employee of Infinicredit and was somehow involved in that credit card scandal a few years ago.  Keys programmed La Fortaleza’s security system and is responsible for the encryption of their firewalls.  He personally trained a host of programmers who work for Tang.”

“We’re after information,” said Jim-Bean.  “We need to determine who is processing Blink.  His drugs are too pure to be homemade.”

“We’ll help however we can,” said Trouville. “What do you need?”

Caprice, dressed in a long jersey, low-hanging shorts, a baseball cap, and gold dripping from everywhere, said with a gold-grilled smile, “Bitches, yo.  A fly gang like ours is gonna need bitches.”


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Part 1 – Get Cranky*

The music of the Soho Lounge vibrated around their private booth. Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Caprice were all there.  Caprice was dressed as his Snow Dog persona, complete with "bitches" -- two vice agents named Mary and Sarah.  They made pleasant conversation while they sipped their drinks. The DJ, Spiderpussy, played a pounding eighties mix. 

"I still can't believe you requisitioned cash...and got it." Hammer watched Jim-Bean drop a hundred dollar bill on a waitress' tray to cover the tab.  

Hammer was dressed in a Miami Vice-style jacket and pants.  Jim-Bean looked more corporate.

“I’m team leader on this mission,” said Jim-Bean.  “We can’t just walk into Tang’s place like some garbage off the street.  If we want to roll with the big boys we have to act like them.  And that’s why we’re the Kings.”

Caprice’s eyes scanning the entrance to the club. “The THREE Kings, yo.” His cistron beeped.  He looked down. It was an instant text message. "Keys just did a background check on us.” 

“If the Three Kings are supposed to be so successful, we've got to look the part in person AND on paper,” continued Jim-Bean.  “Thus the cold cash. Besides, we actually have a bit of history now…we WERE tied up in another drug raid…”

Hammer patted the wound where he had been shot.  “Don’t remind me.” He looked askance at the women. “I still think we should have hired prostitutes,” he said in a low voice to Caprice. “Vice cops are a liability we can’t afford to--” 

Caprice leaned back, put his arms around the two cops, and smiled.  "They're here," he said, slipping into his persona as Snow Dog.

A tall black woman with wild, staring blood-shot eyes entered the room.  She wore a white overcoat.  A posse of four smaller men followed behind her, all of them wearing shades.

"It’s Janky Crank," said Hammer.  

After chatting with the bartender, Janky strode over to them.

"You said you wanted to talk to Machete?"

Hammer stood up.  "That's right.  You don't look like him."

"If it's worth his time, you'll meet 'im," said Janky.  "But first you meet with me."

Caprice dismissed the two scantily clad women snuggling up to him with a nod of his head.  They scattered, and Janky's men took a few steps back to give them some privacy.

"And you are?"

"Janky.  Janky Crank. They call me that 'cause you don't wanna see me cranky." Janky grabbed Caprice's glass and slurped it, finishing off its contents.  She slapped it down on the table.  "So what's this deal you're talking about?"

Jim-Bean cleared his throat.  "Ah yes, Miss Cranky...you see, we were recently working with an organization on the West Coast that was trafficking in Blink--"

"I know it," said Janky.  Judging from her bloodshot eyes, she used it too.

"And that operation was shut down.  The Three Kings are looking for new opportunities--"

"Three Kings?" Janky eyeballed Jim-Bean.  "Never heard of you."

"That'd be us," said Hammer gruffly.  "My territory is Southern Cali.  Bean's is Northern Cali.  Snow Dog's is Hollywood."

"Snow Dog?" Janky barked out a laugh.  "Are you serious?"

Caprice got to his feet, gesturing wildly.  "Machete's just jerking us around.  I'm not gonna take this s#!t from this bitch--"

Janky's revolver was out in a flash, aimed at Caprice's forehead.  "See what you made me do?  Now I'm gettin' CRANK-AH!"

Caprice slapped the pistol aside, which had the net effect of pointing Janky's pistol at Hammer's head instead.  "See what I mean? Small time, yo.  Let's go."

Hammer tapped the barrel of his Glock under the table on Janky's knee.  It was aimed at her abdomen. He cleared his throat.

Janky's guards tensed up.  Then she slowly put the gun back in its holster beneath her overcoat.

"$#!t, I was just playin'.  All right, all right."  She smiled.  "So what's the terms, Kings?"

"Thirty percent," said Jim-Bean.  "And the opportunity to expand Machete's empire from coast to coast."

Janky nodded.  "All right.  We'll see what Machete says."

Hammer handed her a cell phone.  "Call us on this.  Any time.  We'll pick up."

Janky smiled.  "You're a handsome boy, King," she said with a tone laden with innuendo.  "I'll see you around."

She strode out of the place with the guards in tow.

"That went well," said Hammer.

"Sure did," said Jim-Bean with a grin.  "Let us know when your girlfriend calls you."

Hammer rolled his eyes.


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Part 2 – La Fortaleza*

Entry into La Fortaleza was via two large gates. Inside, there were four lookouts, one at each corner of the building.  In the main courtyard, customers walked around in a daze, warmed their hands on flaming garbage cans, and were patted down for weapons by guards.  It was as much an insane asylum as it was a careful screening tactic to weed out undercover cops. 

Archive joined them as Father Archive, part of the entourage.  His presence in a bright white suit seemed to make him nearly invisible to the guards, who regarded “spiritual advisors” the same way they viewed prostitutes – relatively harmless but necessary. The vice agents, also part of the entourage, were allowed as far as the gate.  Caprice dismissed them to the car, a stretch limousine/SUV.

Hammer carefully concealed one of his Glocks.  Sluggy Two-Dogs didn’t find the gun with his sloppy pat down.  The others relinquished their weapons. Hammer wondered where Janky was.

So far, their plan had worked.  Their carefully constructed backgrounds had been checked, along with their bank accounts. Now it was time to meet the man himself.

“Welcome!” said a dark-skinned Asian man.  He was thin and wiry with an odd bowl haircut. Dressed in a purple suit that looked a size too big, he welcomed them with a wide grin that displayed his gold grill.  A gold-hilted blade hung in a sheath from his waist. Machete.

“Welcome to tha FORTRESS!” He said dramatically.  His voice was high pitched and squeaky, always on the border of hysteria. “Janky tells me you gentlemen are businessmen like me.  You check out.”

Machete offered them drinks, drugs, and women.  The agents took the drinks.  “Let me take you on the tour of our little operation.”

Beyond the entryway, things turned very professional.  “My employees and customers are issued membership cards that they flash to enter the building.”  Machete snapped a card out of his suit pocket and slid it through the reader.  The light over the door went from red to green. 

They climbed to the second floor.  “Then you buzz in with a code.  The code determines what and how much product you receive.”  Machete punched a code and a few seconds later a pneumatic tube thumped in front of him.  Machete grabbed the tube and, holding it triumphantly overhead, opened it.  A plastic bag containing an eyedropper bottle fell into his open palm.  Blink. 

“And if you want to…” Jim-Bean searched for the word. “…use your product?”

“That’s Blissland, baby, “said Machete with a sly smile.  “Down there.” He gestured down the hallway. “I didn’t fix you for a user.”

“We need to know what we’re investing in,” said Hammer. 

“And I need to know what I’M investing in,” said Machete.  “You boys seem all right. But I need details. I need numbers.”

They passed a room where people were mixing Blink.  There was another ingredient—something else was being added.  Hammer noted that there manufacturing room where it was being mixed was filled with dust-covered workers who were naked except for a towel.  Machete didn’t trust his own people. 

“Our operation is solid,” said Jim-Bean.  “Our distribution network and contacts spans all of California. “

“Network, huh?  Why ain’t I heard of you?”

“Because we got raided,” said Hammer with a frown.  “We had the cops under control and then there was a sting by the Feds…”

Machete muttered a curse about Feds.

“Lots of gang leaders went down,” continued Hammer. “We’re the next wave.”  

“No you ain’t,” said Machete.  “This is the next wave, right here.”  He encompassed the drug manufacturing plant with a sweep of one arm.  “But you know, this ain’t a partnership at thirty percent.”

Jim-Bean frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean partners is equals.  And that’s fifty percent.”

They made their way over to a lounge filled with garish velour couches. Machete flopped down.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “We don’t know you. Your operation seems sound, but we need to know more about it.  Like who supplies your drugs.”

Machete barked out a laugh, a cackle that would have offended a hyena.  “And put me out of business?  I ain’t stupid, yo.”

“Neither are we,” said Caprice tersely.  “But trust has gotta start somewhere, G. And if it’s gonna start, it has to start here.”

Machete pondered that. “I hear ya.”  He leaned forward and yanked the gold grill off his front teeth, revealing a mouthful of carefully filed and sharpened incisors. It was like staring into the maw of a shark.  “Let’s just say we keep it in the family, dig?”

Hammer didn’t know what he meant.  Before he could ask, gunfire went off in the courtyard.  A second later a shrieking alarm went off.

Machete swore a vile oath.  He hopped to his feet.  “You bring cops here?”

“What?” snarled Hammer.  

“This seems like the sort of problem that would really destroy our confidence in your operation,” said Jim-Bean archly.  They started backing up as Machete advanced.

Dealers, Fortaleza staff, and criminals of all stripes milled about in confusion, some running, others staring blankly at the flashing red lights. In the fracas, Jim-Bean typed a query to Trouville.  The raid wasn’t supposed to happen for another day.  What the hell was going on?

“We gotta get out of here,” said Machete. “Sluggy, show the men out.”

Sluggy began pushing them out.  Machete backed up, hand on the hilt of his blade, eyeing the main hallway.

There was a shudder, like the sound of a battering ram.  More gunfire echoed outside.

A second later Jim-Bean’s cistron beeped.  It was Trouville.  He had typed just two words, all in caps:

“WHAT RAID?!!!”


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Part 3 – Just Kidding*

Jim-Bean stopped short. 

“What’s up?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder.  “I think we should stay and fight.  We killed those two Feds in Cali and we can kill some more here.”

Hammer caught Jim-Bean’s expression.  He turned.  “Right.  Let’s do it.”

Caprice looked back and forth between them.  “$#!*.  Somebody gimme a gat!”

Archive just started praying.

There was a moment of stunned surprise and then Machete broke out into more cackling laughter.  He held up a remote that tweeted, and the alarm went off.  The gunfire and rumbling stopped. 

“I was messin’ with ya is all.  Gotta be sure.” He slapped Caprice on the back. “I like your style!  You ARE stone cold killers!”

Caprice frowned.  “We don’t have time for this Mickey Mouse bull$#!*.  Let’s go.”

Machete put his hands up.  “Nah, nah, nah, come on now.  Let’s sit down and talk like the businessmen we are.”  He steered Caprice by his shoulder to the lounge.  

People were still scurrying up and down the hallways.

“Sluggy, tell those damn fools it was a drill,” Machete said in irritation. Sluggy left the room.

They sat back down. “Now I’m gonna be straight you,” said Machete.  “My boy Keys, he checked around.  And he knows everything about you.  But you kill Feds and folks gonna be snoopin around.  So I did some checkin’ on everybody.”  He leaned forward.  “EVERYBODY.” 

Sluggy dragged a woman into the room by her hair.  “One of your bitches is a cop, yo.”

It was Sarah, the vice cop.


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Part 4 – What Shall We Do About Sarah?*

"Stall," hissed Jim-Bean to Caprice out of the corner of his mouth.

Caprice practically blazed fire from his eyes at Sarah.  "You're a f(*#$ing COP?  You BITCH!"  He slapped her across the face and she went down, hard.  

To her credit, Sarah kept her eyes averted and her hair down over her face -- Caprice had barely tapped her, but she sold it.

Caprice grabbed her by the hair.  "You know what, TC?  I'm gonna throw this bitch off the roof."

Machete cackled.  "You hardcore, baby.  I like your style. Let's do it!"

They started sauntering up towards the stairwell.  

"It's a new world order," said Machete, strutting his way down the hallway.  "Mister DEA thinks he can infiltrate my operation?  $#!t, he's been watching us for months, couldn't get anybody on the inside.  Well we showed him, huh Sluggy?"

Sluggy responded with a deep, grumbling laugh.

"Showed him how, exactly?" asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer had a horrible thought.  "Where's Janky?"

Machete grinned.  "Doin' my business.  Mister DEA's gonna learn not to mess with the MacheTAH!" He kicked open the door and then, as if he were a proper gentlemen, held it open with a bow for Caprice.

Jim-Bean's cistron vibrated.  He snuck a peak. 

"RAID ON," said Tourville's message.  Jim-Bean knew what that meant. Machete wasn't bluffing and neither was Tourville.  

Caprice dragged Sarah up the steps onto the roof.  The muggy heat of Miami enveloped them.

"Find me a place where she ain't gonna catch on anything," said Caprice.  "I want this to HURT."

He shot Jim-Bean a glance.  They were running out of time.

Fortunately, Machete and Sluggy's attention was focused on Caprice.  He tapped back a response.  

"Shoot me in the shoulder." He knew Tourville's men had taken position somewhere out there, and it most assuredly included snipers.  "In one minute."

"I'll deal with this hussy," said Jim-Bean.  He twisted the handle on his walking stick and slowly drew the blade.  "Falling is too good for her."

Caprice snickered, but Jim-Bean knew he was nervous.  "Be my guest."

Jim-Bean grabbed Sarah by the hair.  Her lip was starting to swell up from being roughed up, even though Caprice was pulling his punches.  She was scared but still in control.

"You're not seriously going to--" she began to whisper.

Jim-Bean didn't give her a chance to prepare.  With a flash, he sliced her forehead with the edge of the blade.  It was a shallow wound, but in the sticky Miami heat combined with her sweat, it looked much worse than it was.  An old American wrestling trick.

Sarah shrieked.  Jim-Bean knew it was real.  "And now let's see if you can fly!" He grabbed her by the back of the neck and started marching her towards the edge of the roof.

Jim-Bean was desperately trying to come up with another means of stalling when a bolt of lightning tore through his shoulder.

The sniper was good.  It tore through muscle without hitting bone and went out the other side.  That didn't stop his body from going into shock.  The blast spun him around and suddenly he couldn't feel anything.  He caught a glimpse of the moon, the top of the roof, the moon again, and then the roof rushed at him. 

Jim-Bean was treated to the image of the huge Sluggy trying to flatten himself on the roof, which made him look a bit like a walrus flapping around on an ice floe.  The other agents followed dove for cover.

Gunfire echoed through Miami. The roar of a heavy vehicle was followed by the shudder of a battering ram tearing through the front gate.  Jim-Bean could feel the impact through his cheek.

"$#!T!" shouted Machete.  "It's a raid for real!"

Everyone scrambled for the stairs, including the other agents.  Left alone with only the sounds of gunfire and screams to accompany her, Sarah carefully clambered down the fire escape.

A pool of blood spread out from Jim-Bean’s body.


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Part 5 – The Firewall*

Caprice ran down the steps past the others.  Drug dealers and cops were firing on each other with abandon.  Sarah had thankfully been forgotten in the conflict.  He only hoped she had climbed down one of the drainage pipes off the roof. 

Caprice paused as he caught sight of Keys standing near a server room.  

"Keys!" shouted Machete, blade at the ready.  "Burn it!"

Keys nodded and came out of a maintenance closet with two bright red cans of gasoline.  He undid the stoppers on both. 

Caprice grabbed Hammer by the arm before he lost track of him in the smoke.  "They're torching the servers!"

Keys kicked open the server room door. Several programmers, unaware of what was going on outside, looked up in shock as gasoline was poured over them.  Keys made no distinction between program and programmer, spraying the contents of one of the cans of gasoline everywhere.

He drew a lighter and lifted one thumb to ignite it. 

Hammer sprayed Keys with the other can of gasoline.  "I wouldn't do that if I were--"

The shock of gas hitting Keys made him involuntarily twitch, and he set flicked the lighter.  Flames consumed him immediately. Screaming and wailing, Keys flailed backwards, striking one of the computers.  The flames roared across the top of the monitor.  Electronics popped and crackled.

“Damn it!” shouted Hammer.  He hadn’t intended to set Keys on fire, just discourage him. "We need to get the data off those systems!"

Caprice nodded, no longer the swaggering Snow Dog persona.  He slipped into the chair furthers from the flames.  He tried to plug in his cistron to the USB port, but Keys was far too paranoid to allow any form of access.  It was dummy terminals.

That meant he had to hack it manually. He started typing. 

The first security level was breached as the flames roared behind him.  Hammer evacuated the other programmers, in some cases throwing them bodily out of the room into the hallway.  

The smoke and fire was sucking the air out of the room.  Caprice coughed and wheezed, but he kept typing.  He breached the second level of security.

Flames roared closer.  The monitors were popping like water balloons at a carnival, one by one, each a little closer.

He got through to the heart of Fortaleza.  There was no way to remove media off mainframe.  Images flashed by of the name and location of Machete’s dealers.  Caprice's eyes were watering so badly that he couldn't make it out.  He held up his cistron and took pictures of everything.  

Hammer threw two computer tables down, one to either side of the doorway, which provided a temporary firebreak and a path out.  Caprice crawled his way out of the doorway...

Hammer helped him to his feet. Jim-Bean skidded to a halt in front of the door, blood staining his shirt where the bullet had entered and exited his shoulder. 

"There's cops the other way.  Go back up to the roof!"

Caprice wiped soot from his face as the flames roared behind him. “I hacked it,” he said, gasping for air.  “I hacked it in time.” 

Jim-Bean gave him a lopsided smile.  "Huh," he said as he resumed jogging towards the stairwell.  "Now that’s a serious firewall."

Caprice shook his head and followed after him.


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Part 6 – How Much Do You Weigh Again?*

Machete and Sluggy were already at the top of the roof, all other routes of escape having been cut off.  From their vantage point, one alleyway was still a viable option.

"Climb down that pipe!" shouted Machete, pointing at a long drainage pipe.

"I dunno dog," rumbled Sluggy.  "It looks pretty flimsy--"

"Dammit Sluggy!" Machete shouted.  "Will you stop bitching and start moving yo fat ass!"

He hopped onto the pipe and started clambering down it with ease.

With another doubtful glance down at the four stories below them, Sluggy started making his way down the pipe.

Machete hopped lightly to the ground and dusted himself off.  "I can't believe I gotta deal with this sh--"  

Metal shrieked over him as the huge shadow of Sluggy blocked out the moonlight.  Machete let out a squeak as Sluggy landed on him.

"Told you I was too heavy," said Sluggy.  He rolled off Machete and then flopped the unconscious man over his shoulder. 

Hammer landed next.  "You got a car?"

Sluggy pointed at a vehicle under a tarp.  With a tug, he tore the tarp off to reveal a black sedan.  

"Throw him in, I'll drive," said Hammer.  Sluggy opened the door to the back seat.

Hammer pulled his concealed Glock from his waistband and fired a silenced shot into the front tire.  With all the gunfire echoing around them, Sluggy didn't notice.

Sluggy had barely gotten into the car when Hammer slammed on the gas.  The car lurched forward.  

Two cop cars shrieked in their path at the end of the alley.  Hammer slammed on the brakes.  

"What are you doin'?" shouted Sluggy.  "Hit them!"

Hammer was about to say something when a black SUV smashed its way through the two blocking cop cars.  There was a spray of gunfire from an automatic weapon.  

"Get in!" shouted Janky, one arm hefting an AK-47 out the driver's side window.

Sluggy tossed Machete into the back seat.  Before he could clamber in, the SUV peeled out in reverse, leaving them both behind.

"Son of a bitch!" shouted Sluggy.  "She left us!"

Hammer was already running past him. Janky was driving a large vehicle down an alley that was only wide enough to just barely fit the vehicle.  Garbage bags exploded as the SUV careened through the alley.

Hammer pounded after her.  He unscrewed the silencer and tossed it over his shoulder. He wasn't going to need it.

The SUV screeched as it suddenly entered busy traffic, spinning on its rear wheels sideways.  Hammer came out of the alley a second later and fired off several shots into the driver's side.  

The SUV lurched forward, smashing into an oncoming minivan.  The SUV's horn went off and kept shrieking; a bleeding Janky slumped over the wheel.

Police cruisers arrived a second later and cops shouted for Hammer to surrender. He couldn't help but smile as he put his hands up.


----------



## talien

*The Fortress: Conclusion*

Caprice took the oxygen mask off and pointed the paramedic to Jim-Bean.  "You should check him out.  He got shot in the shoulder."

The medic shrugged.  "Not a scratch on him."

"What?" Caprice rubbed his forehead.  "I saw him get hit by a sniper's bullet!"

"Maybe he got lucky," said the paramedic, hustling off to deal with other cops who were in worse condition.

Hammer ambled over. "Got the analysis back from SINNER.  There's a lot of smoke but we were able to get a name, William Davis Ko, and a location, somewhere in the Chinatown district of Chicago."

"Not much," said Caprice with a frown.  "How's Sarah?"

"She'll live," said Hammer.  "She climbed down the drainpipe before we did, then dismantled it just in case anybody followed."

Caprice allowed himself a smile. "So Sluggy wasn't so fat after all."

"Oh he was fat enough. She was in such a rush that she didn't do a good job of it.  Sluggy did the rest."  Hammer started to walk away.  "That reminds me..." He handed Caprice a business card.

"What's this?"

"An agent was snooping around.  Said he heard some up and coming rapper was new in town and he wanted to hear your album."

"What did you tell him?"

Hammer nodded at the card.  "See for yourself."

Caprice flipped over the card.  It read in hasty scrawl:

"Snow Dog, Can't wait to hear about your new album, The Blizzard.  Call me."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 25 - An Outbreak of Alchemy: Introduction*

This scenario, “An Outbreak of Alchemy,” is a Mystic China adventure by the late Erick Wujcik. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
When I needed an Asian mad scientist who was refining Blink into something more dangerous, I had to look no further than Mystic China.  The scenario is a little incoherent (much of the description of the Equitech building is in William Davis Ko’s stat block), but the ingredients were all there: ghosts, mutated dead bodies, and a doddering old scientist who just happens to know the secrets of life and death.

Because this scenario is light on details, Critical Locations was very useful for filling in the blanks.  I used the Black Lotus Trading Company from the Cold War scenario (which is also the bulk of the next chapter) to provide a starting point for the agents, but I needn’t have bothered as they didn’t stick around for long.  

By far the biggest surprise was Ko’s pet.  I used a monster from Oriental Adventures which is suitably bizarre, and true to form, it caught the agents by surprise.  They were so confused as to what it was (and what it was capable of) that they alternated between trying to kill it and trying to run from it.

At heart, this is an assassination attempt and the agents did an excellent job of getting past security.  They just weren't entirely sure what to do once they got to the target.  

*Defining Moment:* Archive wakes up from his drug-induced stupor just in time to give Ko a parting shot…and discover he’s missing something very important.

Relevant Media

*	Mystic China:*  Eric Wujcik's imagination was amazing, and I count Mystic China among some of my favorite RPG books. 
*Critical Locations:*  Possibly the most valuable book I own; whenever there isn't a map (and many older RPG scenarios don't have one), Critical Locations makes up the difference.
*Die Hard:*  The real action was in the Equitech building, and as my players were fond of telling me, it was just like the Nakatomi building in Die Hard. Comparing the scenario to Die Hard made the agents bolder.  There are only so many ways off a 40-storey building… 
*Love Potion Number Nine:* Not the movie, the song!


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Prologue*



> _She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink.
> She said I’m gonna make it up right here in the sink.
> It smelled like turpentine, and looked like Indian ink.
> I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink!
> _​
> --_Love Potion Number Nine_ by The Beatles​



CHICAGO, IL—Chicago’s New Chinatown was on Argyle St. in Uptown between Lake Michigan and Clark Street.  New Chinatown was mostly Thai, Khmer, Vietnamese, and Laotian, with a minority of Chinese.  Old Chinatown, on the southwest side beyond Kaminski Park, was mostly Chinese. 

"So this is Tcho-Tcho territory?" asked Hammer.

Archive nodded, an expert on these sorts of things.  "The Tcho-tchos are universally despised and feared."

"Because?" asked Jim-Bean. 

"Stories about the Tcho-tchos range from suspicions of “special ingredients” in their cooking to drug dealing, witchcraft, and sorcery," said Archive.

"That could describe us," said Hammer with a smirk.

The center of Tcho-Tcho activity in New Chinatown was the Dragon of the Black Pool market that specialized in imported foods from Southeast Asia, particularly spices and seasonings for Tcho-tcho cuisine.  The market filled most of the block.  

Hammer stopped the car and got out near the harbor. They flashed their badges at the police who let them through.

"I don't know why we're investigating this," said Jim-Bean.  "We should be looking for Ko—"

"Do you know how many 'Ko's there are in New Chinatown?" asked Hammer.  Before Jim-Bean could answer, he replied, "a lot. Any unusual activity is worth checking out." 

They approached two corpses.  "Construction workmen discovered a very strange pair of bodies…" began Archive.  He trailed off when he saw the bodies.  

The bodies were dressed in waterlogged clothing, one in a business suit, the other in jeans and casual clothing. A pair of handcuffs connected the right wrist of one to the left wrist of the other.  Another handcuff was attached to the chain between the two men, but its other end was missing where there was a broken link in the chain.  Someone had placed towels over the heads of each of the bodies.

Hammer bent down and started taking pictures with his cistron.  "Look at this. The hands of the one on the left seem to be covered with tiny scales, and there is something like webbing between his fingers."

Jim-Bean bent down to take a closer look. Covering the skin of the man were hundreds of tiny scales.  He tugged the towel off the man's face and immediately regretted it.

The man's scalp looked like a patchwork with a few clumps of short black hair remaining, but with most of it covered in scales.  Even more grotesque, the man’s mouth was open, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.  There were two flaps, or gill slits, one on each side of the neck, each about four inches long.

Jim-Bean gagged.  "Jesus…what the hell is going on here?"

"Mutations," said Hammer.  "Maybe…I'm not sure."

Staring up at them, the dead man’s eyes were not in the least bit human.  He had a pair of fish-like eyes, flat and silvery, each about three inches in diameter.
Hammer resumed taking pictures.  "The bodies died a few hours before being placed in the water.  Looks like they both died of a massive breakdown in their internal organs. I'll send tissue samples back to the Blacknet lab."

"I've got a feeling that wherever these bodies were dropped, we'll find Ko," said Archive.

Jim-Bean covered his nose.  "Then let's go find Ko.  This place stinks like fish."


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy - Part 1 – Ghost Drama*

Hammer followed the trail a few blocks, looking around alleyways.  They were about to pass an alleyway behind an Asian import shop when Jim-Bean stopped short.

"Do you see that?"

Hammer looked sideways at him.  "No," he followed Jim-Bean's gaze.  He was staring at the fire escape door to the import shop.  "What do you see?"

"Nothing," said Jim-Bean, "what’s up on that fire escape."

What Hammer didn't see was a translucent man staggering down a set of stairs, starting from the third floor and stumbling down, almost to the street.  Although the fire escape was currently pulled up, the ghost image staggered down as if it were extended down to the street.  

"Looks like a symbol," said Hammer. "Of a dragon."

"I think I saw that shop on the way over here," said Archive matter-of-factly.  "Black Lotus Something…"

Jim-Bean's gaze went from the street back up to the fire escape.  The scene was repeating itself.  It looked like the ghost is being helped by two people down the stairs.

It was a phantasm, caused when a traumatic event was imprinted on the environment for future playback.  The environment stored the energy created by the traumatic event and played them back at a later time.

“And why, exactly, should we be looking into this shop?” asked Hammer.

“Just a hunch,” said Jim-Bean.

Archive peered at him.  “Just a hunch, huh?”

“Yep,” said Jim-Bean, his gaze still tracking the scene that played over and over. 

“I know how these hunches work.” Hammer loaded both of his Glocks.  "Let's go knock."


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 2 – The Black Lotus Trading Company*

The front of the large Asian import shop was decorated with a gaudy black and green Chinese motif. On one wall was an unusual mural depicting an Oriental dragon striding through a star field. 

"Interesting," said Archive.  "The dragon’s hindquarters turn into a mass of tentacles."

They entered the dusty shop to the tinkle of a bell over the door.  

Shelves lined with Asian spices, dried and canned foods, statuettes, dishes, tea sets, and fans crowded the store.  Piles of dried ginseng root were kept in the glass-front counter.  Behind the counter was a doorway draped with a curtain of Oriental design. 

Several of the customers shot them curious glances as they entered. They were distinguished not only by their ethnicity but their height; all the customers were five-feet in height at most.

"I don't suppose anybody speaks Vietnamese?" asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer shook his head.  "I speak a lot of languages, but Vietnamese isn't one of them."

Hammer hit the bell for service at the counter.  

Archive looked around the shop.  After a moment, he clipped a leaf from one plant, rubbed the wax off the stem of another, and combined it with dirt from a third.  Then he popped it in his mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Hammer.

Archive spat out the contents into one palm.  "Learning Vietnamese."  He separated the paste into two separate balls and then plugged them into his ears.

Jim-Bean just shook his head in disbelief.

A wrinkled older Asian man with a limp made his way through the curtains. "Yes?  Can I help you?"

"We are looking for a William Davis Ko."

The air left the room.  All the customers turned to look at them.  The old man didn't react.

"I'm sorry, but I know of no William Davis Ko. And you are?"

"Concerned for his safety," said Hammer.  "If you see him, please call this number."  He handed the man a card.  

The man nodded, nonplussed.  "Is there anything you would like to buy?"

Hammer shook his head.

As they walked out of the store, the shop owner shouted something to a delivery boy.  The delivery boy shouted something back.

Without looking over his shoulder, Archive said, "Dr. Fung Dou Nan just told Tony Wong, his delivery boy, to warn William Davis Ko."

"How do you figure that?" asked Jim-Bean.

"I heard him," said Archive with a shrug. 

Jim-Bean was about to crack wise when a boy darted out of the store and down the street.

"We'd better get to him before Wong does," said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 3 – Jumping at Shadows*

Jim-Bean caught up with Tony easily. 

"Tony," he said slowly, tapping the boy on the shoulder.  "I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment."

The boy whirled around, a confused expression on his face.  "Do I know you?"

"Yes, we're friends," he nodded. "My name's Jim-Bean.  And you're Tony Wong."

"That's me," said the boy.  

"You were on your way to see someone.  Are you going to see William Ko?"

Tony nodded mechanically.  

"Can you take us to him?"

Tony nodded again.

"Great."  Jim-Bean kept his hand on the delivery boy's shoulder.  "I'll follow you so I don't get lost.  I'm new in town."

As they strolled through New Chinatown, Jim-Bean kept up the distracting chatter.  Hammer and Archive stayed a few paces back to avoid spooking the boy.

They turned down an alleyway.  "This is a shortcut," said Tony.

They stopped short, facing four short men dressed in white ninja-like outfits.  They held haedong jingeom, traditional Vietnamese blades, in one hand and hand crossbows in the other.

"The White Shadows," said Archive.  "Tong Shugoran's enforcers."

Tony fled.  

"So much for your new friend," muttered Hammer. 

The White Shadows all wore white, featureless blank masks that only had eye slits.  They crouched forward as a group, blades out.

Jim-Bean dropped his bag and pulled out his HK G36C. "F*&k this," he said, spraying the White Shadows with gunfire.

They scattered, diving behind dumpsters and garbage cans.  One of the Shadows was hit full in the chest and went down hard.

Then the White Shadow hopped to its feet, despite the numerous bloody wounds staining the white uniform.  He tore off his mask, to reveal the wreckage of a face: lips removed and a mouth widened to expose filed molars.  With a shaved head and no ears or nose he looked like a living skull. Red drool dripped from the White Shadows' lips.

Jim-Bean switched to his SIG Sauer as Hammer and Archive fired on the other Shadows.  Another of the Shadows went down, but only temporarily.  They bounded like monkeys, clearing the debris and springing off the walls of the alley to close the gap between them.

A bolt thudded into Archive’s thigh, but he had no time to react to the pain.  He knocked an advancing White Shadow’s blade out of the man’s hand with the butt his pistol.  The White Shadow turned and clamped down on Archive's forearm.  

Archive screamed as filed teeth tore into the muscle. It was like being bitten by a shark. 

Hammer fired both Glocks at point-blank range into another of the White Shadows, and this time he stayed down.  

Archive was pulled off balance. He fell to the ground in the grapple of the White Shadow, whose hands and feet seemed to be everywhere at once.  He got one foot under Archive's armpit and another on his neck, preparing to tear the arm from the socket.  The legs tensed…

And then spasmed as Jim-Bean fired his entire clip into the Tcho-tcho. 

Archive shoved the surprisingly light body of the White Shadow off of him.  Hammer helped him up.

"You okay?"

Something wasn't right.  The world swam in front of Archive.

"Bhzang…" he said in a slurred voice.  "…it's a poison…"

Then he fell face first into the alley.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 4 – Going Up*

Hammer checked Archive's pulse.  He was alive but delirious. "Great.  One man down and no leads."

Jim-Bean was staring up at the sky past him.  "I wouldn't say that."

The alley opened up onto a main street that was in front of the Equitech Building. Hammer tapped a few keys.

"Interesting.  Dawn Biozyme leases five floors of the Equitech Building, but Blacknet's missing the plans for the top three floors. Somebody's hiding something important up there."

"Ko?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Must be." 

They dragged Archive back into the vehicle.  Hammer gave him a shot of anti-venom while Jim-Bean brought the car around to the front of the building. 

"Is that going to work?" asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer shrugged.  "If Bhzang is one of the major poisons it'll keep him from asphyxiating.  But we're running out of time.  Ko's going to be warned in a few minutes…"

"Wait," gasped Archive.  "Give me your hands." Archive reached into his pocket with his good arm with considerably effort.  

"Uh, now is really not the time—" began Jim-Bean.

Archive grabbed Jim-Bean's hand and pressed something cold against it.  He lifted the back of his hand to look at it. 

It was an ink stamp of a tiny scarab.  

"We're not going into a club," said Hammer.  "I don't see how…"

Jim-Bean shushed him.  "If he wants to stamp your hand, let 'im."

Hammer dutifully offered his hand and Archived stamped it as well.

Jim-Bean took Archive's pistol out of his shoulder holster and placed it in Archive's good hand.  "If anyone besides us tries to get in the car, shoot them."

Archive looked past him and muttered something. Hoping for the best, Jim-Bean closed the door to the car.  

Jim-Bean turned to Hammer.  "Hand me your pistols."

"Why?" 

"Just do it."

Hammer reluctantly gave them up.  Jim-bean tucked them into his duffel bag.  Then he straightened up and strode purposefully into the Equitech Building's lobby with duffel bag in tow.

A bored security guard was screening guests.  Hammer spoke to the administrator at the front desk to get visitor badges.

Jim-Bean approached the security guard.  "Hello chum, how are ya?  Pardon me a bit, this bag's awfully heavy."  He tossed the bag to the guard.  "You don't mind me holding it while I pass through, do ya?"

The guard took the bag-full of weapons without comment as Jim-Bean bustled through the screening.  

"Thanks mate."  He grabbed the bag back from the befuddled security guard. 

Before the guard could register what had just happened, Hammer came through next.  The guard turned back to him.

Of course, nothing happened.  Hammer walked through the security checkpoint. 

Jim-Bean eyed the elevator. "Only one of those goes to the top floor.  And it uses a key card." 

A balding Asian man carrying a briefcase stepped out of the elevator. 

Hammer bumped into him. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Excuse me," said the man, eyes on the door. 

A second later Hammer slipped the man's security card into the elevator door. "A one-way ticket to the top, courtesy of," he checked the badge, which had the Asian man's face on it over the letters DAWN BIOZYME, "Mung I Peng."


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 5 – Elevator Muzak*

In the elevator, Jim-Bean slipped Hammer his pistols back to the tune of "The Girl from Ipanema." He was careful to turn his back to the security camera.

"So how does that work?" Hammer surreptitiously tucked the pistols into his belt.

"How does what work?"

"The whole mind control thing." They passed the tenth floor.  

"What?" asked Jim-Bean innocently.  "I’m just very convincing."

"Yeah, right,” said Hammer, unconvinced. 

Jim-bean shrugged. "Believe what you want." They passed the twentieth floor.  "I hope Archive's okay," said Jim-Bean.  "He's pretty messed up."

"We're not going to have a lot of time when we get to the top," said Hammer.  "My guess is there's another elevator to reach the top floors.  So we're going to need to hustle.  I figure we have a couple of minutes tops before security gets here."

They passed the thirtieth floor.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out. This is wetwork," said Jim-Bean.  "Your specialty, right?"

"Not quite," said Hammer.  "I deal with captured targets.  I thought it was YOUR specialty."

Jim-Bean inspected his nails.  "Whatever. Depending on what's the other side of the door, if it's a talking head you deal with him.  If it's a piece of tail, she's--"

The elevator dinged and the door opened. 

A large sign welcomed them to Dawn Biozyme. Over a dozen technicians scurried to and fro.  Weird robotic voices echoed throughout the large chamber, reverberating off of the huge metal machines and bubbling containers. It looked like a mad scientists.

A pretty young Asian woman in a lab coat approached them. "Can I help you?"

"Tails," Jim-Bean whispered to Hammer with a wink. He stepped forward. "Hello Miss…"

"Xian.  Doctor Xian. And you are?"

"Security," said Jim-Bean.  "We need to meet with Dr. Ko regarding a security breach."

Xian frowned.  "Mihn didn't tell me about any security breach—"

Jim-Bean lowered his voice. "That's because we're trying to not cause an incident. In a few seconds there WILL be an alarm. Now if you'll just show us to Dr. Ko…" 

"Dr. Ko doesn't see visitors," Xian said suspiciously.  "But if you want to wait here I can check with security and give you clearance."

"Sure," said Jim-Bean.  Xian walked off to a side office, out of view.

Jim-Bean turned to Hammer.  "Did you get it?"

Hammer nodded and flipped the card he had snatched from Xian's lab coat.  Like so many women in corporate offices, she wasn't comfortable having her security badge dangling at her chest.  It made badges very easy to palm.

"We're now…" he read the card, "Amy Xian."

The elevator behind them dinged as it progressed through the floors.  

"We'd better go.  That's probably the Mihn guy she talked about."

The Dawn Biozyme techs ignored them, engrossed in their work.  Hammer led the way down a hall to a large part of the building that opened up to the top floor by way of a stairwell.  Reinforced glass doors and a keycard swipe blocked access.

"Here's hoping Amy gets to visit Ko," said Hammer as he swiped the card.

The red light over the card reader turned green. Jim-Bean pushed on the door.

It opened.  They quickly climbed the steps.  

A doddering old man in a white lab coat met them at the top of the stairs. He was holding a small black and white cat in his arms. 

"Oh hello.  I didn't realize it was visiting hours today!"

"It's not," said Hammer seriously.  "Are you William Davis Ko?"

Jim-Bean took up a flanking position to the man's left.

"I am," said Ko.  "But I don't see…" 

Hammer drew his Glocks.

"Oh."

An alarm went off. Then the glass doors behind them burst open.  

The security officer known as Bo Nan Mihn wore a blood red military-style uniform.  He was impossible to ignore.  Behind him were the other members of security, dressed in white paramilitary outfits.  They were all short Tcho-tchos. 

Hammer didn't wait. He slipped behind Ko and put a Glock to his head.  Ko dropped the cat and put his hands up.  Jim-Bean dropped his duffel bag and pulled out his machinegun. 

It took him a second to realize the men were pointing crossbows at him, not pistols.  "Shoot and he dies."

Mihn sneered.  "It's not us you have to worry about."

There was the sound of a cat hacking up a hairball, and then the room filled with choking black mist.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 6 – Smelly Cat*

Hammer dragged Ko back with him, eyes tearing, and fired his Glock wildly into the thick black cloud.  

There was the whistle of crossbow bolts. A shooting pain in his shoulder made Hammer realize he'd been hit.

He backed towards an elevator with a black and yellow striped border.  A bright red button titled UP was next to it.  He hit it with his elbow, and sprayed bullets into the cloud.  He could only hope Jim-Bean had gotten out of the way.

The elevator opened and Hammer dragged Ko into it. As the doors began to close, something bizarre half-hopped out of the swirling black smoke.  It looked like a horned toad, but it was easily the size of a man.  Its sticky flesh was covered in a black and white pattern that was wholly unnatural.  But the color did remind him of something…

The elevator closed just as the thing reached the door.  It began the journey upwards to the roof.

Hammer noticed that Ko's temperature had risen considerably.  The man was sweating.  "Bhzang," he gasped.

Hammer pushed him against the wall.  A bolt was stuck in the man's shoulder.  "Some security," he said, gripping the bolt. "They're doing my job for me."

He yanked it out.  Ko screamed, but it was a weak, delirious cry.  

Hammer realized a bolt was sticking out of his own shoulder.  He pulled it out; there was a smeared white paste on the tip. Poison.  

"Huh." Archive's mumbo-jumbo really did work. "Tell me where you get your drugs."

"Wha?" asked Ko, delirious.  

"Your drugs.  You get them from somewhere.  You're manufacturing Blink.  I know you manufacture it here.  But there's an ingredient that only you know.  What is it?"

"Mother's Milk?" Ko asked a space a foot to the left of Hammer's head.  "She provides all.  She is the one source of all life…" Ko slumped to the ground, unconscious. 

Before Hammer could say more, the sound of many skittering claws clattered along the outside of the elevator.

"What the hell is that?" asked Hammer.

The escape hatch above the elevator shuttered.  Hammer dragged Ko out of the way as it tore open and an insectoid face in the shape of blasphemous parody of a human skull poked through.  It hissed, venomous drool dripping from the lip-mandibles, rearing back as it took a deep breath…

Hammer fired both Glocks into its face. 

The head flinched but didn't stop the exhalation of black smoke.  The door dinged and suddenly fresh air was shrieking around them from outside.  Hammer dove out.  

The elevator doors closed behind him with a soft "ding" that belied the monstrosity within.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 7 – Do You Expect Me to Talk?*

Jim-Bean woke up with the wind shrieking all around him.  Was it one of those dreams where he was flying?  He remembered black smoke, and then…

He looked down a dizzying thirty-eight stories to the ground below. Vice-like grips held his wrists and ankles. 

Oh right.

"Magic," sneered Mihn.  He held up Jim-Bean's left hand where Archive had stamped him.  "It protected him from the Bhzang.  But no protection from poison can save you from Jiang's bad breath. "

That got a laugh from the other security guards, who were dangling him out the window.  Jim-Bean got a glimpse of his duffel bag, which was sitting near the window to his right. 

Mihn slapped his face.  “Pay attention!” He was hunched over Jim-Bean, holding his neck in a stranglehold.  "Who sent you?"

Jim-Bean swallowed.  He was screwed.  Hammer had either fled or died in the fighting.  Whatever spat the black gunk that even now still coated his lungs was somewhere behind him.  Jim-Bean had survived some impressive wounds, but there was no way he could survive a fall from that height.  It was only thanks to Archive's magic that he had survived at all…

That was it! What was it he had learned in Flagitious Fragments?  He tried to focus. 

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Focus! He couldn't do it, his focus was slipping.  The wind was whipping in his face, the Tcho-tchos were bruising his wrists and ankles, and he really had to pee. 

Mihn tightened his grip on Jim-Bean's throat. "You're tough.  Most people don't wake up from a meeting with Jiang.  But can you fly?"

He remembered Lucinda Ennis.  The girl had ignited a matchbook with mere thought alone.  

"I…can't…fly," said Jim-Bean, straining. There was a pop from the duffel bag.  "Can you?"

Tear gas exploded around them.  Jim-Bean dropped to the ground as the other Tcho-tchos lost their grip.  Mihn clung to Jim-Bean’s neck, coughing and wheezing.  

On his hands and knees, Jim-Bean shifted his weight forward.  Blinded and stunned from the tear gas, Mihn went sailing out the window.  He screamed all the way down.

Jim-Bean grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the steps down past the glass doors. 

The techs looked up at him, curious but unwilling to get involved. After all, he didn't seem threatening.

At the other end of the wide room, the elevator dinged.  The doors opened and closed long enough for Jim-Bean to get a glimpse of Ko, slumped in one corner of the elevator.  They closed before he could reach it.

Reaching into his bag, Jim-Bean pulled out a utility tool.  Then he slowly wrenched the elevator doors open.

The techs looked on nervously.  

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Jim-Bean placed thick gloves over both hands.  With a short hop, he grabbed hold of the elevator cables that were slowly winching upwards.

Xian, noticing his return, walked over to Jim-Bean.  "What are you doing?  You can't do—"

Jim-bean winked at her. Then he put his SIG to the cable and fired.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 8 – Die Hardly*

Hammer looked around in desperation.  Security would be on the roof any second and there was nowhere left to go.

Fortunately, someone had conveniently left a mini-copter on the roof.  He suspected it was for Ko, and that his original plans were to escape that way.  Unfortunately, he didn't know how to fly a chopper.

Hammer considered struggling with the controls.  If he tied it to the roof and got the rotors going, maybe he could crash it into the building…

That was too ridiculous, even for him.  Instead, Hammer pulled a knife out of his boot and stabbed the gas tank.

Gas spilled all along the roof.  Looking about, Hammer spotted a fire hose and unspooled it.  He tied it around his waist. If it worked for Bruce Willis, it might work for him…

Hammer lit a match and tossed it onto the spreading pool of gas.  Then he dove over the side of the Equitech building.

The tough rubber of the hose shrieked as it slithered over the edge of the building's roof.  Hammer prayed it would hold.

And then it did.  It was like someone had wrenched him in half.  Hammer realized what a stupid idea his plan was as the explosion above him set off a shockwave, which was counterbalanced by the hideous winds at over forty stories up.  

He spun around like a rag doll on a string, and for a moment all he could do was just keep his arms and hands out and hope he wasn't going to hit anything hard.

To his surprise, he flew through an open window.  

There was no such thing as an open window in a skyscraper.  Someone had broken the window before Hammer got there.

The hose caught the edge of the window and hurled Hammer up towards the ceiling.  He bounced off of it with his feet, but the momentum was surely going to drag him straight back out into the abyss…

He hit something soft that grunted, followed by a distant scream.  Hammer landed on his feet and quickly undid the hose around his waist.  Guards were lying on the floor, coughing and wheezing.  

Hammer guessed what had stopped his fall was another security guard who had stumbled to his feet.  He didn't bother to look out the window.

He raced to the top of the stairs, only to see Dawn Biozyme’s security lined up with pistols at the bottom.  Hammer didn't stop his stride as he flipped himself up and over, firing both Glocks downwards.

Some guards were hit.  Most of them were still firing at the top of the steps.  Hammer landed behind them and plunged through the door.  

Then the fire alarm went off and sprinklers descended from the ceiling. Techs, already on edge, broke out into screams and dove for cover. 

Hammer balked at the elevator.  Someone had wedge it open and cut the cables.  

Cursing Jim-Bean under his breath, he headed for the stairs.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Part 9 – Going Down?*

The air whistled past Jim-Bean as he flew down the elevator shaft.  The odds of him landing on the elevator without reaching terminal velocity were looking increasingly slim.

He became aware of a distant clatter, like thousands of hammers punching into metal, above him.  When he looked up, he caught sight of a black-and-white centipede-like thing with a human face.

The thing was climbing downwards at a terrific rate, spiraling the entire length of the shaft as it sought to keep up with Jim-Bean's descent.  The horrible face paced him, clicking and growling.  Jim-Bean couldn't reach his gun; it was all he could do to hold onto the cable.   

Jim-Bean let go.  He was close enough.  The elevator had stopped when he snapped the cable.  

He missed the emergency door and slammed into the roof of the elevator. Ribs cracked.  Temporarily stunned, Jim-Bean could only think of what the centipede-thing was going to do when it caught up with him.  

To his surprise, it slithered past him through the door.  

Gritting his teeth to focus through the pain, Jim-Bean drew his pistol and peered down into the elevator. 

He caught sight of Ko's feet being dragged out through the elevator doors.

"What the hell…" said Jim-Bean to himself.  Was that thing actually trying to SAVE Ko?

He hopped into the elevator after it. When he turned the corner into another office hallway, the second elevator had just opened and closed nearby.

"Hey guys?" asked Mung I Peng, who had just stepped out of the elevator.  "Has anyone seen my badge?"

Jim-Bean handed him his badge.  "You dropped this."

"Oh thanks." 

Jim-Bean ran for the stairs.


----------



## talien

*An Outbreak of Alchemy: Conclusion*

Archive dreamed.  







> He saw the All-Mother, her teats providing nutrients to all.  Scientists in lab coats had great milking machines hooked up to her, and the milk flowed.  It was disgraceful, to treat the All-Mother like a common cow.  And yet, it was so right.
> 
> He dreamed of feasting on flesh; sweet, succulent flesh. The flesh of long pork.  Someone offered him a hunk of meat on a plate.  It was a human hand.  Delicious.
> 
> The fingers were fried.  He took a bit of the pinky and savored the taste.  It crunched between his teeth.



A scream.  Archive was torn out of his reverie.  He awoke, drenched in sweat, in the car.  A car alarm was going off nearby.  

Archive looked out the window.  The man had exploded from the impact, totaling the car.  A few seconds later, another man fell, and this time he didn't hit a car.

People were running and screaming.  Sirens wailed.  

"Archive!" shouted Hammer's voice from somewhere.  "ARCHIVE!"

Archive fumbled for his cistron.  His fingers felt like dead sausages.  "Yes?"

"There's an older man walking out of the building." Ko's image flashed on the cistron screen.  "Stop him!"

Archive pulled down the window.  Sure enough, a man matching the picture was walking out of the Equitech building holding a small black and white cat.  A limo screeched up beside the car.

Archive discovered his pistol was still in his hand. He lowered the window and took aim. 

Someone opened the door and Ko got in, oblivious to the pistol aimed at his back.

The cat hissed. Ko turned to look at Archive in surprise.  

It was a perfect shot.  The bullet slammed Ko into the back of the limo.  He grunted, dropping the cat.

Archive got a glimpse of Ko popping the contents of a bright green vial into his mouth.  Then the limo tore off, the door slamming shut from the momentum.  Police and fire vehicles obscured the rest of the view. Archive slumped back into his seat. 

Hammer huffed up to the car, Jim-Bean a few seconds behind.

"Did you get him?" asked Hammer, looking around wildly at the converging police and fire vehicles. He hopped into the driver's seat.

"What the hell happened to you?" asked Jim-Bean, getting in the back with Archive.  "Why is there blood on your lip?"

Archive looked at him in a daze.  "What?"  He touched his hand to his left hand to his lip.

"And what happened to your pinky?"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 26: Cold War - Introduction*

This scenario is a combination of, “Cold War,” from by the Unspeakable Oath #11 by Scott David Aniolowski and “Exit 23” from the Dark*Matter d20 book. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
We usually play three sessions at once, which makes for some interesting gaming when we get to the third session.  Sometimes, the urgency to complete the session causes some brilliant ad-libbing.  And other times, I just rush through the plot to get to the meaty part – usually combat – which I know will take longer. Cold War is one of those scenarios.

Cold War is really meant to be played as a one-shot wherein the PCs are cultists, struggling to determine the traitor in their midst and battling a rival Tcho-tcho cult.  The connections to the rest of the Ithaqua-themed scenarios were too good to pass up, and I saw an opportunity to use this scenario as a bridge to Jack Frost, which I’ve been itching to play for awhile. 

I also wanted to use Exit 23, which is basically “The Thing” at a gas station.  Using the escaped Ko as a lure, I set up a complex mystery that involved double-crossing, cultists in disguise, and an ice monster stalking the frozen wastes.  It was supposed to be a cat-and-mouse game of stalk and be-stalked as the PCs struggled to determine who committed a murder and…

Then Jim-Bean, using his Sensitivity to Psychic Impressions power, solved the mystery in one round.  This required quick thinking on my part, which is to say that the scenario went from a slow build to a frenetic series of attacks.  This confused the hell out of everybody. At one point, I had to have an NPC take one of the PCs aside and explain the plot.

It didn’t really help.  It also highlighted how fragile the PCs are against supernatural threats.  When more than one shows up, they’re pretty much doomed.  In the end, two of the three characters were near death and it took a careful shot from Hammer to save the day.  

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean figures out the murderer by focusing on the Eye of Ithaqua.  And the murderer figures out that Jim-Bean figured him out.

Relevant Media

*	Dark*Matter D20:*  The source for Exit 23. 
*Unspeakable Oath #11:*  The source of Cold War.
*Early Winter:* by Gwen Stefani.


----------



## talien

*Cold War: Prologue*



> _The sun’s getting cold, it’s snowin’
> Looks like an early winter for us
> Looks like an early winter for us
> An early winter, oh, I need you to turn me over_​
> --_Early Winter_ by Gwen Stefani​



WILLIS, AL—Alabama had never seen a snowstorm like this.  October in Alabama was usually mild, but for hours it had been a virtual whiteout.  The snow was at least fifteen inches deep on the highway, and the weather showed no signs of breaking. 

“Ko’s got to be here,” said Hammer, scanning the other patrons at the entered the small interstate rest stop. “His limo was abandoned a few miles back.”

“Ko’s not exactly hard to find,” said Jim-Bean.  He walked over to the counter, ordered some tea from the attractive waitress who ran the donut shop, and took out a cigarette.  He seemed much less inclined to look for Ko than he was to warm up.

“Just look for a cat,” added Archive.  His left pinky was bandaged up. 

It was close to midnight.  Patrons were waiting for the plows to come through so that they could get back on the road.  Of the staff, there was also a stern-looking woman running the register at the convenience store, and a teenage kid with long hair and an apron who handled the short-order cooking. 

Hammer sat down next to Jim-Bean.  At one booth was a long-haired college student with John Lennon glasses, an Army jacket, doodling in a sketchbook filled with Gigeresque drawings. Two executive types, one in a good suit and conservative overcoat, the other overweight and wearing a garish power tie, were huddled in another booth.  Sitting by himself and staring out at the snow was a bookish man in a tweed jacket and smoking a pipe. Another man with thick silver hair and keen, dark eyes walked towards the rest room.  None of them matched the description of Ko.  

Archive joined them.  “My guess is that Ko’s guardian was trying to cover their tracks.  Maybe it can shapeshift into a person…” The limo driver’s body was found in the front seat, the corpse bloated from repeated poisonous bites.  

“As if we weren’t paranoid enough—” began Jim-Bean.  

The lights flickered.

 “Oh great,” muttered the counter waitress—and then the lights went out altogether.  Somewhere on the other side of the rest stop a door slammed open, followed by a vicious blast of freezing cold air that somehow found it way over to where they sat.  The wind howled like something alive, scratching and clawing with an icy grasp.

There was an awful racket from the direction of the rest rooms—violent blows, choking cries, breaking glass, and finally one more high-pitched scream that made blood run cold.

The wind howled again and more doors slam…and then the room became still, except for the distant whistling of the storm outside. Emergency lights flickered on.

“What in heaven was that?” said the waitress.

Hammer almost drew his Glocks, but remembered such a gesture might not be well-received in a rest stop.  HE flashed his badge instead. “We’ll check it out.”


----------



## talien

*Cold War: Part 1 – Cold Bath*

The last gust of wind knocked out power to the rest stop.  There was just enough illumination from various emergency lights to carefully move through the darkened building. 

In the rest room, a body was sprawled in the doorway.  It was an Asian man. Several large needle-like holes perforated the corpse, surrounded by a puddle of slick crimson ice.  A hand crossbow lay nearby.

“Ko,” said Hammer with a sigh. He bent down to inspect the body. 

Archive bustled past him. “There’s another body inside,” he said after a moment. 

Inside the men’s room was the corpse of the man with silver hair. A crossbow bolt jutted out of his chest.  It was the silver-haired man they saw making his way to the bathroom.

Hammer went through the Ko’s jacket.  He found a wallet containing an Illinois driver’s license, a couple of twenty dollar bills, and an empty vial. 

The other man wasn’t carrying any identification, but Archive found his wallet and dead cell phone in the pockets of his coat, which hung on a hook inside the rest room. His Portland State driver’s license identified him as Dr. Anton Zelazny.  He had some credit cards and one-hundred and fifty dollars in mixed bills.

Hammer stood up and looked around the bathroom. All of the stalls were empty.  A trashcan stood against one wall and a condom dispenser hung on the other wall.  The mirror behind the sink was broken, and ice standing in the sink had frozen right out of the faucet. 

Hammer ran one finger along the sink. “There’s a thin layer of frost covering the entire room.” The room was freezing.

“I never saw icicles big enough to kill someone outside,” said Archive. “It looks like he was gored to death.”

Hammer peered in the trashcan.  “What’s this?”  He dug into it and pulled out a valise.  Archive popped it open on the sink.

It contained some papers and a snow globe. Archive scanned the papers while Hammer continued his investigation.

“There’s a partial footprint in the blood on the rest room floor, near Ko’s body.  It seems to be the print of a large wolf or small bear.”

Archive looked up from reading the papers.  “How did a bear fit in here?”


----------



## talien

*Cold War: Part 2 – Who Goes There?*

The wind howled outside and the snow continued to fall.  The building was dark and cold, with icy gusts reaching into every corner of the structure.  The woman running the donut shop had lit a couple of gas lanterns in her corner of the rest stop, but it was still dim and shadowy.

Hammer fiddled with his cistron but to no avail. “Cistrons aren’t getting any reception.  I’m going outside to get the heavy artillery out of the car,” said Hammer.  “Keep an eye on the rest of these people.” 

The wind screamed and raged all around as Hammer stumbled out into the snow.  It was surprisingly deep, almost to his knees. He couldn’t see much with the snow whipping past his eyes.  

Abruptly, the blowing snow, illuminated occasionally by the flickering parking lot lamps, suddenly turned a blinding white.

One by one, the headlights of cars came on.  Over the moaning of the storm, a cacophony of horns and car alarms went off all at once.  Somewhere nearby, glass broke.

Hammer ducked behind one of the cars.  He could barely make out humanoid figures, dressed in white, stalking from car to car.  It was the White Shadows, the enforcers of Tong Shugoran.  He guessed they had been sent to retrieve Ko.

A crossbow bolt whistled through the air, but it went wide, spearing into the car near his head.  Even with the wind blowing, the terrific force of the crossbow bolt was enough to embed it in the car door. 

Hammer drew his Glocks and fired a spray of bullets in the direction the bolt came from.  More glass shattered and someone swore in Vietnamese. 

Hammer backed up.  Getting to the car was looking less and less likely.  For a second he wished they had taken the van instead…

Suddenly, the car horns and alarms fell silent.

Hammer peered over the hood of the car.  Nothing. 

He had counted six Shadows.  They had to be somewhere…

A white figure blurred to his left.  Hammer turned, blasting the snow with his Glocks.  He had hit his target, he was positive, but the White Shadows were high on something – maybe Blink – and even a direct hit couldn’t drop one. The figure was gone, leaving only a few drops of red.

There was more furtive movement behind him.  Hammer whirled and fired again, missing this time but destroying the windshield of a car.  

He sensed a presence overhead.   Hammer slowly turned around to face his opponent.

Standing on the car was one of the White Shadows.  On the rooftops of other cars all above him stood the other five.  They had outflanked him by giving him a few decoys to shoot at.  One of them was spattered with red marks, but if the man felt pain there was no way to tell.  They all wore featureless masks.

The head Tcho-tcho raised his crossbow and took careful aim at Hammer’s forehead. Hammer lowered his pistols.  

Despite the poor visibility and biting cold, Hammer felt an even greater cold approaching. And then two points of fiery red, sinister eyes burned into his soul, floating above the leader of the White Shadows.

The Shadow was lifted up and away, shrieking and struggling.  A titanic pile of fur and claws reared up, impaling the tcho-tcho on its horn.  Its head was like a cross between a bear and rhinoceros and its massive claws were everywhere.  

It smashed a White Shadow with each of its paws down into the hood of the cars, like a child swatting an ant. They didn’t get up.

The thing bellowed.  The White Shadows blurred into action, drawing their swords and slashing at the thing.

Hammer made it to the car and grabbed Jim-Bean's duffel bag.  He backpedaled to the donut shop.

“What the hell is that?” asked the kid with the long hair.

“I don’t know." Hammer dropped the duffel bag at Jim-Bean's feet. “But whatever it is, it’s weird and pissed off.”

Archive, who was intently scanning the papers in Zelazny’s briefcase, looked up.  “That’d be a gnoph-keh.  I believe we’re dealing with a cult of Ithaqua.”

Jim-Bean continued to sip his coffee.  “So that’s not the centipede thing?”

“Much worse,” said Archive.

“It gets worse?” asked Hammer.

Just then, an orange glow illuminated the dark lobby and the smell of burning gas wafted over to them.


----------



## talien

*Cold War: Part 3 – Smoke ‘Em Out*

The magazine stand in one corner of the convenience store was blazing away.  The flames spread quickly to one wall.

“Fire extinguishers!” shouted Hammer. “Go!”

They spread out, looking for fire extinguishers.  A few seconds later, the extinguishers managed to stop the blaze before it became an inferno.  By that time, the massacre that was happening outside had stopped.  The White Shadows were all dead.

Over the smell of smoke, there was a different odor—the sharp tang of gasoline in the air.  

“That fire wasn’t an accident,” said Hammer. He looked suspiciously at the other patrons.  “All of you, I want you to line up along this wall.  We’re going to question you individually.  Everyone stays in my sight.”

The other patrons and staff, wary of Hammer’s Glocks, did as they were told.

Archive was torn between watching the thing outside and trying to understand what he was reading.  

“What’s that thing doing?” asked Jim-Bean, nonplussed by the ruckus over the flames.

“It looks like it’s…” he squinted through the frosted glass, “building a huge mound of snow in the center of the parking lot.”

Hammer turned back to the suspects.  “All right, we need a roll call…” he looked around.  “Wait, someone’s missing.”

There were a couple of loud bangs from the other room.  The waitress screamed, “Look out! He’s got a gun!”

The overweight man in the suit appeared in the doorway of the donut shop, pointing a pistol in Hammer’s direction. 

“I won’t let you meddle with our plans any longer,” he hissed.  He raised the pistol.  “Time to die!”

Hammer pointed both Glocks and fired.  The man crumpled to the ground from the perfect shots, both to his head.  He looked around. “Anyone else?”

The other patrons backed away, white-faced. 

The waitress cleared her throat.  “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Hammer glared at the others.  “Yeah.  I don’t want anybody to move!”  He pointed at Jim-Bean.  “Keep an eye on them.”

Jim-Bean took another puff of his cigarette, staring at the blurry shape of the thing outside.  “Sure.”

The waitress ushered Hammer over to a booth and sat down.  “You can’t trust any of them.  Shepard was a distraction.”

“What?” asked Hammer.  He craned his neck to look at the other patrons.  Jim-Bean and Archive were discussing the snow globe they found.  “What about them?”

The waitress had sharp, attractive features, made more scholarly-looking by the glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her arms, where they were visible, were well-muscled.  Hammer assumed it was from holding trays.

“My name is Elizabeth Stride, and I’m actually a professor of history at the University of Toronto.  A long time ago I was traveling to Vietnam when I met a Tcho-tcho tribe who worshipped a pantheon of strange pagan deities.  After months of cautious study, the tribe finally allowed me to view one of their pagan rituals.  On that fateful evening, something answered the savage cries of the tribesmen – something enormous, writhing, and powerful.  Shub-Niggurath appeared before me in all its alien might and at that instant I got an insight into the true nature of the universe.”

Hammer put one of his pistols on the table.  “Look, lady—“

“Listen to me!” hissed Stride.  “That night I was initiated into a cult, and instructed to contact Tong Shugoran when I returned to Toronto.  They eventually took me in and made me a member of the cult.”

Hammer blinked.  “You set that fire, didn’t you?”

“I was trying to stop them.”  She snuck a glance at the other patrons.  They were all watching Jim-Bean and Archive intently. Jim-Bean was holding the snow globe and focusing on it. “I was instructed to contact Anton Zelazny and joined his group to keep an eye on a rival cult, the Secret Order of the Windwalker.  I’ve been spying on them ever since.”

“So you’re saying everyone here is a cultist?”

“Yes,” said Stride.  “And this was all a plot.  There’s something special about the town of Willis.  Zelazny was convinced he could call Ithaqua tonight. He summoned a Gnoph-keh to create the storm and drive everyone out.  All the people who worked here left, so we slipped into the disguises of the staff.  Zelazny said he needed five sacrifices…”

“But Zelazny’s dead,” said Hammer.

“Yes.  Someone killed him.  I think Ko was lured here as a scapegoat, to make it look like Tong Shugoran murdered Zelazny.”

Hammer nodded.  “I didn’t get the impression Ko’s ever killed anyone, much less used one of those hand crossbows.”

“Exactly,” said Stride.  “It doesn’t add up.  One of the Order of the Windwalker murdered both Ko and Zelazny, and he wants to take over for himself.”

“Hammer,” Archive called from across the room.  “I think you’d better get over here.”


----------



## talien

*Cold War: Part 4 – The Ceremony*

“This is no ordinary snow globe,” said Archive, pointing to drawings of the snow globe, among other sketches. 

According to the specifications, it was a simple glass sphere about four inches in diameter.  

“The inside of the globe has a small representation of this rest stop, and tiny flakes flurry downward without every settling.  You don’t even have to shake it.”

“The Eye of Ithaqua,” whispered Stride, who had followed Hammer over.  “It is a powerful focal point for cult rituals, and serves as a conduit between Ithaqua worshipers and their cold god.”

“Where is it?”

Archive pointed to Jim-Bean, who was stumbling over to them.  “I gave it to him.”

“Great,” said Hammer.

A blast of freezing cold wind shrieked through the front doors, nearly blowing the glass doors off their hinges. 

Jim-Bean tried to grab the donut counter. He was barely audible in the shrieking storm.

“I know…who the murderer…is…” he slumped to the floor.

Hammer’s Glocks were out again.  The blowing snow inside the donut shop made it impossible to see.  “You lost the Eye, didn’t you?”

Jim-Bean didn’t respond, shivering. 

Outside, the other cultists were all running through the snow, chanting something at the top of their lungs, shedding their clothes as they did so.

Hammer could just barely make it out.  

“Ia! Ia!--Ithaqua! Ithaqua!
Ai! Ai! Ai!--Ithaqua!
Ce-fyak vulg-t'uhm--
Ithaqua fhtagn!
Ugh!--Ia! Ia!--Ai! Ai! Ai!”

“Fools!” Stride shook her head.  “Zelazny said he needed five sacrifices to perform the ritual!”

Hammer, Archive, and Stride jogged to the front of the rest stop. 

The gnoph-keh had built a great snow mound in the center of the parking lot.  An older man was there, standing naked with the snow globe lifted high overhead.  

“Hodges,” said Stride.  “That’s our murderer.”

“Ithaqua, my lord!” shouted Hodges.  “Bestow your blessing upon your faithful servant!”

At first there was only the horrible howl of something carrying on the icy wind.  Soon a pair of red stars were spotted in the sky – as they watched, the stars appeared to get larger and larger.  It became apparent that the stars were getting closer, and quickly the monstrous form of Ithaqua could be made out, the red stars its glaring eyes.  

The howling reached a terrible crescendo, deafening, before the wind lifts, rising upward as if from the earth into the sky, drawing leaves and dead brown pine straws and flakes of ice with it; then, after a moment, with absolute abruptness, all five of the Cult of the Windwalker lurched into the sky in an impossible gust of wind. Their screams faded slowly and were gone.

Hammer took careful aim.  With a squeeze of the trigger, Hodges’ extended wrist holding the Eye of Ithaqua exploded in a geyser of blood and flesh.  He shrieked, clutching the bloody stump of his wrist. 

The summoning had not gone as Hodges had planned.  Ithaqua’s terrible gaze fell upon him. 

Hodges screamed again, but this time it was an agonized wail. He doubled over.  A terrible transformation took place as Hodges’ skin sank into his bones and his hair turned white.  His eyes lost their pupils, all to the litany of Hodges’ screaming. A  moment later and he too spiraled upwards in the grip of his god. 

Then the giant turned skyward, too, lifting its talons high, growing into the sky until, distended, it bent its inhuman legs and leaped into the ether and ran on great webbed feet along the shimmering Auroran light into nothingness. 

“The Eye!” shouted Stride.  “Is it still here?”

The snow globe rolled down the huge hill of snow to land at his feet.  “Yes,” said Hammer. “It’s over.”

Stride shook her head.  “You don’t understand.  Hodges received the blessing of Ithaqua.  I don’t know if he fully understood what that meant.  It transformed him, warped him.  We have to destroy—“

Before she could finish her sentence, a white moving blur swept Stride up in mid-sentence. Her screams disappeared into the wind high above.

And then her screams returned all at once as her flash-frozen body smashed into one of the cars, shattering into a million bloody chunks.


----------



## talien

*Cold War: Conclusion*

Archive handed the Eye off to Hammer.  Hammer ran for the rest stop.

Jim-Bean met him at the door. “Hodges killed Zelazny and Ko!  He set it up so that—“

“We KNOW!” shouted Hammer.  

“We have to destroy the Eye!” Archive shouted over the screaming wind.  He had his own pistol out, scanning the sky, trying to look everywhere at once.  

“You can’t,” said Jim-Bean.  “It’s indestructible. Trust me I tried!”

Hodges appeared in all his terrible glory.  He had turned into a huge, stretched parody of his former self.  Frozen drool continued to drip from a vicious maw of canine teeth.  His nose was gone, his hair whipping wildly behind him.  Wicked claws jutted from his fingertips.  His legs ended in burnt stumps; there were no feet to speak of. He floated thirty feet above the parking lot. 

“GIVE ME THE EYE,” he snarled, audible over the wind.  He pointed, and a blast of white energy sizzled past Archive, just missing his head.

“Fire!” shouted Archive.

Hammer turned and fired both Glocks at Hodges.  A direct hit.  Chips of ice fell off of him.

Hodges laughed.

“No, I mean USE fire!” shouted Archive.

Hammer got what he meant.  He passed Jim-Bean and ran with the globe towards the gas station.

Hodges swept down, quicksilver-fast in the wind.  “GIVE ME THE EYE!”

Hammer, who had been pretending he was carrying the snow globe, came up with two pistols instead.  “No.”

He fired point blank into Hodges.  The blast merely propelled Hodges back a few feet through the air.  He looked about for who really had the Eye.

Jim-Bean hustled towards the donut shop, Eye nestled in one arm.  The fryer would most assuredly do the trick.

“Hey!” shouted Archive.  A pistol shot ricocheted off of Hodges’ head.  This time he felt it – Hodges turned, growling. 

Archive fired shot after shot from his pistol, which had an Elder Sign engraved on the barrel.  “I’ve got your Eye right here!”

Inside the donut shop, Jim-Bean didn’t notice that the temperature had dipped severely. He was too intent on the deep fryer.

With a bellowing roar, the gigantic Gnoph-keh reared up in front of him.  Jim-Bean skidded to a halt and looked up at it in shock.

The bear-thing speared him with its horn through the shoulder and bucked him towards the ceiling.

Jim-Bean screamed.  He twisted and threw the Eye towards the fryer…

Where it bounced out of the now frozen oil and, rolling with the momentum from Jim-Bean’s throw, ricocheted towards the entryway.

Hammer charged towards it.  He dove through the snow to grab the Eye.  With a shout of triumph, he caught it.

Roaring, the Gnoph-keh flung Jim-Bean over the counter and took a direct path to Hammer, smashing through counter, walls, doors, and glass.  It furrowed through the snow, tossing Hammer aside.  The Eye rolled across the parking lot.

Hammer took aim and fired with both Glocks.  One bullet ricocheted off of the globe, causing the Eye to skitter towards the gas station. The other struck a gas pump, spraying gasoline everywhere.

The Gnoph-keh swatted at Hammer with one paw, driving him head first into a snow bank.  He didn’t get up.

“THE EYE!” shouted Hodges.  He abandoned Archive to the Gnop-Keh, flying towards it.

The huge, hairy monstrosity barreled towards him.  Archive took careful aim.  He only had one shot at this…

Hodges’ look of malevolent delight twisted as he heard the pistol fire.  Archive’s shot sparked as it penetrated the metal of the gas pump. 

There was the squeal of gas igniting, and then a series of fireballs engulfed the gas station.  The flames consumed Hodges and the shock wave hurled him up into the air out of sight.

The four arms of the Gnoph-keh rose up.  The last thing Archive thought was, “I didn’t realize they had four arms.”  

Then it flew apart in a spray of icy shards as the Eye of Ithaqua became superheated from the explosion.  A whirlwind of snow and howling wind danced and spun where the creature was standing.  Dozens of shrieking voices seemed to gibber and moan in the wind.  Then it too was gone, disappearing with the rest of the blizzard.

Archive slumped to his knees.  The Eye of Ithaqua, a crack in its surface, rolled to a stop in front of him, trailing smoke. 

Archive tucked it into his pocket. He was only dimly aware of the Humvee’s headlights and the thrumming of a chopper overhead.

“I want a full quarantine. All civilians are out of this area, NOW!” shouted a familiar voice in military fatigues.

Archive looked up.  It was Sprague in white camouflage, with an odd smile on his face.

Two men grabbed Archive by the arms.  He caught a glimpse of someone being led away on a stretcher.  It wasn’t Jim-Bean or Hammer.  

It was Ko. He was being given oxygen as two men hoisted him up into an ambulance and the doors slammed shut, obscuring his view. 

“But I work for CIFA,” said Archive quietly.

“Not on my watch you don’t,” said Sprague with a sneer.

All Archive could think was: Why would a dead man need an oxygen mask?


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Introduction*

This scenario is a combination of, “Jack Frost,” from Pyramid Magazine by Shane Ivey and “Temple in the Ice” by Michael LaBossiere. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
Given the opportunity to link in every modern scenario involving Ithaqua I could get my hands on, Jack Frost was too tempting to pass up.  Jack Frost involves Delta Green agents going undercover in a Majestic-12 operation.  Since our characters ARE Majestic-12 agents, there was very little tweaking necessary to fit them in.  

The scenario theoretically takes place over three days, but I counted the first visit of Ithaqua as the events of Cold War.  Thus, there were just two days to figure out what was going on and resolve it.  After the moral dilemma with the agents facing the pending death of an innocent, I wanted to create another morally gray situation to stop Ithaqua.  

The rivalry between the two organizations of Majestic-12 fit perfectly with Sprague and Warner, who hate each other’s guts.  Having them both in action and showing who they reported to helped crystallize Majestic-12’s hierarchy and bring home the high stakes that are involved on both sides.  

Because the agents already knew what caused the freezing effects, much of the investigation was skipped entirely.  At first I was disappointed, but then I realized that the dreams Jim-Bean was having were more than sufficient to move the plot along.  I also retained the Eye of Ithaqua from the other scenario so there was a “remote control” means of conducting a sacrifice.  

Finally, I introduced our Guppy stand-in, a female geek who has a crush on Jim-Bean.  Of course.

*Defining Moment:* A downed pilot lends a hand to Hammer.  Literally.

Relevant Media

*	Jack Frost:*  The massive scenario from Pyramid. 
*Temple in the Ice:* A free download at Yog-Sothoth.com.
*Snow Miser:* by Crash Vinyl. Every child of the 80s knows this song.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Prologue*



> _I'm Mister White Christmas,
> I'm Mister Snow.
> I'm Mister Icicle,
> I'm Mister Ten Below.
> Friends call me Snow Miser,
> whatever I touch
> turns to snow in my clutch...
> I'm too much!_​
> --_Snow Miser_ by Crash Vinyl​



WILLIS, AL— The road sign was plain and green, the sort mandated by state law and never supplemented with anything more decorative: "Willis, Ala.," it read, "Pop. 819." State Highway 9 ran past the sign through deep forest and high hills. A long, narrow bridge stretched across an expanse of swampy water: always a land of endless natural waterways, the region was inundated with new lakes and streams after the Tennessee Valley Authority began damming up the rivers in a Depression-era economic booster project. A sliver of December moon was hidden, high overhead, beyond thick clouds, and the swamp and the hills and the trees were barely visible in its ghostly light.

The hills flattened out, slowly, gradually, and the forest thinned to either side. Then, ahead, came a yellow glow blinking in the air, the strobe of an ordinary streetlight to signal caution. Other lamps shined beyond it, silvery-pink and constant, illuminating the shop fronts of a handful of two-story buildings. The post office was easily the finest structure, with sculpted concrete pillars of a Classical design that seemed ostentatious among the simple businesses of Willis. Christmas lights blinked cheerfully in red and green in several windows and the limbs of trees.

Slowing for the blinking cautionary light, silhouettes were visible within a building near the road ("Hank's House," proclaimed the shingle). The shadows of men and women gathered for a nightcap, perhaps, before they joined their families. 

At least they seemed to be patrons; but perhaps that was a trick of the light, to make shadows look like the men and women one would expect. There was no movement to be seen, not in Hank's House, not in the streets, nowhere but for the swaying yellow light. But there, ahead, on the covered sidewalk leading to Hank's, someone was waiting.

Closer …

It was a man, perhaps 50 years old and heavy-jowled in worn denim overalls and a thick fleece coat. He seemed to be waiting; certainly he was not moving. 

Closer…

No fog of breath billowed in the shadows from his opened mouth. His eyes stared, watching, empty, dry, and a strand of ice hung unattended from his mouth. 

Then other men and women could be seen more clearly inside the tavern, sitting at drinks long since gone flat in the cool air or lying on the floor in strange positions, as if caught in the moment of a footstep and then falling in that same pose to the ground. 

Outside, shapes could be seen on the ground; a dog lay on its side, legs stiff and straight. Feathery clumps marked where birds fell in mid-flight to the earth. All were frozen, through and through; all were dead with a cold that would not go away.

Jack Frost had come to town again.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 1 – Welcome to the Village*

Willis was a small farming town in northern Alabama, some sixty miles from Huntsville and its Space Center and the military and aerospace facilities of the Redstone Arsenal. The region was utterly rural, with small towns serving thin-spread farmers among hilly green fields, cotton rows and a few cornrows, dotted here and there with livestock and long, low chicken barns. Uncounted rivers and lakes broke the forested hills, many of them formed only sixty years ago after TVA projects dammed the Tennessee River.

Escorted by hard-eyed, tight-lipped security officers in Air Force uniforms, Hammer and Jim-Bean were driven to a forest overtaken by a government camp. Wide tents were erected, jeeps and Humvees drove by, helicopters hovered noisily overhead, and soldiers were everywhere, all of them crisp, efficient, and quiet. 

They were escorted, firmly but politely, to the largest tent, where they met their ostensible mission leaders. The room was occupied by six suspicious-looking men in expensive overcoats, thirteen scientists and doctors, and a dozen soldiers wearing the maroon beret of US Air Force Rescue and Recovery. Jim-Bean picked out Tucker among Warner’s men –Tucker and Hammer were what passed for diversity in Majestic-12's ranks as the only two black men.

One of the plainclothes agents stood. He was s a middle-aged man, thin and wiry, with black hair, pale skin, cold eyes, and a southern drawl. 

"Welcome to Willis County," he said with a touch of irony. "My name is Alphonse Lewis, Assistant Director of the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency, and I'm in charge of this operation. With me here are Lieutenant Colonel Neal Warner, and Major Louis Sprague." He nodded to a short, graying man in an Air Force uniform, and a tall, hawk-like man with blonde feathered hair in a dark suit. "Lieutenant Colonel Warner is leading the field operation. Major Sprague is in charge of operational security. I expect each of you will listen to them carefully.

"Now," he continued, "you are here to investigate a recent …event…that transpired in Willis County, Alabama, just five miles southeast of here. We don't know exactly what happened; that's why you all are here.”

Hammer and Jim-Bean eyed each other nervously. They knew exactly what happened.  Did Sprague know?  Did he want them to tell their story right away?  

“What do we know, sir?” asked Hammer.

“All we know is that a town of more than eight hundred souls has been killed. Frozen to death, and hardly any of them outside in the cold.”

Encouraged, Hammer became a little bolder. “Do we have any theories?” 

"Most likely, this is the result of experimental weaponry fallen into the wrong hands. The Russians have spent decades on fringe weapons science." One of the Air Force men coughed. Lewis stared coldly at the man for a moment before continuing: "And we've all heard about their problems with security. In any event. You all know your specialties. Now Lieutenant Colonel Warner will take y'all to the site. Good luck to you."


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 2 – Christmas in Dixie*

The town of Willis was comprised mostly of businesses serving area farmers and the houses of those who work there. Highway 9 ran through the middle of town, bisecting it, with the post office and town hall sitting on either side. Other businesses were in walking distance, including the offices of Joe Little, Esq., attorney and tax preparer, the offices of Elizabeth Brown, the town doctor, Ed Loche, the town dentist, a modest used car lot owned by Lester "Less with Les" Cabe, and, of course, Hank's House. A popular restaurant was a greasy barbeque called Hog's Heaven, famous for their iced tea and their special sauce, and the local Winn-Dixie supermarket did moderate business. Houses in the town had wide lawns with sparse green grass and dark dirt, with rusting metal toys and tools easily found in many yards. 

By the time they arrived, the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency had quarantined the town of Willis in an emergency lockdown. 

“What happened?” asked Jim-Bean out of the corner of his mouth.

Hammer had been studying the reports over his cistron. “Near as I can tell, Ithaqua froze more than just the area near Exit 23.  That’s when Sprague and Warner got called in.”

“And their boss, Lewis.”

“Which makes him our boss,” reminded Hammer. 

Jim-Bean shrugged.  

Only a small investigative team of government researchers and intelligence agents was allowed within the quarantined perimeter of Willis County. The team consisted of three distinct units. The operation was commanded by Lt. Colonel Neal Warner, U.S. Air Force Special Operations Command, whose fifty "Blue Beret" troops from Aerospace Recovery were charged with finding and containing debris and biological hazards or other evidence, using equipment ranging from sophisticated radio and radiation sensors to heavy-lift and reconnaissance helicopters; Warner was actually a high-ranking member of the top secret Majestic’s Delta division. 

Operational security was directed by Louis Sprague, listed as a Major in the U.S. Army, Defense Intelligence Agency; Sprague led 24 other dark-suited agents with DIA credentials, all of whom were covertly assigned to the officially-nonexistent Pounce division of the National Reconnaissance Office, the Majestic group's security task force. 

A team of specialists from a variety of fields conducted on-site analysis; some were from other projects of the Majestic group, while others were included only to be fed a cover story by Sprague and Warner that they could deliver credibly to the media and external investigators. 

The Majestic team had an impressive array of materiel at their disposal. The nuclear physicists had bulky testing chambers, trucked into the command post by the BLUE FLY team; the medical team had a field station set up with full biological quarantine capability; the BLUE FLY team and NRO-Delta agents used two reconnaissance helicopters and two heavy transport helicopters, as well as two boats equipped with heavy-hauling equipment and powerful sonar, and several heavy ground vehicles and Humvees. The teams were heavily armed.

“Looks like Major Sprague has been tasked with security for the operation, including physical security for the area and informational security: no information pertaining to the operation is to leave the site except by his or Warner's reports to their superiors.”

It became clear that the rest of the team immediately disliked Sprague's agents as unpleasant necessities. Almost everyone was afraid of them. 

“Let me get this straight: We work for Sprague.  Sprague’s team is in charge of security.  So we can requisition whatever we want?”

Hammer nodded.  “Pretty much.”

“Good,” said Jim-Bean.  “Because I’m requisitioning a flamethrower.” He clicked the request through his cistron.

Lt. Colonel Warner and his men spent most of the day conducting physical examinations of the territory, conducting slow helicopter flyovers of the area and using advanced "sniffers" to measure various energy levels in the ground and foliage in an effort to locate a possible landing or crash site for an alien craft. 

Jim-Bean stopped at the ammunition tent and picked up his flamethrower.  He strapped it on. 

“You know this wasn’t an alien craft,” said Jim-Bean to one of Warner’s soldiers, who provided the weapon.

“Sure it was,” said the soldier.

“It was a big wendigo thing,” said Jim-Bean.  “Ate a bunch of people.  Pass that on to Tucker.”

The soldier rolled his eyes.  “It was an alien weapon.”

“Really?  What kind of weapon?” asked Hammer.

“You’re not cleared for that.”

“Why was it used?”

“You’re not cleared for that.”

“You don’t have the slightest idea why or how either, do you?”

The soldier didn’t say anything. 

Jim-Bean tested the flamethrower’s ignition.  The flames roared.

“Let’s go visit Hog’s Heaven and barbecue something up,” said Jim-Bean to Hammer.  “I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.”


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 3 – The Ghosts Speak*

The investigation wasn’t going well.  Jim-Bean tried to torch organic material in the restaurant, but it was unaffected.  When he set the flamethrower to frozen burger patties, they remained frozen.  

Jim-Bean went to bed hungry.  That’s when he had the dream. 







> Jim-Bean saw bloody snakes across a frozen wooded landscape and writhing in the loins of shrieking women and men, their fangs dripping blood and poison. Glowing mists shimmered and swirl in the vault of an enormous cavern, coalescing into cold green stars. The stars were eyes, great, distant eyes, cold and malevolent and hungry.
> 
> Toward the end, an enormous mound of red earth rose above the trees and the writhing bloody snakes, sucking the stars and shimmering mists into its bulk.



Jim-Bean woke up, sweating and hungry.  And all he could think of was Archive and his bloody finger.

He stepped out of his tent for a smoke…and bumped into Hammer.  

“You can’t sleep either, huh?”

Jim-Bean shook his head.  “This is dumb, we know the answer to what happened here, we should just—“

A plain-looking woman walked up to them.  “Are you Agents Hammer and Jim-Bean?” she sniffed.

“Yeah?” said Hammer.

“I’m Dr. Lisa Howell,” she said.  “I’ve been assigned to your investigation. If we can find the epicenter of the freezing blast…”

Jim-Bean looked her up and down. Howell wore thick glasses to compensate for her nearsightedness.  With stringy blond-brown hair tied into a haphazard ponytail, she wore a physician’s coat over a simple pantsuit.  It was clear she didn’t care a great deal about her looks. 

“We know where it is,”

“How?” Howell adjusted her glasses.  

"Because we were there," said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 4 – The First Night*

Hammer pulled a Humvee around. The base ran round the clock.   

The night air in Willis was wet and as cold as the ice that pierced cloth and flesh. The air billowed in sporadic bursts of painful wind and snow, driving the cold deeper into blood and marrow. The stars shone brilliantly in the indigo canopy overhead; as the storm subsided, Orion stalked at a strange angle among the constellations of winter. 

Hammer pulled up to the remains of the rest stop.  The entire area was cordoned off.  The blackened husk of the donut shop was all that was left.  A blackened crater replaced the gas station.

“There,” said Jim-Bean, pointing to the huge mound of snow the Gnoph-keh had built.  “That’s the epicenter.”

“Really?” Howell tapped her own cistron.  “That idiot Bimmel should have guessed this, but they’re so obsessed with finding an alien craft…”

“So you don’t think it’s an alien craft?” asked Hammer.

“I think the alien craft is probably buried right here,” said Howell.  “I bet we can get a view of the entire area from here.  This probably acted as a sort of antenna…” She began climbing the slope.

Hammer rubbed his forehead.  Sprague’s behavior was starting to make sense: the revocation of Archive’s involvement in cases, the change in focus from cult investigation to alien and terrorist threats.  Majestic-12 was crawling with skeptics who believed in their own brand of the paranormal—the kind that came from the stars.  Any evidence that didn’t fit into that world view was either ignored or justified to fit it.

“Coming?” asked Jim-Bean. 

Hammer shook his head.  “No thanks.  I’ll stay in the car where it’s warm.”

Jim-Bean followed Howell up the slope.  He looked around after the long climb.

“Wow, you’re right,” he said.  “It is a beautiful view.”  Jim-Bean took out a cigarette and lit it.

He tried to spark the lighter several times with no luck.

Howell brought a mini-acetylene torch to Jim-Bean’s cigarette and lit it for him.

Jim-Bean grinned at her.  “You know with a pixie haircut and a bit of makeup you wouldn’t be half--” 

He was cut off by a terrible howling: it wavered across the earth from some point unutterably far above, deeper and more mournful than the wind or any animal of the wild, undulating slowly over endless minutes. 

A moment of silence gripped the air, and then the howling begins again, filling the night. The air grew colder, achingly cold. 

“Look!” shouted Howell.

Over the nearby Crow Lake overnight, hypnotic, shimmering lights appeared among the painfully frigid winds overhead. Within the drifting pastel lights black eyes stared, boundless, mournful, inhuman, hungry. 

A paroxysm of terrible cold engulfed Howell and Jim-Bean, suddenly enmeshing in a thin and wispy layer of snowy ice. 

Howell collapsed, shivering.  Her skin cracked and she collapsed.  “I can’t see!” she shrieked through chapped lips.

Jim-Bean, also covered in ice, shook free from the effect and flakes of skin and ice shed from him like dandruff. 

Howell, curled in a ball, starting shivering uncontrollably.  

“Easy,” said Jim-Bean, quickly recovering.  He hugged Howell to him, trying to keep her warm.  “Hammer!  Get up here!”


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 5 – The Howl of Sirens*

Jim-Bean and Hammer dropped Howell off at the base.  They scarcely arrived before the howl of the emergency sirens went off.  Sprague summoned them to his tent.

“Fifteen minutes ago, one of the reconnaissance helicopters crashed while attempting to return to the base, probably due to the weather conditions.”

Jim-Bean and Hammer exchanged glances.  They knew what caused the crash.

“We’re having the chopper defrosted now.  I want you to go out there and find out what happened.”

“We know what happened,” interrupted Jim-Bean.

Sprague crossed his arms.  “You can give me your report when you get back.  Tucker is running circles around us and I want you two to get the jump on him before he gets there. ”

“But sir—“ began Hammer.

“NOW,” said Sprague, brooking no argument. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean joined a chopper pilot at the recently defrosted helicopter.  It was already gearing up for takeoff when they arrived. 

Jim-Bean donned noise canceling headphones. “Does anyone else think it’s a bad idea to use one helicopter in bad weather to find another helicopter in bad weather?”.

“Don’t worry!” shouted the pilot. “The designer probably wouldn’t be pleased with this method of flight prep, the helicopter’s advanced construction makes it able to withstand the stresses of freezes and thaws. Once airborne and powered up, the heating elements incorporated into the helicopter will be adequate to keep the ice formation down to a minimum.”

“That makes me feel much better,” said Jim-Bean. 

The chopper took off.  It occurred to Hammer after they left that they had the only remaining reconnaissance helicopter.  Tucker and his men would have to commandeer one of the transport helicopters or look for the down chopper by Humvee.  Sprague had given them a jump on the competition.

“There!” shouted Hammer. 

The missing reconnaissance helicopter was partially buried in snow. It seemed to have suffered little damage, although it is was laying on its side and its rotor was smashed. All of the helicopter’s doors were open, but no bodies were visible from the air.

“Can you set us down?”

The pilot shook his head.  “It’s too dangerous!  The tree line is so close…”

“Zip lines,” said Jim-Bean to Hammer with a grin. “Like the good old days.”

They rappelled down to the frozen ground.   Jim-Bean shrugged on the flamethrower pack and lit it. The chopper took off. 

“You’re seriously going to walk around with that thing on your back?” asked Hammer.

“We’re dealing with snow beasts,” said Jim-Bean.  “You’ll thank me later.”

Hammer inspected the crash site. “The landing wasn’t too bad,” he said.  “The crew should have survived.” Around the helicopter were thick drifts of snow.

Jim-Bean bent down to peer at a metallic object lying in the snow. “Look at this.”

It was nine millimeter automatic pistol with four shell casings scattered on the ice. 

They crept up to the helicopter, pistols out. It was abandoned, with snow already beginning to collect through the open doors.

“Hammer,” said Jim-Bean.  He pointed at one of the drifts behind the helicopter.

A body was partially concealed, boots sticking out of the snow. 

“Hello?” asked Hammer.

The body twitched. 

Hammer walked over to the body.  “Hello?  You okay?”  He brushed the snow off the body.

It was one of Warner’s men.  His name tag identified him as Lieutenant Daniel Jones.

“Jim-Bean, I think—“

The corpse cracked to life as it sat straight up, moaning.

“DUCK!” shouted Jim-Bean.

Hammer flattened himself to the ground.  Jim-Bean let loose with the flamethrower.

The blast of fire staggered the frozen corpse.  It slowly rose to its feet.

Hammer rolled away and came up with his Glocks out.  Jim-Bean stumbled as frozen hands grabbed for his ankles.

“What the hell?” The blast of flame went wide.

Another frozen corpse, a female scientist, lumbered out of the snow.  Her nametag identified her as Dr. Rachel Tsung.

Hammer took careful aim and unleashed both clips into her head. 

The corpse moaned and turned to face him, the shattered remains of her head chipping away. Hammer backed up and started to reload.

Jim-Bean recovered.  He torched the hell out of Jones.  This time the body went down, almost completely incinerated.

Tsung turned to face Jim-Bean.  At point blank range, he turned the gout of flame on the corpse’s torso.  It went silently down, melting into a puddle of burnt flesh and water.

Jim-Bean was still panting from the exertion.  “Told you…” he said to Hammer, “you’d thank me later…”


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 6 – Quarantine*

This time they had Sprague’s attention.

“The source of the cold was the arrival of this big ice demon known as Ithaqua.  He’s summoned with THIS.”  Jim-Bean held up the cracked Eye of Ithaqua, which was now frozen and dark. Archive had snuck it to him before being dragged off the site.

“That’s…a snow globe, you realize that?” asked Sprague.

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean.  “But it’s something else too.  Some kind of artifact. And we think this demon guy is what is animating the zombies,” said Jim-Bean.  “Ice zombies.”

Sprague crossed his arms.  “Oh really.  And you have evidence of this?”

“Errr…” Jim-Bean looked helplessly at Hammer.  “Well, we torched them.”

“You torched them?  You burnt the evidence?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Sprague leaned forward.  “Now you listen to me.  This is a scientific organization that runs by a certain set of principles.  That mumbo-jumbo $#!t went out with Drake.  I don’t want to ever hear the Z word from you boys again.  You see something moving, you CATCH it and you bring it back here.  Tucker’s already got reams of evidence in town—“

“Can we see it?”

“He’s not sharing it with me,” snarled Sprague.  “And so far all I’ve got is one scientist in the ER and you two talking about some kind of big ass ice demon—“

“And zombies,” added Jim-Bean.

“And zombies,” Sprague said slowly.  “You want to find reanimated tissue? Fine.  Order some cages.  But don’t bother me with this piddly crap.  We’ve got to up our game, gentlemen, before we get edged out of it.  After tonight’s trouble, orders came down to seal the perimeter: Nobody goes in, nothing comes out.”

Soldiers in thick, warm camouflage were posted every fifty yards around the perimeter, supported by thermal imagers and sound-based motion sensors, with orders to shoot to kill anything that tried to escape.

“Now the boys are going to do their best to patch Howell up.  She should be ready to go tomorrow. In the mean time, get some rest.  And for God’s sake find me some actual evidence!  Dismissed!”

Hammer was tapping on his cistron as he walked out of Sprague’s tent.

“What are you requisitioning now?”

“A cage,” said Hammer.  “And bear traps.”

Jim-Bean nodded. “Then I’m requisitioning thermite grenades.”

“For the bears?”

“Right.  For the bears.”


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 7 – Dreams of Sacrifice*



> Jim-Bean was part of a Creek tribe, one tribe of a far-flung people who lived and thrived throughout the woods and hills and rivers of the land. It was winter, and the tribe was worried.
> 
> People had begun to disappear. First it was thought to be but a normal part of the cold winter, but five people had vanished, and the cold nights were sometimes filled with a terrible sound, a howling like the most mournful of spirits, lost in the stars; and when that howling was loudest, some people were filled with a terrible hunger for the flesh of the dead.
> 
> The old shamans told stories of the wendigo, a giant spirit who could appear in any form, a winter spirit that hungered for human flesh. The shamans knew a way to drive off the wendigo, but it was a terrible way, a way they learned from an old and hated tribe long ago.
> 
> Jim-Bean was taken by the shamans to save his people. The shamans led him up the red earth of Blood Hill, and he lay in a stony place atop the hill. The shamans then climbed down the hill again, and from a distance they prayed, singing songs with unknown words until the night deepened and the stars gleamed in the cold black sky overhead.
> 
> Then the cold grew deeper. The gleaming stars turned from white to blue, then purple, then yellow, shifting in pastel hues and swirling, melding, knitting a beautiful mist of cold colors. The mist filled the sky.
> 
> Then came the howling, deeper, louder, filling not the sky but the soul, and black eyes peer forth from the glowing mist.
> 
> The shamans' song had stopped. Jim-Bean was cold, so cold, and he knew the wendigo by its terrible obsidian eyes, and the wendigo looked upon him with hunger.



Jim-Bean awoke in the throes of adrenaline reaction, the "fight or flight" reflex of a physical threat.  He was also hungry. 

He paged Hammer over his cistron.  “Hammer.  HAMMER!  You awake?”

There was a grunt on the other side.  “I am now.”

“I think we should investigate the lake.”

“What lake?  Crow Lake?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I’ve had a weird dream.  About Indians.”

“I miss Blade too.”

“Who?”

“Blade?  Our deceased teammate, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Hammer sighed on the other end.  “I’ll get Howell.”


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 8 – Examining the Lake*

The most immediately striking feature of Crow Lake was the presence of the Crow Lake Mounds, just off-shore. These five mounds were arranged in a pentagram, each of them about twelve feet tall and thirty feet in diameter, covered in the same thick, rough grass as the rest of the ground nearby. 

Howell pushed her glasses up her nose.  Her skin was red and raw from the flash-freezing she suffered, but she had recovered well. “Fascinating.”  She tapped some keys on her cistron.  

“Indian mounds,” said Jim-Bean.

Howell shook her head. “According to newspaper reports, these mounds were built in the twentieth century, by Hiram Bates. Bates claimed he felt the touch of the "spirits" of the Shrine. He became fixated on the notion that by building a mound would somehow placate the ghosts or spirits that haunted him. When the dreams did not cease after he built the first mound, he went to work on the next one. When five mounds were built, he lost all hope; there’s a brief news report of his suicide.”

“I thought they did an aerial survey of the Lake already?” asked Hammer.

“Bimmel’s team?” Howell snorted.  “Aerial surveys noted the pentagonal arrangement of the mounds, indicating intelligent construction, but they’re not interested in archaeology. Bimmel’s too busy taking broad surveys of the area and examining the corpses.”

“Got any equipment in the Humvee we can use to explore the lake?” asked Jim-Bean.

Howell nodded.  “I have a fish finder.  It’s not much, but when you told me to stow equipment to explore the lake I thought it might come in handy. I also brought along a submersible camera…”

“We’re going to have to go out on the ice,” said Hammer with a frown.

“I brought an ice tent and drill,” said Howell. “And two wet suits.”

“Good girl,” said Jim-Bean.

Howell blushed.  “I’ll go get the equipment.”

They propped up the tent and drilled a hole in the frozen lake.  The sonar detector revealed that the Lake was surprisingly deep, nearly seventy feet in some places, except for one obvious, anomalous, feature: near the shore, close to the five mounds, the lake floor rose steeply to a wide hill, some fifty feet tall and two hundred feet across. The water was only twenty feet deep over the hill; and, buried less than ten feet from its top, was a large, twisted conglomeration of metal and crystal. 

Howell dropped the remote camera into the hole.  The metal structure at the top of the hill had an odd spherical opening to it.  Two hand indentations were on the opening.

“Looks like a way in,” said Jim-Bean.  He started gearing up the wetsuit. “Coming?”

Hammer shook his head.  “Oh no.  Black men don’t swim.”

“What?” Jim-Bean snapped the diving goggles on.  “Seriously?  I could use your help.”

“There’s no reason for two of us to go down there,” said Hammer.  “Seriously.”

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  He tucked the thermite grenades into a waterproof satchel, strapped his pistol and knife to one leg, and pulled the breathing mask over his mouth.  Then he dropped into the hole.

Jim-Bean put his hands on the indentations.  They weren’t human hands – there were two few fingers in each indentation.  

“This is Sprague,” came Sprague’s voice over their comms.  “Tucker’s en route to your location.”

“Great,” said Jim-Bean. He twisted the two handholds and the lid shrieked open.  Inside was an air bubble.

“Looks like there’s air in here!” said Jim-Bean.  “Come on down!”

“I’m not going down there,” said Hammer.  “You’re doing just fine.”

“Be careful Jim-Bean!” said Howell.

“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure Hammer will be forced to come after me once the screaming starts…” Then Jim-Bean plunged into the stale air.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 9 – The Temple*

The dome was constructed of a strange conjunction of metals and crystalline shapes. Gold and electrum was wrapped among another metal. The metals were twisted and fashioned with great precision, delicate yet unpleasant, around contorted crystalline shapes of no known mineral.  The shrine depicted no specific shape or symbol, though there was no question that it was fashioned with some unknown meaning.

Jim-Bean took his breathing mask, goggles, and flippers off.  He kept the flashlight on his head.  The underwater camera hovered just outside the air bubble.

The temple structure was clearly of alien manufacture. While the structure was not offensive to the human eye, there was something vaguely off about it, something that indicated on a subconscious level it was not a work of man. In the center of the temple was the altar. Ominously, the altar in the center of the dome was most suggestive of a dentist's chair. 

The interior has an odd smell to it.  There was a pile of skulls and bones collected in one side of the temple.  

Jim-Bean crept over to the bones.  He snapped a flare and dropped it by the bones.

“I don’t know what these are,” he said over the comm., “but they don’t look human.”  He picked some of them up and put them in an evidence bag.  Then he made his way over to the altar. 

Static answered him.  Signals weren’t going in or out of the temple. “Great,” said Jim-Bean to nobody.

The altar was coated in frozen blood.  It had two odd protrusions. The side of the altar is covered with strange designs and script.  Jim-Bean snapped another flare and dropped it by the altar.

Something was pulsing in his bag.  Jim-Bean pulled out the Eye of Ithaqua.  

It was thrumming, like a heartbeat.  He peered closer at the altar.  Small, metal-like hairs swayed all along the inside of the indentations.  They danced to the rhythm of the Eye’s pulsing. 

A strange whispering surrounded him. A figure flashed by on the edge of the flickering light of the flares.

Jim-Bean brought up his pistol. “Who’s there?”

More whispering.  The whispering echoed off the walls of the chamber.  It threatened to drive him mad.

Out of the darkness came Hodges, emaciated and frozen, an elongated husk of a corpse with hollow eyes, a long trailing tongue, and burnt stubs for feet.  He floated a few feet above the floor of the temple. 

“YOU WILL MAKE A GRAND SACRIFICE,” whispered Hodges’ rasp.  “GIVE ME THE EYE.”

Jim-Bean lowered his pistol as his posture sagged in protest.  “Not this again.  Fine.  You want it…” He shrugged off his duffel bag and shoved the Eye into it.  “Go get it!”

Jim-Bean threw the duffel bag into the air and dove for the opening.

Hodges shrieked in rage, rushing forward to catch the bag.

Jim-Bean reached through the water and yanked the underwater camera into the air.  “Hammer, it’s Hodges!  He’s down here!”

Then the thermite grenades went off.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 10 – Tuckered Out*

Tucker stepped into the tent.  

“Well, well, well.  Where’s your playmate?” He asked Hammer, ignoring Howell.

“Down there,” said Jim-Bean.  “He’s investigating a shrine.”

“A shrine?”  Six other armed men were stationed outside the tent.  Tucker was already wearing a wet suit.  The other men were still gearing up.  “A shrine to what?”

“Ithaqua,” said Hammer.  “He’s bad news. I’d be careful out there, we set some bear traps out too.”

“Bear traps?  Out here on the ice?”

Hammer shrugged.  “You never know.”

“Yeah, right. What did you find down--”  

Jim-Bean’s voice shrieked over the comm. “Hammer, it’s Hodges!  He’s down here!”

The ice shuddered beneath them, nearly knocking Tucker off balance.  “What the hell?”

“Oh that can’t be good,” said Hammer.

Tucker ordered two of his men into the tent.  “You and you.  Keep an eye on these two.  If they try to do something stupid, you have orders to shoot. Understood?”

Both men saluted.  “Yes sir!”

“I’m going in to investigate this myself. “ He stepped out of the tent.  “You four, you’re with me. Let’s go.”

They dove into the water and entered through the opening into the temple.

Jim-Bean was backed against one wall, coughing.  He managed to get his breathing mask to his face.

The explosion had sucked the air out of the room.  The air in the temple was replaced with dangerous carbon monoxide.   With comms not working, they had to shout through their masks. 

“Hammer!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “There’s something with the altar.  It’s got some kind of…” his words were muffled by the mask, “…sit in it!”

Tucker’s eyes narrowed.  “Good try.” He shouted back through his own mask.  “What is that pulsing in your hand?”

Jim-Bean looked down at the Eye of Ithaqua.  He had tricked Hodges into going for the grenades instead.  He didn’t respond, but just tapped his ear as if he couldn’t understand.

Frustrated, Tucker flopped his way over to the altar, peering at it.  Burning ashes were sprinkled all over it.  “It’d be just like you to try to lure me into a trap.”

“What?” shouted Jim-Bean through his breathing mask, backing away.

“I said,” said Tucker, turning to face him, “it’d be just like you to try to lure me into a tr—AAGGGH!” Copper-looking filaments speared outwards from the chair, wrapping around his arms and legs.

The other men immediately went for their knives, ignoring Jim-Bean.  They started hacking at the filaments, but they were incredibly solid.

“Jesus!” Jim-Bean backed towards the entrance.  He had hoped to distract Tucker, not feed him to the damn altar.

The entire temple shuddered like a bell. Jim-Bean dove through the opening just as it lensed shut, sealing Tucker and his men inside.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 11 – Cracked*

The shuddering of the temple below sent shockwaves through the ice.  The whole tent shook from the violence of the vibration.

Hammer reached for his pistols.  One of the guards held his own pistol up.  "Don't even think about it."

Hammer slowly but his hands back up.  "I think we have bigger problems." The ground was trembling.  

Between the guard's legs, a hairline crack traced its way towards Howell.  The guard didn't notice.

There was a horrendous crunch as the shockwave shattered the ice, sending one piece of ice higher along the fracture.  The guard yelped as he slid backwards as the tent started to slide into the freezing water.  

Hammer grabbed Howell and lifted her up, settling her on a more stable piece of ice on the opposite side of the crack.  He hopped the widening distance.

The first guard scrambled at the edge of the ice, trying to maintain his grip.  Then the tent slammed into him and he went under, disappearing beneath the churning surf.

The second guard, seeing the rift cracking towards him, turned and ran.  He was making good headway when he suddenly fell screaming to the snap of metal jaws.  Red splotches of blood and flesh were everywhere.

The guard clawed at his leg, bent at a horrible angle from the jaws of the bear trap.  He screamed as the piece of ice he was on pitched forward, helpless to save himself.  His scream was cut off as the ice flipped over and slammed his head beneath the freezing water.

"It's a shockwave!" shouted Howell over the ringing.  "See how the ice is cracking in circles?"

Hammer didn't have time to confirm her theory.  Their own patch of ice was becoming dangerously unstable.  

"Go! GO!" Pushing Howell ahead of him, he turned and started running.  

The cracking expanded in great furrows around them.  Larger cracks appeared in concentric circles around the center of the lake, and smaller hairline cracks branched between them.  Hammer hurled Howell across a widening gap, and then jumped…

He scrabbled onto the edge, almost losing his grip.  Clambering to his feet, the ringing still in his ears from the temple below the water, Hammer saw that they were almost home free.  The concentric cracks stopped closer to the edge of the lake.  

Hammer kept jogging.  They were going to make it.  He could only hope Jim-Bean was able to swim his way out of this mess—

The ice cracked beneath him and his feet gave way.

The water was so cold, so hungry for his body heat that it felt as if he had been set on fire.  He instantly lost all feeling in his lower extremities, replace by a burning sensation that encompassed all of his lower torso.  It was as if he had no legs, just the pain of a thousand needles piercing his flesh.  

Hammer could only let out a gasp.  Howell spun around and, quickly taking stock of his dire situation, flattened to the ground. She grabbed Hammer by his jacket and started pulling.

Hammer tried to help. But he was shivering uncontrollably.  He didn't even dare say anything, because he was afraid he would bite off his tongue.  He kept reflexively trying to curl into a ball, but that made things worse, because he needed his legs straight to get out of the hole.

Howell grunted in exertion as she dragged Hammer out of the water a couple of inches.  He slipped back again.

"This isn't going to work." Shaking her head, she got a firm grip on both of Hammer's shoulders.  "We have to wait.

Wait?  Hammer couldn't say anything, but he imagined his eyes conveyed his desperation.  Wait for what?

There was another reverberation and the ice around Hammer cracked.  With a yell, Howell used the opportunity to pull him forward with all her might.  The big man flopped onto the ice and slid to the shore.

Howell joined him a few seconds afterward.  She threw her coat over him and hugged him close to try to keep him from going into shock with her meager body heat.

Jim-Bean flopped out of the water a few minutes later.  Dumping the flippers, he didn't even bother to peel off his wetsuit.  

Howell got up.  "Keep him warm.  I'll drive."

Jim-Bean looked back and forth between Hammer and Howell, stunned by the transformation that seemed to have overcome her in a crisis.  

Then he caught sight of the night sky.

The pastel aurora faded as a massive, impossible figure swayed overhead in the snow-stained black air, silhouetted against the hard and distant stars. It had to be hundreds of feet tall.  

A gigantic talon-like claw clenched. Snow gathered wispily around the air, pushed ahead of the massive splayed feet of the Wind-Walker and billowing in his endless horrid howl.

Jim-Bean shoved Hammer into the Humvee.  "Drive!" he shouted to Howell. "Drive!"


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 12 – Ahead of the Pack*

One of the reconnaissance helicopters caught sight of Ithaqua's form more clearly in a cloud of ice and snow. His boundless black eyes were filled with stars, his face, inhuman but grotesquely reminiscent of humanity, twisted in savagery and misery, all before a gust of wind rose like a destructive wall and flung the puny aircraft like toys out of the sky. 

"Drive!" shouted Jim-Bean from the back seat.

"I am!" Howell shouted back.  But she didn't see what Jim-Bean saw loping out of the forest. 

The howling reached a terrible crescendo, deafening, before the wind lifted, rising upward as if from the earth into the sky, drawing leaves and dead brown pine straws and flakes of ice with it.

Still half-frozen, wild-eyed and crusted with frozen saliva and blood, wild dogs, cats, house pets, and deer stumbled toward the nearest living things for the warmth of their meat and blood. 

A pack of starved wolves, frozen to death where they fell in the forest, kept pace with the Humvee.  Howell was still driving through rough terrain, struggling to avoid rocks, snow banks, and trees.  Two of the wolves scrabbled onto the Humvee. One smashed its ice-hard snout right through the window.

Hammer, still shivering, put his Glocks to the gnashing jaws and fired.  The wolf yelped, ice chipping off of its snout, but it lurched forward, struggling with its forepaws to get into the Humvee.

Hammer unloaded the entire pistol into the wolf-thing's face.  It shattered into chunks, and the headless body flopped off the side of the Humvee.

"There were two…" said Jim-Bean.

With a terrible wrenching sound, wolf jaws tore through the top of the Humvee.  Hammer turned his remaining pistol on the wolf's jaws.  It bit down over his pistol.

"Guys!" shouted Howell.

He held the trigger down.  Crusted blood and ice erupted in a shower through the hole.  The wolf's body thumped its way along the top of the vehicle and off it.

"GUYS!"

Jim-Bean leaned forward to look at what Howell was screaming about.  A huge bear rose up in the Humvee’s headlights, its body encrusted with ice and snow, roaring.

Howell jerked the wheel hard and the Humvee skidded sideways.  The side of the Humvee slammed into the bear.

Gripping the sides of the vehicle with both paws, it roared, jaws tearing through the opening that the wolf had made.

"Thermite!" shouted Jim-Bean.  "You took one of my grenades before, right?"

Hammer nodded.  He fumbled in his pockets, trying to pull one of the two grenades out. The whole Humvee was threatening to shake apart from the bear's attack.  Howell screamed.

The drooling jaws came closer.  Hammer got one out, but dropped it out the window as the bear shook the Humvee violently.  He grabbed for the second grenade and this time shoved into the bear’s open mouth.  Teeth clamped down.

Hammer pulled the pin.

The bear let go of the Humvee and it lurched back onto all four wheels.  It clawed helplessly at its mouth, eyes rolling.

The grenade's effect was instantaneous.  The head of the bear was incinerated.  The headless form slouched to the ground as Howell drove away.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 13 – Purgatory*

"Sector Nine, report!"  

The voice of the captain on their cistrons was desperate.  "Report!"

"We've got multiple hostiles, sir!" Gunfire crackled over the comm. "They're everywhere.  The corpses from the locker room just got up…"

There was more gunfire and screams.  "Fall back, fall back!"

Desperate commands and garbled pleas for new orders went back and forth across the comm. as Howell drove into Willis.  

Lurching, frozen forms milled about, hungry for warm flesh.  She kicked the vehicle into reverse, turning back into the forest to avoid the hungry mob.

"BLUE FLY command," shouted Lewis into the comm., his voice cracking and frantic: "JERICHO! PURGATORY! PURGATORY PURGATORY PURGATORY! God help us all!"

"Oh no," said Howell.  

"What?" asked Jim-Bean.  "What now?"

"JERICHO is a codeword that will scramble four stealth bombers in the MJ base at Redstone Arsenal near Huntsville, vehicles enhanced with alien-derived stealth equipment and loaded with advanced firepower," said Howell.  "The second half of the command is PURGATORY, which will order the gunships to cleanse the area of every living thing. We're screwed."

"Then drive us out of here!"

Howell shook her head.  She pulled the Humvee to a stop in the woods, letting it idle.  "No good.  We'll never get out of range of the gunships in time. They use a battery of energy weapons, not conventional projectiles: an electromagnetic pulse cannon can disable power sources and communications; alternating-phase particle beam lasers can punch through intervening clouds or smoke and destroy hard targets or vehicles; sonics can take out personnel; very low-frequency sonic generators can rupture soft tissue and MASER beams cook objects across a tremendous area of effect."

The forest suddenly went silent.  Every living thing cringed as a strange energy field passed over the area, gripped by sudden anxiety. 

"That's the Jericho jets," said Howell grimly.  "The Grey technology that powers the stealth bombers emits energy fields with a range of about a half mile. They're here."

The forest crunched overhead.  Jim-Bean caught sight of a huge claw tearing through the trees.  "GO!  GO!"

Howell gunned the Humvee.   "Is that thing CHASING us?" 

Jim-Bean looked down at the Eye of Ithaqua, glowing in his bag.  "I think we're a threat…"

"A threat?  That lava lamp is a threat?"

"This is JERICHO ONE, target acquired," said one of the pilot's voices over the comm.  

"JERICHO TWO—tzshhhhhhhhhhhrk—we are experiencing RADAR interference.  Unable to lock on target—"

"JERICHO THREE, closing to visual range."

The trees above them were uprooted as Ithaqua swept a huge claw in their direction.  The huge black pits for eyes stared down at them, filled with rage.

The jets, invisible high up in the sky, suddenly appeared around Ithaqua.  For a moment the Great Old One was distracted.  It turned to swat at one of the jets as it roared past.

There was a high-pitched whine in the air as holes appeared in Ithaqua's face and shoulders.  With a roar, it lashed out at the jets.

"Yes!" shouted Howell.  "They're using the MASERs!  That should warm things up!"

"JERICHO FOUR, we—tshzzzzzk—losing altitude!  Total systems collapse! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!"

One jet exploded into flames as Ithaqua connected.  The swirling winds and snow, along with the extradimensional energies of the Wind-Walker shorted out complex circuitry at a quantum level.  Another jet spiraled to the earth, pluming trails of smoke and fire.

Howell drove erratically, trying to get as far away from the thing as she could, but Ithaqua's size was such that it seemed like they never gained any ground.  

Jim-Bean caught sight of one of the Jericho jets.  The pilot had ejected and was floating down to earth, jerked here and there by the shrieking wind. The jet was flying right towards them. 

"Oh $#!T," was all he got out.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 14 – 'Thaquafield*

Howell pulled the wheel hard just as the jet impacted ahead of them.  The shockwave from the explosion tore up trees and earth.  For a second the Humvee was airborne as it flipped over and over on its side. It finally stopped rolling.  

They struggled out of the Humvee.  The forest was burnt all around them, but the incredible cold kept the fire from spreading very far.  

Jim-Bean helped Hammer to his feet.  Howell was unconscious.  He pulled her out of the Humvee.

Hammer looked up.  "Look!"

"I know," said Jim-Bean.  "They don't have a chance."

The Jericho jets circled Ithaqua, firing again and again, but it seemed to only enrage the thing.  

"No, there!" Hammer pointed to the colorful parachute of the downed pilot.  He was hanging just above ground level.

They ran over to him.

The pilot was flash-frozen from Ithaqua's presence.  His lips were moving slightly.

"What's he saying?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Fingerprints…" said Hammer, listening closely.  The pilot lifted one finger and pointed at the location of his crashed jet.  He looked into the pilot's eyes and nodded.  He knew what he had to do.

"We have to cut him down," said Jim-Bean.

"No time."  Hammer drew a knife from its holster around his ankle. "He's a dead man."  

"Wait, what are you doing?" 

Hammer hacked into the pilot's wrist, just below his open palm.  It snapped off easily with minimal blood loss.  The pilot's eyes fluttered and then stayed closed.

"He said fingerprints."  Hammer took off at a run.  An explosion overhead indicated another Jericho jet had gone down.  "These jets must use biometrics."

He ran over to the jet, which was still smoldering, belly up.  A strange multi-pronged weapon that looked like a toy ray gun jutted from its undercarriage.  

Hammer put the frozen hand to a flat panel.  "Access granted," husked a pleasant-sounding female voice.

Outside, the last Jericho jet went down in flames.  Ithaqua turned back towards them.

Inside, the pilot's cockpit was undamaged.  A womb of glowing green panels surrounded the vacant spot where the pilot once sat.

"Target acquired," husked the voice.  Several targeting points appeared on the huge form of Ithaqua. "Awaiting permission to fire."  

On the view screen, the awful expression twisted in fury as it realized what was happening. A claw reached out for them…

Hammer slapped the frozen hand on another panel near what looked like a weapons array.   "FIRE, BITCH!"

The effect was instantaneous.  A "WOOM-WOOM-WOOM" sound shook the craft as incredible heat pulsed from the weapon on the undercarriage.  The beam sheared towards Ithaqua’s face, incinerating one of its hands as it lifted it to ward off the attack.  The huge claw burst into a puff of mist.

Ithaqua's scream nearly deafened them.

Outside, Jim-Bean ran over to Howell and slapped her awake.  "Wake up!" He shouted.  "We need your help!"

Howell's eyes fluttered open.  She smiled up at him.  "Hi…"  Her expression darkened when she looked past him. "Oh no."

Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder.  All around them were frozen corpses filing out of the forest with a burning hunger in their eyes.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Part 15 – Walls of Jericho*

Hammer crawled out of the Jericho jet, pistols at the ready.  Despite his hypothermia, despite the car crash, despite everything, he was ready to go down fighting….

Until he cleared the lip of the crash site and saw how many of the frozen corpses there were.  It had to be almost a thousand, with some of Warner's soldiers amongst their ranks.

Hammer lowered his pistols and waited.

Ithaqua turned his terrible gaze upon them.  Rearing back for a final strike, his frozen children watched silently.

Jim-Bean grabbed the Eye of Ithaqua and held it aloft.  In a sudden moment of clarity he remembered his dream, what the shaman had said:

"Ia! Ia! Ia!—Ai! Ai!—Hgu!"

Ithaqua paused.  Something wasn't right.  Out on Crow Lake, the water bubbled. 

"Ithaqua fhtgan!"

The huge monstrosity clutched its eye as a beam of red light began to pulse out of it, matching the rhythm of the artifact in Jim-Bean's outstretched hand. 

Blasting out of the ice and water was the cylinder where Tucker was trapped.  It slowly opened to the night air. 

"Ce-fyak vulg-t'uhm—"

A great moan went up from the hundreds of cold corpses around them.  They too, clutched their faces.

Tucker was wrapped in wiring that ran the length of his body.  Wires held his eyes open wide.  He strained feebly at his bonds in the face of the horrible sight of Ithaqua.

"Ia! Ia! Ia!--Ithaqua!" shouted Jim-Bean.  Beams of light sheared from the Eye of Ithaqua, firing towards the mounds.  

Each of the mounds reflected the beam to another mound, until they created a full circle.  Then all of the mounds sizzled towards where Tucker was strapped to the altar.

"Ai! Ai!--Ithaqua! Ithaqua!"

All sounds ceased for a heart-stopping second.  Then a beam as bright as the sun sheared towards Ithaqua's head from the mound holding Tucker, engulfing him.  

In a burst of thunder and ice, the entire form of Ithaqua collapsed into icicles.  The Eye of Ithaqua crumbled to powder in Jim-Bean's palm.

"Back into the jet!" shouted Hammer.

Small icicles sheared through corpses and trees.  One by one the dead bodies collapsed.  One huge icicle the size of a bus speared through the Humvee.

They dove inside and closed the door.  The palm was still on the panel.  

"It doesn't matter," said Howell.  "They'll send more jets…"

"Then we have to convince them to stop," said Hammer. "Open comms," he shouted at the onboard computer. 

"Secure channel open," replied the voice.

Jim-Bean leaned forward. "This is Agents Jim-Bean and Hammer!  Target eliminated.  Repeat, TARGET ELIMINATED."

There was nothing but static on the other line.

"I repeat, TARGET ELIMINATED.  ALL HOSTILES have been destroyed. The perimeter has NOT been breached.  Quarantine contained!  Repeat, TARGET ELIMINATED…"

Jim-Bean's voice was hoarse from all the screaming. He sat back, listening.

"This is Major Sprague.  How did you get on this channel?"

"We are in a downed Jericho, sir," said Jim-Bean.  The roar of a jet engine rumbled overhead.  "All…" he hesitated, "zombies have been—"

"You saying there are NO reanimated hostiles left?" said Sprague.

"No…reanimated hostiles left, sir," said Jim-Bean weakly.

More static.  Lewis' voice came a few seconds later. 

"PURGATORY cancelled."

With a cheer, Howell grabbed Jim-Bean and kissed him on the lips.


----------



## talien

*Jack Frost: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean, Hammer, and Howell were seated before an impromptu inquisition, in Lewis' tent.  Sprague sat on one side, Warner on the other.

"Let me get this straight," said Sprague.  "You believe an alien civilization visited this area a millennia ago and set up a—"

"Resonance field," said Jim-Bean.  Howell had him well rehearsed.  "Using the five mounds—"

Sprague looked down at his notes.  "Using the five mounds to create a harmonic vibration that destroyed the Russian device?"

"Well it all starts with Ithaqua.  Philip Hodges summoned him out at Exit 23.  We stopped him by cracking the Eye of Ithaqua—"

Sprague rubbed his forehead.  "Not this demon $#!t again.  I thought I told you about backing your findings up with real science."  He turned to Lewis, embarrassed.  "I'm sorry sir, there's clearly a misunderstanding—"

"If I may, sir?" Howell stepped forward.  "We believe the Russian Informatsionno-Psikhologicheskoye Division produced a flying holographic bomb, capable of inducing hallucinations in humans and animals.  This series of holographic patterns is so powerful as to cause the body to involuntarily shut down, causing instant hypothermia.  In conjunction with electromagnetic interference, this would account for why the Jericho jets were brought down. It was also responsible for the bizarre weather patterns."

"There's nothing on God's green earth that could penetrate the shielding of those jets," said Warner.  "And you want us to believe the Russians just invented something that got around it?"

"Depending on the nature of the attack, the weapon might not need to get around it, sir," said Howell without skipping a beat.  "A pilot would only need to see the hologram to be affected by it and believe his jet was going down..."

"Putin's boys are better than we thought," muttered Lewis.

"So the pilots crash their own jets," said Sprague, starting to buy into the argument.  "And they're all raving about zombies, giant demons, and God knows what else."

"That's our theory anyway, sir."

Warner looked back at his notes.  "According to Dr. Bimmel, the frozen organic material wasn't thawing until the Russian weapon was neutralized.  He cited quantum mechanics.  How do you explain that?"

Howell spread her hands.  "We don't have an explanation, sir.  Given that the corpses did eventually thaw," she sneered, "perhaps Dr. Bimmel's findings were inaccurate."

“And the…reanimated tissue?” asked Lewis.

“We believe the holographic weapon was capable of putting certain beings into hibernation until called, whereupon they were awoken by subsonic vibrations.”

"Agent Jim-Bean," said Warner, changing tactics.  "There was evidence that Agent Tucker was used as a trigger for the alien countermeasures."

"Yes sir."  Jim-Bean handed over a bag full of the bones he had collected.  "We believe these are bones from the aliens discovered in the Temple.  It was powered by bioenergetics and thus required a single focal point to be powered on. That focal point was Agent Tucker."

"And would you saw Agent Tucker should be accorded full honors as a result of his sacrifice in neutralizing the Russian attack?"

"Certainly, sir," said Jim-Bean. "When we discovered the controlling chair, I offered to sit in it but Agent Tucker insisted he handle it himself."

"Then you won't mind joining us for another inquest when we compare your report to Tucker's," said Warner with a deadly glint in his eyes.  "He suffered third degree burns over ninety eight percent of his body, but Tucker's alive."

Jim-Bean managed to keep the shock off his face. There was no way anyone could survive what Tucker went through.  Unless Tucker was just like him.

"Good job, team," said Sprague.  "Dismissed."

They marched out of the tent as Warner leaned over to whisper into Lewis' ear.

When they were well beyond the tent, Howell went back to base.  The agents were free to go, for now.

"Oh yeah," said Hammer. "Howell wanted me to give you this note.  She told me not to give it to you until after the mission was over…if we survived it."

Jim-Bean smirked. He took the note from Hammer, scanned it, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

"Well?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  "Looks like I've got a contact in the Aquarius division of Majestic-12."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 28: Operation Tucker - Introduction*

This scenario is a combination of “Operation Ravenheart” from Pyramid Magazine by C.A. Johnson and “Far Voices” by Rich Redman. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca * (portfolio banking investing mortgage credit at creepyportfolio.com) 
The campaign is starting to take on a life of its own. Drawing from the protagonists that appeared in previous scenarios and the general course of events, I’ve started to come up with natural connections that help suggest new scenarios. For example, Operation Ravenheart is about a company agent pursuing the CEO of a toy company, and in Far Voices a certain person is looking for the toy.  By combining the two scenarios, it gave me the opportunity to wrap up Agent Tucker's personal history, as well as provide a warning to Jim-Bean as to what could happen to him if he's not careful.  After all, in the last scenario, Tucker should have been dead, but he wasn't.  There's a price for that kind of power, and its name is PROJECT RECOIL.

Because this scenario takes place in a toy warehouse, I tried to maximize the tension.  In the original scenario, the bad guy is after a specific toy, and "by now, all the customers that wanted [the toy] have one. So the tired, frustrated, angry people have already left." Boring! I preferred instead to have the agents deal with an angry mob of soccer moms battling it out while the two opposing teams of agents try to out maneuver each other without hurting innocent civilians. As inspiration, I used the scene from A Galaxy Far, Far Away, where a seething crowd struggles to catch one Star Wars figures in a toy store.

The second half of this scenario then takes place in the CEO's mansion (and the original target of the first team). Operation Ravenheart doesn't go into much detail here other than to indicate that the house has been modified by Greys to be “a gauntlet.”  Cue my opportunity to put the agents into a death trap, as the two rival teams hunt the poor CEO (who at this point must be wondering why he ever got into the toy business) in a series of shifting rooms filled with traps.  That's right, this is my opportunity to use the traps from Cube Zero!

The players were a bit confused as to what was going on, so I tried to sprinkle in some clues, such as the CEO dropping his day planner. I played Willy Wonka music every time a trap was activated, which had the suitable effect of making the scenario both wacky and violent.  And of course, this scenario ends with a big bang, the kind we haven't seen since poor Blade…

Incidentally, Far Voices was originally going to be the first scenario we played.  As you can imagine, it would have set a very different tone for the campaign. Although I didn't originally intend it to work out this way, the scenario pretty much played out like a battle against the Joker in one of his funhouses.

*Defining Moment:* Caprice, battling Bill in hand-to-hand combat, drops his pants.  It only makes things much, much worse.

Relevant Media

*Operation Ravenheart:*  The scenario from Pyramid. 
*Far Voices:*  The toy store scene for d20 Modern.
*Charlie & the Chocolate Factory Soundtrack Online:* The soundtrack online, which is a good thing because Yahoo's crappy DRM Music Player blew up and took a lot of my burned CDs with it.
*Charlie & the Chocolate Factory:* by Danny Elfman. Just the right mix of insanity and pep.
*Cube Zero:* The prequel to the Cube series.
*A Galaxy Far, Far Away:* Will either make you proud or sad to be a Star Wars geek.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Prologue*



> _He's modest, clever, and so smart,
> He can barely restrain it.
> With so much generosity,
> There is no way to contain it...
> To contain...to contain...to contain...to contain._​
> _-Wonka's Welcome Song_ by Danny Elfman​



ST. LOUIS, MO—They all took their seats in the cramped trailer turned meeting room, Sprague's mobile base of operations. Looking briefly at each of the agents, the grim-faced Sprague reached into a drawer, pulled out a set of colored, unmarked file folders, and handed them out. "I don't need to tell you that this information doesn't leave this facility," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll check those folders at the door before you leave." 

The acknowledgment was universal and automatic as they opened the files and scanned the summary page. It was Warner's team.  Sprague's rivalry with Warner was legendary.  Unearthing dirt on the rival team would satisfy Sprague to no end, although he'd never let it show.

"We may have a problem with an ongoing mission," Sprague stated. "A number of bodies have turned up in an Illinois suburb. There is no known link between the victims. Cause of death has been murder, but the method varied in each case. You have summaries of the police reports in your files. There are two things that really concern us here. First, there's the frequency of the attacks. Statistically, the murder rate in that area has trebled in the last month. Secondly, in each case, the attack has been quick, brutal, professional, and had a near total absence of evidence left behind. Remind you of something?"

"A clean-up," said Hammer.

"No, this isn’t a clean-up. However, in no case can Majestic-12 trace any leaks to these individuals, even in our most paranoid projections." That raised a few eyebrows in the room. The personnel at Majestic made paranoia their stock and trade. They were, like all departments of Majestic-12, obscenely good at their jobs. "Ordinarily, we'd chalk this up to a fluke, or some clever serial killer, and leave it to the authorities to handle . . ."

It was an op against Centurion Computing Systems and Walter Morrow.  The same group that had used technology from a crashed UFO to code a Navi chip that was more powerful than Majestic-12's own alien-fueled systems.  Despite the disaster at their corporate headquarters, Morrow survived and CCS was stronger than ever.  They were planning to release a new system, the PlayPal.  Early reports indicated the PlayPal's chip made the Navi look slow; only this time, it was hard-wired to NOT work fast.  As if it were intentionally underperforming until called upon at a later date.  

"Majestic-12 has a long-term surveillance in progress in that area. You have the mission briefing, all relevant reports, and the squad portfolios in your mission packets. Department-specific information has been provided where appropriate."

Jim-Bean scanned the names.  Bill, Larry, Sarah, Morgana…he recognized Morgana.  She was responsible for seducing Morrow.  Larry fabricated evidence of corporate espionage and handed it off to Morgana, who planted it. The subsequent dismissal gave Sarah the opening she needed to be placed on the engineering staff.  Bill was in charge of surveillance.  That left the muscle, the guy who ensured nobody else but Sarah applied for the position.  And that guy was Agent Tucker.

Jim-Bean's blood froze.  Tucker, the man who had put two bullets in Jim-Bean’s kneecaps and left him to die.  Tucker, who had served as a sacrifice to Ithaqua and was hospitalized with third degree burns over ninety-eight percent of his body.  Tucker, who two weeks later was performing missions when no human being on Earth could have possibly survived the damage. Except maybe Jim-Bean.

The first murder took place two months into the mission. Since that time, a new murder occurred at a frequency of not less than one per week, with five reported in the third week. The precise whereabouts of every squad member could not be ascertained during the times of the killings.

Jim-Bean stopped reading.  He knew who it was.

"Our worst-case scenario is that one of our operatives has cracked. Best case is that serial killer I mentioned earlier. I'm not going to lie to you, people. This is the most dangerous type of Pounce mission there is. You're going undercover against our own. If there is a secret here to be found, there is no one on this planet better trained to keep it and eliminate the individuals trying to ferret it out. If our worst fears are realized, your orders are to neutralize the threat without jeopardizing the existing mission or the conspiracy. You have the authority to abort that mission should you see a need, but you better have a damned good reason if you do abort. The reports were just starting to show progress. If we had to back out now, it would take months to get back into the position we're in now. Given our position in this war, it may be months we can't spare.

"Jim-Bean, you're mission leader. I want a mission synopsis on my desk in seventy-two hours. You have ninety-six hours after that to requisition your equipment. From that point on, I expect nothing other than results. Is that clear?"

"Clear," they said in unison.  Then Hammer, Jim-Bean, Guppy, and Caprice filed out of the conference room.

"It's Tucker," said Jim-Bean as he hopped out of the trailer. 

"How do you know?" asked Caprice.

"This another one of your hunches?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "No hunch.  I just know."


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 1a – The Ointment-Coated Fly*

Jim-Bean placed Tucker under long-term surveillance. It didn't take long to figure out where the team was.

The St. Louis Mills Mall had over 175 brand name stores and outlets, entertainment and great dining. Sequestered in the northern center of the Mall was the PBS Kids Backyard, a confluence of kid-centric stores that was conveniently located next to the Food Court. Foremost amongst the stores at the Backyard was Wee Bee Toys.

A national toy store chain, Wee Bee Toys was a division of Centurion Computer Systems. Each location was a small warehouse full of toys, puzzles, and games. The company used a happy, child-friendly, little bee as its icon and spokesman. Customers bought toys in public spaces that were bright, well lit, and cheerful. Little did they know that several trained killers were stalking the aisles.

It was Black Friday, the Friday after Thanksgiving in the United States and the beginning of the traditional Christmas shopping season. The lines in the mall spiraled around the entire length of the mall and throughout the parking lot.  The human crush threatened to overwhelm everything: the displays in the mall, the playground for the kids in the center of the Backyard, and certainly the food courts.  They had opened early to cater to the shoppers who weren't even in the mall yet. Every store in the mall was on full alert, eagerly hiring temporary staff to handle the huge demand. It provided the perfect cover for Majestic-12, for both Sprague's and Warner's teams. 

Guppy was undercover as a barista at Starbucks.  When Guppy proposed that he walk the line waiting outside of Wee Bee Toys, serving coffee with his cart, the manager declared him a problem solver, adding "no wonder you people handle tech calls!" and enthusiastically endorsed the idea.  Guppy kept his mouth shut. He used his cistron and a facial recognition program to snap pictures of the faces of people online, checking to see if any of them were Warner's agents. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean took up a position outside of the warehouse. They couldn't go inside and risk Tucker identifying them.

As the one agent Tucker hadn’t met, Caprice had a position within Wee Bee Toys itself.  Dressed as a gaming geek with a Legend of Zelda t-shirt underneath his black-and-yellow Wee Bee shirt, he stood in line with his other fellow temporary employees.

"This is show time, people," said the manager, a brusque retiree in a Wee Bee Toys yellow-and-black striped shirt.  It made him look like some kind of deranged prison escapee.  "The animals outside that door are going to come in here and tear this place apart. You're job is to make sure they tear it up in an orderly fashion. Some of you are baggers, some run the registers, some are warehouse runners, and some of you are going to be handing those things out."  He nodded in Caprice's direction. "God help you boys, because you'll be on the front line." The manager took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. The customer line outside seemed to stretch to infinity.  "We went over this a dozen times, but one more time won't hurt: we've already handed customers a number for the PlayPal.  One number per person.  They're going to wave those tags at you.  Each one of these boxes has a number.  In a perfect world you patiently review the number and hand the customer over a PlayPal box.  But this ain't a perfect world."  

Caprice looked around.  Tucker would be easy to spot: he was a strapping, handsome African-American man—distinct enough that Caprice could easily identify him in a crowd. But he didn't see any of Warner's team, Tucker included. 

The manager pointed at a big red electronic ticker that hung on the wall over the entrance.  "The numbers appear there.  Hands will go up.  Your job," he pointed at Caprice's team, "is to get those boxes out.  You're going stand atop the displays, with a fence around you so customers can't just grab the PlayPal boxes.  Your job is to get the box to the customer.  We call you folks Throwers.  You're not supposed to throw it, but you're not gonna have a choice when the savages get going.  So you do what you have to.  Just don't let anybody get hurt.  And if they do get hurt, blow your whistle," they all had whistles around their necks. "That's a call for help.  You blow that whistle, I'll call mall security.  Hopefully it won't be like last year." The manager shuddered.  Caprice figured it must have been a bad time.

"Oh yeah, one more thing.  May as well tell you this now..." The manager hitched up his belt over his considerable gut. "We told everyone that the PlayPal was being shipped in today.  That's not true.  It's already here.  We had a problem with UPS guys stealing these things off the rack before they even arrived, so we learned our lesson."

Caprice cursed under his breath.  Jim-Bean and Hammer were planning to intercept the delivery.  "Guys, it's Caprice, I—"

"Hey!" shouted the manager, pointing at Caprice.  "I thought I told you no phones!  Take that thing off!"

Caprice frowned and yanked the earpiece out of his ear. 

"All right, everybody ready?" The manager looked around.  The temps were nervous.  "Good.  Positions!"

They jogged off to their positions.  Caprice clambered up his caged mountain of PlayPals.  The fence that ringed the bottom of it wouldn’t hold off an angry customer for long.  

"Everybody smile!" The manager retreated to his office, which had a glass window overlooking the floor.  His voice floated over the speakers.  Insanely happy music started up, cheering the wonders of Wee Bee Toys.  A giant bee character started rotating at the center of the store.  "And here! We! Go!"

Caprice caught a glimpse of one of the Throwers across the floor crossing himself. Then a buzzing sound signaled the opening of Wee Bee Toys as the glass doors whisked open.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 1b – The Ointment-Coated Fly*

Guppy's cistron flashed face after face as the facial recognition software went to work.  No luck.

"Hey!" said a pudgy guy with an "I See Fragged People" t-shirt. 

Guppy wheeled his cart over.

"You sell food?"

"Uh, not really, I just have lattes and…"

"Dude!" The fat guy was sweating.  "I will give you FIVE BUCKS for a cookie.  A bagel.  Anything!"

"I'm not sure—"

"Do you know how long I've been on this line?" Guppy tried not to get too close.  He could smell how long the guy had been on line. "Two days man!  TWO DAYS! You gotta get me some—"

The bell rang and suddenly Guppy was forgotten.  He yanked the cart backwards to avoid being crushed.

Guppy tried to get on the line but he was shoved out of the way.  "Get to the back of the line!" someone shouted at him.

He settled instead for photographing customers through the glass doors.  Several other people were doing the same with their camera phones, undoubtedly hoping to catch a moment of consumerism at its worst. 

Inside, Caprice slung the earpiece back over his ear.  

"…don't see the truck," said Hammer.

"I know, I was trying to tell you guys!" Caprice had to shout over the noise of the crowd.  "There's no truck, the PlayPals are already here!"

He handed three of them off to the customers waving the first three ticket stubs.  A sea of arms went up, even as the big red ticker on the wall clicked through the first ten.

An alert went off on their cistrons.  Caprice couldn't look down at the cistron at his belt, busy lifting and tossing the PlayPals to the ravenous crowd.  

"I've got a match!" said Guppy. "It's Tucker!" 

Caprice looked around. "Where?" 

"Far back, middle row."

Caprice squinted. He could make out a tall black man in a trench coat.  It had to be Tucker.  There was only one way to find out.

Caprice wound up and tossed a PlayPal at him.

Tucker caught it easily.  The customers spun in outrage to a chorus of "Hey!" and "Wait, I have the next ticket!"

Tucker used his cistron to scan the PlayPal box, and then as an angry customer struggled frantically to get to him, handed it over.

"He's scanning the boxes," said Caprice.  "He must be looking for something."

"Throw one to me!"  Guppy made his way, finally, inside the Wee Bee Toys store.

"Guppy, I'm not sure that's a good idea…"

"Just do it!" 

Caprice wound up and tossed a PlayPal to Guppy.

The crowd went nuts.  "Is that one of his buddies?" and "He just got here!" reverberated from the crowd.

Guppy tried to scan the box but someone yanked on his arm.  Before he could finish scanning it, another person tackled him, grabbing the PlayPal out of his hand.  A large woman body checked the assailant out of the way and grabbed the PlayPal box. The crowd was devolving into a brawl.

"You threw that to him on purpose!" shouted someone near Caprice's feet.  He didn't get a chance to see who it was, but someone yanked on his foot. He lost his footing and slid down the hill of boxes.  PlayPals tumbled everywhere.

The crowd roared as a free-for-all broke out.  Soccer moms shoved teenage boys. Grandmas beat on fat geeks.  All over the PlayPal.

Guppy managed to crawl towards the entrance.  "I…" he was panting, "…just saw Tucker.  He's leaving the mall!"

"This job sucks!" shouted Caprice. "I quit!" He tore off his black-and-yellow striped shirt and threw it to the ground.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 2a – Catching the Fly*

Guppy dove into the Honda Civic, the world's most anonymous vehicle, as Tucker's Mustang peeled off. Hammer sped after him.

"He's in an awful rush," said Jim-Bean from the passenger seat

"Think he spotted Caprice?"  asked Guppy.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  "I don't know.  Tucker's pretty efficient.  If he felt Caprice was a threat I think he'd be dead by now."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," said Caprice over the comm. "I just hot-wired a car. I'll catch up."

Suddenly Tucker's vehicle sped up.   Hammer slammed on the gas to keep pace.

On the expressway, another Honda Civic pulled alongside their vehicle.  

"Hey look," said Guppy.  "Looks like this car really is common after all…"

The passenger window rolled down and a Beretta pointed in Jim-Bean's face.

"That's no ordinary car!" shouted Hammer. He slammed on the brakes.

The gunshot went wide, ricocheting off the pavement.  Horns wailed behind them and tires screeched as cars and trucks crashed into each other.  Ironically, none of the vehicles hit their Civic.

Hammer slapped the dashboard.  "Damn!  That was Warner's team.  We lost him."

"Not necessarily," said Jim-Bean.  He punched the keys of his cistron.  "SINNER, dear? We need your help."

"You think that's actually going to work?" asked Hammer. "SINNER isn't just at our every beck and—"

"Hello Agent Jim-Bean," the red pig-tailed image of SINNER as a pre-teen girl appeared on his screen. "How can I help you?"

Jim-Bean grinned at Hammer.  "We're trying to trace Agent Tucker.  He's heading west on 370. Do you have any likely destinations?"

"That would be the mansion of Walter Morrow, CEO of Central Computing Systems. Downloading directions now."

Hammer threw the Civic into gear.  

"We've got a new route," said Jim-Bean into his cistron.  "Can you catch up?"

"I got tangled up in an accident," replied Caprice. 

"Huh," said Jim-Bean.  "Weird.  Well, if you can find a car—"

There was shouting in the background.  Caprice replied.  "I just…borrowed a car.  I'll be right behind you."


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 2b – Catching the Fly*

Hammer pulled through the gates of the Morrow estate.  They had been smashed open by a vehicle.

The smoking radiator of Tucker's Mustang hissed in front of the mansion's double doors, which were still open.  

"He must have driven right up to the front doors,” said Hammer.

Jim-Bean and Hammer slipped through the double doors into the mansion, pistols at the ready.  Guppy trailed behind them.

"Nothing here," said Guppy. "Where'd he go?"

Hammer pointed at the ground.  A butler lay on the ground, jaw slack, a red bullet hole in his head.  "Just follow the bodies."

The trail of servants littered several rooms.  Most were caught unawares, shot from the front, although a few were face down, killed as they were fleeing.  None of them were Morrow.

The trail went cold near a storage closet.  Hammer leveled his pistols at the opening as Jim-Bean threw open the door.

The doors opened to reveal sliding panels with a keypad. Guppy hooked his cistron up to it and began hacking the code.

"The team was here," said Hammer.  

"But Tucker got here first." Jim-Bean bent down to pick up a day planner.

"Funny," said Hammer.  "This guy runs a high-tech company and he writes down his daily schedule by hand."

"Sometimes that's the only way to keep things secret," said Jim-Bean.  

Hammer flipped to the current day.  “Morrow was scheduled to appear at the St. Louis Mall for the PlayPal unveiling. Guess he backed out at the last minute.”

“Trust me,” said Guppy.  “You don’t want to be there.” He finished tapping keys and stood up. 

The panel flashed green and the doors whisked open.   Simultaneously, an alarm rang out throughout the mansion.  Security doors slammed shut around windows and entrances. 

"Well I guess there's only way to go from here," said Jim-Bean.

They were facing an elevator. And it only went one way: down.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 3a – Into the Web*

The elevator opened into a twenty-foot by twenty-foot box, with doors in each wall.  The room was harshly lit from within the wall itself in all directions.

"You know what this looks like?" asked Hammer to no one in particular.

"A ship," said Guppy, his voice cracking.  "An alien ship."

"We're in an alien ship?" asked Jim-Bean.  "Really?  Doesn't look like much."

Music started playing.  It was the Wee Bee theme song and it reverberated from every corner of the room.

"What is going on?" shouted Guppy, holding his ears.

Long poles slowly stretched out of the ceiling.  

"What the hell is that?" asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer shoved Guppy through a door into the next room.  The room was exactly the same as the first one. 

Jim-Bean ran after them, but he was a second too late. A spray of clear liquid showered the room.  His clothing began to smoke.  "Acid!"

The flesh on Jim-Bean's back bubbled and seethed as the acid ate through his clothing.  Guppy started to tear Jim-Bean’s shirt off.

"It's all right! I'm all right!" said Jim-Bean, wincing.

"But the acid…it's all over you!"

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Just barely got me."

Guppy put one of his fingers through the hole in Jim-Bean's shirt.  "That's not what it looks like to me."

Before they could argue further, the Wee Bee song started up again. 

"Oh man," said Guppy.  "I've got a bad feeling about this…"

Electricity crackled, causing hairs to stand on end.  A series of lightning beams crisscrossed the room.

"What kind of basement is this?" shouted Jim-Bean, forced to contort into an awkward position around the beams.  

Hammer craned his neck, carefully stepping underneath one beam and over another.  Guppy followed suit.  Jim-Bean joined them on the other side of the room after several near missteps. 

The door on the other side of the identical room whisked open just as the agents entered.  It was Warner's team.

"Down on the ground," shouted Larry, the leader, pistol at the ready.  "Now!" Backing him up were Sarah and Morgana, their own pistols out.

"You put your weapons down!" shouted Hammer.  Jim-Bean and Guppy backed him up.

"I am not going to ask you again!" shouted Larry.

"This is your last chance!" Hammer shouted back.

The Wee Bee song started up again.  Larry and Hammer watched as two poles slowly extended into the center of the room…


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 3b – Into the Web*

Caprice pulled up to the mansion in his stolen vehicle.  It was locked down tight, with safety shades pulled down over every entrance.  

He tried to raise the other agents but had no luck.  That meant they were inside.  Which could be good or bad, depending on what they found there.

Caprice made his way to the keypad at the front door.  He popped the panel off and hooked his cistron to the board beneath it.  

With a little time, he could hack his way into the system.  While Caprice wasn't quite as good at hacking as Guppy, he was still pretty formidable with code cracking, a skill acquired from his days in aeronautics programming. Code scrolled on the cistron's screen as it clicked away at the firewall— 

SPTANG!  A bullet ricocheted right near Caprice's head. He ducked and rolled, hands up.

"Down on the ground!  DOWN ON THE GROUND!" shouted Bill, from Warner's team.  He looked like a geek who didn't know how to wield the shaking pistol in both hands.  

Caprice put his hands up.  "Easy, easy.  Are you trying to mug me?  I can give you my wallet…"

"I don't want to mug you, I want you to GET ON THE GROUND!"

"Okay, okay!" Caprice slowly got down to his knees.  "Look…I don't live here, okay?  I don't have any money…"

"I just said I am not trying to mug you!" Bill inched over to him and pulled out a zip tie from his belt.  

"Wait, you're tying me up?  What for?"

"I don't know who you are or why you're here," he glanced over at the code flickering on the security panel.  "But you're no common thief, that's for sure."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill started to put the ties on Caprice's wrists when the security panel beeped.  The code had been hacked. 

It was all the distraction Caprice needed.  He spun on Bill and grabbed the pistol.

For a few desperate moments they huffed in silence.  Bill tried to kick Caprice off of him, but only succeeded in hooking his foot in Caprice's belt.  He managed to nearly shove the other agent's pants off.

They separated, gasping for air.  Caprice growled.  "Fine, let's do this."  He dropped his pants completely so they wouldn’t tangle up his ankles…

Bill's eyes went wide.  "You will not rape me!"  He squeezed off a shot.

The bullet grazed Caprice's arm.  "Ouch, damn it!" He rolled towards the door and snatched up his cistron.  The doors were unlocked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Two more shots answered him. 

Caprice gave up talking and ducked inside.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 3c – Into the Web*

Larry tended to Sarah and Morgana.  Hammer looked after Guppy.  They were all burned from the gout of flames that jetted from the cylinders.

"Ready to call a truce?" asked Hammer.  "Your team's a mess."

"So is yours," said Larry. 

"Not as bad as you might think," said Hammer. "We're Sprague's team."

Hammer knew better than to worry about Jim-Bean. A few seconds later, Jim-Bean's eyes flicked open, despite the fact that his face was blackened to a crisp.  He wiped one hand over his features and the dead skin fell off, flaking away like so much dandruff.

"Great," said Larry.  "Sprague's team huh?"  He held up his cistron.  Hammer held up his own cistron and the two exchanged virtual identification.  They both checked out. "Why didn't you say so?"

"You didn't give us a chance.  Can you tell us what the hell is going on in here?"

Larry shook his head.  "Tucker's job was to intercept the modified PlayPal before it was released to the general public.  At least, that's what we thought the plan was."

Jim-Bean continued to brush off burned flesh.  "Don't tell me, Tucker changed plans."

Larry nodded.  "Made a bee-line for Morrow's mansion.  He didn't return any of our inquiries.  We followed him to the mansion, saw you following him, and then became convinced that Tucker's cover was blown, which is why he was in such a rush."

"But he wasn't running, was he?" asked Jim-Bean.  "He's after Morrow."

"I don't know," said Larry.  Sarah and Morgana were badly burned.  He had pumped them both full of painkillers, but they were going to need to be hospitalized.

Jim-Bean put one palm to the floor and focused.  "I know where he is," he said.

"How?" asked Larry.

"Stay here with them," said Hammer.  "We'll leave a trail behind us and try to set off as many traps as we—"

Their conversation was cut off by a scream a few rooms away.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 3d – Into the Web*

The crack of a pistol echoed in the empty mansion.  Bill finally had to reload.

"All right, enough!" shouted Caprice.  He stood up from behind a plush red chair, still in his underwear. "This is ridiculous."

Bill fumbled loading his pistol.  He obviously wasn't accustomed to combat.  "You're…" he was torn between reloading and eyeballing Caprice.  "Who are you?"

"I think we're on the same side," muttered Caprice.  "You're with Warner's team, right?"

Bill squinted at him.  "Who wants to know?"

"Look." Caprice held up his cistron.  "See?  Check me out, you'll see I'm legit.  I'm with Sprague's team."

Bill held up his cistron.  Sure enough, they both checked out.  "Well, that's a relief."

"What happened here?"

Bill shrugged.  "Tucker's gone nuts.  Killing everybody."  He looked down at one of the dead maids and blanched.  "I think he's after Morrow."

"And where's Morrow?"

"We're in his mansion.  But my guess is he has a panic room."

Caprice looked around. A closet door was open, and the dim glow of a screen pulsed within.  "There."

They both peered into the closet.  It was the front of an elevator with an access pad.  Bill hooked up his cistron to the system.  "Looks like some kind of giant Rubik's cube. Take a look."

He tapped a key and a floor plan of the basement appeared in glowing green lines.  It was a massive structure that didn't look man-made.  

"Who builds this kind of thing under their mansion?"

"Besides Batman?" asked Bill.  "Crazy CEOs who are being influenced by the Greys."

"You think Greys did this?"

Bill nodded.  "The PlayPal CCS is producing is too sophisticated.  It's better than the stuff Majestic’s got." 

"I think I can override the security protocols," said Caprice.  He pressed a button on his cistron and was connected wirelessly through Bill's cistron.  "It's just a matter of resetting the system."

Bill cleared his throat.  "Yeah.  Okay.  So uhm…before you do that…"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you should put your pants back on."


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 3e – Into the Web*

Hammer burst into the room just as Tucker loomed over Morrow, who was clutching his thigh in a pool of blood.

"Tucker!" shouted Hammer.  "Put the gun down!"

Tucker whirled and Hammer fired at his pistol hand.  The gun went flying out of his hand.

Jim-Bean slipped in behind Hammer.   He made his way over to Morrow.  "You okay?"

Morrow groaned.  Jim-Bean made a makeshift tourniquet out of his burnt and acid-pitted shirt. 

"You're unarmed," said Hammer, pointing both Glocks at Tucker. "Give up."

"Let me ask you something, Jimmy," said Tucker, not taking his eyes off of Hammer. "When was the last time you took a $#!t?"

Jim-Bean didn't answer him.

"Not in a long time, I bet.  Me neither."

He blurred sideways.  Hammer pulled the triggers on both pistols, but there was nothing to shoot at it.  Tucker closed the distance between them faster than he could blink.

Two jabs struck Hammer in the ribs, nearly doubling him over. 

Hammer came up and fired, but again Tucker's profile was a blur.  Two perfectly aimed punches nailed Hammer in the jaw. 

“They come for you,” said Tucker.  “They wipe your memory.   But I remember now!”

The world swam.  Tucker grabbed Hammer by the throat.

“They put things in us, to control us…”

Tucker’s grip sagged as gunfire raked his back.  He lost his handle on Hammer.

It was the second Hammer needed.  He shoved both pistols into Tucker's gut and fired, releasing a full burst of metal death at point-blank range.

Tucker collapsed to the ground, his stomach smoking.  He was whispering something. 

Jim-Bean leaned close to listen.

"Project…RECOIL," he whispered.  "Shoot me…in the head."

Jim-Bean stood up and fired a single pistol shot into Tucker's forehead.  

"What did you do that for?" asked Hammer.

"He asked me to."


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Part 3f – Into the Web*

Larry brought the unconscious forms of Guppy, Sarah, and Morgana into the room, one at a time.  He looked down at Tucker. 

"So it's over then."

The lights went out.  Then they flashed back on, this time a dim red.

"Oh no.  NO!" shouted Morrow.  "Someone reset the system!"

"That's a bad thing?"

"Very bad!" said Morrow.  "It will incinerate every living thing in the cubes and reset the traps. We have to get to the exit."

"Where is it?" asked Hammer.

"I…I'm not sure!"

Jim-Bean put his palm to the floor.  "I know where it is."

"What's that sound?" asked Larry.

They were all quiet for a moment.  There was a high-pitched whine.  It was coming from Tucker.

Suddenly Tucker's eyes opened, and an odd green light flashed from his irises.

Hammer picked up Morrow and Guppy.  Jim-Bean grabbed Morgana and Larry took Sarah.  They ran through room after room until they reached one with a door in the floor.

The entire place began flashing red and then white in alternating colors.

Hammer wrenched it open.  "Water?  You didn't say anything about water!"

"It's an underwater tunnel," said Morrow. "It leads to a pond on the grounds."

Morrow held his breath and dove in.  Larry looked around in desperation.  "Hold their noses.  Make them gasp.  Then pulled them in right after."

He slipped into the water with Morgana.  Keeping her head above water, he pinched her nose.  After a few seconds she gasped for air.  As she gulped, Larry dove down into the murky water.

Jim-Bean did the same with Sarah. He dove after Larry, dragging the unconscious Sarah behind him.

That left Hammer.  He grabbed Guppy and held his nose.  The whine from Tucker, even rooms away, had become a deafening screech.  Guppy gasped for air.  Hammer, cursing Morrow, dove into the water.


----------



## talien

*Operation Tucker: Conclusion*

Bill and Caprice met the other team members at the front of the mansion.  

"What the hell happened down there?" asked Bill.  "We felt an explosion…"

"Tucker went nuclear," said Hammer.  "Just like Blade."

"Who?" asked Bill.

"Former team member,” Hammer said sadly. “It’s a long story."

"That's why Tucker wanted me to shoot him in the head," said Jim-Bean.  "He was trying to stop the bomb from going off."

"Wait," said Bill.  "Where's Sarah?"

Larry bit his lip.  "I called in for a pickup. We had to leave her at the edge of the pond.  I tried to save her but…" he shook his head, drenched and shivering.

Bill blanched.  "Poor Sarah…"

"We would have gotten out of there if it hadn't been for someone resetting the system," said Morrow.  

Bill and Caprice exchanged glances.  

"Must have been a glitch," said Caprice without skipping a beat.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 29: Convergence - Introduction*

This scenario, “Convergence,” is from Delta Green D20 by Dennis Detwiller, John Tynes, and A. Scott Glancy. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca * (portfolio banking investing mortgage credit at creepyportfolio.com) 
This scenario is as good as action horror gets.  I don't know if I can top this: a creepy plot that builds, alien interactions that truly feel alien, players willing to role-play inter-party tension, a surprise twist, and a horrible revelation.  And oh yeah, a giant blob wielding a crucifix as a weapon.

I was unhappy (as I always am) with the scenario outline. There's a communicable disease (protomatter), but the reveal that one of the character is infected is left up to the GM. There's an amorphous shape shifting ooze that never actually makes an appearance unless the agents actively seek it out.  There's an alien conspiracy and a cover-up, but it's not entirely clear to the GM as to the state of the conspiracy.  

As usual, rather than the investigation-focus, I shifted the time line along so things in town are much, much worse and stole liberally from Dean Koontz’s Phantoms.  The protomatter spawn shifted from hiding under a government building to a megalomaniacal being that thinks it's a god.  I shifted the other aliens’ plans from business as usual (odd, since their protomatter spawn is raging out of control) to actively trying to help the agents kill their Frankenstein monster. And since the agents are Majestic-12, there's no competition with Delta Green.  As Jeremy put it once, "horror is having all the military force in the world at your disposal…and it still doesn't help you."  That's what happens here. 

The other moment is what I call the "Detwiller" moment.  Dennis recently explained that A-Cell in Delta Green isn't trying to "win" the war against the Mythos.  They're just trying to staunch the wound.  Individuals mean nothing: the greater good means all.  If there's a decision between an innocent's life and the spread of the Mythos, the innocent loses every time.  That was dramatically demonstrated in this scenario in how Hammer (Cowboy) and Guppy (Crackpot) approach the conspiracy.

I combined descriptions from Dean Koontz' book with some of the action-oriented elements added by the movie.  For the record, I saw Phantoms in the theater and thought it was dreadfully boring.  But as a book it's much more terrifying. It helps that the protagonist is trained in forensics, which provides plenty of mystery for the agents to investigate what happened to the town's victims.

Even better, Guppy, Hammer, and Jim-Bean created their own role-playing tension in both relationships and how they handle (or don't handle) the conspiracy. 

*Defining Moment:* Hammer, faced with a Saucerwatch leak that might spread the truth about the Mythos, plugs the hole…with a bullet.

Relevant Media

*Delta Green D20:*  The source of the Convergence scenario.
*Phantoms (book):*  The description of Groversville is largely from this book.
*Phantoms (movie):* The movie was pretty boring, but I used elements from it (specifically the dart guns instead of chemical sprayers) to amp up the adrenaline in the scenario.
*Heresy:* by Nine Inch Nails.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Prologue*



> _He flexed his muscles to keep his flock of sheep in line
> He made a virus that would kill off all the swine
> His perfect kingdom of killing, suffering and pain
> Demands devotion; atrocities done in his name​_-_Heresy_ by Nine Inch Nails​



GROVERSVILLE, TN— Groversville was a quaint town. Exterior advertising was restricted to rustic wooden signs bearing each store's name and line of business. 

Hammer edged the Civic through the blocks, moving slowly.  

"Is it just me," asked Guppy, "or is this place deserted?"

On any other mild Sunday afternoon in September, at least a few residents would be strolling along the cobblestone sidewalks and sitting on the porches and balconies that overlooked Skyline Road.

"It's not just you," said Jim-Bean.

"So I got a phone call yesterday," said Guppy, pointedly avoiding looking at Jim-Bean.  "From Lisa Howell."

"Dr. Howell?" asked Jim-Bean, arching an eyebrow.  "What about her?"

"We used to date."

"Oh yeah…she mentioned that."

"Mentioned that?" This time Guppy looked at him.  "When?"

"On a mission," said Hammer. "Like the one we're on now. Let's stay on topic." 

Agent Tucker, real name Bill Spivey, had killed far more people than the corpses in the Illinois suburbs.  His rampage had started well before that, in a gas station just outside of Groversville.  In the two weeks since the incident in Willis, Tucker had killed five people.  

"Tucker's last residence indicated he was boarding at the Beck residence before he started his rampage," said Jim-Bean.  He had been named mission leader, but Jim-Bean had a much more personal interest in what happened to Tucker.

The afternoon was fading into evening. The sidewalks, balconies, and porches were deserted. Even in those shops and houses where there were lights burning, there was no sign of life. The Civic was the only moving car on the long street.

Hammer braked for a stop sign at the first intersection. Highway 135 crossed St. Moritz Way, extending four blocks west. Looking in both directions, there was no one. The next block of highway was deserted, too. So was the block after that.

They passed the RR Diner at the corner of Vail Lane. The lights were on inside and most of the interior was visible through the big corner windows, but there was no one to be seen. There weren't even any waitresses inside.

"A diner, empty?" asked Hammer.  "Something is definitely wrong."

The house Tucker stayed at was in the southwestern block, on the north side of the street. Hammer pulled the Civic up to the curb with a squeak of brakes. 

It was a two-story, stone and timber chalet with three dormer windows along the street side of the attic. The many-angled, slate roof was a mottled gray-blue-black. The house was set back twenty feet from the cobblestone sidewalk, behind a waist-high evergreen hedge. A sign stood by one corner of the porch that read BECK.

The agents drew their pistols. They crossed the lawn to a stone walkway and followed that to the front porch, where, in response to the amber-purple sunset, shadows were rising and opening petals as if they were night-blooming flowers.

Hammer knocked on the door, but it swung open, unlocked.

Jim-Bean took an opposite position with Guppy trailing.  They pushed open the door and covered the room with their weapons.

"Nothing," said Hammer, lowering his Glocks slightly.  "Let's check out the kitchen."

The kitchen was a large, high-ceilinged room. Pots, pans, ladles, and other utensils hung from a gleaming, stainless steel utility rack above a central cooking island with four electric burners, a grill, and a work area. The countertops were ceramic tile, and the cabinets were dark oak. On the far side of the room were double sinks, double ovens, a microwave oven, and the refrigerator.

A woman was lying on the floor, on her back, dead. She stared at the ceiling with sightless eyes, her discolored tongue thrust stiffly between swollen lips.

Guppy scanned her face with his cistron.  Her picture flashed on all their cistron screens. "Hilda Beck," he said.

The dead woman's face was swollen; it was a round, smooth, and somewhat shiny caricature of the countenance she wore in life. Her body was bloated, too, and in some places it strained against the seams of her gray and yellow housedress. Where flesh was visible—the neck, lower waist, hands, calves, ankles—it had a soft, overripe look. 

Hammer leaned down to inspect the corpse.  "Interesting."

Guppy looked away.  "Only you would find that interesting."

"Guppy, why don't you get me my forensics kit out of the car?" asked Hammer.

"You don't have to tell me twice!"  Guppy walked back out the front door.

"The bloating isn't a result of decomposition," said Hammer. "For one thing, the stomach should be grossly distended with gas, far more bloated than any other part of the body, but it is only moderately expanded. Besides, there is no odor of decay."

Hammer scanned the corpse with his cistron. "The dark, mottled skin does not appear to be the result of tissue deterioration." He flipped on the recording function of his cistron. "I can’t locate any certain, visible signs of ongoing decomposition: no lesions, no blistering, no weeping pustules."

Jim-Bean stared down at the corpse but didn't move any closer.  "And this is different how?"

"Because they are composed of comparatively soft tissue, a corpse's eyes usually bear evidence of physical degeneration before most other parts of the body," said Hammer. "But Beck's eyes—wide open, staring—are perfect specimens."

The whites of her eyes were clear, neither yellowish nor discolored by burst blood vessels. The irises were clear as well; there were not even milky, postmortem cataracts to obscure the warm, blue color.

"It's like she's one big bruise," said Hammer.  "I've seen damage like this in car accidents, but there's always worse trauma, like a broken nose, split lips, a broken jaw.  She's bruised without any more serious injuries."  Hammer looked around in irritation.  "What's taking Guppy so long?"

Guppy came back in.  "Hey guys?  I tried to raise you on the cistron but I'm not getting a signal."

"What's the problem?" asked Jim-Bean.

"It's the car.  The engine's missing."

Hammer stood up.  "Someone sabotaged our car in the five minutes we were in here?"

Guppy shook his head.  "No, not sabotaged.  The engine is completely missing.  Something ripped it right out."


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 1 – Santini Residence*

"I can't believe something just ripped out the engine without us hearing anything," said Hammer in exasperation. 

Guppy looked around, eyes wide.  "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Music.  Classical music."

Across the street, music swelled, faded, and swelled.  It was Beethoven.  The front door to the house, identified as SANTINI, was ajar. 

The agents made their way over to the Santini house. 

Inside, a light was on in the study, to the left of the foyer. Milky luminescence spilled out of the open study doors, across the oak-floored foyer, to the brink of the dark living room.

"I think that's…Beethoven," said Guppy. "The Third Symphony, Eroica."

The symphony reached its stirring conclusion, and when the last note faded, no new music began. 

"Guess the stereo shut itself off," said Hammer.

There was light in the study, but the other windows were flat, black, and shiny. Someone could be standing just beyond any of those panes of glass, cloaked in shadow, seeing but unseen.

Hammer made his way into the foyer.  The other agents followed.

The room through the open door on the left was deserted. Two lamps cast warm golden light into every corner of the study.

To the right, the living room was draped with shadows as thick as densely woven black hunting. At the far end, a few splinters of light gleamed at the edges and at the bottom of a set of doors that closed off the dining room, but that meager glow did nothing to dispel the gloom on this side.

Hammer found a wall switch that turned on a lamp, revealing the unoccupied living room.

He crossed to the living room, which was furnished with comfortable beige sofas and elegant, emerald-green Queen Anne wing chairs. The stereo and CD player were nestled inconspicuously in a corner wall unit. That's where the music was coming from. 

"Guess the Santinis went out and left it playing," said Guppy.

"Sure," said Jim-Bean.

At the end of the room, Hammer opened the double doors, which squeaked slightly.

No one was in the dining room, either, but the chandelier shed light on a curious scene. The table was set for an early Sunday supper: four place mats; four clean dinner plates; four matching salad plates, three of them shiny-clean, the fourth holding a serving of salad; four sets of stainless-steel flatware; four glasses-two filled with milk, one with water, and one with an amber liquid that might be apple juice. Ice cubes, only partly melted, floated in both the juice and the water. In the center of the table were serving dishes: a bowl of salad, a platter of ham, a potato casserole, and a large dish of peas and carrots. 

Hammer looked over the meal. "Except for the salad, all of the food is untouched." 

Guppy put his hand over the ham. "The ham's cold."

"Whatever happened here happened fast," said Hammer grimly.  "Damn fast." He touched the casserole dish: it was still warm.  "The food was put on the table within the past hour, perhaps only thirty minutes ago. Check for signs of a struggle."

Jim-Bean pointed at an overturned chair.  It was lying on one side, a few feet from the table. "Somebody got up in a hurry." The other chairs were upright, but on the floor beside one of them lay a serving spoon and a two-pronged meat fork. 

"There's a napkin over here," said Guppy.  A balled-up napkin was on the floor too, in a corner of the room, as if it had not merely been dropped but flung aside. 

"Saltshaker's overturned," said Hammer. But it was all small things. Nothing dramatic. Nothing conclusive.

"None of this is making sense," said Jim-Bean.  He put his hand on the table and closed his eyes.  "Let me see if…"

He gasped, twitching, and slumped off the table to the ground.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 2 – The Flashback*



> Jim-Bean was driving through wooded country in Tennessee.  While trying to get his bearings, he saw a pulsing white light level with the horizon visible through a tightly packed copse of trees. He cautiously approached.
> Suddenly, Jim-Bean felt cold.  He abruptly realized that he was standing naked in a dimly-lit domed room, his SIG and equipment gone.
> 
> On the floor of the room were multiple human objects: a rusty jack-in-the-box, a broken 1950s wristwatch, a tattered and rotted knapsack.  On the walls, which seemed to be made of a clay-like material, were tiny purple sigils.
> 
> Jim-Bean examined the sigils and touched one.  A blue light flared for a moment and he jumped away from the wall.  The metallic floor had changed—it was clear like glass, and through it dozens of Grey bodies could be seen lying prone, seemingly entombed.
> 
> “YES,” a mechanical voice said from behind him.
> 
> Jim-Bean whirled to see three Greys standing in the chamber—which apparently had no entrances.
> 
> The three spoke in unison, walking at exactly the same pace towards him.
> 
> “THIS IS GOOD.  WE HAVE NEEDS OF THIS THING. YOU MUST FUNCTION AS YOU HAVE BEEN LATER.”
> 
> Jim-Bean attempted to back up, but his willpower slowly drained until he found himself standing at near-attention as the Greys poked and prodded his body with odd instruments that he couldn't see.  His entire body was numb.
> 
> “WHEN ARE YOU?”
> 
> "What?"
> 
> “IN WHAT PLACES DO YOU EXIST IN THIS SHELL?”
> 
> "What are you talking about?"
> 
> “IT DOES NOT UNDERSTAND,” all three Greys shouted simultaneously.  “WE ARE FROM OUTSIDE.  WE HAVE COME FOR YOU.”
> 
> "…for me?"  Jim-Bean found himself shouting back at them in spite of himself.
> 
> “YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND AND ARE NEEDED BY US.”
> 
> "Needed how?"
> 
> “IN TIME YOU WILL KNOW THESE THINGS.  UNTIL THEN SLEEP.”



Jim-Bean awoke with a gasp, staring up at Guppy and Hammer.  

"You okay?" asked Hammer.

"Yeah," said Jim-Bean. "Just…"

"Another one of your hunches?" Hammer finished for him.

Jim-Bean struggled to his feet.

"No," he said, staring at Guppy with new found appreciation for his paranoia.  "One of his."


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 3 – The Sheriff's Office*

Hammer opened the door and stepped inside the sheriff’s office.  Locating a wall switch, he snapped on the overhead lights, only to see a corpse on the floor.

Hammer read his badge. "Paul Henderson." Henderson's corpse had dark, bruised flesh. Swollen. Dead.

Guppy ran his name through the Blacknet database.  "He was a Majestic-12 undercover agent."

"He's in the same condition as Hilda Beck." Every visible inch of the deputy's flesh was bruised. The body was swollen: a puffy, distorted face; the neck almost as large as the head; fingers that resemble knotted links of sausage; a distended abdomen. Yet Hammer couldn't detect even the vaguest odor of decomposition.

Guppy looked away.  "I can't stare at his face. "

Unseeing eyes bulge from the mottled, storm-colored face. Those eyes, together with the gaping and twisted mouth, conveyed an unmistakable emotion: fear. Like Hilda, Paul Henderson appeared to have died suddenly—and in the powerful, icy grip of terror.

"His sidearm isn't in his holster," said Hammer. 

"It's over here," said Jim-Bean. The pistol was on the floor, near the body. A .45-caliber revolver. 

Hammer picked up the pistol and examined it. The cylinder had a six-round capacity, but three of the chambers were empty.

Hammer sniffed the cylinder.  "It was fired today. Maybe even within the past hour."

Hammer pushed through the swinging gate in the wooden railing, moving into the area that TV cops always called the "bull pen." He walked down an aisle between facing pairs of desks, filing cabinets, and worktables. In the center of the room, he stopped to scan the pale green walls and the white acoustic-tile ceiling, looking for bullet holes. Hammer didn't find any.

Hammer turned to the desk where the gooseneck fluorescent lamp cast light on an open issue of Time. A brass nameplate read SERGEANT PAUL J. HENDERSON. This was where he was sitting, passing an apparently dull afternoon, when whatever happened had ... happened.

Along the back wall of the room, there were two bulletin boards, a photocopier, a locked gun cabinet, a police radio, and a teletype link.  

Guppy tinkered with them for a minute. "Mother trucker. None of it works."

"There's a gun cabinet here," said Jim-Bean. "It's locked."

"You find any keys on the body?"

Jim-Bean shook his head.

The phone rang, scaring the bejesus out of Guppy who almost fell backwards.

They stared at it for a moment while it rang. 

With a trembling hand, Guppy clicked on the speakerphone. 

"…dealing with," spoke an alien, buzzing voice. There was static and then "…has been a long time and we have many things to do and you are not sure what you are doing.  Stop now.  Stop now.”

It repeated.  Guppy held up his cistron and recorded it.

The phone hung up.

"Let's keep moving," said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 4 – Ameley Goods*

They proceeded along Skyline Road, moving alternately through shadows, yellowish sodium-glow from the streetlamps, darkness, and phosphoric moonlight. Regularly spaced trees grew from curbside planters on the left. On the right, they passed a Stuffer Shack and Merle’s Auto Body. At each establishment, the agents paused to peer through the windows, searching for signs of life, finding none. Ahead, there was a pool of light from Ameley Goods.

Ameley Goods was a clean, white building with a blue-and-white-striped awning. In the rear of the budding, back in the part where the ovens were, light poured through an open door, splashing one end of the sales room and indirectly illuminating the rest of the place. Small cafe tables stood to the left, each with a pair of chairs. White enamel display cases with glass fronts were empty.

Hammer tried the door.  It was locked.  He gestured to Guppy, who stepped up with his lock picking tool. 

A few spins later and the door opened. They made their way towards the lit room in the back. 

They entered a huge kitchen, which smelled pleasantly of cinnamon, flour, black walnuts, and orange extract.  The bakery was well equipped with double sinks, a walk-in refrigerator, several ovens, several immense white enamel storage cabinets, a dough-kneading machine, and a large array of other appliances. The middle of the room was occupied by a long, wide counter, the primary work area; one end of it had a shiny stainless-steel top, and the other end had a butcher's block surface. The stainless-steel portion was stacked high with pots, cupcake and cookie trays, baking racks, Bundt pans, regular cake pans, and pie tins, all clean and bright. The entire kitchen gleamed.

On the other side of the piled cookware, in the middle of the butcher's-block counter, lay a large disk of pie dough. A wooden rolling pin rested on the dough. 

"AAH!" shouted Guppy, pointing. 

Two hands gripped the ends of the rolling pin. Two severed, human hands.

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Anyone want to bet what's in the ovens?"

"I don't want to look!" said Guppy, and it was clear he meant it.

Beyond the butcher's-block counter, set in the long wall on the far side of the room, were three ovens. One of them was huge, with a pair of solid, over-and-under, stainless-steel doors. The other two ovens were smaller than the first, though still larger than the conventional models used in most homes; there was one door in each, and each door had a glass portal in the center of it. None of the ovens were turned on.

Each contained a severed head.

Ghastly, dead faces gazed out into the room, noses pressed to the inside of the oven glass. One was a male. White hair spattered with blood. One eye half shut, the other glaring. Lips pressed together in a grimace of pain. The other was s a female. Both eyes open. Mouth gaping as if her jaws had come unhinged.

A flashlight beamed in Hammer's face.  He spun, Glocks up.

"Freeze!  Weapons down!" shouted a voice with a Tennessee drawl.

Two men, silhouetted in the darkness, had their revolvers out.

"We're CIFA," said Hammer.  He had both hands on Glocks, so he couldn't pull out his badge.  "Guppy, show them."

Guppy took his own badge out and held it up in the flashlight beam.

"CIFA, huh?" The flashlight beam angled downward as the sheriff inspected the badge.  "Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.  This must be some serious $#!t our little town got itself into if the Feds are here."

"You have no idea," said Jim-Bean. "And who are you?"

"I'm Dan Oakley, Groversville's sheriff.  My compatriot here is Deputy Stu Wargle."

Stu gave a cursory look around, clearly freaked out by the decapitated heads but unsure what to do about it. 

"You were in town when the attack happened?" asked Hammer.

Oakley shook his head.  "No sir.  We were out on another call.  Was on the phone with Henderson.  Line went dead in the middle of conversation.  By the time we got back, the entire town was empty. If you boys are here, I'm guessing this is a terrorist attack, huh?"

Hammer slowly nodded.  "Definitely an attack of some sort."

"Gas maybe?" Oakley looked around.  

"I don't know no gas that does this," said Stu, pointing at the heads.  "If these are terrorists, they are some seriously sick #^(&ers."

The power flickered.  

Oakley looked around. “I’m gonna go outside, and I’m going to get on the radio, and I’m going to figure this thing out." Oakley handed Guppy's badge back to him. “I recommend we stick together for now.”

They walked out into the street.

"You should have asked me first," Guppy to Jim-Bean.

"Not this again." Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  "Asked you first about what?  We're not dating!"

"That's not what she said…"

"Well whatever she said, it's not true.  She saved Hammer's life, I saved hers.  Hell, she's gave the note to Hammer, not me."

"A note?" asked Guppy, his voice rising.  "She didn't mention anything about a note!" He looked accusingly at Hammer.

"Oh no, don't get me involved in this," said Hammer, hands up in defense. "Besides, the note was for Jim-Bean, not me."

"She didn't mention a note," grumbled Guppy. "Let me ask you something, sheriff.  Would you be okay with your deputy dating your ex-girlfriend?"

Oakley looked at Guppy in disbelief.  "Well," he took off his hat and scratched his head as they walked. "I don't—"

Three piercing screams tore through the conversation.  Lights flickered on and off, the firehouse siren roared, a church bell rang.  The siren wailed, and the bell rang, and the lights began to flash again; shop lights, streetlights on and off, on and off so rapidly that they created a strobe-like effect. Skyline Road flickered; the buildings seemed to jump toward the street, then fall back, then jump forward; the shadows danced jerkily.

"Mother trucker!" shouted Guppy, covering his ears.

Oakley and Stu drew their revolvers, trying to point everywhere.  They stood back to back with the agents as all of Groversville went berserk, shrieking and flickering, for nearly a minute.  

Then the lights went out and all was silent.  Only one light was on in the town.  

“That’s the Merle’s Shut Eye Motel,” says Oakley.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 5 – Merle's Shut-Eye Motel*

Merle’s Shut Eye Motel was surprisingly sophisticated, with deep caves and elaborately carved cornices, mullioned windows flanked by carved white shutters. Two carriage lamps were fixed atop stone pilasters, bracketing the short stone walkway. Three small spotlights spread dramatic fans of light across the face of the motel.

The front doors opened onto a small, comfortably appointed lobby: an oak floor, a dark oriental carpet, light beige sofas, a pair of Queen Anne chairs upholstered in a rose-colored fabric, cherry wood end tables, brass lamps.

The registration desk was off to the right. A bell rested on the wooden counter. A passkey was on a pegboard beside the mailboxes. 

"Hear that?" asked Guppy.

They could make out the faint notes of an old-style song, sung by a woman.  

"Sounds like a radio or television is on upstairs," said Oakley. 

They crept their way up the steps, weapons drawn.  Hammer tried the handle to the room.  It was locked.  On a count of three, he kicked open the door.

Inside was a small radio playing the faint tunes.  A woman lay in bed in a negligee, facing away from the entrance.

Hammer shut off the radio.

Jim-Bean moved to inspect the body, but Stu beat him to it.  "I got this one," he said.

The woman was obviously dead.  Her features seem melted, as if they were dripping right into the pillow.  Although she seemed like a younger woman, her features were oddly aged.

Oakley rattled the bathroom door.  "Locked."

"Guppy?" asked Hammer.

Guppy went to work.  The lock popped open a second later.

It was a windowless bathroom with a mirror.  Written on the window were the words: SCOTT ADAMS - THE PROTOMATTER SPAWN.

"Is that…" said Guppy hesitantly, "…blood?"

Hammer inspected the writing.  "Looks like it was written in lipstick."

"Well hell, that don't make no kind of sense," said Oakley.  "There's no window to the room. The door was locked from the inside."

Hammer rifled through the contents of the bathroom medicine cabinet and sink. Just under the mirror was a bottle of Mennen's Skin Conditioner, lime-scented aftershave, a man's electric razor, a pair of toothbrushes, toothpaste, combs, hairbrushes, and a woman's makeup kit. 

"No lipstick either," he said. "From the looks of it, there were two people in this room."

Jim-Bean cocked his head.  He heard jingling from one of the other rooms. "Guys, I heard a noise."

With his SIG out, he padded into the hallway.  Hammer followed behind him. 

Unlike the other rooms, the door was open.

"Was that door open before?" asked Oakley, trailing behind them. Guppy and Stu brought up the rear.

Hammer and Jim-Bean covered the entryway with their pistols. Jim-Bean peeked in.

A pile of objects was stacked on the bed in the center of the room. 

"Looks like somebody's stolen loot," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer moved closer to inspect them.  He could make out a gold tooth and buttons. 

"This is very interesting," said Hammer.  He eyed the two civilians.  "Does any of this look like it belongs to people in town?"

Oakley pawed through the pile.  "Yep."  He held up a wedding ring.  "This is Barry's," he said sadly. "It's got his wife's name on it, Laura."

"What the hell is a pacemaker doing in this stuff?" asked Guppy.  "That should be inside somebody, right?"

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Stu laughed, his voice cracking.  “Now this guy, this guy’s got edge.”

"Stu, Guppy, calm down," said Hammer slowly.  "Take it easy.  Let's all go downstairs."

They crept back down the steps to the lobby.

"Whoa!" shouted Guppy.  "That was NOT there before!" 

A severed hand holding a tube of lipstick was on an end table, directly in the fall of light from a rose shaded lamp. It was so prettily lit that it seemed almost like a piece of artwork on display. The lipstick was held firmly between its thumb and first two fingers. 

The radio was back on upstairs, playing music.

"What the hell is going on?" asked Guppy, panicking. "How is this thing getting around so fast?  The aliens can't be—"

"Guppy," said Hammer firmly.  "Remember where we are and who we're with."

Their argument was suddenly punctuated by the scream of a woman.  “Help!” she shrieked just outside the front door of the hotel.  “Help me!”

Stu ran out, pistol at the ready.

"Stu, wait—" said Hammer.  He came out a second behind him, pistols at the ready.

Stu was gone.  His pistol spun on the ground, still loaded.

“That's it," said Hammer. "We're retreating back to a defensible position." He turned to Oakley.  "What's the most secure place in town?"

"The sheriff's office," said Oakley slowly.  He picked up the spinning pistol and scanned the night sky.

"We're hunkering down until daylight," said Hammer. "Let's go.”


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 6 – Calling for Backup*

In the sheriff's station, Okaley tried the phone. He slammed the receiver back down.  "Damn!"

"They have control of everything," said Guppy.  "It won't work."

"You boys got them satellite phones, right?" asked Oakley.  "Can't you call for the National Guard or something?"

Jim-Bean tested his cistron.  There was some interference, but he could hear a faint dial tone.

He punched in Sprague's number.  The reception was bad enough that his features did not flicker on screen, but he could hear him.

"Yes?"

"Sprague?" said Jim-Bean.  "We're in Groversville.  There's some kind of plague, everyone's dead.  We're requesting a quarantine."

"Quarantine?" More static.  "Are you asking for a full quarantine—TSSSZZZHHHK—Copperfield?"

"Yes sir, we think that—"

A high pitched squeal cut him off. The other agents checked their cistrons.  Nothing.

"Well that's that," said Jim-Bean.

"Now what?" asked Guppy. 

"Now we wait," said Hammer. "We stay here until we can be sure that—"

The phone started ringing again.

This time the speakerphone went on by itself.  All they could hear was buzzing.

"Ahhh, $#!+," said Oakley.

The lights went out.

"Okay," began Hammer, "we need to board up the—"

"Shh!" said Jim-Bean. 

There was flapping noise outside.  Something was buzzing quickly back and forth in front of the windows.  In the darkness, it thumped softly. Thump ... thump-thump.

It was the sound of a padded blow. Like a dropped pillow striking the floor. Thump-thump ... thump ... thump-thump.

Louder. But not closer. Thump!

Something struck a window, rattled a loose pane, and rebounded into the night. There was the impression of wings.

Using his keys, Oakley unlocked the gun locker and started handing out shotguns.  "I'm tired of this. It's time we started fighting back."

"We don't know what we're dealing with," said Hammer.  

“We know exactly what we’re dealing with,” said Guppy.  “Those are aliens.  We have to wait until Majestic-12…”

“Majestic who?” asked Oakley. 

Hammer shot Guppy a glare.  “Nothing.  Don’t mind him, he’s had a rough day.”

“Well I’m not going to sit here and wait to get eaten."

The flapping thing returned, battering itself against the glass with greater determination than before: Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump!

With the streetlamps extinguished, Skyline Road was dark except for the luminous moon fall; however, the thing at the window was vaguely illuminated. Even vague illumination of the fluttering monstrosity was too much.

What they saw on the other side of the glass was something out of a fever dream. It had a six-foot wingspan. A head covered with quivering cilia. A segmented body. The body was suspended between the pale pink wings; it, too, was pink, the same shade as the wings—a moldy, sickly pink—and fuzzy and moist-looking. 

"The alien dog," whispered Hammer.  He remembered it.  It was the "dog" that the Greys had asked for help with at the North Platte Air Force Base.

It bashed itself against the windows with new fury, in a frenzy, its pale wings beating so fast that it became a blur.

Guppy flipped over a table and hid behind it, his Beretta at the ready.  Jim-Bean exchanged his SIG for the HG36.

It moved along the dark panes, repeatedly rebounding into the night, then returning, trying feverishly to crash through the window. Thumpthumpthumpthump. But it didn't have the strength to smash its way inside.  Thumpthumpthump.

"Eat hot lead!" shouted Oakley.  

"No, wait!" shouted Hammer.

Oakley raised the shotgun and pumped bullets through the glass until he ran out of shells.

The thumping stopped.  The glass was shattered. 

Oakley stood near the opening.  “Well, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that thing anymore.” He cocked his shotgun with one hand.  “I figure I just unleashed an armory’s worth of ammunition—“ 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as claws grabbed Oakley by the head and yanked him out the window.

Sheriff Oakley screamed. The thing was fixed firmly to Oakley's face, holding on by some means not visible. His entire head was hidden by the thing. The thing was squealing, too, making a high-pitched, keening sound.

In the moon's silvery beams, the bat-winged lobster's huge pale velvety wings flapped and folded and spread with horrible grace and beauty, buffeting Oakley's head and shoulders.

Hammer unleashed both Glocks into it.  Little pirouettes of dust spiraled off of the thing's back, as if he were beating an old coat. 

Oakley staggered away, moving blindly, clawing at the outrageous thing that clung to his face. His screams quickly grew muffled; within a couple of seconds, they were silenced altogether.

Hammer kept firing.  Guppy and Jim-Bean stayed in the sheriff's office. Guppy held up his cistron and snapped picture after picture.

Oakley began to run, but he only went a few yards before coming to an abrupt halt. His hands dropped away from the thing on his face. His knees were buckling.

Hammer reloaded and resumed peppering the thing with bullets. It wasn't having any effect.

Oakley didn't crumple to the ground. Instead, his shaky knees locked, and he snapped erect. His shoulders jerked back. His body twitched and shuddered as if an electric current flashed through him.

Hammer put down his pistols.  It was hopeless.  He watched helplessly as Oakley began to weave and thrash in a St. Virus dance of pain and suffocation. Oakley moved erratically across the cement, jerked this way and that, heaved and writhed and spun, as if he were attached to strings that were being manipulated by a drunken puppeteer. His hands hung slackly at his sides, which makes his frantic and spasmodic capering seem especially eerie. His hands flopped and flounder weakly, but they did not rise to tear at his assailant.

It was almost as if, now, he was in the grip of ecstasy rather than the clutch of pain. 

Then Oakley collapsed.

In that same instant, the thing rose and turned, suspended in the air, hovering on rapidly beating wings, night-black and hateful. It swooped at Hammer.

He ducked, and the thing flew into the night.

Hammer crawled over to Oakley's body.  It was sprawled on the pavement, flat on his back. Unmoving. The sheriff lay in the middle of the street, where there was just enough light to see that his face was gone. 

Gone. As if it had been torn off. His hair and ragged ribbons of his scalp bristled over the white bone of his forehead. A skull peered up at him.

Hammer stared into the skull. Whatever it was ate through Oakley’s face.  It took his eyes, most of the soft tissue, and his entire brain.  Which was impossible.

"What happened?" asked Guppy meekly from the station.

"Stay there.  Oakley's…" he had difficulty forming the word.  "He's dead.  Let's just leave it at that."


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 7 – Copperfield Arrives*

The agents had boarded up every opening and slept in shifts.  But Groversville's horrors had not coming calling since Oakley's death. Morning finally broke.  

Guppy perked up.  "I think I hear vehicles!"

They moved one of the desks out of the way of the office window.  Sunlight streamed through.

At the bottom of Skyline Road, a large vehicle drove into view, and the sound of its laboring engine grew louder.

There were three large vehicles. They crawl slowly up the long, sloped street towards Merle's Shut Eye Motel.

Leading the procession was a gleaming, white motor home, a lumbering thirty-six foot behemoth that was somewhat modified. It had no doors or windows along its flank. The only entrance was at the back. The curved, wraparound windshield of the cab was tinted very dark and was made of much thicker glass than that used in ordinary motor homes. There was no identification on the vehicle, no project name, no indication that it Majestic property. 

Behind the first motor home came a second. Bringing up the rear was an unmarked truck pulling a thirty-foot, plain gray trailer. Even the truck's windows were tinted, armor-thick glass.

The payload in the motor homes and in the truck was obviously quite heavy. Their engines strained hard, and they ground their way up the street, moving slower than ten miles an hour, then slower than five, inching, groaning, grinding.

When at last they reach Merle’s, they kept on going, made a right-hand turn at the corner, and swung into the cross street that flanked the motel.

The agents ran out to greet them. 

The motorcade pulled up to the curb and parked. The three overheated engines were switched off, one after the other, and silence fell in with a weight of its own.

The back door of the truck opened first, and men jumped down. They were dressed for operations in a biologically contaminated atmosphere. They wore the white, airtight vinyl suits of the type developed for NASA, with large helmets that had oversized Plexiglas faceplates. Each man carried his own air supply tank on his back, as well as a briefcase-sized waste purification and reclamation system.

Half a dozen agile men scrambled out of the truck. More were still coming, all heavily armed. They spread out around both sides of their caravan and took up positions between their transport and the agents, facing away from the vehicles. 

"These men aren’t scientists," said Guppy. "They're support troops."

Their names were stenciled on their helmets, just above their faceplates: Sgt. Harker, Pvt. Podor, Pvt. Pascam, and Lt. Undli. They brought up their guns and aimed outward, securing a perimeter in a determined fashion that brooked no interference.

Hammer found himself staring into the muzzle of a submachine gun.

Jim-Bean stepped forward.  "You must be Sprague's—"

Sergeant Harker, nearest to them, swung his gun toward the sky and fired a short burst of warning shots.

One of the soldiers spoke. Lieutenant Underhill. His voice issued tinnily from a small radio amplifier in a six-inch-square box on his chest. 

"Please stay back from the vehicles. Our first duty is to guard the integrity of the labs, and we will do so at all costs."

Jim-Bean stepped back. 

The rear door of the first motor home finally opened. The five individuals who came out were also dressed in airtight suits, but they were not soldiers. They move unhurriedly.

They were unarmed. One of them was a woman. The names on their helmets weren't preceded by designation of rank: Bettenby, Valdez, Niven, Yamaguchi, Adams. They were the Majestic-friendlies, physicians and scientists who, in an extreme chemical biological warfare emergency, walked away from their private lives, putting themselves at Majestic's disposal. 

"Adams," said Guppy softly, recognizing the name. 

Six men came out of the second motor home. Goldstein, Roberts, Copperfield, and Houk. The last two were in unmarked suits, no names above their faceplates. They moved up the line, staying behind the armed soldiers, and joined up with Bettenby, Valdez, Niven, Yamaguchi, and Adams.

The ten of them conducted a brief conversation amongst themselves, by way of inter-suit radio. Their lips moved behind their Plexiglas visors, but the squawk boxes on their chests did not transmit a word, which meant they had the capability to conduct both public and strictly private discussions. For the time being, they were opting for privacy.

General Galen Copperfield, the tallest of the twenty, turned away from the group at the rear of the first motor home, stepped onto the sidewalk, and approached Jim-Bean.

"Sorry about the guns," Copperfield said. He turned to the stone-faced troopers and said, "Okay, men. It's a no-sweat situation. Parade rest."

Because of the air tanks they were carrying, the soldiers couldn't comfortably assume a classic parade rest position. But, moving with the fluid harmony of a precision drill team, they immediately slung their submachine guns from their shoulders, spread their feet precisely twelve inches apart, put their arms straight down at their sides, and stood motionless, facing forward.

"Just SOP," Copperfield said. "You Agent Jim-Bean?"

Jim-Bean stepped forward again.  "Err, yes?"

"Major Sprague sent word.  We're the cavalry."

Guppy started to speak but Copperfield cut him off. 

"I don't mean to be rude, but we don't have time for introductions. Later. Right now, I want to move. The first thing we need to know what we’re dealing with here.  What kind of threat is it: biological, chemical, or other?”

"We think it's a combination of biological and chemical," said Hammer.  "We found four dead bodies and witnessed the murder of two more.  Whatever it is, it’s quiet enough to move undetected amongst three trained agents, strong enough to tear the engine out of a vehicle without making a sound, fast enough to move between rooms over one-hundred feet apart in a matter of seconds, and smart enough to turn stereos on and off."

"Damn," said Copperfield. 

"We've got pictures," said Guppy.  "Of an airborne assailant."  He transmitted the pictures to Copperfield's heads up display in his suit. Although they were still having interference with their cistrons, the convoy carried its own remote hub. 

The pictures were blurry, out of focus, as if the thing wasn't entirely in their dimension.

"And you think this is the same thing that killed everyone here?"

Hammer frowned.  "Possibly, sir.  It's also possible there are two different entities, or that it can change forms as needed."

“In the forty-eight hours prior to these events, was there any evidence of power failures, telephone interruptions, or strange lights in the sky?”

"Yes," said Jim-Bean.  "The phone lines went out.  You may want to check the cables."

“We recorded this over the phones,” said Guppy.  He tapped a key and uploaded the odd message they heard over the phone.  It played in all of the helmets of the men around them, eerily echoing from everywhere at once.

Copperfield considered for a moment.  "I want you boys tested and decontaminated. We have chemical showers on the bus."

Houk led them over to the largest bus.  "After Agent Tucker's explosion, we were able to quantify the existence of an unknown compound in his skin. His muscles were entirely replaced with tissue that, while mimicking human muscle tissue, also possesses a number of non-human characteristics. We call it protomatter."

They were stripped naked and marched into the showers.

"Like in the mirror," said Guppy. He looked at himself in the large mirror on the opposite side, which concealed technicians monitoring and recording.

Jim-Bean swallowed hard.  "What kind of characteristics?"

"Resistance to temperature extremes.  The ability to regenerate at rapid speeds.  The good news is Doctor Emerson has found a way to help identify who has been infected with protomatter.  Leucopararosaniline is a compound that turns purple under blacklight.  If you've come into contact with any biological agents, we'll know."  Houk flipped a switch and a blast of sanitizing powder struck them all.  Then the spray of liquid came down.  

He flipped another switch. The lab went dark and blacklights turned on.

Guppy and Hammer looked at themselves.  They were flecked with the stuff, in bits and pieces.  It wasn't a total infestation, but they were definitely exposed to protomatter.

"It must be in the food and water of this place," said Hammer. "We were very careful…"

But the scientists ignored them.  They were all staring at Jim-Bean.

"What…?" asked Jim-Bean.  He looked down at himself.  His arm was glowing purple.

Then he looked up in the mirror. 

Jim-Bean’s entire body pulsed with a purple glow.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 8 – Adams' Theory*

The agents were dressed in their old clothes.

"I don't know why we can't have containment suits," said Guppy.  "They should let us put on suits."

"They're not giving us suits," said Hammer, "because we're contaminated."

"Not just contaminated," said Jim-Bean morosely.  "Infected.  We're screwed.  That's why he still wants us to investigate everything.  Let the walking dead go first."

"Stop talking like that," snapped Hammer.  "Guppy's having a tough enough time as it is."

One of the men in NBC suits cleared his throat. 

Hammer brightened.  Anything to get his mind off of their plight.  "Adams?  Scott Adams?"

"In the flesh, so to speak," said Adams with a chuckle.  "I'm afraid I'm not the author of the Dilbert comics, however."

"Who are you then?" asked Jim-Bean.

"I didn't want to bring it up at the start," said Adams." I thought I might get straighter answers from you if you weren't immediately aware of what I was here for. I’m a member of Saucerwatch."

"Saucerwatch!" said Guppy. "THAT Scott Adams!  I went to one of your seminars!"

From beneath his bubble face mask, Adams smiled benevolently at Guppy.  "Saucerwatch doesn’t go around checking out every crackpot report of little green men from Mars. For one thing, we don't have the funds to do that. Our job is planning for the scientific, social, and military aspects of mankind's encounter with an alien intelligence. We're really more of a think tank than anything else."

"That's right," said Guppy, talking quickly. "Your theory was that an alien encounter might start out in such a bizarre way that we wouldn't even recognize it as a first encounter. The popular concept of spaceships descending from the sky ... " Guppy's smile faded.  His own personal experience was very different.

"If we find ourselves dealing with truly alien intelligences, their ships might be so different from our concept of a ship that we wouldn't even be aware they'd landed," continued Adams. "This is why we check into strange phenomena that don’t seem to be UFO related at first glance."

"And you think this is aliens," said Hammer.

"It’s much too soon to make any judgment about Groversville. We do believe there's a small chance the first contact between man and alien might involve the danger of biological contamination. Perhaps that’s why this thing, whatever it is, wrote my name on the bathroom wall. It chose me, based on my theories, as someone who might understand it. An inexplicable outbreak of an unknown disease might indicate an unrecognized contact with an extraterrestrial presence."

"But it killed the entire population of Groversville," said Jim-Bean. 

"There's no guarantee that a creature with greater intelligence would be pacifistic and benevolent. That's a common conceit: the notion that aliens would've learned how to live in complete harmony among themselves and with other species. As that old song says ... it ain't necessarily so. After all, mankind is considerably further along the road of evolution than gorillas are, but as a species we're definitely more warlike than gorillas at their most aggressive."

A call came over the cistrons about a finding in the barn.  Adams listened to different orders inside his helmet.

“Well gentlemen, looks like I’m with you.”


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 9 – The Installation*

“So this is the barn where mysterious lights were sighted?” asked Adams.

Lieutenant Underhill and his men were posted outside of the normal-looking barn.  “According to newspaper reports from the last week. We tried to open the doors, but they’re sealed.” 

“Sealed?” asked Jim-Bean.  “How do you seal a barn?”

“We could probably open it, but we have orders not to move on this without your say so.”

Hammer and Jim-Bean grabbed hold of the edges and yanked hard.  The doors creaked open.

Beyond was a sheet of dry, resin-like matter. It was too opaque to see through. “We tried cutting it with no luck.”

Hammer nodded to Underhill.  “Blow it.”

“Okay, everybody back!” shouted Underhill.  The soldiers set up plastique all along the perimeter.  After several warnings to stand back, the explosions went off simultaneously in tight, controlled bursts.  The barn doors collapsed forward and the sheet shattered.

Hammer, Jim-Bean, Guppy, and Adams entered.  It was clear that Underhill had orders to let the agents go first. 

All walls on the ground level have been reinforced with a sort of spray epoxy.  The interior walls on the ground floor were removed, leaving a large, open area about sixty feet long by thirty feet wide.  Within, a large number of strange instruments were spread about in disarray.  The majority of the devices was too alien to be understood; lights, glows, pulsing bellows, and all sorts of bizarre apparatuses that had a weirdly fungal, biological look to them.  

There was a large, enclosed vat with a hole on rent in its side, as if it were struck by a powerful force. Also scattered about the vat were …

Guppy backed away, hyperventilating.

“They’re dead, Guppy,” said Hammer.  “Relax.”

The limbs of Grey bodies were twisted in odd ways.

“The one at GNN was supposed to be dead too,” said Jim-Bean.

Hammer shushed him.  He wasn’t helping. 

“Looks like an explosion,” said Adams.  “This is fascinating.  So there WAS alien life here…”

“Of course!” shouted Guppy.  “They abducted me!  They’ll abduct all of us if they get the chance—“

“Guppy!” shouted Hammer.  “I need you to cool it!  Calm down!”

Guppy blinked, looking around.  “I need to…I need to get out of here.”

“Fine.  Step outside and take a breather.” Hammer called into his cistron.  “Underhill, we need a STREETSWEEP.”

“Coming right up, sir,” replied Underhill.

Jim-Bean inspected the canister.  “See this?”

Hammer joined him.  “Yeah?”

“The hole exploded outwards.  Whatever was in there got out.”

“Dunbar here,” said another member of Copperfield’s crew.  “You’d better take a look at this.”


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 10 – Jesus Loves Me*

When the agents got to the house, they found the three men assigned to it—Brogan, Wong, and Dunbar—with their machine guns out, but unsure what to aim at. They glanced up as the agents entered, looking disconcerted and baffled.
_
"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush." _The air was filled with a child's singing. A little boy. His voice was clear and fragile and sweet. _"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush, so early in the moooorrrninnnggg!"_

The song changed. The voice was the same: _"This old man, he plays one; he plays knickknack on my drum. With a knickknack, paddy whack, give a dog a bone—"_

Adams leaned forward.  “Is that…is that coming from the sink?”

The child's voice sounded like it was coming out of the drain, as if he were trapped far down in the pipes.

_"—this old man goes rolling home."_

"It just started all of a sudden," said Wong, raising his voice above the singing. 

"It started a couple of minutes ago," said Brogan.

"I was standing at the sink," said Dunbar. He was a burly, hairy, rough-looking man with warm, shy brown eyes. "When the singing started up ... Jesus, I must've jumped two feet!"

The song changed again. The sweetness was replaced by a cloying, almost mocking piety: _"Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him are drawn. They are weak, but He is strong.”_

Nothing about the singing was overtly threatening. The agents listened, mystified as to what to do next.

“Is there a basement?” asked Hammer.

“No, sir,” said Wong.  “We’ve been getting ready to dig into the foundation, but there’s no way there’s a kid down those pipes.”
_
"Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus—" _

The singing abruptly ceased.

Jim-Bean peered into the sink drain.

A long, high-pressure stream of exceptionally filthy, greasy water shot almost to the ceiling and rained down over everything. It was a short burst, only a second or two, spraying in every direction.

Everyone screamed.  The men in the suits backed away.  Guppy fell to the ground.  Even Hammer, normally collected under the circumstances, took a few steps back.

Jim-Bean wiped some of it off of his face.  “Relax,” he said.  “It’s just sewer water.”

Guppy slowly got to his feet.  “What do you care?  You’re already contaminated.”

Underhill’s urgent call interrupted them. They were needed at the church.

“The Flaming Cross Church?” asked Jim-Bean as he wiped his face off with a towel.  “Are they serious?”


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 11a – The Flaming Cross Church*

In the Flaming Cross Baptist Church, sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, which were composed predominantly of blues and greens. Hundreds of irregularly shaped patches of royal blue, sky blue, turquoise, aquamarine, emerald green, and many other shades dripped across the polished wooden pews, puddled in the aisles, and shimmered on the walls.

Just beyond the narthex, a stream of crimson light splashed across the white marble font that contained the holy water. It was the crimson of Christ's blood. The sun pierced a stained glass image of Christ's bleeding heart and sprayed sanguine rays upon the water that glistened in the pale marble bowl.

The church was solemn, silent, still. The air was softened by a pleasant trace of incense. In the pews, there were no worshipers. At first it appeared as if the church was deserted.

Then Hammer saw it. “Oh man.”

The chancel was cloaked in more shadows than the rest of the church, which is why he didn’t immediately notice the hideous—and sacrilegious—thing above the altar.

The altar candles had burned down all the way and had gone out. However, as the agents and their three-soldier escort progressed down the center aisle, they got a clearer and clearer view of the life-size crucifix that rose up from the center of the altar, along the rear wall of the chancel. 

It was a wooden cross, with an exquisitely detailed, hand-painted, glazed plaster figure of Christ fixed to it. At the moment, much of the godly image was obscured by another body that hung in front of it. A real body, not another plaster corpus. It was the priest in his robes; he was nailed to the cross.

Two altar boys kneeled on the floor in front of the altar. They were dead, bruised, bloated.

Hammer walked over to inspect the corpse. 

The flesh of the priest had begun to darken and to show other signs of imminent decomposition. 

“Hmm, this one actually has signs of decomposition.  It’s a day-old corpse.” 

“There’s another pile of metal over here,” said Jim-Bean, pointing at the statue of Mary. 

At the base of the statue of Mary, there was a large accumulation of metal buttons, wrist watches, and jewelry. Everything metal.

“It’s almost like an offering,” said Guppy.

“Not an offering,” said Adams.  “Undigested remains.  And a little something preserved and put aside for later, like a spider might do.”

“We’ve got something,” Underhill reported over the comm.  “Looks like damage to the lines down in the sewers.  That explains the phone and power outages.”

“What the …” Guppy was looking at the entryway to the church.  

A wet golden retriever stood at the doorway. Whining, it padded towards them.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” said Jim-Bean. 

The soldiers trained their weapons on it.  The dog whined and lay its head down …

And spiked tendrils, stiff as tree trunks, shot out of its back, piercing pews.  One perforated Brogan’s helmet. His body twitched but stood upright, speared through the skull.

The other tendrils smashed through the pews.  Wong and Dunbar dove to one side, Guppy, Jim-Bean, Hammer, and Adams to the other. 

“Fire!” shouted Hammer.  “Fire!”

They unleashed a hellish wrath of hot metal at the flailing tentacles.  Bullets tore through flesh and the thing squealed. The automatic fire of machine guns tore it to pieces.

Brogan, finally released from the thing’s grip, collapsed to the ground.

Dunbar moved closer to the dogs smoking corpse.  “Is it dead?”

“Stay away from it…” said Hammer.

That’s when they noticed that Brogan was standing up.

Brogan, who seconds before was writhing as a tentacle penetrated his suit, stood whole before them.  The only evidence that anything was wrong was the hole in the faceplate of his suit.

Brogan opened his mouth and a strange voice issued from it.  “You were brought here, Scott Adams.  Do your research.  Write the gospel. Spread the word of my glory.”

Then Brogan collapsed.  

Jim-Bean, his pistol trained on Brogan, kicked the suit.  “He…deflated.  There’s no body inside the suit.”

He kicked it over.  There was a crack in the floor. 

“I was right,” said Adams.  “It thinks of itself as a god.  That’s why my name was on the mirror.  It wanted you to bring me here.  This thing, whatever it is, wants me to spread the word about its gospel.  And it’s not going to stop until—“

The crack of a pistol rang out.  Adams slumped to the ground, a bullet hole in the back of his helmet.  

Hammer lowered his Glock.  “You’re right. It’s not going to stop.”


----------



## Sandain

Wow! I didn't see that coming.  What made Hammer do that?


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 11b – The Flaming Cross Church*

Hi Sandain,

I'll let Hammer explain in his own words.  Let me know if you have any questions. 

===========

“You killed him?!” shouted Guppy.  “You shot Adams in cold blood!” His pistol was out, pointed at Hammer.

Hammer had both Glocks out.  “You heard him.  This protomatter spawn wants him to spread the word.  We can’t let—“

“Agents have been compromised!” shouted Wong. “Repeat, agents have been compromised! Requesting backup at the Flaming Cross Church.” 

Dunbar opened fire, raking the pews with hot lead.

Hammer ducked down behind the pews.  “I don’t want to fight you!”

Jim-Bean jumped out in front of Hammer.  “Stop!  This is a misunderstanding!”

In perfect synchronization, Wong and Dunbar drew grenades from their belts, activated them, and tossed them towards Hammer.

Jim-Bean held one hand up and one of the grenades abruptly changed its directory, sailing back towards Wong and Dunbar. 

Hammer and Guppy dove in different directions as the grenades were triggered.  Wooden pews flew everywhere in a shower of splinters.

The gunfire stopped.  Guppy struggled to his feet.

“Dunbar?  Wong?”  He looked over at the smoking corpses of the two men.  “You … you killed them too?”

Hammer had his Glocks out.  “Guppy, you need to calm down and think straight …”

“You just killed three innocent people!” Guppy swiveled his Beretta towards Hammer.

“Put the gun down,” said Hammer.  “You broke the number one rule, Guppy: never reveal the conspiracy.  Don’t you see?  That’s what this thing wanted.  It wanted Adams to blow the conspiracy wide open.  And that’s just as good as killing every one of those men that came with Copperfield.”

“Uh guys …” said Jim-Bean, staring out the doorway of the church.

“So you killed him,” said Guppy. 

“I did what I had to do.  What I signed up to do.  What YOU signed up to do.”

“So now you’re going to kill me.”  Guppy lowered his pistol.

Hammer lowered his Glocks. “No.  But I am writing you up.  You need help, Guppy.  You’re getting increasingly erratic.  I’m going to recommend you for a full psychiatric evaluation.” He brought his cistron to his lips. “This is Agent Hammer.  Situation is resolved.  Requesting an escort.”

Nothing but static. Guppy looked away. 

“Repeat, this is Agent Hammer.”  Hammer looked at his cistron.  

“Guys!” shouted Jim-Bean. “Wong called for backup.  Shouldn’t somebody, anybody, be here by now?”

Hammer slowly made his way over to the church doors.  A few seconds later, Guppy peered out from behind them.

There was nothing.  All of Copperfield’s men were missing.[D][/D]


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 12 – A Misunderstanding*

Three decontamination suits lay tangled and untenanted in the middle of the street. Another empty suit laid half in the gutter and half on the sidewalk. Two of the helmets were cracked.

“Gone,” said Hammer.  “All of them.  Gone.”

Submachine guns were scattered around, and unused Molotov cocktails were lined up along the curb.

“This isn’t right,” said Jim-Bean.  “How the hell do you lose an entire team?”

“The same way you lose an entire town,” said Guppy morosely. 

They made their way to the convoy, walking in silence. 

The convoy was abandoned. The back of the truck was open. More empty decontamination suits and submachine guns were piled in front of it. No people. The rear doors on both labs were ajar.

Hammer opened up the first lab. It was deserted. Two rumpled decon suits lay on the floor, and another was draped over a swivel chair in front of a computer terminal.

The second lab was also deserted. Two decontamination suits. Nothing else.

Down the street, near Ameley’s Goods, something monstrous appeared in the sky, skimming over the tops of the buildings, hovering for a few seconds above Skyline Road. 

“It’s back!” wailed Guppy, drawing his pistol.

“Jim-Bean, you got that sniper rifle we took from the sheriff’s office?”

Jim-Bean reached into his duffle bag and tossed it to Hammer.  It was already loaded.

Hammer took aim at the thing through the scope. Part-crustacean, part insect, its six-foot wings beat furiously upon the air. Its head glimmered with rainbow color.  There were six twitching legs with pincered feet. The curled, segmented, purplish body terminated in an insect-like abdomen. It was holding a strange cylinder in its fore claws.

Hammer fired.  The bullet ricocheted off the cylinder to no effect.

The bat-winged lobster thing filled his scope.  “Down!” he shouted.

They all ducked as it glided overhead and into one of the trailers.  A few seconds later the thing crawled out and launched itself into the night sky.

They waited. 

“Is it a bomb?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Would have gone off by now,” said Hammer. 

“Only one way to find out.” Guppy slowly crawled into the lab.  

All the ceiling lights winked out. In a second, however, light sprung up once more, although not from the ceiling bulbs; it was an unusual light, a green flash. It was only the three video display terminals, which all came on at once. Then they went off.

And came on. Off, on, off, on, off ... At first they flashed simultaneously, then in sequence, around and around. Finally they all came on and stayed on, filling the otherwise unlighted work area with an eerie glow.

Lit by the green radiance was a large, cylinder of greenish alien metal, featureless except for three network ports conforming to no human standard. The ports were connected to the computer terminals.

Six words were burned in pale green letters across a dark green background: 







> WHERE AM I?




The other two screens bore the same words.

Blink. There were new words: 







> WHAT IS GOING ON?




Blink. 







> WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BODY?




Guppy tapped a few keys.  The words “audio enabled” appeared on the screen.



> “What is going on?”



 came a monotone, digitized voice from the computer’s speakers.

Guppy typed back.  “Who are you?”



> “I am ... Oakley.”




“Oakley?  Oakley, it’s me, Guppy.”



> “Guppy?  What happened to my body?  Why can’t I see?  Why can’t I hear?  Where are you?  Where am I?”




“That’s not important right now.  Right now what’s important is why you’re here.”

Confident that the device wasn’t a bomb, Hammer and Jim-Bean joined Guppy and listened to the exchange.


> “I ... they took me.  They brought me here.  There’s something very important they want me to tell you.”




“Who? The aliens—“

Hammer grabbed Guppy’s wrist.  “Don’t type that.”

Guppy deleted the phrase and retyped, “What do they want you to tell us?”



> “BIOSAN-4.”




“What’s BIOSAN-4?”

One of the other screens changed to a download bar.  



> “I am downloading the chemical composition. The microbe was first created in 1972 by cell fusion. General Electric Corporation set Dr. Ananda Chakrabarty on the task of patenting a man made bacterium. They wanted a bug that could effectively digest the carbon compounds of crude oil. This would enable a fast and effective oil spill cleanup. Chakrabarty did find the microbe to do this, but it was very weak. After acquiring the patent for this microbe, the GE scientists worked on the successful creation of BIOSAN-4. BIOSAN-4 can withstand deterioration for 12-18 hours.”




“And this is important because…” said Jim-Bean.

Oakley anticipated his question.  







> “The protomatter spawn is an organic, metabolically active cousin of petrolatum.”




Guppy became much more animated, his differences with Hammer temporarily forgotten. “BIOSAN-4 will eat the spawn the same way that it eats oil!”

Jim-Bean looked at the entrance to the lab.  “So the alien dogs drop off Oakley’s brain to tell us this?”

“I think,” said Guppy, “they’re trying to help, somehow.  I think they’ve been trying to communicate with us all this time.”

“Like the messages on the phone,” said Hammer.

The screen switched from downloading to processing.  

“This is a chemical lab, so it can process BIOSAN-4 right here,” said Guppy. 

“And what do we do with it once we have it?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Hold its nose and force it to swallow?”

Hammer opened one closet on the wall and pulled out three tranquilizer rifles.  “Or we could use these.”



> “Now that I have helped you, you have to help me.”




“How?” typed Guppy.



> “Kill me.  Kill me now.”




“I don’t think…” Guppy started typing.



> “Kill me now.  Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now.”




Guppy stopped typing and stared dumbly at the computer, helpless.  Hammer unplugged the cables running from the cylinder to the computer and the monitor went blank, the voice silenced. 

A centrifuge in another part of the lab finished spinning.  A glowing blue liquid was visible in several cylinders.  

“How can we be sure this is going to actually work?” asked Guppy.

“There’s no way to tell,” said Hammer. 

“I think there is,” said Jim-Bean.  He tied a rubber hose around forearm and pulled it tight with his teeth.

“What are you doing?” asked Guppy.

“Finding out if this crap actually works.  I’m not going to trust my life to a brain in a jar.” Jim-Bean took a knife out of his boot and stuck it into the soft plastic table near him.  Then he popped the cap off of one of the small glowing blue cylinders.

“I don’t think that’s such a good—“

Jim-Bean poured a dot of the blue liquid onto his arm.  

Almost instantaneously, his arm broke out in pustule-like sores, leaking a thin blue fluid. Jim-Bean spasmed violently.  

“Jesus!” he said through gritted teeth. He reached for the knife, but the pain was so searing he had difficulty.

Additional sores opened in hideous profusion, lesions of all shapes and sizes that split and cracked and popped across Jim-Bean’s arm. 

Jim-Bean yanked hard on the tourniquet and stabbed the knife deep into his arm, slicing flesh off in one smooth motion.  He screamed as a spray of blood shot all over the lab, tearing through skin and muscle.  A six-inch length of flesh flopped off his arm onto the table. 

The tissue twitched and convulsed into a lifeless pool of stinking, watery mush.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Hammer.  

Tears were in Jim-bean’s eyes and his nose was running.  The pain was immense. Blood was everywhere and continued to pump out of his arm. 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” asked Guppy in disbelief.

The blood flow slowed.  Tendrils of flesh and muscle spiraled across the raw meat and the white of Jim-Bean’s forearm.  The wound stopped bleeding.  

Jim-Bean let the tourniquet drop from his teeth.  “Just … trying to see,” he gasped, “… if I can be.”


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 13a – Showdown*

All three of the agents were armed with dart rifles.  They strode into the church.

“What makes you think it will be in here?” asked Guppy.

“Because this is where a god goes to be worshipped.” Hammer pointed at a figure sitting in the pew in the front row.

The agents converged on the figure from three different directions.  It was Adams.

He turned and opened his mouth and spoke without moving it.  “You killed my disciple.  You shouldn’t have done that. As punishment, I will make you serve—“

Hammer drew his Glock and emptied it into Adams’ suit.  “I hate monologues.”

The body collapsed.  Something slithered underneath it into a crack in the ground.

“I think we made it angry,” said Jim-Bean.

“Look out!” shouted Hammer.

Flesh-colored tentacles waved silently behind Jim-Bean, twelve feet in the air. 

Jim-Bean dove as the tentacles smashed down, tearing pews in half.  Guppy fired a dart into the thing.  The blue fluid pumped into it.

One tentacle shot out and wrapped around the life-sized crucifix.  Wielding it like a club, it swept the crucifix along the pews, blasting wood everywhere. The priest’s body went flying. 

The agents scattered in all directions.

The tentacles writhed and twisted and foamed, breaking open in sores as the bacteria destroyed the binding structure of the amorphous tissue. 

Hammer fired at the wounds with his Glocks.  The pustules exploded and the thing flinched, tentacles whipping spastically in pain.  They tore loose from the rest of the creature, flopping and wriggling in the church. 

The amorphous tissue withdrew, out of sight, creeping deeper into the subterranean passageways, no doubt shedding more pieces of itself. 

“Ha!” shouted Guppy.  “Take that!”

“That thing is huge,” said Jim-Bean. 

“It would have to be, to take out a car engine,” said Guppy.

“That’s not what I mean. I think it’s a lot bigger than what we just saw.”

Hammer reloaded his pistols.  “How do you figure?”

“I think this protomatter … I think it absorbs flesh,” said Jim-Bean. “That’s why there’s piles of non-organic matter. And by absorbing flesh it only gets bigger.”

“But this thing absorbed the entire town,” began Guppy. 

“And all of Copperfield’s team…”

Suddenly the ground rumbled and heaved under their feet. 

“Out,” shouted Hammer, “Everybody out!”

They ran towards the exit as the church began to collapse.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Part 13b – Showdown*

The street leaped and shuddered again, harder than before, as if earthquake shock waves passed beneath it. But it was no quake.

The agents flattened to the ground.  Standing was impossible.

It was coming—not just a fragment, not just another spawn, but the largest part of it, perhaps the entire great bulk, surging toward the surface with unimaginable destructive power, rising like a god betrayed, bringing its unholy wrath and vengeance on those who had dared to strike at it, turning itself into an enormous mass of muscle fiber and pushing, pushing, until the macadam bulged and cracked.

Along the entire block of Skyline Road, an atonal symphony of destruction reached an ear-shattering crescendo: squealing, grinding, cracking, splitting sounds; the world itself coming asunder. The air was filled with dust that spurted up from widening fissures in the pavement.

The roadbed tilted with tremendous force. Chunks of it spewed into the air. Most were the size of gravel, but some were as large as a fist. A few were even larger than that, fifty- and hundred- and two-hundred-pound blocks of concrete, leaping five or ten feet into the air as the protean creature below formed relentlessly toward the surface.

The earth under Hammer lifted and fell with a crash. Lifted and fell again. Gravel-size debris rained down, thumping off his legs, snapping against his head, making Hammer wince.

A huge slab of concrete erupted from the left and was flung ten feet into the air. It hit Guppy. It slammed across his legs, breaking them, pinning Guppy. He howled in pain, howling so loudly that he could be heard above the roar of the disintegrating pavement.

Still, the shaking continued. The street heaved up higher. Ragged teeth of macadam concrete bit at the morning air.

A baseball-size missile of concrete, spat into the air by the protomatter’s volcanic exit from the storm drain, slammed back to the pavement, impacting two or three inches from Jim-Bean’s head.  Then the ridge-forming pressure from below was suddenly widened. The street ceased shaking. 

The sounds of destruction faded.  Abruptly, the street began caving in. It made a tearing sound, and pieces broke loose along the fracture lines. Slabs tumbled into the emptiness below. Too much emptiness: it sounded as if things were falling into a chasm, not just a drain.

Then the entire hoved-up section pavement erupted with a thunderous roar, and Hammer found himself at the brink.  The pit was ten feet across, at least fifty feet long. 

He saw Guppy. His legs were pinned under a massive hunk of concrete. Worse than that—he was trapped on a precarious piece of roadbed that thrust over the rim of the hole, with no support beneath it. At any moment, it might crack loose and fall into the pit, taking him with it.

“Guppy!” shouted Hammer.  “Hold on!”

The pit was at least thirty feet deep, probably a lot deeper in places; Hammer couldn’t gauge it accurately because there were many shadows along its fifty-foot length. 

A crisp, cracking noise split the air. Guppy’s concrete perch shifted. It was going to break loose and tumble into the chasm. 

Wham!

The pavement shifted and began to drop out from under Guppy.  Hammer lunged and grabbed hold of Guppy’s collar just as the pavement beneath Guppy gave way. An eight-foot-long, four-foot-wide slab, slipped into the pit, carrying Guppy and Hammer with it. It didn’t crash to the bottom, but instead slid thirty feet to the base and came to rest against other rubble.

Guppy screamed in pain.

The spawn came for him. It exploded out of one of the tunnels that pecked the floor of the pit. A massive pseudopod of amorphous protoplasm rose ten feet into the air, quivered, dropped to the ground, broke off of the mother-body hiding below, and formed itself into an obscenely fat black spider the size of a pony. It was only twelve feet from Guppy, and it clambered through the shattered blocks of pavement, heading toward him with murderous intent.

“Shoot it!” shouted Hammer.

Jim-Bean took aim and fired.  The dart plunged into the spider’s head.  It stumbled backwards, wicked fangs gnashing in rage.

Hammer began climbing, dragging Guppy behind him.  He dragged them both up to a flatter part of the pit.  The spider’s huge black legs scrabbled for purchase on the ledge.

Hammer dropped Guppy and drew his pistols.  He fired first one pistol, then the other, aiming at the spider’s legs.

The spider’s legs tore apart, transforming back into protomatter.  Sores exploded across its body.  Hammer fired more shots into its head and it fell back into the pit, reabsorbed into the protomatter spawn and infecting it further. 

Hammer resumed climbing.  Guppy was semi-conscious, which made it even harder. 

The protomatter spawn surged up from underground, gushing out onto the floor of the pit. It looked like a tide of thick, congealed sewage; except for where it was stained by BIOSAN-4, it was darker than it had been before. It rippled, writhed, and churned more agitatedly than ever. The milky stain of infection was spreading visibly through the creature: Blisters formed, swelled, popped; ugly sores broke open and wept a watery blue fluid. 

Hammer cleared the slope of the pit.  He shoved Guppy over the edge and then clambered up after him. 

Within only a few seconds, at least a ton of the amorphous flesh spewed out of the hole. All of it was afflicted with disease, and still it came, ever faster, a lava-like outpouring, a wild spouting of living, gelatinous tissue. Even more of the beast began to issue from another hole. The great oozing mass lapped across the rubble, formed pseudopods—shapeless, flailing arms—that rose into the air but quickly fell back in foaming, spasming seizures.

And then, from still other holes, there came a ghastly sound: the voices of a thousand men, women, children, and animals, all crying out in pain, horror, and bleak despair. 

Three or four tons of amorphous tissue fountained into the pit, and more still was gushing forth, as if the bowels of the earth were emptying. The spawn’s flesh was shuddering, leaping, bursting with leprous lesions. It tried to bud other versions, but it was too weak or unstable to competently mimic anything; the half-realized animals and enormous insects either decomposed into a sludge that resembled pus or collapsed back into the pool of tissue beneath them. 

The thing came toward Hammer nonetheless, coming in a quivering-churning frenzy; it flowed almost to the base of the slope, and sent its degenerating yet still powerful tentacles toward his heels.

Hammer turned, both Glocks out, but it was too late.  Tendrils pulled at him with the strength of ten men, sucking him in like a squid capturing a shrimp. He was instantly surrounded, and suddenly Hammer understood how Beck and Henderson died.  

The protomatter spawn had squeezed them to death by sucking them into its bulk, suffocating, bruising, without breaking a single bone.  There wasn’t even the possibility of resisting.  Every inch of space around Hammer was filled with protomatter, and it whispered in his ear that it would make him suffer in ways he could never imagine.

Then the pustule burst around him and he fell out, gasping.  Hammer caught a glimpse of Jim-Bean, his air rifle still aimed at the thing, before he hit the ground. 

An incredibly large, gelatinous lake of amorphous tissue lay at the bottom of the pit, pooling over and around the debris, but it was virtually inactive. A few human and animal forms still tried to rise up, but the thing was losing its talent for mimicry. The creatures were imperfect and sluggish. The spawn slowly disappeared under a layer of its own dead and decomposing tissue.

Jim-Bean stood over Hammer, the rifle hanging limply in his hand.

“Did we get it?” croaked Hammer. His entire body was one big bruise.  It hurt to breath.

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean.  “We got it.”

“Guppy?” Hammer rolled over to look at Guppy.  His rib cage moved up and down in shallow gasps.

“He’ll live,” said Jim-Bean.  “His legs are busted up.  I put a call in for a STREETSWEEP of this whole damn town.  Backup should be here soon.”

“Now what do we do?” Hammer whispered, closing his eyes.

“Now?” Jim-Bean shrugged.  There was no evidence of anything anymore.  No evidence of Guppy’s slip-up.  No evidence of Hammer’s executions.  And most importantly, no evidence of the parasite that was coiled around Jim-Bean’s bones.  He held up one of the blue vials of BIOSAN-4 to the sunlight. “Now we get back to work.”

Jim-Bean put the vial back in his pocket.


----------



## talien

*Convergence: Conclusion*

The small east-central Tennessee community of Groversville, long the butt of local humor as a hotbed of UFO crackpots and Elvis-sighters was no longer a laughing matter.  A virulent plague had ravaged the town and many of the farms in the vicinity, leaving a death toll of well over ninety percent among the human population and near-total loss of livestock in its wake.

Acting swiftly under the direction of the Centers for Disease Control, Tennessee Governor Don Sundquist mobilized several units of the Tennessee National Guard, placing the region under strict quarantine.  

"We feel it's of vital importance to contain this disease within the Groversville community, not only to prevent the spread of contagion throughout the state, but also to more effectively render assistance to those citizens of Groversville so desperately in need of our help in this time of crisis," Governor Sundquist said in a press release on Saturday.

Dr. Carl Sciebenski, Deputy Director of the National Center for Infectious Diseases in Atlanta, lauded the Tennessee governor's efforts. 

"Without the cooperation of elected officials, the CDC's hands are tied.  Governor Sundquist's prompt response to our recommendation of quarantine may well have safeguarded the lives of thousands," he said in a press conference.  

Dr. Sciebenski went on to indicate that, while the provenance of the disease that struck Groversville was unknown, the apparently new strain of viral influenza, while virulent and deadly, appeared to have a very short life cycle.  

"Forty-eight hours after the initial reports, we were no longer detecting cases of new infection," Dr. Sciebenski stated. "While the tragedy of Groversville will never be forgotten, we are confident that there shall be no re-appearances of this disease."

No official spokesperson for the town of Groversville was available for comment.  No trace of the town's board of aldermen was found, although the town hall was found to be in a state of total disarray when investigators arrived.  Likewise, the entire local sheriff's department appeared to have succumbed to the disease that claimed so many. Funerals for the deceased continued through the week.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 30: The Birdcage - Introduction*

This scenario, “The Birdcage,” is from the Spycraft supplement Combat Missions by Yours Truly. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
Because I plan so far in advance, at this point I have five or six scenarios ready to go depending on which players show up.  This is a necessity, because sometimes I’m never sure whom I’m going to get.  I didn’t realize George was playing until he arrived. Since he showed up first, I decided to go ahead and advance his plotline.

In Hammer’s case, it’s clear he’s being used as bait.  I felt like this scenario was successful in emphasizing Hammer’s character development and personal plotline. The original purpose of the combat mission – to capture four of the worst murderers in America – was ignored for the larger terrorist plot.  Or to put it another way, when you work for the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency, you worry more about terrorists than you do criminals. 

And heck, if they’re patriotic criminals, all the better! 

*Defining Moment:* Even murderous psychopaths love the good ole U.S. of A!

Relevant Media

*Combat Missions:*  For Spycraft.
*Con Air:*  A big, dumb movie, but an entertaining plot for an adventure. 
*Train to Miami:* You probably know this song as "These Are My Friends Now" in the ad for Left 4 Dead.


----------



## talien

*Birdcage: Prologue*



> _I'm on assignment for the FBI, Miami, Florida. Child sacrifice.
> The swamp is deep and warm and old.
> (I'm falling) I think she loves me, I love her too.
> Satan brands, and homemade tattoos.
> You can't believe the things I've seen.
> These are my friends now, these are my friends now,
> these are my friends now, these are my friends now._​
> -_Train to Miami_ by Steel Pole Bathtub​



POUND, VA—While most prisoners were evacuated through more traditional forms of transportation, the possibility of a supersarin attack against Red Onion super maximum-security prison required special attention.  The criminals were collectively more dangerous than the threat itself. The worst murderers and serial killers were collected onto a Justice Prisoner Transportation System (JPTS) and sent to another super maximum-security prison.

Agent Hammer, bristling at his new reassignment, stood guard on the 727 known as FPTS 50. It was probably just as well.  After the falling out between Hammer and Guppy, he had been reassigned.  Guppy claimed Hammer had turned against him, even drew a weapon against a fellow agent; all true of course.  But in turn, Hammer claimed Guppy was mentally unstable, endangering the Conspiracy, and sharing secrets with people who couldn’t be trusted.  

In the end, Majestic-12 judged them both guilty.  So Hammer was put on a guard duty aboard a prison plane, and Guppy was released on his own recognizance for some R&R while under the care of a mental health professional.  Nobody had walked away from the experience clean, not even Jim-Bean. He didn’t talk about it; Hammer only knew that Jim-Bean had to be paired with another agent at all times for any given mission, almost like a chaperon.  Sprague never explained why.

Inside, the 727 was rearranged from its previous commercial seating to allow guards a better view of the entire plane. The criminals trudge past him in single file onto the plane.   All of the prisoners wore handcuffs, leg irons and a belly chain secured with a padlock.  

Some of the prisoners had handcuffs reinforced with a black box that covered the keyhole.  

“You’re the new guy, rights?” One of the guards smiled at Hammer.  “You look familiar.”  His badge read BISHOP.

“I look like a lot of people,” muttered Hammer. 

Bishop, a clean-shaven younger man, nodded towards the prisoners in line with the black boxes holding their manacles together. “Black-box prisoners always get window seats,” he said. “They're seated in the back, as far from the pilots as possible.”

Hammer didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. The passenger manifest was a veritable rogue’s gallery of the worst the penal system had to offer.  

Like a talk show host introducing his guests, Bishop gleefully explained the four worst “black boxed” men who climbed into the plane.

“This here’s Crazy Freddy.” Crazy Freddy’s wild eyes and hair were unmistakable, the anarchy symbol on his forehead defying anyone who looked at him.  “Crazy Freddy convinced his follows to kill a sleeping family.” Freddy stuck his pierced tongue out at Hammer as he passed.

“Next is George Jones, AKA the Incinerator.” Bishop smirked at Jones.  “Tell ‘em why they call you incinerator, Jonesy.”

“Burned down a building fill with senior citizens,” said Jones, wiggled his red eyebrows. 

The next man to enter stood nearly seven feet tall and the guards had force his head down and push him sideways through the door.  He needed no introduction.

“Smasher,” said Hammer. “I remember you.”

Johnny “Smasher” Morowitz didn’t make eye contract.  A former Football star, weight lifter, and professional wrestler, Johnny had murdered several men with his bare hands for the Mafia. It was all in the news.

The last man to enter was shuffled in with pantyhose over his head.  The guard patted the top of the prisoner’s head.  

“This sterling piece of human filth is none other than Billy ‘Taste-Test’ Bean, a bona fide serial killer!” The other guards bound Billy into his seat with a cargo strap before they removed the pantyhose. “Billy’s a spitter,” said Bishop, to explain the pantyhose.  

“How many people you eat, Billy?” asked Falzon, another one of the guards.

“Twenty six,” he said, staring with startling blue eyes at the guard.

“Keeps going up,” said Falzon.  “It was twenty five.”

Billy stared at Falzon.  “I’m planning ahead.”

They each took their posts, at the rear, center, and front of the cabin.  

"Make sure your seat belt is fastened and keep it fastened,” said the pilot over the intercom.  “Do not stand up for any reason unless instructed to do so. If you're seated in an aisle, keep your arms, legs and other body parts out of the aisle. In the unlikely event of an emergency, follow all directions of the flight crew."

The flight was fairly uneventful despite the tension on the plane.  By now the prisoners knew that disobedience was not tolerated in such cramped quarters.  It looked like it was going to be a routine flight.

Bishop returned to staring at Hammer.  “Man, you really look familiar.”

“He was on that terrorist web site,” said Falzon.  “The guy who has a fatwa of death on him by Al-Hazzan.”

“Fat what?” asked the third guard in the back, Billings.

“Fatwa,” said Falzon. “You know, a religious decree by Muslims.  In this case, Al-Hazzan ordered a fatwa to take … Grange, is it?” He peered at Hammer’s badge. “To take Grange out.”

“Take him out?” asked Billings. "What did you do to them?"

Hammer didn't answer.

“He captured Saladin," said Bishop for him.

That caused everyone to go silent.

“That means …” began Billings, but then he looked around.  “Saladin's not on the plane, is he?”

“We would know,” said Bishop, checking a clipboard. "He's not on the list."

“He's not on the plane,” said Hammer curtly.  "He's dead."

“Then why does Al-Hazzan keep asking for him to be released?” asked Falzon.

“I guess they don’t believe me,” replied Hammer.

“You think they’d put him on here and not tell us?” asked Falzon.

The guards all craned their necks, inspecting any prisoner who looked like he was of Middle Eastern descent.

“Why would they do that?” asked Hammer.

“I dunno, man,” said Bishop, irritated. “Why ARE you here then?”

“I’m Saladin!” shouted a white prisoner.  

“No, I’m Saladin!” responded a black prisoner next to him.

This started a litany of cries either claiming to be Saladin or patriotic condemnations. 

The guards got nervous.  This kind of ruckus wasn't usual for them, but they didn't want to delay the flight either.

“Shut up!” shouted Crazy Freddy. "I know for a fact Saladin's not on board."

That calmed the others down.  "How do you know that?" asked Jones.

"Because," Freddy looked him up and down, "those anti-American bastards want this homie dead.  Putting him in the same plane would be like lighting a big neon sign over our heads."

Hammer stared straight at Freddy.  Freddy unflinchingly returned his gaze.  

"You think Saladin's alive, don't ya Freddy," asked Bishop, who had clearly worked with Freddy for a while.

Freddy nodded. "Has to be.  They wouldn't put this guy on a prison transport otherwise.  Saladin's just not here with him."

"That makes us sitting ducks …" began Falzon.

“Uh, hey,” interrupted the prisoner who had first claimed to be Saladin. “I think there’s a problem with my box here.”

The prisoner next to him leaned over and placed his ear to the box.  

“Uh…guys?  Guys, this box is beeping.”  He smiled nervously, a maw full of dirty yellow teeth.  “I know this crap is high-tech and stuff but are these things supposed to beep?”

Someone shouted from the back, “Oh man, I got gypped! Mine ain’t beeping!”

This elicited snickers from the other prisoners, but just then the beeping got loud enough that it could be heard over the engines of the plane.  It began to beep faster and more urgently.

Hammer calmly took hold of the rigging near him and braced himself. 

“Son of a BITCH,” snarled Crazy Freddy.  He glared at Hammer.  "You're bad luck—" 

A loud explosion cut off his sentence as the beeping prisoner's entire seat was engulfed in a fireball. The wall ripped open, exposing the inside of the plane to the tearing winds.


----------



## talien

*The Birdcage: Part 1 – Right Said Fred*

The plane was a mass of chaos.  Prisoners screamed, yanked towards the gaping wound in the plane but safely chained to their seats.  They were the lucky ones.

One of the guards, the one who was inspecting the box, disappeared before he could even scream.  The other guards, positioned on the far ends of the plane held on for dear life.  The two prisoners in the seat that exploded were gone, along with their seats. The warning shrieks from the cockpit were audible throughout the plane. 

Outside, Hammer could make out the terrain whistling below them. He got a glimpse of the wing.  It was on … 

“Fire!” shouted Jones, gesturing excitedly with his manacles towards the hole.  

Through the gaping wound in the plane Hammer could make out flames flickering and dancing where the engine once was.

Hammer grabbed a fire extinguisher, but he couldn't do much of anything but hold on until the plane reached a lower altitude. 

“Prepare for an emergency landing!” shouted the pilot over the intercom.

“Emergency landing?” shouted Crazy Freddy. “Where? We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere!”

Hammer caught a glimpse of a dirt road as the plane banked hard.  The plane shook and rattled as the pilot struggled to keep it aloft.  Outside the hole, the ground rushed up fast.  

Freed from the freezing cold air of a higher altitude, the flames began to lick their way along the wing of the plane.  The shrieking of the wind mingled with the crackling of fire as the heat started to reach the main cabin.

Hammer sprayed the flames, dousing several prisoners in the process who swore at him. And then suddenly grass and trees whistled past the opening as the plane hit the ground hard.

The plane pitched violently and the world spun, rolling end over end over end.  Hammer was tossed about like a rag doll, bouncing off cages, prisoners, and seats. 

The gut-wrenching fall finally stopped, punctuated by bubbling and gurgling. Hammer struggled to orient himself as it slowly dawned on him what had happened.  The prisoners were all hanging from the ceiling …

Water rushed through the hole.  The plane was upside down in water.

The prisoners resumed their clamoring for release, banging ineffectively against their chains.  

"Keys!" he shouted. But there was no one conscious enough to help. 

The guards were all unconscious and the pilot, judging from the silence from the front, was dead.  Hammer pulled the four guards out through the emergency exit, two at a time. The rising water made it easier to float their unconscious bodies out.

"You're not going to just leave us here?" asked Freddy, panic in his voice. The water was up to Hammer’s waist.

Hammer glared at him as he floated out with the other two guards.  

A moment later he returned with a shotgun.  "I can't find the keys," said Hammer flatly.  He advanced on the upside down Freddy.

Freddy closed his eyes and turned away.  "Make it quick."

The shotgun blast exploded in front of him.  Freddy opened one eye.

Hammer had shot the chains off of Freddy's feet.  He fell into the water, sputtering.

"Now help me with the others," said Hammer grimly.


----------



## talien

*The Birdcage: Part 2 – These Are My Friends Now*

As Hammer and Freddy ushered the prisoners onto the shore, a truck pulled to the side of the road.  Ten Middle Eastern men got out.

"We need help!" shouted Hammer.  "There's men still inside …"

He trailed off as he spotted the sub-machineguns.

"Man I hate being right," whispered Freddy behind him.

The terrorists fired their weapons in the air.  “Where is he?” shouted the leader.

Hammer had tucked his pistols in the belt beneath his shirt.  Now he was glad he did. 

"Get ready to run for it," said Hammer out of the corner of his mouth.  But when he looked back, Freddy was gone. 

The terrorists grabbed the four guards and rounded up the remaining prisoners, ignoring the screams of the men still in the plane.

"You!  Agent Curtis Grange," said the leader, smiling.  "Where is Saladin?"

"He's dead," said Hammer, staring the man down.

The leader shook his head and took out a pistol.  “I know Saladin is alive.  Your government has been keeping him.  So I ask you again, where is Saladin?"

"If he's alive, they didn't tell me," said Hammer.

The leader nodded sympathetically.  "I understand.  You are a victim of the American government’s lies as much as I am."  He turned without hesitation and shot Collins in the head.  

The terrorist holding Collins rolled his corpse down the muddy slope.  Hammer looked away.

"Jesus!" shouted Billings, snapped out of his stupor by the gunshot.  "Tell him what he wants to know!"

"Do I have your attention now?  Good.  Now you will find out where he is using those wonderful government contacts."

"Did you check the plane?" asked Hammer.  "He could be in there."

The leader leered at Hammer.  "You're playing games with me, yes? I know you know Saladin.  You captured him.  I know all this."  He held up Hammer's cistron to his ear.  "Make a call."

Hammer dialed a number.  

"Hello Agent Hammer," came SINNER's cheerful preadolescent voice.  "What can I do for you?"

"I need to know where Saladin is," said Hammer, trying to keep his voice steady.  "It's very important."

"I'm sorry Agent Hammer, you're not cleared for that information."

"SINNER, listen to me …" he began.  The phone disconnected.

The terrorist leader laughed.  "Women, eh?"  He turned and fired a bullet through Billings' head.

"Oh God!" wailed Falzon, also awake.  Bishop just looked angry.

"You are running out of companions," said the leader.  "Life is very unfair."

Hammer's phone rang.  He didn't answer it.

"Aren't you going to pick that up?  Maybe it's your girlfriend." The leader prattled on.  "You should pick it up!"

Hammer picked it up.  "Hammer," he said.

"Hammer it's Jim-Bean!  Listen, I just got word that your flight went down.  Is everything all right?"

"No," said Hammer, staring at the terrorist leader.

"Also, we think Saladin—"

Hammer cut him off.  "Listen to me very carefully," said Hammer.  "I need to know where Saladin is.  Right.  Now."

"Oh," said Jim-Bean after a moment of silence.  "So things are really not all right, are they?"

"No," said Hammer.

"I see. Let me get back to you—"

KABLAM!  Falzon's blood and brains spattered Hammer. 

"$#!t!" swore Bishop.  "I'm going to kill every one of you f#*kers!"

The terrorist leader took aim at Bishop with his pistol.  But Bishop didn't give him the chance.  He charged headlong into him, knocking them both down the muddy slope towards the burning plane.

Hammer ducked low and drew both of his pistols, firing simultaneously.  Two of the terrorists went down.

Prisoners roared into the fight, strangling, grappling, biting, and clawing the terrorists.  Hammer made his way up the slope and fired again, killing two more.

Hammer ducked, raking gunfire as the terrorists fired wildly at the mob of prisoners, heedless of hitting their own.   He made his way to the other side of the van.

The terrorists sprayed the van with bullets, panicked.  With their leader down in the muck, they were as disorganized as the prisoners.  Something popped and hissed in the van's undercarriage.

Hammer backpedaled away, firing as he went to keep the terrorists near the van.  They ducked for cover behind the vehicle.

Hammer recognized the van.  Before the team had switched to more inconspicuous vehicles, he practically lived out of one of those vans.  And he knew where the gas tank was.

Hammer concentrated bursts from both of his Glocks.  The high-pitched shriek of gas igniting was the only warning the terrorists got as the van exploded.


----------



## talien

*The Birdcage: Conclusion*

Hammer struggled to get up, sputtering in the muck.  The explosion had thrown him off the side of the slope, down into the welcoming arms of the cold mud.  The soft landing had saved his life.

The others were not so lucky.  All of the terrorists and some of the prisoners who had been near the van were blown apart from the explosion.  The terrorist leader was dead in the muck, his skull crushed in by some incredible force. For some reason his hand was missing. Bishop's corpse lay next to him.  Who had killed whom was unclear.

A pair of guard's boots appeared in his field of vision.  Hammer looked up.

It was Crazy Freddy.  "Well if it ain't our national hero!"

Jones, Morowitz, and Bean were all standing around him, armed with shotguns and pistols.  They wore ill-fitting guard uniforms.  Blood was spattered on Morowitz and Bean’s clothes. 

Hammer started to reach for his pistols, but then realized that one of them was dangling from Freddy’s hand.

"Don't bother," said Freddy.  "I think you've had enough heroics for one day, huh?" He leaned down on his knees to put his face in Hammer's field of vision.  "Tell you what: whaddaya say we let bygones be bygones?  You're one of them CIFA boys, right?  We ain't terrorists.  Hell, I'm a Goddamn red-blooded American patriot!  We all are!"  Freddy looked up at his companions.  "Ain't we boys?"

"Damn right," said Morowitz, the first thing he said the entire trip.

"Right," he looked back at Hammer.  "You saved my life.  You saved all these boys lives.  You don’t know me from Adam.  But when trouble came, you took care of it."  Freddy smiled, almost fatherly.  "You’ve been screwed by the system as much as we have.  Only we deserve it."  He stood up.  "So I tell ya what I'm gonna do.  I'm gonna let you live.  You deserve to.  Probably the only decent thing I done in my whole life." He smirked. 

Freddy looked up suddenly.  Then he left Hammer's view.  The boots tramped off.

"Watch your back, soldier boy.  We'll look for you on the front page …"

Hammer got to his feet. The four convicts were gone.

Jim-Bean waved to him from a black helicopter.  Hammer limped over to it.

"You okay?"

"I'll live.  But there are four wanted men on the loose somewhere out there."

Jim-Bean shrugged.  "Are they terrorists?"

Hammer shook his head, climbing into the chopper. "The terrorists are all dead."

"Then I don't care.  Leave it to Alabama law enforcement. We got more important things to do!"

The chopper took off as two more emergency choppers and a police chopper landed below them.


----------



## talien

*The Prince is Dead: Introduction*

This scenario, “The Prince is Dead,” by Adam Scott Glancy and John Tynes, is from the d20 Delta Green rulebook. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
*Sebastian “Caprice” Creed* (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
This is one of the rare scenarios I played straight.  I didn’t tweak the plot; I just let the players have at it.  One thing I did do is carefully plot out how Valiant’s powers work using D20 Modern/D&D psionics, which was helpful, because the ending got very hairy very quickly.  In fact, if the scenario has a weak point, it’s that Valiant’s powers seem to be very much a plot device rather than an actual game effect.  But that tweaking aside, the plot played out as explained in the scenario.

Jim-Bean’s psychic powers mess things up a wee bit, of course, but since I had done some extra work in introducing Jim-Bean to Enolsis early and fleshed out Enolsis with the information for the Neo-Scientologists from Critical Locations, I was able to provide a much better perspective on what was going on than I would if I just suddenly introduced Enolsis and Valiant in the scenario. 

The ending fight, often criticized as a superhero battle, complete with flying bad guys and telekinetic bolts of force, pretty much played out as a Michael Bay film.  It was a very different scenario, a bit of a refreshing change from the usual creeping horror style of play.  As one player muttered, “did they catch all that on tape?

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean decides to turn Valiant’s psychic powers against him, but it backfires.

Relevant Media

*Critical Locations:*  For D20 Modern and a lifesaver, since Delta Green provides no maps. 
*Delta Green D20:* The source of this scenario.
*Personal Jesus:* I prefer the Marilyn Manson version (you're surprised, I know).


----------



## talien

*The Prince is Dead: Prologue*



> _Feeling unknown
> And you’re all alone
> Flesh and bone
> By the telephone
> Lift up the receiver
> I’ll make you a believer​_
> -_Personal Jesus_ by Depeche Mode​



ST.LOUIS, IL—The St. Louis branch of Enolsis was located on Delmar Blvd., in University City.  It was in a storefront right on the sidewalk, surrounded by coffee shops, bookstores, clothing shops, and so forth.  The store had a glass front covered with posters, so it was difficult to see inside.  The posters were well-produced and covered with pictures of people meditating, clouds, and various other restful scenes.  There was even one fanciful poster of Enolsis faithful (crystals dangling from chains around their necks) flying like angels over a majestic mountain range. 

Taking a deep breath, Jim-Bean pushed open the door. 

Inside was an open area about twenty feet wide by forty-feet long, covered with mats and rugs.  At the back of the store sat a slightly raised platform.  On the wall behind the platform was a large tapestry, black on a gold background, depicting two cupped hands holding a crystal.  Along the walls were displays of the various pamphlets, books, and audio and video tapes sold by Enolsis to help their membership “find their true light.” To the right was a desk with a cash register and computer.

“Hi!’ chirped a woman at the register.  Her nametag read: DIANE.  “Can I help you with anything?”

Jim-Bean had a pamphlet in his hand.  “I read that you help focus psychic potential.”

“Oh yes!” chirped Diane.  That’s all she seemed to know how to do, chirp.  “Dr. Knightsbridge is doing intakes today as a matter of fact.”  She handed Jim-Bean a form.  “Just fill this out and then Dr. Knightsbridge will do some basic tests.”

“Tests?” asked Jim-Bean, swallowing hard.  Jim-Bean wasn’t sure why he had come, but more and more he needed some way of grappling with the stress of his burgeoning powers.  

Jim-Bean sat down.  The forms were painstakingly long. He scribbled nonsense in for most of it.

Diane ushered him into the back room.  A minute later was a tall man in his late forties entered, with a neat beard and moustache, and black hair with distinguished gray streaks.  He was dressed in a dapper suit.

“Hello,” he said, shaking Jim-Bean’s hand.  “I’m Dr. Knightsbridge.” He sat down behind the desk to face Jim-Bean.  “What brings you here today?”

“You have classes on focusing your psychic potential,” began Jim-Bean.                

“Ah yes.  Certainly, we can test your thetans and see how you do.”

“Test my what?”

Knightsbridge smiled patiently.  “I’ll explain it.  But let me give you a tour of the facilities first and then we can get started.”  He rose and led Jim-Bean out of the room. 

“Enologists, as we call ourselves, believe that human beings should progress spiritually just as quickly as they progress physically and technologically. The rapid growth of technology and population, though, has brought with it too many distractions, and the human spirit is faltering.”

The Enolsis office consisted of rooms with one-way mirrors, sensory deprivation tanks, dark rooms, quiet rooms, and a room with a pool of water.

“We believe that a human’s personality determines how well that person copes with life. Improve the personality, and you improve that human’s ability to deal with life. You see, humans have an Analytical and a Reactive mind. Too much of what happens to humans—pain, fear, anger—causes a response in the reactive mind. Were the analytical mind allowed to react, a human could deal with such things rationally and therefore effectively.”

Knightsbridge opened the door to one of the monitoring rooms and let Jim-Bean entered first.  Then he entered and closed the door behind him. 

“Enolsis will help you strive for a state of Clear, in which the individual sheds his reactive mind. However, we believe that being a Clear is just a step to another state of mind: Aware.”

He handed Jim-Bean a hospital gown.  “Please put this on.”

“Why?” asked Jim-Bean suspiciously.  Stripping meant removing his weapon as well as his cistron.  He didn’t like that idea at all.

“Your clothes and possessions will remain untouched behind the screen.  We get a lot of fraudsters who come in with the intent of debunking us.  We have to be sure you’re not carrying anything for the results to be one hundred percent accurate.” Knightsbridge smiled.  “You understand, I’m sure.”

Jim-Bean took the gown.  “Sure.” He had already come this far … 

Ducking behind a screen, Jim-Bean changed into the gown as Knightsbridge continued.

“Awares are able to tap into humankind’s collective subconscious—the platform upon which the analytical and reactive mind stand—to accomplish even greater things. Theoretically, an Aware can read minds, move objects telekinetically, and see the future—though, of course, no one, not even Director Downing, has reached that stage yet. We’ll be testing what stage you should enter Enolsis by gauging your thetans.  That will tell us how far along you are.”

“What’s a thetan?” asked Jim-Bean, stepping out from behind the screen.

“Oh, right.” Knightsbridge took out a metal detector and ran it over Jim-Bean. “Body thetans radiate negative energy. Everyone has them, and the goal of Enolsis is to rid you of them in an attempt to get to the Clear stage, and eventually the Aware stage.”

He led Jim-Bean to a seat where an odd looking machine sat on a table.  It had two metal handles hooked up to what looked like an electric meter.  “This is an E-meter. It will measure your body thetans.” Knightsbridge turned on a video camera, as well as an automatic camera.  “The video camera is for our records, but the other camera will take snapshots using Kirlian photography. Now, hold these two handles please.”  He handed Jim-Bean the two metal bars connected by wires to a blue machine with a meter on it.  

There was a loud piercing noise.  Jim-Bean let go of the handles.

“I-I’m sorry,” said Knightsbridge.  “The machine must not have been tuned correctly.”  He fiddled with some knobs.  “Let’s try it again.”

The meter went wild.  Knightsbridge’s brow furrowed. He furiously scribbled some notes.

“What?” asked Jim-Bean after releasing the handles again.

Knightsbridge leaned back in his chair.  “I don’t normally tell new members this, but I think given the circumstances you should know.”

Jim-Bean leaned forward.  “Know WHAT?”

“The average person has quite a few body thetans.  It’s complicated, but thetans are a lot of the negative energy left over from the past.  What we don’t tell members until they advance in our classes is that these are actually alien thetans.  In other words, due to some ancient battles in human history with extraterrestrials, we have traces of it in our bodies in the form of thetans.  But you …”

“Yeah?”

“You have over ninety percent body thetans. That’s unheard of.  I’m going to recommend you sign up with us right away. Change back into your clothes while I have Diane fetch a schedule.”

Jim-Bean went back behind the screen to change as Knightsbridge left the room. He was going to have to destroy those tapes of their conversation.  Later.

Knightsbridge returned.  “We have daily meditation exercises are at 6 p.m., weekly discussion and consciousness-raising sessions on Thursday at 7 p.m., and on the first of the month at 7 p.m. a group meeting of all Enolsis local members for a focused meditation.”

Fully dressed, Jim-Bean emerged from behind the divider.  Knightsbridge handed him the schedule.

“I’ll be there,” he said.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 1 – Training*

True to his word, Jim-Bean returned.  

Dr. Knightsbridge introduced the new class.  As the coach, he would take them through the exercises.  Jim-Bean paid the requisite fees for the classes, although he never told Enolsis where the money came from and they never asked. 

The daily meditation exercises at 6 p.m. focused on concentration. After introducing himself to another slightly confused man in his mid thirties, Jim-Bean sat down in front of him, eyes closed, for the required time. He could hear him breathing, creaking in his fold-up chair, and the sound of the other students sequestered in their exercises. He sat with eyes closed for two hours, not moving or twitching.

That was the warm-up.  The next day, he sat with his eyes open for hours, not moving or twitching, staring at the other man. If he moved, sneezed, coughed, or twitched, Knightsbridge would shout. “FLUNK!” and explain why.  Then he would say start, and the test would begin again. 

The third day was worse.  Knightsbridge tried everything to get him to react.  They screamed all sorts of abuse at Jim-Bean, but he had gotten very good at tuning them out. 

“You’re ready,” said Knightsbridge.  “It’s time for your first class.”

Class consisted of reading dialogue from Alice in Wonderland until he could read it confidently, in a monotone, without embarrassment. 

"Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,"' the Mock Turtle replied; "and then the different branches of Arithmetic--Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision."

“Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next.”

“The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed "Off with her head!"

"Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it."

Then they introduced the “acks,” short for acknowledgments: okay, good, thank you, alright, or fine. Jim-Bean was instructed to make these acknowledgments in a new unit of time, as if it was the first time had heard of it.  He was judged for his believability.

The next week, Knightsbridge read Alice in Wonderland again, responding with half-acknowledgements, such as ``Mmmm hmmm'' or ``Uh huh'.”

The week after that, Knightsbridge asked, "Do birds fly?" and "Do fish swim?" Jim-Bean didn’t answer.  He then repeated the question using the phrase: "I will repeat the auditing question." He continued like that until Knightsbridge answered his questions. 

“Why are we doing this, exactly?” asked Jim-Bean.

“One day you’re going to be a coach,” said Knightsbridge with a twinkle in his eye.  “And you’ll need to keep a person in his chair through the power of persuasion.”

Jim-Bean’s brow furrowed.  “Physically, you mean.”

“Absolutely,” Knightsbridge responded without hesitation.  “In fact, you must be ready to restrain the person if he chooses to leave.”

“And if I wanted to leave right now?” asked Jim-Bean.

Knightsbridge smiled.  “I would restrain you.”

Jim-Bean focused intently on him.  “How about now?”

Knightsbridge cleared his throat.  “You can of course leave at any time you want, but part of the training is to reinforce the inevitability of development –“

“Right, right,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’ve been taking these classes for awhile.  When do I get my crystal?”

Knightsbridge hesitated.  “Of course, of course, you’ll need it for the upcoming group meditation.”  He fished a pouch out of his suit jacket and then dumped a crystal into his palm. “Here is your Realizer.”

The Realizer was basically cylindrical, about two inches long and the diameter of a quarter.  It was rough-hewn, pointed at one end and cut straight at the other, giving it a vaguely phallic appearance.  To Jim-Bean’s untrained eye, it looked like quartz.

“Meditate on it every day like we taught you in class.  It will help focus your energies.  Then we release them as a group at our meditation session.”

“Sure,” said Jim-Bean.  He put the crystal around his neck.  It felt right.

Then he left and never went back.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 2 – The Briefing*

Jim-Bean joined Caprice and Hammer at the St. Louis airport, but he left out the fact that he hadn’t flown to the location.

Their contact arrived in the early afternoon, FBI Special Agent in Charge for St. Louis, Louis Gaston.  Gaston was a fortyish, graying African-American, with a closely trimmed mustache, a very mild Creole accent, and the demeanor of a man who hadn’t slept for three days.  

“I’m your escort for this evening’s opera,” said Gaston with a smirk.  

Flanked by two burly agents in trench coats, Gaston ushered the three agents into a stretch limo.    

“We’re going to the home of Larry Daniels, a retired U.S. Air Force colonel and member of the board of directors of McConnell-Bayless.  The mansion is located near the University City district on the west side of St. Louis.  Last night, at about one in the morning, there was an explosion in the Daniels’ mansion.  Six hour sago, the forensics team announced that they were stumped.  According to all the laws of physics, this explosion was impossible.  It defies all logic.”

“What kind of explosion?” asked Hammer.

“Apparently there was a sex and drugs party in progress at the time of the explosion.  Nine people were killed: Larry Daniels; an upscale procurer of refreshments and entertainers named Neal Beagley; St. Luis City Commissioner Stanley Cable; and six assorted party-girls.  Daniels’ servants survived because they were in another wing of the house.  Guess they weren’t invited.”

“So there were no survivors who were at the party?” asked Caprice.

“There’s one.”

“Can we talk to him?” asked Jim-Bean.

“That’s a little problematic,” said Gaston. “It’s Antony DiTorrio, Democratic Senator from Missouri and Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. He suffered a broken arm and is currently under close guard at St. Louis General Hospital.”  He handed Hammer a file on Senator DiTorrio, everything they could collect in the last twelve hours.

Hammer flipped through the folder and then passed it around to his companions. The photo showed DiTorrio to be a slim, wiry man, a bit jowly, with dyed brown hair.

“DiTorrio is a fifty-eight year-old native of St. Louis.  He’s been in Congress for twenty years.”

“Is he clean?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Near as we can tell, yes.  Since his quiet and generous divorce settlement, he’s developed a serious interest in party girls.”

“Any kids?”

Gaston shook his head and handed another file.  “Here’s Daniels’ file.  Daniels had an exemplary career as a USAF administrator.  He graduated from the Air Force Academy, but bad eyesight kept him from becoming a pilot. Worked in administration and procurement at the Pentagon, sometimes for us.”  Us, of course, meant Majestic. “He was expected to rise even higher than the rank of colonel, but at the close of his twenty-year hitch, he took a high-paying job with McConnell-Bayless.”

“Did he share any of his experience with McConnell-Bayless?” asked Hammer. 

“Daniels might have been responsible for brokering arms deals during the Iran-Contra affair, but there was so little evidence that the Justice Department never pursued it.”

Gaston leaned forward.  “We’re considering this a terrorist bombing.  The problem is that the forensics people have found nothing to suggest there was any explosive used.  No residue of nitrates or other explosive has been discovered, and no fragments from anything resembling a bomb, timer, or detonating device can be found.  Even weirder, the structural damage to Daniels’ mansion does not match any known combustion or blast pattern.”

“I don’t understand why we’re involved,” said Caprice, shrugging his shoulders.  “I mean, this is standard terrorist stuff.  Even if it’s some kind of weird explosion, there’s plenty of other teams that could handle this.”

Gaston smiled.  “You don’t get it, mon ami.  But you will when you see the site. It’s easier to show you than to explain.”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 3 – Silent Force*

Colonel Daniels’ colonial-style mansion sat on several acres of well-manicured gardens surrounded by an eight-foot wall.  Outside the front gate, the St. Louis police department kept the reporters and gawkers away.  Inside the wall, the estate grounds were swarming with police cars, forensic vans, and evidence collection teams from the FBI and the ATF.  

The front door was guarded by a pair of agents.  Gaston flashed his credentials and waved the other agents through.  There was no St. Louis PD inside the house, only Majestic agents.

The mansion was full of signs that something like an explosion happened.  There was a smell of smoke and obvious smoke and water damage from fires that started after the blast.  All the lights were off.  Hammer snapped on a pair of plastic gloves, took a mini-light from his belt and clicked it on.

“The fires weren’t caused by the heat of the explosion,” said Gaston, “but by electrical shorts that cooked the writing throughout the building.”

The foyer of the house had a huge double staircase and a balcony that wrapped all the way around the room.  A burnt and shattered chandelier hung above the marble floor.  There was a figure tape-outlined on the ground just beneath the balcony.

“That’s where we found the Senator and his escort,” said Gaston.  “The force of the explosion must have thrown them over the balcony.  The Senator landed on top of the woman, breaking his arm and her neck.”

They climbed the steps.  Hammer’s brow furrowed.  “This door,” he pointed at the door across from the balcony.  “It’s completely intact.”

“Could it have been open beforehand?” asked Caprice, a little sarcastically.

Hammer shook his head.  “For an explosion of this force?  It would have blown the door off its hinges even if it was open.  There’s no sign of any blast concussion whatsoever.” He leaned down to inspect the debris on the floor.  “What’s this?”

“Furniture, stereo equipment, glass,” said Gaston.  “Fragments from the explosion.”

Hammer put one hand on the wall.  “But the wall’s smooth.  They’re not pierced or marked.”

A camera flashed in the room off to their right.  Two crime scene photographers snapped pictures of a nude woman hanging from the ceiling.  

“What’s she hanging from?” asked Caprice.

“Nothing,” said Gaston.  “She’s not hanging by anything like chains, rope, or wire.”

The woman’s left hand was seamlessly fused into the plaster of the ceiling.  Her arm was twisted and broken, obviously wrenched out of its socket but still attached to her body by muscle and skin. The floor of the room was filled with furniture fragments, but none of the furniture in the room was obviously damaged. 

Jim-Bean wrinkled his nose.  “What’s that smell?”

“Vomit,” said Gaston.  “The officer who initially responded puked when he saw what was in the party room.”

They made their way to see what made the cop throw up.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 4 – Party City*

The room where the explosion took place was right next to the one with the hanging girl.  Another girl was fused through the wall and sticking into the hallway.  She emerged from about her waist, face down, with her dangling fingertips touching the floor.  

The wall buckled outward into the hall, but it wasn’t cracked or broken.  “It’s smooth,” said Hammer, touching it with one gloved hand. The wall bulged in a shallow hemisphere.  “The hallways and the rooms adjacent and across the hall are filled with fragments of furniture and glass flung form the party room, but they should have been embedded in the wall of the main room—there’s no way for them to have passed into the other areas.”

They made their way into the room proper. The party room was filled with shattered furniture and stank of alcohol. All four walls, as well as the floor and ceiling, bulged outwards.  “It’s as if some spherical force pushed them outward,” said Hammer, “warping the molecular structure rather than shattering it.”

“All the debris in the house seems to have been generated by objects in this room,” said Gaston.  “The debris extends through the house into rooms above, below, and adjacent to the explosion site.”

“Where did they find Daniels’ corpse?” asked Jim-Bean.

“At the epicenter of the depression in the floor.”

“And where’s the body now?” asked Caprice.  

“St. Louis General Hospital, along with the others not embedded in the walls.  We did find one other curious thing.”

“Oh?” asked Jim-Bean, walking around the perimeter of the spherical pattern and counting to himself.

“We found a small crystal with Daniels, apparently quartz.” Jim-Bean stopped his pacing and looked up. “His body was found in a kneeling position, hands cupped together holding the crystal. He appeared to either be mummified or burned so badly that he became frozen in that position.”

“The heat to do that would have incinerated this room,” said Hammer.  “There are no burn marks anywhere.”

Two forensic technicians entered and, with high speed saws, began cutting the wall around the fused body of the party-girl.

Jim-Bean stood in the center of the blast.  “He was kneeling right here?”

“Yeah, why?” asked Gaston.

Jim-Bean closed his eyes and entered a trance, just as he’d been taught at Enolsis.

“It’s best if you don’t ask questions,” said Hammer, sounding very far away.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 5 – Crystal Clear*



> _Ronald Valiant had mounted a recruiting drive for Enolsis, signing up new members, including his old friend Colonel Larry Daniels.
> 
> Colonel Daniels was particularly thrilled with his initiation into Enolsis.  The bursts of energy he received during his meditation exercises positively resurrected his virility.  Following this discovery, Daniels’ tastes grew considerably less bizarre.
> 
> Even so, what he now lacked in eccentricity he made up for in volume.  His stamina quickly became the talk of the call girl circuit.  Daniels’ mansion was the site for weekly orgies, attended by Daniels’ closest friends and some of the most expensive ladies in the city.
> 
> Daniels had just taken a huge snort of cocaine and was meditating on his flawed Realizer while the call girl put her mouth to good use.  The last thought that went through his mind as the crystal sucked the life out of him was: This is the ultimate thrill!_




Jim-Bean opened his eyes from the vision and swore. Gaston wasn’t in the room anymore and neither were the two technicians.  Jim-Bean guessed that he was in his trance much longer than he thought.

“What now?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean sighed.  “Enolsis,” he said.  “Daniels was part of Enolsis.”

“What’s Enolsis?”

“A new age cult,” said Jim-Bean.  “Splintered off from Scientology awhile ago. Daniels was recruited by somebody named Ronald Valiant. He was here at the party.”

“There’s no body that was recovered here linked to a Ronald Valiant.” Caprice scanned his cistron.  “I can put in a request to see what we find on him.”

“That’s because he’s alive,” said Jim-Bean. “I’m sure of it.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Caprice.

“Because I saw him,” Jim-Bean said simply.

“We’d better check his personal effects,” said Hammer.  

“And his bedroom,” said Jim-Bean. “But we might not like what we find there.”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 6 – A Valiant Effort*

One wall of Daniels’ bedroom was covered with certificates, decorations, and pictures of Daniels with well-known politicians of the northern hemisphere, including Senator DiTorrio.

“Oh great,” said Caprice, staring at the contents of a trunk.  “This guy was into the hard stuff: whips, chains, you name it.”

Hammer nodded.  “That indicates these marks.”  He pointed at the wood.  “Handcuff marks.  Old handcuff marks.”

Jim-Bean swallowed hard as he caught sight of the well-thumbed pamphlet on the nightstand.  It read: Your Realizer and You, published by the Enolsis Foundation of Tulsa, Oklahoma.  On the cover was a picture of a crystal similar to the one Jim-Bean carried on him held by a pair of cupped hands.  The pamphlet promised that exercises would help the initiate “find his true light.”

“If he’s got this …” said Jim-Bean. “He’s probably got Inner Science in his library.”

They made their way to the library.  Two men in somber suits were rifling through Daniels’ desk and computer files.

Hammer eyed them suspiciously.  “Who are you?”

One of the men flashed a badge.  “I’m Captain Picton.  This is Captain Wentzlauf.  We’re with the Air Force Office of Special Investigations.”

Hammer cocked his head.  “Looking for something?”

“Classified USAF materials,” said Wentzlauf.  “As a member of McConnell-Bayless’ board of directors, Daniels had access to quite a bit.”

“Find anything?” asked Caprice.

Picton shook his head.  “Nothing so far, but there’s a pile of New Age crap in his library.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the library.

Leaving the Air Force captains to their research, they picked through Daniels’ library.  What wasn’t dedicated to New Age philosophies were classics of literature and military histories.  

“Most of these seem to be fairly new books about crystals and crystal-related magic and rituals,” said Caprice.  “But I did find …” he handed Jim-Bean the book. It was a well-read copy of Inner Science: A Guide to Modern Reality.   “What’s so important about it?” asked Caprice.

Jim-Bean flipped through the book. The author was Herbert Price, copyright 1962.  The forward of the most recent edition was written by The Living Power and published by the Enolsis Foundation of Tulsa, Oklahoma. The book bore an inscription in ballpoint: “To Larry, for more than I can write – Ron, June 12, 1994.”

Jim-Bean pointed at the signature.  “Ron.  Ronald Valiant.  That’s got to be him.”

“You’re sure?” asked Caprice.  “You got that name from standing with your eyes closed for twenty minutes?”

“It’s a hunch,” said Hammer, cutting him off.  

A photo slipped out of the book.  Hammer picked it up.

A man in Marine green had his arm around Colonel Daniels, who was in a tropical suit and straw hat.  He was in his late thirties, about five-foot ten with blue, weary-looking eyes and crew-cut blonde hair.  He had a pointed chin, almost no cheekbones, and a nose that was broken several times. 

“Ronald Valiant,” said Jim-Bean, pointing to the man next to Daniels.  “That’s our guy.”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 7 – Antony DiTorrio*

Senator DiTorrio was staying at St. Louis General Hospital.  DiTorrio’s private physician, Dr. Chichester, hadn’t arrive but was expected the next day.  

“I’ve got some matches on Valiant. St. Louis PD, USMC, and his juvenile records.” said Caprice as Hammer drove them over.  He uploaded it to their cistrons.  “Take a look.”

“Valiant’s blood type was A … hair was blonde,” Jim-Bean muttered.  

“Valiant was a successful drug dealer in St. Louis in 1989.  His street name was Prince Valiant. In September 1992, Prince Valiant killed a rival drug dealer, Marvin Nash, in East St. Louis by injecting him with heroin and burning him alive with gasoline.  He disappeared shortly thereafter.”

“That’s not just your usual gang tactics,” said Hammer.  “This Valiant is a sadistic son of a bitch.”

“This isn’t telling us anything we don’t already know,” said Jim-Bean. “Cross-reference Valiant’s name with the names of the guests at the mansion.”

Caprice tapped a few keys.  “Bingo. Neal Beagley, a pimp and drug supplier, was a known associate.  He died in the explosion. But what’s interesting is Angel O’Rourke, Valiant’s ex-squeeze.  Three months ago, she was sentenced to six months in the county jail for stealing a tourist’s wallet during a for-pay sexual encounter.”

“Good, that’s our next stop.” Hammer pulled in front of the hospital.  “But first we chat with DiTorrio.”

They made their way through the hospital, brushing off doctors’ complaints that he wasn’t fit to talk with their badges. DiTorrio was jowly, with a down-turned mouth and tired eyes that made him resemble a hound dog. He looked a little bit like the former talk show host, Morton Downey, Jr. His head was bandaged, hiding most of his silver mane of ahri, and his arm was in a cast. 

“Senator DiTorrio?” asked Hammer, looming over his bed.  “We need to know about what happened at the mansion.”

DiTorrio’s eyes fluttered opened and closed. “My boy … my boy … no!” His head thrashed as he moaned. “He’s mine … all I got …” 

“Who?” asked Hammer.  “Who are you talking about?”

“Deneen … safe …”

He lapsed back into unconsciousness.  

“Does DiTorrio have any kids?”

“Nope,” said Caprice.

“What about Deneen?” asked Jim-Bean.

Caprice tapped some keys on his cistron.  “That’d be the name of the mattress that he fell on when they were blown off the balcony.”

“Great,” said Hammer.  

“I need to see something personal of DiTorrio’s.  Let’s visit his office.”  Jim-Bean stalked out of the room. 

With a shrug, Hammer and Caprice followed. They left Senator DiTorrio to his fitful sleep.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 8 – Out of Office*

Hammer threatened his way through the ranks of DiTorrio’s assistants until they were let into his office.

“You ever sit down in the senator’s chair?” Jim-Bean snapped at Barry, the last of the assistants and the final gatekeeper to DiTorrio’s office.

“No, but—“

“That’s what I thought.”  He slammed the door shut.

“How long do you need?” asked Hammer, watching the door.  “When they start confirm that we don’t have a real subpoena.”

“A few minutes tops,” said Jim-Bean.

Caprice peered at the desktop computer.  “It’s password protected, I’ll need some time …”

“I just need his telephone,” said Jim-Bean.  He picked up the receiver …



> “Dad?”
> 
> “Ronnie?  Why are you calling me here?”
> 
> “Dad?  Listen, I just joined this new organization, named Enolsis.”
> 
> “Enolsis?  That New Age crap?”
> 
> “Yeah – I mean, no, it’s not crap.  But it’s the real deal.  The rush is amazing!  The meditation is better than any coke I ever did.”
> 
> “High on life, huh kid?”
> 
> “I’m serious dad, that’s why I’m calling.  Now I’m an assistant to the deacon—“
> 
> “Deacon?  This some kind of church?”
> 
> “Listen to me! I’m running a recruitment drive and I want you to join.”
> 
> “You’re out of your mind.”
> 
> “No, really.  Larry joined and he’s loving it.  He’s got his virility back and the girls … they can’t believe his stamina, or mine for that matter.  This is the real deal dad!”
> 
> “You’re serious.”
> 
> “Deadly serious.  I’m having a party.  I want you to come.  When you see what these crystal can do …”




Jim-Bean snapped out of it. “Didn’t Gaston say they retrieved the crystal?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Caprice. “It’s currently being examined by the geology lab at Washington University. Why?  You’ve been listening to dial tone for a minute.”

Jim-Bean didn’t answer him. “We need that crystal. Now.”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 9 – Crystal Balls*

When they entered the Geology lobby, three Majestic agents were lounging around trying to look collegiate and unobtrusive while surreptitiously guarding the lab. Hammer flashed his badge and they nodded at him.

A man in a lab coat looked up in irritation from a microscope as they entered the lab.  “Finally! You know, I’ve got a day job other than inspecting piece of quartz.”

Jim-Bean gave him a pained smile.  “Professor Travis Archer?  Thanks for meeting with us such short notice.  What can you tell us about the crystal?”

Archer handed over a folder of print outs and pictures of the crystal.  “It’s been cut recently, with some kind of jeweler’s saw.  Other than that it’s a standard pure quartz crystal of a type commonly found throughout North America.”

Hammer pulled one of the pictures out.  “That cut … I recognize it.”

“Oh man,” said Caprice, recognition dawning on his face.  “That’s not the crystal that brought the ship down, is it?”

Jim-Bean looked a little panicked.  “Where is the crystal now?”

“Right here,” said Archer, handing it to Jim-Bean. “But I don’t see …”

Jim-Bean closed his eyes.  With a gasp, he fell to the ground, wheezing.  Hammer, Archer, and Caprice staggered backwards as it fell as if all the blood rushed from their extremities towards the center of the room where Jim-Bean collapsed. 

Hammer grabbed a nearby tumbler and scooped the crystal up with it, snapping it shut. 

“What the hell just happened?” shouted Caprice.

Archer was already on his cell phone calling for an ambulance.

Hammer tested Jim-Bean’s pulse.  “He’s breathing, but barely.”

“Jesus,” whispered Caprice, “look at his hair.”

Jim-Bean’s hair had turned completely white.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 10 – Hopes and Dreams*

Jim-Bean convalesced in the intensive care unit, finally stabilized.  Hammer stayed in his room with Jim-Bean while Caprice stepped out to get coffee.  

There was a knock at the door.  Hammer answered it.  “Yes?”

“Nurse Hope,” smiled a pretty blond with a short haircut. 

“Let me see your badge,” said Hammer. 

“Of course,” she said, thrusting her arm out with the badge extended.

Hammer didn’t know what happened.  Her arm shot out lightning fast, faster than any human should move, and instead of extending her badge her fist socked him hard in the jaw.  He spun, drawing his pistols.

It was a testament to Hammer’s reflexes that he had both Glocks at the ready.  Hope’s arms twisted and stretched, snapping around Hammer’s throat like a python.  He pulled down the trigger on his Glocks and fired the full clips into Hope at point-blank range.

Dozens of rounds struck her in the chest and head.  Hope stood there and laughed.

Caprice arrived just in time to see Hope toss Hammer into the bathroom, shattering the bathroom door. Caprice closed the front door to Jim-Bean’s room and fired through the glass window at her.  

“I need backup!” he shouted into his cistron. “Now!”

There was the sound of glass shattering.  Screwing up his courage, Caprice dove back into the room, pistol at the ready.

Gone.  The window was broken.  He looked out the window.

Hope had fallen thirty floors.  Her malleable body exploded on impact and melted away, leaving her nurse uniform behind. 

Jim-Bean was unharmed.  Hammer moaned in the bathroom.

“Hammer?” asked Caprice, peering around the shattered bathroom door. “You okay?”

“The crystal,” he said, coughing.  “She got the crystal.”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 11 – The Eye of God*

Jim-Bean got flashes of a huge, rust-red plant hurtling through deep space. 



> It was red as rust, featureless except for bulbous protrusions like hills.  Except that of course they weren’t hills if he could see them at that distance; they had to be immense.
> 
> A rusty globe covered with lumps then. That was all, but that couldn’t explained why he felt as if the whole of him were magnetized through his eyes. It seemed to hang ponderously, communicating a thunderous sense of imminence, of power.  But that was just its unfamiliarity, thought Jim-Bean, struggling against the suction of boundless space; just the sense of its intrusion.
> 
> It was only a planet, after all.  Just a red warty globe.
> 
> Jim-Bean could hear a kind of tuneless ringing in his head.  The ugly, pitted sphere below him reeked of malevolence and power.
> 
> Then it moved. As the singing grew louder, Jim-Bean could feel the planet beneath him begin to stir.
> 
> The surface of a planet wasn’t supposed to move, it was only a planet.  The surface of a planet didn’t crack, didn’t roll back like that, didn’t peel back for thousands of miles to show what’s underneath, pale and glistening.  When Jim-Bean tried to scream air whooshed into his lungs as if space had exploded a vacuum within him.




He woke up in his hospital bed with a start.  Hammer was next to him, his ribs taped.

“We have to go to the Enolsis branch,” he said.  “Right now.”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 12 – Branching Out*

“Stop,” said Jim-Bean a few days later, fully recovered. “This is the place.” He had dyed his hair to match its old color, but it looked vaguely unnatural to anyone who stared at him long enough. The doctors were unsure if his white hair was a permanent condition.

Hammer waited in the car for Caprice, who was up on a telephone pole with a lineman’s set. Hammer still had some broken ribs but insisted they get moving.    

Caprice came down, a little out of breath, and nodded to Hammer. “We’re good.”

Hammer drove them over to the Enolsis branch in St. Louis as per Jim-Bean’s instructions.

“How do you know this is the place?” asked Hammer, increasingly suspicious of Jim-Bean.

“It’s my job to know,” said Jim-Bean.  

“Great,” said Jim-Bean. “When we get inside, see if you can find Valiant in their system.” 

Hammer parked the car and they got out. Jim-Bean pushed open the door to the branch.

It looked the same as it did months ago when Jim-Bean visited it, only this time there were two women in the booth.  Diane was there, and so was Sarah.  

“Hello!” chirped Diane.  “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’m recruiting my friends into Enolsis and was wondering if you have more literature.”

“You’re a member?” she asked.  “You look familiar.”

Jim-Bean coughed.  “So what do you have …” He steered her away.

Hammer and Caprice stood near the front door, shuffling uncomfortably.  

“Are you new to Enolsis?” asked Sarah.

“Yes,” said Hammer. “And I want to BELIEVE.”  He said it with such startling emphasis that Caprice looked at him.

“Well, I’d be happy to help but I’m supposed to man the register.  If you join Diane over there she can—“

“I’d really appreciate if you could show me around,” said Hammer with a smile.  “I feel I’m so close to joining, but something is holding me back. I’d love to understand how your crystals work.”

“I don’t know …”

“I’ve just come into some money.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up.  “Right this way.” She led Hammer over to a display cabinet full of crystals.

That was Caprice’s chance.  He slipped behind the front desk. 

The computer was password protected. Caprice hooked up his cistron through the serial port and the password decoder tore through it in seconds.  

It had all the membership information for the branch, but no Valiant.  But more importantly, it had an Internet connection to Enolsis HQ in Tulsa for ordering books and paraphernalia. 

Caprice hacked his way upstream into the headquarters.  “Working …” flashed the screen.

Catching sight of Caprice out of the corner of her eye, Sarah was about to turn around from the crystals when Hammer planted a kiss on her.

Sarah gasped and shoved Hammer away.  “HEY!”

“I’m sorry,” muttered Hammer, looking embarrassed.  “I was so overcome by emotion at the thought of joining Enolsis—“

It bought Caprice the time he needed.  

Diane hustled over.  “Everything all right?”

“This jerk just tried to kiss me!” shouted Sarah. “Get out before I call the police!”

They left in a hurry.

“So?” asked Jim-Bean once they were safely in the car and away from the branch.

“There was no sign of Valiant,” said Caprice. “But the St. Louis branch has forty-two more members than it has reported to Tulsa headquarters.”

“An accounting error?” asked Hammer.

Caprice shook his head.  “I don’t think so. Not reporting members means not reporting membership dues.  That’s about $4,200 in annual dues skimmed from the Enolsis coffers. Neither Daniels nor DiTorrio were on that list.”

“How’s Valiant pulling this off if he’s not a member?” asked Hammer.  “He must be working under an alias.”

“Hold on.”  Caprice put one finger to his ear.  “Sarah’s calling all the members.  Looks like the branch manager is calling a special emergency meeting for seven o’clock this evening to discuss the news that the city council wants to shut them down. He’s mapping out a strategy for resisting. They’re going to meet at a rented warehouse …”

Just then Jim-Bean’s phone began chirping it’s unique Invader Zim ring tone.  

“Aren’t you going to pick that up?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean looked straight ahead.  “I know who it is.”

“You should pick it up,” said Caprice.

With a sigh, Jim-Bean answered. “Hi Sarah …”


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 13 – The Meeting*

With plenty of time to prepare for the meeting, Caprice planned ahead. 

“At any time, we can shut the power to the place,” said Caprice.  “I’ve got video surveillance hooked into our cistrons too, so if valiant shows up we can identify him.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’ll see him when I’m inside. I’m going in.”

The guards at the front door were patting people down. 

“And you are?” asked the guard.

“Jim,” said Jim-Bean.  “Jim Baxter.”

The guard looked at his clipboard.  “Hmm, you one of our regulars?”

“I’m on your list.”  He took his coat off and held up his Realizer crystal. “I’m new.”

“Oh here you are.” The guard looked up. “I’ll have to pat you down.”

“Is that really necessary?” said Jim-Bean quickly, hustling past him. “Look, I’m the kind you can trust, and I think if you want new members you really should treat your noobs better …”

The guard blinked.  “Hey, wait …” but another person was on line behind Jim-Bean pushing their way through.

New Age music and the cloying scent of incense filled the air.  A makeshift platform was at the back of the warehouse, flanked by rows of plastic folding chairs.  Jim-Bean counted six rows of ten chairs each. 

“Ladies and gentleman!” announced Diane.  “I’m pleased to introduce your Enolsis deacon, Doug Walters!”

The crowd clapped wildly.  A man stepped out onto the platform. 

“It’s Valiant,” whispered Jim-Bean. 

“You’re sure?” asked Hammer.

“It’s him.  He’s had some work done, but it’s him.”

As Doug Walters, Valiant appeared about ten years younger, with shoulder-length black hair, a square jaw, strong cheekbones, and a small, almost elegant nose, but he retained his deceptively soulful blue eyes, large steroidal forehead, and bodybuilder’s physique. He was dressed in a loose, floor0length robe.  He pulled a torn envelope out of his robe and, holding it aloft, began his speech.

“This morning, a city courier delivered this letter to us.  It’s a challenge to our not-for-profit status and a conflict with zoning ordinances for our neighborhood. I quote: ‘Perhaps this will encourage your sick group to find another home.’”

The crowd was filled with gasps and condemnations. 

“Don’t hold hate in your hearts, brothers and sisters.  We can change their minds.  The biblical prophets had the faith to move mountains, and they were but single individuals.  But we are a family. We are legion.  We have the faith to move the stars! Because we have the power to change ourselves, and that is the only power that matters.”

The crowd cheered.  Jim-Bean looked around in wonder.  They were all nuts as far as he was concerned.

“Brothers and sisters, help me.  Help us.  Meditate with me and focus on your Realizer.  Channel your hopes and your strength into a mighty power.  A living power that will move the stars!”

Everyone bowed their heads, concentrating on their Realizers. Valiant wheeled a larger crystal onto the platform—the group’s Spiritual Reservoir. 

Jim-Bean felt a low resonance at the edge of his hearing. The Spiritual Reservoir began to glow.  

“I’m moving,” he whispered into his headset.  Then he pulled a small gas mask from his coat and snapped it on.  With their heads bowed, no one saw him.

Jim-Bean pulled the pin on his canister of tear gas.  Before he could throw it, people in the front collapsed, hyperventilating and convulsing.  

Jim-Bean looked around in confusion. The lights and music went out.  

“Good job boys,” said Jim-Bean, drawing his SIG.

“What?” asked Caprice.  “We didn’t do anything!”

Glowing with psychic energy, Valiant floated into the air.  “YOU!” he shouted pointing at Jim-Bean.  “We have a heretic in our midst!”

“Oh crap,” said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 14a – Valiant’s Last Stand*

Caprice and Hammer were parked across the street from the warehouse. 

Caprice was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on when there was a knock on his side of the car.  He caught a glimpse of a knuckle rapping on the window, but it disappeared so quickly he wasn’t sure if he saw it.

“Did you hear that?” he asked Hammer.

Hammer peered over Caprice.  “What are you on about Hot Pants?”

“Knocking!”  He rolled down the window to look.  “Somebody just knocked!”

Jim-Bean’s voice crackled over the comm. “I’m moving,” he whispered.

“Stand by to cut the lights,” said Hammer.

Caprice had the control panel up on his cistron.  “Standing by.”

The camera feed was displayed on Hammer’s cistron.  “We just lost the cameras.”

“Good job boys,” said Jim-Bean. 

“What?” shouted Caprice into the comm. “We didn’t do anything!” 

Hammer didn’t respond immediately.  He was looking past Caprice.  

Hope’s head, and just her head, floated on a long tendril of a neck near the open window.  “Knock, knock,” she hissed.

“Out of the car! Now!” shouted Hammer, drawing his pistols.

Hammer slammed the door open, smacking the rubbery head, but she slammed it shut again with her face. Caprice managed to get the door open.

The car turned sideways.  Hammer fell on top of Caprice and they both slid out of the car onto the pavement.

Hope flipped the car off of them. It sailed through the air, turning end over end, smashing into a telephone pole.  It spun and land upside down on another car.  Car alarms went off all down the street from the terrific explosion of screeching metal and broken glass.

Hammer fired both Glocks at her.  Ignoring the gunfire, Hope encircled the broken telephone pole with both arms.

Hammer ran to one side behind another car, Caprice in the other.  

WHAM!  The telephone pole smashed down in front of Hammer, crushing the car nearly in half and sending shrapnel flying.  He rolled and moved to another car.

He caught a glimpse of Caprice jogging down the street. Hammer cursed himself.  Caprice was no combat veteran, he was an engineer at heart.  He couldn’t be expected to face down something like this …

Hope reached down and lifted something heavy out of the pavement.  Then she hurled a whistling manhole cover towards him.

Hammer ducked.  It sheared right through the car he was hiding behind, bisecting the telephone pole behind him.  Electrical wires snapped and sparked as the pole landed just over his head.  

He was saved only through a quirk of physics; the pole landed on the smashed car just above Hammer’s head, preventing him from being totally crushed. It still hurt, and Hammer struggled to his feet. 

Hope took slow, unhurried strides towards him, her features expressionless.  Hammer got a good look at her this time.  She was, insanely, dressed in a bell hop’s uniform, cap rakishly tilted on her head.

A car horn interrupted her approach.  Hammer caught a glimpse of Hope’s surprised expression as the car’s headlights blinded her.  Then Caprice hit her with a Ford truck at over ninety miles an hour.

Hope exploded on impact.  Her rubbery protomatter body gave from the sheer force, but parts of her were caught in the grill, stuck under the wheels, and spattered to the sides.  Despite her malleability, the impact was strong enough to stop the truck in its tracks.  

Caprice, blood trickling from his forehead, was unconscious in the driver’s seat, his head resting on an airbag.

Hammer staggered over.  He knew how these things worked.  He knew how Jim-Bean worked.  And he knew that he didn’t have much time …

Hope was still alive.  The eyes rolled in a blubbery face, struggling to focus on him.  The lips twitched, curling towards him. Hammer emptied both Glocks into her face.

Finally, the pieces stopped twitching.  Hammer started to make his way over to Caprice when the warehouse containing Jim-Bean and Valiant collapsed.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 14b – Valiant’s Last Stand*

Before Valiant could say anything else, Jim-Bean fired the entire clip of his SIG at him.

The bullets hovered in front of Valiant’s head and chest.  Jim-Bean thought to himself: wow, I’m a pretty good shot.

Then he was hurled with telekinetic force across the room, scattering chairs and congregants everywhere.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” snarled Valiant, hovering higher.

Jim-Bean concentrated, using his Realizer to help him focus in the confusion.  He could feel energy pulsing out of him, towards the Spiritual Reservoir, just as it had with the damaged Realizer at Washington University. The Spiritual Reservoir crystal was the key.

He reloaded his SIG as he dodged and weaved, ducking behind the screaming congregants.  Valiant, clearly unconcerned about the safety of the others now that he had the power he needed, began hurling chairs at Jim-Bean through thought alone.  One person’s head burst as a chair smashed into it sideways, spraying a gout of blood over Jim-Bean’s back.

He fired, still running towards the crystal.  The bullets ricocheted off.  Whatever was protecting Valiant was protecting the crystal as well.

He made it to the crystal.  Jim-Bean grabbed it with the intent of running off, but with his own crystal pulsing and the Spiritual Reservoir at his fingertips …

The power!  Energy surged through him, and now two pulsing strands of psychic energy connected to both Jim-Bean and Valiant.  

Valiant screamed in rage. “No!”  He pointed at the stage beneath Jim-Bean and a jagged piece of it ripped up, whistling towards him.

It stopped in mid-air and dropped to the ground, just like Jim-Bean’s bullets.  He had Valiant’s powers now, or more properly, he had the Spiritual Reservoir’s powers.

And in that moment it was clear where the energy was coming from. He could see the psychic strands of energy pulsing from the cultists in the room, but only from some of them, the ones who were on the floor.  Their crystals were different from his, smaller, imperfect somehow.  Jim-Bean guessed that’s what was happening, that Valiant had handed out damaged crystals to power his own.

Jim-Bean knew what he had to do. He grabbed hold of the Spiritual Reservoir and floated up to the ceiling, eye to eye with Valiant.  Valiant extended his hand, but the telekinetic force was blocked by the barrier.  

Jim-Bean shook his head.

“You may have the power, but you don’t know how to use it!” snarled Valiant.  

“I don’t want it,” said Jim-Bean.  “And I know how to stop it.”

Focusing his newfound telekinetic energy on the ceiling, he brought the entire building down around them.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Part 14c – Valiant’s Last Stand*

“Jim-Bean?” shouted Hammer into his cistron. “Jimmy?”

Nothing but the blaring of the car horns and alarms greeted him.

“This is Agent Hammer calling for backup!” he pulled Caprice out of the car. He was unconscious but alive. “Two agents down, repeat, two agents …”

He trailed off as the rubble of the warehouse shifted.  There was no way anyone could survive that.

Jim-Bean stretched to a standing position, rubble sliding off the fading telekinetic force field.  He made his way out of the rubble towards Hammer, the Spiritual Reservoir in his hands.

Hammer limped over towards him, reloading his Glocks.  “Look out!” he shouted.

Jim-Bean turned.  Valiant rose like a phoenix out of the rubble, but unlike Jim-Bean’s slow stretch he burst from the wreckage with a roar.

Jim-Bean held up the Spiritual Reservoir.  The soft glow sputtered.  “It’s over, Valiant.” 

“No,” snarled Valiant, stalking towards him.  “No!”  He put one hand out, fingers outstretched in a choking motion.

Nothing happened. 

“They’re all dead,” said Jim-Bean. “The power’s fading.” 

With the Reservoir in one hand, Jim-Bean pointed at the sparking cables that had been severed when the roof collapsed.  With a flick of his finger, they snaked towards Valiant.

But they didn’t connect, incapable of approaching Valiant within a few inches.  

Jim-Bean spun and hurled the Spiritual Reservoir down the street.   It smashed into the pavement, shattering into several pieces from the impact.

Valiant watched the electrical cables with disdain. “Great idea.” 

With a sneer, Valiant spread his outstretched fingertips and the sparking cables encircled Jim-Bean.  He screamed as thousands of volts of electricity surged through him.  

Jim-Bean collapsed in a smoldering heap. Smoke curled from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.

“It’s over Valiant!” shouted Hammer, both pistols trained on him.  

“It’s far from over.”  Valiant crouched and then launched himself at Hammer, moving at impossible speed. Hammer got a glimpse of metal in his upraised fist. 

Hammer didn’t bother trying to track Valiant. He just sprayed the area in front of him with bullets. 

Valiant dodged most of them, but the ones that struck home were fatal. He fell in a bloody pile of perforated flesh at Hammer’s feet. 

Hammer leaned over Jim-Bean. “Jimmy?”

Jim-Bean, his flesh burned in places where the electricity had surged out of his body, groaned.  He was alive, but gravely wounded.  “I need to find a new religion,” he wheezed.


----------



## talien

*Prince: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean didn’t know where he was. The drugs were powerful, but his protomatter physiology was incredibly resistant.  His eyes were closed, but he could see. 

And hear. He could make out were voices.  Sprague and someone else.  And a red button.  It was near someone’s hand; he couldn’t tell whom.  

Jim-Bean wasn’t actually seeing their conversation. He was sensing them, so he only received impressions, without many of the details granted to normal sight.

“I told you he was useful.” 

Jim-Bean couldn’t tell who was speaking.

“RECOIL agents have to be paired with a stable agent.”

“He was.”

“But can they control him?“

“This is a gift, a tool, given to us by the Greys as a show of good faith.”

“Good faith?  Is that what you call what happened in Groversville?  I don’t need to remind you that the same THING they destroyed is directly related to the protomatter crawling around in his flesh!”

“There are others who have access.  This Enolsis somehow got hold of it too—“

“Which is precisely why we need more RECOIL agents in the field.  We can’t afford NOT to have them.”

“There’s always BIOSAN-5 …”

“Only if SCP-130 creates more.  We have a very limited supply, and it hasn’t been cooperative so far.”

“My point is that we can always use BIOSAN-5 as a last resort.  But there’s not enough to use as a weapon against these so-called Stewards.  For now, we need to keep the pawn in play. And I’d say our pawn did a very good job today.”

The hand moved away from the button.  Jim-Bean saw a fire symbol in red and yellow above it.  

“Yes.  He just bought himself a little more time …”

Before his mind faded back into unconsciousness, Jim-Bean dimly realized he was strapped down in a fireproof room.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 32: See No Evil - Introduction*

This scenario, “See No Evil,” by Adam Gauntlet, is from the issue 16/17 of the Unspeakable Oath. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*

Only one of the players is really interested in investigative scenarios.  In the usual confluence of events that end up shaping how the game actually plays out, Jeremy was late (again).  As a result, this gave us plenty of time to play out the investigation without rushing it.  Jim-Bean showed up at the end, when all the action happened, just in time to steal the spotlight as usual.

It was a pleasant surprise to have Agent Archive back, although he’s now technically not an agent but a freelancer.  We find out what happened to him and get to see Archive use his magic like he’s never used it before.  He kicked some serious ass in this scenario. 

This scenario’s entire purpose was to connect a terrorist organization with a mythos organization.  I then linked it to another, much more combat-intensive scenario that further developed the conspiracy.  But I’ll leave that commentary for Chapter 33.  Suffice it to say that although the investigation happens slowly, when it finally came time for the big finale it didn’t disappoint. 

*Defining Moment:* Archive’s magic vs. Aryan brawn!

Relevant Media

*Critical Locations:*  For D20 Modern and a lifesaver, since Delta Green rarely provides maps. 
*Unspeakable Oath #16/17:* The source of this scenario.
*Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag:* by Marilyn Manson, which is in turn inspired by the movie "Swing Kids," about Swing in Nazi Germany.
*See No Evil Handouts:* by Graham Kinniburgh.  Did I mention Graham is awesome?


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Prologue*



> _All the goose-step girlies with
> their cursive faces and
> We know it's all Braille beneath the skirt
> I'm bulletproof bizzop and
> Swing heil and
> I don't really care what gentlemen prefer.​_
> - _Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag_ by Marilyn Manson​



NEW YORK CITY, NY—Joe Fontaine, formerly Agent Archive, sat glumly in his cell. He had been transported, roughly, from holding cell to holding cell on trumped up charges.  The charges started with impersonating a government agent, even though Major Sprague knew full well that Archive had been on Majestic-12’s payroll under Agent Drake.  But all that had changed when Sprague took over.  

Sprague didn't like all that "mystic mumbo jumbo crap" and nobody embodied the supernatural, unquantifiable nature of the unknown than Archive. Sprague was dismantling Drake's legacy, piece by piece, person by person.  In retrospect, it was jut a matter of time before Sprague got around to booting Archive.

Waiting hours to even understand the full range of the charges, Agent Green rattled off a long list of charges that would leave him rotting in a prison for the rest of his life. Never mind that Green was the agent who had recruited him into Majestic-12 in the first place. She did him a favor by merely lowering his charges to trespassing and paying a fine. And throwing him out of the state of Alabama.

But it wasn’t that simple.  Archive had just gotten his boss at X-Investigations, to pay the bail when he was pulled over by the police. Agent Green hadn’t seen fit to notify the authorities.  

Archive waited patiently for his phone call.

A large man with a mustache that blended in with his sideburns and his mullet, both arms covered with tattoos, stared at him from across the cell.

“Hey,” he said.

Archive swallowed.  “Yeah?”

“They say you’re a Fed.  That true?”

“Not anymore,” said Archive truthfully. 

“Screwed up, huh?”

Archive frowned.  “In a manner of speaking yeah.”

“Fontaine!” shouted the cop.  “Time for your phone call.”

Archive didn’t waste any time. He sidled over to the jail cell door and followed the guard to the telephone.

“Make it quick,” said the cop.

Archive dialed Rob, the owner of X-Investigations. He waited patiently while the phone rang.

The answering machine picked up.  

“Rob.  Rob!” Archive shouted into the phone, his voice rising. “Pick up, it’s Joe.”

There was a click.  “Joe?” said a groggy voice.  “Joe Fontaine?”

“Yeah, Rob,” Archive said.  “Listen, I need your help—“

“Do you know what time it is?” asked Rob.  “You forget that this is my home phone?”

“I know, Rob, I’m sorry but—“

“What is it?” snarled Rob.

“I’m back in New York,” he said.

“That’s good.  Why are you calling me at one in the morning?”

“I got arrested.”

There was a long sigh.  “You what?”

“I got arrested—“

“But I paid your bail!”

“I know, but they didn’t have it on record and…“

Rob cut him off.  “You know what?  Forget it, forget it.  You’re fired.  Don’t call back.”

Click.  And a dial tone.

The cop must have seen the expression on his face.  “Tough luck, bud.”

He began steering Archive back to the cell. Archive resigned himself to a long conversation with his new cellmate. 

Another cop peeked around the corner.  “Hey, is that Fontaine?”

“Yeah?” said the guard.

The cop addressed Archive.  “Somebody just posted your bail.”

The guard flashed Archive a smile. “Today’s your lucky day, huh?”  

He led Archive to the front desk.  Hammer was waiting for him, arms crossed, with a big grin on his face.

“Hammer!” shouted Archive, relieved.  “You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

“Good to see you too.”  He clapped Archive on the back.  

The cop at the front desk handed Archive back his wallet and a pocket knife and processed him out.

When they were out of the station, Archive coughed.  “I don’t work for Majestic anymore …”

“Oh, I know,” said Hammer.  “You work for me now.”

Archive grinned at him.  “Oh yeah?  Should I charge you my usual fee?”

Hammer indicated the police station with a nod of his head.  “I just paid it.”


----------



## arun

I have really enjoyed reading this story hour (and I am currently catching up on your Arcanis one) but every so often I get confused...

Why did Archive get the boot from MJ-12?  Was it because Sprague just didn't like him or did Archive do something else?


----------



## talien

Hi Arun,

Sorry I wasn't being clear.  Yes, Archive got the boot back at the end of Chapter 26: Cold War. I just realized I never really verbalized exactly why he was booted, but the short of it is that Archive represents "mystic mumbo jumbo crap" that Sprague detests.  This is also why Sprague revoked Guppy's access to alien technology and why the agents were reassigned to more "mundane" missions involving aliens and technology. Magic doesn't fit into Majestic-12's equation; they're so dazzled by the Greys that they assume there's a dangerous technological source behind everything.  The Jack Frost mission exemplifies this, when Jim-Bean is forbidden from ever using the word "zombie." 

The last strategic move in Sprague's complete de-mystification of the team was ousting Archive.  Since Archive's player took a break, this helped explain why he was missing for awhile.  

As Jim-Bean ranted in our most recent session, "I miss Drake.  He'd totally have us pimped out with laser pistols and magic shotguns!"

I'll edit the text to clarify what happened to Archive. Thanks for reading!


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 1 – Day One*

“With the rise in hate-based violence in America and the growing sophistication of anti-Semititic groups, CIFA has become increasingly interested in the connections between extremist political groups and those groups who carry out hate crimes,” explained Hammer on the drive over.  “We’re conducting a small surveillance operation on four members of a group known as The Review, an organization mainly devoted to Holocaust denial. These four men have been selected to speak at a special presentation in New York City, to be held at the Merriweather Center on the corner of 8th and 41st just off Times Square. Majestic-12 believes that The Review, and possibly one or more of the four men under surveillance, may have links to other, more sinister organizations that plan and carry out unlawful activities.”

“Why do you need me?” asked Archive.

“Have you ever heard of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion?”

Archive nodded.  “That supposed global Jewish conspiracy?  Sure, it’s a forgery. The twenty four Protocols are posited as instructions to a new Elder, outlining how the group will control the world. But it’s long since been discredited—“

“The Review doesn’t think so,” said Hammer.  “Your experience with the occult will be critical.  Besides, we needed a fourth man for the op. We’ve got Jim-Bean and Caprice …”

“Guppy?”

Hammer shook his head.  “Guppy’s … taking some mental health leave.”

Archive nodded.  It sounded serious.  

They drove on in silence until Archive burst out into laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Hammer.

“I just realized … I think this is my first official mission for CIFA, and now I’m not an official agent!” Archive shook his head in disbelief.

“Speaking of that …” Hammer’s expression turned serious.  “No more cistron. Look in the glove box.”

Archive rifled through the glove box and came up with a cell phone.  

“That cell phone’s untraceable. I’ve got one as well.  That’s what we use to communicate. You can’t call me on the cistron, obviously.  Got a weapon?”

Archive pulled a Glock out of his pocket.

Hammer’s brow furrowed.  “How did you slip that past the police?”

“It wasn’t a gun when they had it,” said Archive with a smirk.


----------



## arun

ahh rereading that post now i remember being curious if that last sentence or two ment the end of archive...apparently it did.  Sprague's dislike of all the mysticy stuff and archive getting the axe has me feeling that Jim Bean could plausibly be not be too far behind.


----------



## talien

Yeah, but Archive's not down for the count as we demonstrated just now.  In fact, as you'll see, one of Hammer's goals is to get Archive SOME level of access back, if only because it's a pain in the butt to not have Archive on the same comm link.  Trying to pretend they're not working with Archive is difficult.  

On a reality side, I still need the team to work together so the players have an excuse to play together.  You'll notice that I tend to use excuses for when certain players aren't playing for awhile.  So for example, Guppy's been out on "mental health leave" when my brother wasn't playing for a few months.  Similarly, although Jim-Bean might be an easy target to get rid of, Jeremy plays pretty consistently, so he's not just going to get the boot.  Not yet, anyway.

That said, as you saw from the last story hour, Jim-Bean is something of a dog on a leash.  He's part of PROJECT RECOIL and thanks to use of THE COCKTAIL (prescription drugs optimized for memory loss) he only occasionally remembers his interrogation sessions wherein Jim-Bean could be incinerated at any moment.  The only thing keeping him alive is that the bad guys use protomatter too, and Jim-Bean is a part of the war of alien escalation.


----------



## arun

crazyness!  well regardless of what happens i am definitely enjoying the run.


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 2 – Day Two*

Michael Drinkwater was born in Deepdeene, Massachusetts on January 15, 1949.  He married his wife Dorothea on May 5, 1970. He earned his Bachelor’s degree in Boston University in 1971, and received his Masters and PhD by 1975 from Reading University in England. Drinkwater published his first book in 1978, Hitler and the Nazis. He was arrested for a DWI in 1982. He published his second book in 1986, The Jewish Problem in Germany 1935-45.  He also authored numerous historical articles published in History Today, Times of Conflict, Military Historical Quarterly, among others.  

Archive flipped through Drinkwater’s file.  When Majestic-12 did their research, they could be very, very thorough. 

Drinkwater arrived on schedule.  He caught a taxi to the Marriott and checked into room 09034, ninth floor, Room 34.  

Hammer had planted bugs in their rooms, so Archive was able to monitor everything the man did. He hung out in the hotel bar and listened to the bug. 

Drinkwater made a phone call to Dorothea to assure her that the flight was fine, and another call to Colm, the organizer of the event. He had a drink in the hotel’s bar, not more than a few feet from where Archive sat nursing his own drink, and passed through to the dining room.  After dinner, Drinkwater went back to his room, assembled his laptop computer, and worked there for two hours before shutting down. He ordered a movie from the hotel selection, watched it, and went to bed.

“Anything?” asked Hammer.

“Not much,” said Archive.  “Drinkwater’s pretty boring.”

“Things will get more interesting,” said Hammer.  “Just wait until the others get here.”


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 3 – Day Three*

“What’s Drinkwater up to today?” asked Hammer over the cell.

“Books,” muttered Archive. 

Archive was whispering.  Hammer knew what that meant; Drinkwater was on the move, and so was Archive.  Out of reach of the bugs in the hotel, Archive had to follow Drinkwater to keep him under surveillance.

“He’s bought enough books to fill a library.  He visited three stores before lunch.”

“Makes sense, he was a professor of history before he got fired. Anything good?” asked Hammer.

“Mostly historical works about Europe in World War II, and murder mysteries, particularly Mickey Spillane.”

“Of course.”

“You?”

“Bhrunt just made a reservation at Il Palio for two.” Hammer flipped through Bhrunt’s file.  “He makes Drinkwater look like a saint.”

Allen Bhrunt. Born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida on May 8, 1959.  Got his BS at Florida State.  He had been arrested for forgery in 1982 but was acquitted.  He was arrested for assault in 1983 and was convinced for one month.  He was arrested for possession of narcotics in 1985 and convicted for two months.  He had over thirty parking citations and was currently under investigation for mail fraud. Bhrunt was the main publisher and editor of The Review’s newsletter as well as publisher of many of the group’s texts.

Bhrunt flicked open his cell phone and made a call.

“Your guy just called my guy,” said Archive over his cell.

“Yeah, I saw that,” said Hammer. “Looks like they’ve got dinner plans”

“You sound worried. They’re having dinner, so what?”

“Bhrunt’s been carrying a briefcase all day and he’s never put it down once.”


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 4 – Day Four*

Hammer called in on his cistron.  “Jim-Bean, Hot Pants, Bhrunt’s on the move.  I’m following.”  He swore as he realized Archive wasn’t on the comm. He’d have to call him later to bring him up to date.

Bhrunt was taking steps not to be followed.  He hopped from subway to taxi, and then to another taxi, to an address in Queens. And he never let go of his briefcase.

Hammer followed him to a condemned school building, the P. MacGregor Hayes School.  Bhrunt paid the taxi driver, looked around to confirm he wasn’t followed, and made his way into the school’s former chemistry lab.  The room, unlike the rest of the school, was sealed: all of the windows had bars and boards covering them, and the one door was steel-reinforced. 

Hammer parked his car further down the street, out of sight, and snuck up to the entryway.  He ducked behind a nearby dumpster as four young men, one carrying a shotgun, sauntered in.

Hammer had run enough missions to know that he was witnessing a drug deal.  He let the men pass by through the steel door.

They had chosen a well-guarded location.  Hammer thought about calling in backup, but he didn’t want to remove the other agents, all whom had been carefully placed in surveillance positions.  It was too risky.  

Hammer tested one of the planks over the window.  It was loose.  Good, just enough to …

Glass tinkled all around him.  Hammer swore and ducked back to his position by the dumpster.  

Footsteps. He covered himself with debris and smeared some dirt on his face.

The drug dealer with the shotgun, accompanied by another dealer with a semi-automatic pistol, began kicking over cans, searching for the source of the disturbance.  Shotgun shoved garbage out of the way and Pistol covered him.

His dual Glocks carefully concealed, Hammer stumbled out into the open.  “Will you shtop makin’ all that racket?” he bellowed, staggering out from behind the dumpster. “Ahm tryin’ tah SHLEEP here!”

The drug dealer rolled his eyes, pistol aimed squarely at Hammer’s chest.  “It’s just a bum!” he shouted, presumably to the leader inside the high school.

Shotgun squinted at Hammer.  “I know all the bums ‘round here.  And you ain’t one of ‘em …”

Before he could react, Hammer spun back behind the dumpster, Glocks out.

“Pigs!” shouted pistol.

A shotgun blast rocked the dumpster, slamming into Hammer.  He whirled out from behind covered and fired two carefully placed shots. 

Shotgun and Pistol both dropped.  They were perfect shoulder shots.  Bad enough to drop them, but not enough to kill them.  

Hammer rolled both men over and zip-tied their wrists.  If the drug dealers thought he was a cop, so much the better.  It might just save his cover.

Once Hammer was inside, it was clear he needn’t have worried.  The remaining two drug dealers and Bhrunt had fled through an escape tunnel—formerly a maintenance corridor—that led to a small concrete shed on the school’s playground. 

“I had an … incident following Bhrunt,” said Hammer over the comm. “Anyone see him?” After another second he repeated the same query to Archive.

“He’s at the hotel,” reported Archive.  “What happened?”

“A drug deal,” said Hammer.  “Did he say anything to Drinkwater?”

“Not a peep.”

“Of course not,” said Hammer.  “Bhrunt doesn’t want to embarrass his companions. Drinkwater may be a racist moron, but even racist morons have standards.”


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 5 – Day Five*

“How’s our boy doing today?” asked Hammer, sounding bored. “Jim-Bean just reported that Hames got in.”

Archive couldn’t hear the other responses.  “Not much,” he reported.  “Drinkwater didn’t hit the bookstores today, just reading the paper and … hold up, he’s on the move.”

Archive followed Drinkwater to a public phone.  He couldn’t hear the conversation.  

Then Drinkwater headed for Greenwich Village. He met a personable young man at an apartment building there, and the two of them went out to a pub for a drink. They talked for several hours.

Archived reported back in.  “I think …” Archive struggled with the words.  “I think Drinkwater’s out on a date.”

“A date?” The amusement was evident in Hammer’s voice.  “Take a picture of this so-called date.  I’ll look him up in the database.”

Archive used the camera in the phone.  It didn’t have nearly as high a resolution as cistron, but it did the job.  He sent the picture to Hammer.

“Theo Prentice,” said Hammer a few minutes later.  “A student of Drinkwater’s at Boston University.”

Drinkwater and the young man got up to leave.

“Should I follow them?” asked Archive.

“Don’t bother,” said Hammer.  “Didn’t you read why Drinkwater lost his job at Boston University?”

“Uh, no,” said Archive. He must have missed that detail when scanning the report.

“Drinkwater was fired for sleeping with his students.”


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 6 – The Dead Speak*

Hammer sat across from Colm’s office, Harwick, Chadderton & Merlo.  Hot Pants was right to call him in.  The map of the area showed no blinking dot: The tracking bug Hammer had planted on Colm’s car wasn’t working. 

Before he could plant another one, Colm walked out of his office.  He was average height with a lean build.  His hair had thinned out a great deal, but he took care to brush it over, concealing the spot as much as possible.  Colm was thin-faced and clean shaven, with a morose, bloodhound expression. 

Colm was born in Barlow, Missouri on December 29, 1945.  He got his MBA at Missouri State in 1967.  He was married to Wilhemina on April 8, 1972 and divorced ten years later.  He was also The Review’s secretary and longest-serving member as one of its founders.   Unlike the others, Colm lived locally, so he should have been easier to track.  But here he was breaking his routine by leaving work early.  

“Target is on the move, I’m following,” reported Hammer.

Colm drove towards JFK airport and stopped at a small strip mall. Several storefronts were vacant, and their windows covered by paper on the inside and with “For Rent” signs on the doors.  There was also a locksmith, an ice-cream shop, and a convenience store in operation.  Very few people walked the streets. It was deserted except for a cab driver in front of the convenience store, reading the paper.

Colm parked his car and went to one of the vacant storefronts.  He knocked on the door.

The door opened, though the person inside stayed out of sight.  Colm was ushered in.

Hammer pulled his car over on the opposite side of the street and furtively pointed his parabolic microphone at the window.

There was a brief exchange of pleasantries that did not include any names.  

“Let’s see it,” said Colm. 

“Behold the power of the Reich!” A sing song chant began that took several minutes.

At the end of the chant, a chill settled in.  People outside noticed that the sky became overcast, with a sudden, strong breeze.  Silence.

Then a third voice spoke in German.  “Wer ruft mich an?”

Colm screamed something.  There was a short struggle.  A moment later Colm dashed out into the street, clutching a book under his arm.

Colm sprinted to his car.  Diving into the front seat, he took off.

Hammer dropped the parabolic microphone.  “Hot Pants!” he shouted into his headset.  “Meet at my location, I want a full sweep of the area, there’s been an incident—“

Colm’s car flashed by.  Then the taxi driver gunned his taxi into action in hot pursuit.

Hammer tore after them. Colm had a head start, so Hammer had to settle for tailing the taxi driver instead.

A tall, thick-bodied German with an outdoorsman’s ruddy complexion stepped out of the cab.  This was no ordinary taxi driver.

The German kicked Colm’s door in.  Colm had already arrived and left.

Hammer slid out of his car and up to the entryway. He drew one of his Glocks. Somewhere, a dog was incessantly yapping.

He caught sight of an elderly woman peering at him through the blinds.  

Hammer put a finger to his lips.  Frightened, she closed the blinds. 

The German was tearing through Colm’s place.  Hammer snuck into the hallway only to see the German in Colm’s office.  Several letters stuck out of his coat pocket.  He had a pistol in one hand, a degausser in the other, and was running it over some discs. 

Hammer put the cold metal of the Glock to the back of the German’s head.  “Stop right there.”

The German spun and knocked Hammer’s Glock out of his hand, stunning him with the force.  Hammer fired with the other Glock but missed.

The German dove and rolled with the speed of an athlete, coming up behind a recliner with an FN Browning high-powered pistol.  The bookshelf near Hammer’s head exploded.

Hammer drew his other Glock and fired a hailstorm of bullets at the German.  The recliner was thoroughly perforated. Stuffing floated through the air.

The German made a run for it.  He sprinted out the doorway towards his taxi.

Hammer slid into the entry way and raked the taxi ahead of the German before he could reach it.  Wheels squealed and popped as bullets tore through them.

The German didn’t skip a beat.  He ran into the middle of the street, waving a gun and shouting in German.  A terrified woman stopped her car.

Hammer tried to get a bead on the German but he positioned the terrified woman’s car between them.  He broke the window, unlocked the door, and threw the woman into the passenger’s seat.  

Hammer ran over to the passenger’s side but the German pointed his pistol at his hostage.

The car peeled out, leaving Hammer in the street.  Swearing, Hammer ran back into Colm’s apartment, yanked the computer out of the wall along with some discs, and took off before the cops arrived.


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 7a – Climax*

“What have we got?” asked Hammer, standing next to Archive in the crowd in front of the Merriweather Center.

“There was some blue dust in the vacant store,” said Archive.  “I think it was …”

“What?”

“From a corpse,” said Archive. 

“What does ‘Wer ruft mich an’ mean?”

Archive looked at Hammer curiously. “It means: Who calls me? The German said that?”

“No, the German was in the taxi. I heard it from within the room.  I think it’s what set Colm off.”

“Someone speaking German?” asked Archive.

“A dead man speaking German,” added Hammer.  He put one finger to his ear to turn on his comm. “Hot Pants?  What you got?”

“There was a file labeled Sundries,” said Caprice.  “It was encrypted using a fairly simple code that used a book, the Jeeves Omnibus. “

“And?”

“Oh you know, paranoid ranting.  Talks a lot about Them and Others.  Mentions he’s talking to somebody who supports his screwball theories.  Then at some point he has suspicions that They are reading his file.  From there it’s all flowers and light.  The guy’s a nutjob.”

“But no hint as to where he might show up?”

“Nothing.  Maybe if we had those letters …”

Hammer swore. “Then we go with the backup plan.  Colm’s going to show up here.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Jim-Bean over the comm. He was dressed as one of the security guards holding the crowd back. 

“It’s a public place,” said Hammer.  “If Colm’s going to show up with evidence of his crazy theories, this is the place to do it.”

A roar went up from the crowd.  Opposition activists and a band of protesters were gathering outside the conference building.  Many of them were young, all of them rowdy, and what security was available was having some difficulty keeping them in line. 

“They’re here,” reported Jim-Bean, somewhere in the crowd.

Hames, Drinkwater, and Bhrunt arrived in one car and were hustled along the slim corridor of people up the steps of the Center. 

That’s when Hammer spotted the German.  He was wearing a dark overcoat, with an odd bulge under his vest, seemingly oblivious to the raucous crowd around him.  The German was intensely focused on someone on the other side of the crowd.  Hammer spared a glance over his shoulder … 

“It’s Colm!” shouted Archive.  Colm had jumped the barrier, a book in one hand, waving incoherently at his other three companions.

Archive’s shout triggered something in the crowd.  They burst through the security barrier, running towards the four Denial experts. 

Colm reached into his pocket. 

“Bomb!” shouted Archive, pointing at Colm.

“Gun!” shouted Hammer, pointing at the German.

Three cracks from Colm’s revolver caused the crowd to scatter.  

Everyone ducked, falling to the ground.  Except the German, who kept coming. 

A woman was killed.  Two men were injured.  The mob’s charge was instantly broken.  

Before Archive or Hammer could react, Colm grabbed a young woman by the hair and dragged her kicking and screaming into the conference center.

Chaos reigned outside.  People were screaming and running. The police were desperately trying to break up the crowd and deal with the situation. 

The German kept coming. 

“Jim-Bean!” shouted Hammer.  “Where the hell are you?”

There was no response.  Jim-Bean was somewhere in the midst of the mob.

Hammer drew his Glocks.  “Archive, take care of the German!” Then he ran into the meeting center in pursuit of Colm. 

Archive drew his pistol.  For once, he knew what to do.


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 7b – Climax*

Archive stood, Glock in one hand.  There was no one else in the lobby.  Just him and the German.

Good.  It was time to take the gloves off. 

The German loaded his pistol.  And kept coming.

Archive pointed at the German’s pistol.  “Throd! N'gha!” he chanted.

The pistol crumbled to dust in the German’s hands. It didn’t stop him. The German pulled out a submachinegun from his vest.

Archive pointed at the German again. “Wgah'n! 'Ai!” he chanted. 

The response was instantaneous.  The German immediately threw the submachinegun across the room. 

The German kept coming.  He pulled a knife out from his boot, his eyes filled with murderous rage.  He altered his direction, finally.  And he was walking straight towards Archive.

It wasn’t the knife that bothered him.  It was that the hulking German was reaching into his vest with his other hand. If he had another pistol he would have drawn it. 

Archive pointed at the German for a third time.  He was just a few yards away.  “'Bthnk! Ftaghu! Fhtagn!”

The German froze.  It wouldn’t last long.

Archive caught a glimpse of what was in the German’s other hand. It was a grenade.

He screwed up his courage and closed the distance.  The German had already pulled the pin on the grenade.  He was holding the lever tightly, a dead man’s switch.

Archive slowly put his fist around the German’s.  His flesh was unnaturally cold.  

He slipped the grenade out from the German’s grip, retaining the pressure on the handle. Great, now he had a live grenade in his hand.

Archive looked around.  He couldn’t throw it outside with the crowd.  He couldn’t leave it inside.  And he had only a few seconds before the spell wore off.

The bathroom!  Archive sprinted to the men’s room.  

He kicked open a stall and dropped the grenade into the toilet. 

“What the hell buddy?” shouted a man in the stall next to him. He had just finished zipping up his pants and was opening the stall when Archive grabbed him by the collar.

“Out!” shouted Archive.  He hurled the man ahead of him out into the lobby of the meeting center.

The bystander was thrown clear when the explosion went off, but Archive was still too close.  The shock wave knocked him off his feet.  He landed hard on his back.

Archive’s ears were still ringing when he caught a glimpse of the German looming over him, knife raised.

A spray of bullets tore through the German’s coat, jerking him like a marionette.  He suddenly went lifeless, as if his batteries had been turned off.  Then his body fell towards Archive …

And he was covered in blue powder.  

Jim-Bean, dressed in his security guard uniform, twirled the two Glocks in his hands.  “So that’s what it’s like to be Hammer!”


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Part 7c – Climax*

Colm dragged the young woman towards the back exits.  

“Put the gun down, Colm!” shouted Hammer.  “We don’t have to do this!”

“You don’t understand!” Colm shouted back.  “Whitcher told me everything!”  He had a book in his free hand, his arm looped around the woman’s neck.  “The Nazis are collaborating with the Islamists!  And they can control ghosts!”

Hammer started to respond but stopped.  A janitor was whistling tunelessly as he pushed a broom along. His head was down and his path was about to intersect with Colm’s.

Hammer fired his pistol. 

Colm and the hostage flinched, but the janitor didn’t react.  That’s when Hammer caught sight of the earbuds in his ears. 

Taking careful aim, Colm fired a single shot into the janitor’s forehead.  The man crumpled.

“NO!” shouted Hammer.  He drew a bead, but Colm clutched the hostage closer to him.

“Don’t shoot!” she shouted desperately.

Colm took an abrupt turn into the conference hall.  Conference attendees who weren’t aware of the ruckus outside saw Colm and backed away, screaming.

Colm made his way up to the stage and the microphone.

“Damn it!” swore Hammer.  

“Listen to me!  Everyone!”  Colm clutched the girl tighter around the throat.  “They’re after me!  I have proof!  Hasam Al-Banna of the Black Brotherhood joined the Nazis in Saudi Arabia in the 1930s. He formed the school of Wahhabism! Don’t you see?  Al-Hazzan is—“

There was an explosion from the front of the building.  

Startled, Colm dropped his hostage and struggled to reload his pistol.  Hammer took the shot.

Colm screamed, clutching his bloody hand.  A second later, two hundred pounds of angry Hammer wrestled him to the ground.

“Karotechia,” wailed Colm.  “The Karotechia is behind it all!”


----------



## talien

*See No Evil: Conclusion*

Hammer stepped out into the sunlight in front of the Merriweather Center, Colm’s book in his hand. 

It was called The Project.  The report presented a global vision of a worldwide strategy for the Black Brotherhood. Local policies were drawn up in the different regions in accordance with its guidelines. It acted as a means of defining the points of departure of that policy, then set up the components and the most important procedures linked to each point of departure.  Finally it suggested several missions, all of them linking the Neo-Nazi organization Karotechia to Al-Hazzan.

Archive limped out behind him.  

“So who’s behind all this stuff?”

“Nazis,” said Hammer with a sigh. “I hate Nazis.”

A confused deliveryman waved a package.  “I have a delivery for Curtis Grange?”

Jim-Bean snatched the package from the worker and, after shaking it, tossed it to Hammer.

Hammer peered down at the nine inch by twelve inch manila envelope.  The destination and return addresses were identical—they contained Hammer’s full legal name and residential address.  

The stamps were a commemorative White House and U.S. flag stamps issued in 1992 at twenty nine cents each.  

Archive peered over Hammer’s shoulder.  “Who’s sending you a package from ten years ago?”

“And how would he know you would be here at this time on this date?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I don’t know,” said Hammer.  “But I should.” He looked out at the sunset. “This address is in my handwriting.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 33: No Man’s Land - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of two scenarios: “Schrodinger’s Dilemma” by JonnyX and “No Man’s Land,” by Stan! from the Wizards of the Coast Web site. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*

This is one of the first scenarios that actually freaked out the character as well as the player.  George, who loves investigations, was intrigued by the notion that Hammer sent a package to himself from the future.  As they slowly verified that it did indeed come from the future, he became steadily more and more freaked out by the implications. There are other things in the package Hammer receives that indicate he might not be a nice person.  This freaked out everybody.  

I was really impressed by the players’ deductive abilities.  They collectively figured out the decoded message without much help from me. 

Although Hammer was the focus of the first part of the scenario, the latter half was really Archive’s.  This is the first time the living dead are used in force, and it’s up to Archive to take on Whitcher’s undead German army. Given the opportunity to use every World War II cliché imaginable, I milked this scenario for all it was worth.   

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean vs. tank.  Tank wins.

Relevant Media

*Critical Locations:*  For D20 Modern and a lifesaver, since Delta Green rarely provides maps. 
*Schrodinger's Dilemma:* An entry in the Shogtun Scenario contest run on the Delta Green Mailing List, this is one of the best. 
*The Earth Died Screaming:* by Tom Waits
*No Man's Land:* by Stan! This is an event-based scenario that requires careful set-up and a bit of handwaving (magic not only animates the dead, it makes guns and tanks work too!). Fortunately, sufficient dread was built up in the previous scenario and the agents were too frantic to question much.


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Prologue*



> _And the great day of wrath has come
> And here's mud in your big red eye
> The poker's in the fire
> And the locusts take the sky
> And the earth died screaming_​
> _- The Earth Died Screaming_ by Tom Waits​



NEW YORK CITY, NY—Jim Bean peered over Hammer’s shoulder.  “What’s in the envelope?”

Hammer emptied the contents on the hood of his car.  There was a palm-sized scrap of pale tattooed leather, a ten dollar bill, and a folded sheet of paper. 

Jim-Bean opened the paper and read it.  “Huh. The Earth Died Screaming by Tom Waits.”

“What?” asked Hammer.

“It’s a song.  These are the lyrics. It’s on an album called Bone Machine, released in 1992.”

“Never heard of it,” said Hammer.

“You have now,” said Jim-Bean with a smirk.  “It’s signed XOX, Palimpset. There’s also a bloody thumbprint on it.” 

“Weird.”

Archive held the leather up to the light.  It was about four inches in diameter and roughly circular. There was a stylized star tattooed on one side in red metallic ink that glowed faintly

“That’s not all that’s weird,” said Archive. “This is an Elder Sign.”

“The what?” asked Jim-Bean.

“The Elder Sign is a powerful weapon against the servants of the Great Old Ones and the Outer Gods, and can be used to drive them off.”

Hammer was staring at the bill.  “This has to be a hoax.” He held it up so Jim-Bean and Archive could view it.

The bill was slightly larger than normal. It is made of some sort of plasticy material that didn’t crease or easily tear. It was rainbow colored and had a holographic portrait of Hitler on the front. The back contained barcodes, embedded circuitry and a U.S. flag with 57 stars. Text on the bill was in both English and German. The bill was dated "Series 2034.”

Jim-Bean frowned.  “I can check this easily enough.  Let me have it.”

Hammer handed him the bill.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Archive.  “If this has something to do with the Karotechia then it might be magically—“

Jim-Bean held the bizarre bill with between forefingers and thumbs and concentrated.  

“OW!” He shouted, clutching his temple.  “Damn it!”

“What?” asked Hammer.

“I don’t know.  It’s like I got punched in the face.” Jim-Bean rubbed his nose and came up with blood.

Archive snatched the bill from Jim-Bean.  “It’s got wards incorporated into it.”

Jim-Bean dabbed at his nose with a tissue.  “Let me try the letter.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hammer, dubious.

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean. He took hold of the letter…



> And saw Hammer, older, with grey stripes in his hair.  He was fearful, frantic, almost manic.  He had some sort of vial he kept dipping his pen in.  Blood was dripping from his temple.  At one point, Hammer wiped his brow and got blood on his thumb.
> 
> Somewhere in the distance, the faint notes of The Earth Died Screaming were audible.
> 
> He didn’t care.  He kept scribbling madly.  Jim-Bean couldn’t make out what was above Hammer, but he kept looking up.  Was he outside?  Indoors?  He couldn’t tell.  But whatever Hammer was afraid of was above him.  Thunder boomed …



Jim-Bean frowned.  “This is the real deal.  You wrote it.  From the future.  And let’s just say you weren’t happy at the time you wrote it. But you were writing a heck of a lot more than those lyrics.”

Hammer’s brow furrowed.  He was liking this less and less.  “If I were going to send myself a note and I was worried that it might be intercepted, I would use an old trick.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Lemon juice! Now we just have to heat it.”

Jim-Bean helpfully lit the lighter underneath the letter. 

“Don’t burn it!” warned Hammer.

“Relax.  I got the dexterity of a surgeon,” said Jim-Bean, waving the lighter back and forth under the letter.

Sure enough, a series of letters and numbers appeared, beginning with KRYPTOS.

“It’s a code,” said Hammer.  “We use it in the CIA.”  He tapped the code into his cistron. “If you type this code in using the Vigenere cipher and the alphabetic key PALIMPSET, with unilateral substation, repetitive key …”

It appeared on their screens:



> apocalypsebillionsdeadendofworld
> preventmeetingmayaltertimelinekillHScott
> WhitcherSSN078051120DOB131275MCaucbrwnhr
> 66kg148cmGPS38.887701-77.019771UTC113743
> 2840acellcompromiseddonottrustiffailrunr
> evelsuicideby190138​




“What the hell does that mean?” asked Jim-Bean.

“The end of the world,” said Archive flatly.  “You somehow sent this backwards in time to yourself.”

“Whitcher is the same name Colm used.  That must be the Karotechia sorcerer he was meeting with.”

“A very important person, apparently,” said Archive.

“What about all those numbers?” asked Jim-Bean.

“GPS.” Hammer tapped the coordinates in.  “The new World War II Museum at the intersection of Independence Avenue and 6th Street in Washington D.C. And UTC is Universal Coordinated Time in UNIX epoch format.”  He tapped the code in.

“Oh man.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean.

“If this is true … we’ve got three hours to save the world.”


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Part 1 – Which Whitcher?*

Hammer took photos of everything and uploaded them to the Blacknet database.  Caprice, back at their temporary headquarters in New York, fed them data on the drive down.

“You’re sure this isn’t a joke, right?” asked Caprice, on speakerphone over the cistron.

“It’s not a joke, Hot Pants,” said Hammer tersely, speeding through traffic. “What did you find?”

“The social security number you gave me is the most misused number of all time,” explained Caprice. “In 1938, wallet manufacturer the E. H. Ferree Company in Lockport, New York decided to promote its product by showing how a Social Security card would fit into its wallets. A sample card, used for display purposes, was inserted in each wallet. Company VP and Treasurer Douglas Patterson thought it would be a clever idea to use the actual SSN of his secretary, Mrs. Hilda Schrader Whitcher.”

“Great, Whitcher’s not even real,” said Jim-Bean in the driver’s seat.

“I wouldn’t say that,” replied Caprice. “For someone who isn’t real we’ve got quite a bit of information on him.”

“Like?”

“First of all, the H stands for Howard. Howard had three residential addresses in the last eight years, including a current one; two are in nearby states, one is on the other side of the country.  Whitcher has a supposedly unlisted phone number for the current address.”

Jim-Bean dialed the number, then hung up.  “Answering machine.”

“He went to college and high school info from institutions on the west coast; an MBA degree with minors in math and law. No criminal history and a decent credit score,” said Caprice. “Whitcher’s unmarried, an only child, with no surviving parents or grandparents.  He has some unusually uneventful medical records. Whitcher filed tax returns going back to his late teens.”

“Real enough to do his taxes,” said Archive.

“I was able to pull up his driver’s license.  There’s a match with his current residential address and the physical description you gave me.”

“Pull it up,” said Hammer.

The picture loaded on their cistrons.  Howard Scott Whitcher had a light complexion, clean shaven, with long blond hair. 

“Now we know what he looks like.  Thanks Hot Pants, we’ll check in when we get there.”

“Roger that,” said Caprice.  He hung up.

“What do we have on this museum?” Hammer said over his shoulder to Archive.

“The new exhibit is intended to give visitors the merest taste of what it might have been like to serve on the Western Front in World War II.” Archive read from his cistron. “The exhibit has been especially popular because it features an actual British trench, dug out of the ground and preserved for this display. The soil is the very earth on which thousands of soldiers died. It is an exhibit designed to leave even the most jaded visitor shaken and keenly aware of the fragility and sanctity of life.”

“Don’t tell me: that’s going to give our Nazi necromancer a distinct advantage.”

“Definitely. It may be why you sent this back.”  Archive held up the piece of leather with the Elder Sign on it.  “You don’t send an Elder Sign like this unless you’re expecting trouble with the supernatural.”

Jim-Bean plucked the leather from Archive. “Let me see …”


> A woman screaming.  Scalpel. Gloved hands. Flesh peeling back from her back.  A flash of her face, contorted in pain.  She’s Asian …



Jim-Bean tossed the leather back to Archive.

“Well?” asked Archive.

“You can keep it.” Jim-Bean tossed the leather back to Archive.  “And keep it far away from me.”

“We’re here,” said Hammer.

They pulled in front of the museum just in time to see Whitcher in front of the World War II Museum.  Almost as if he sensed Hammer’s gaze. He turned and ran into the museum.


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Part 2 – The Exhibit*

The museum was meant to be an interactive, educational presentation of conditions and equipment in the trenches of Western Europe in WWI.  “No Man’s Land,” as the exhibit was called, was a modern facility.  There were no stairs in the exhibit; access was provided by wheelchair-friendly ramps leading to and from the gallery. The arrangement served to accentuate the feeling of going down into the trenches.

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive entered the forum.  The room was dimly lit and popular music from the war era played faintly from speakers hidden in the shadows of the ceiling.  Most of the available light came from the five cases that displayed items once used by soldiers stationed in the trenches. Beside the main door stood a box for donations; next to that was a door leading to the museum gift shop. At the left was a ramp leading up to the gallery.

The display cases contained items such as shaving kits, gramophones, medals, and honorariums from various countries. A plaque below each item described what functions it served and how the museum came to own it.

As Whitcher fled up the left ramp, four soldiers entered from the gift shop on the right. People screamed. They were dead, each skeleton wearing a WWII helmet and the tattered remains of its German uniform clinging to its bones.

Jim-Bean gaped at the resurrected corpses.  “What the hell?”

The front row of soldiers got to one knee while the back row took aim with their rifles.  

“He must be in a rush,” said Archive.  He held the leather Elder Sign over his head.

The eye at the center of the sign blinked, and the lid lifted up again a beam of flame arced forth.  The four Nazi skeletons burst into blue dust.

Jim-Bean hustled people towards the exit.

“Look familiar?” asked Archive, pointing at the blue dust. “This dust is signs that the necromancy that the same necromancy is at work …” 

But Hammer was already off and running into the gallery.


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Part 3 – Gallery*

The Gallery was devoted to showcasing the weapons used by front line troops during WWII. It was larger than the adjacent forum, and it was difficult to see from end to end because the display cases have been arranged to create the effect of a trench-like hallway. The displays featured various weapons used by front line soldiers.  Scratchy recordings of speeches made by politicians of the era drifted from the speakers occasionally. Interspersed among them were clearer recordings of elderly veterans describing their experiences from the war. 

One wall of the room was actually a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a recreation of a WWII battlefield. Other museum visitors walked below, along a trench, before passing through a doorway. At the far end of the diorama was a sandbagged foxhole in which two figures in German uniforms manned a machine gun.

It took Hammer a second to realize why the other visitors hadn’t reacted the ruckus in the gift shop.  It was because the sounds of realistic warfare echoed beyond the Plexiglas. 

“Look Martha,” said an elderly man, pushed along by his more mobile wife. “They hired actors to man the machinegun!”

Hammer didn’t get a chance to shout a warning.  He dove to the ground just as the machinegun on the far side of the diorama roared to life, raking the room with gunfire.

The remaining visitors were torn apart, ripped literally in half as the machinegun fire sliced them to ribbons. 

“Jim-Bean, Archive, take care of the soldiers!” shouted Hammer, drawing his Glocks.  “I’m going after Whitcher in the trench!”

The machinegun finally stopped chattering.  One skeletal soldier lifted another ribbon of ammo in the dugout on the opposite side of the museum.  The few people in the trenches wailed in horror, shocked by the sudden violence.

Archive held up the Elder Sign.  Again the eye opened and a beam of red light sliced through the two skeletons at the machinegun, powdering them to blue dust.

Jim-Bean, seeing his chance, sprinted through the broken Plexiglas and attempted to leap over the trench …

Only to hit the trench’s edge.  He scrambled for purchase, but the sides were sprayed with a sealant to prevent curious visitors from grabbing handfuls of dirt. Jim-Bean fell back into the trench with a thud.

The ground rumbled all around him.  It was the mechanical sound of wheels and gears turning, of something huge and heavy turning reached Jim-Bean’s ears. Almost like …

“Tank!” shouted Archive.

Then the world exploded.


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Part 4 – Lest We Forget*

The main part of the exhibit was a full-scale, original trench in a reconstructed battlefield. A ramp led down between walls of dirt, giving the impression that the visitor was descending into the ground as you walk along. The display tag at the bottom of the ramp explained that the exhibit was an actual WWII trench, carefully dug up and transported from the fields of France. Hammer understood how Whitcher had managed to create the skeletons: he had plenty of raw material.

The trench’s structure was well supported by sandbags and wooden slats, and great care had been taken to preserve and secure the sod walls with a durable coating. Stepladders were placed every dozen yards or so to allow visitors to peer over the ten-foot high dirt walls.

The ground around the top of the trench was bare of all grass and vegetation, but lengths of barbed wire spiraled across the field. The walls and ceiling were painted to show gray clouds overhead and forests and farmhouses in the distance. Hidden speakers played the sounds of men shouting in German, biplanes passing overhead, intermittent gunfire, and occasionally a mortar explosion.

The atmosphere in the trench was as realistic as the curators could make it, and the whole effect was more than a little bit disturbing. 

Above the trench stood a tremendous metal vehicle about eight feet tall, ten feet wide, and fifteen feet long. It was covered with heavy iron plates held in place by bolts at least an inch in diameter. The display tag identified the metal behemoth as a Renault tank with a 37mm cannon. The tank rumbled forward a few feet before the turret whirred towards Jim-Bean.

Of course, thought Hammer.  Of course Whitcher had animated a tank crew. He could do nothing but duck down as the tank blasted away at Jim-Bean above him.  

Whitcher may have been a Nazi sorcerer but he was still human.  The blast caused him to pause as well as dirt rained down all around them.

Hammer squeezed off two shots with his Glock.  Whitcher ducked around a curve in the trench and chanted something Hammer couldn’t hear, his ears still ringing from the tank’s attack. 

Hammer’s flesh started to feel very, very warm.  It was like someone had suddenly pressed his face next to a hot flame and no matter where he turned, he couldn’t escape it. 

Gritting his teeth, Hammer advanced on the chanting Whitcher.


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Part 5 – Those Who Have Fallen*

Across the field from the broken window was a semicircle of sandbags from which a large machine gun barrel poked up, pointing his way. Plaques explained that the foxhole beyond contains a Maxim Machineengewehr 42 machine gun that was estimated to have killed more than four hundred soldiers.

Archive shoved one of the shelves off of him.  The tank cannon had blown a hole in the trench and everything near it.  Archive guessed that whatever magic the Nazi sorcerer had used to reanimate the dead had also armed the weapons.  

Archive held up the Elder Sign.  The two skeletons manning the machinegun powdered to dust.  He turned and ran down the ramp into the trench on Hammer’s side.  He had to stop the tank before it fired again. 

In the trench, two dead soldiers strode forth, straight towards the spot where Jim-Bean was.  Now it was just a pile of dirt.

Jim-Bean’s hand burst out of the debris.  Spitting dirt, he crawled up the sloped side of the trench as the soldiers walked mechanically behind him.  He was a bloody mess.  The protomatter that suffused his body was working overtime to keep him alive.  If he survived, Jim-Bean knew he’d be hungry enough to eat a cow later.

Limping, Jim-Bean dropped to the ground and belly crawled underneath the barbed wire.  Seconds later the skeletal corpses followed suit.

Archive tore through the display cases and pulled out samples of Molotov cocktails.  He fired the lock off the tank’s gas tank with his Glock even as it whirred to track Jim-Bean at the machinegun nest.  He stuffed the material into the tank and anywhere else he could find an opening.  After whispering an incantation, they burst into flame.

Jim-Bean attempted to grab the machinegun from its mount, but it was far too heavy.  He settled for kicking the belt feeder to the machinegun until it warped. 

Then he belly crawled back beneath the barbed wire as the skeletons reached the machinegun.  They attempted to fire it, giving Jim-Bean enough time to crawl back into the trench.  Frustrated, the skeletons followed after him. 

Blisters burst out all over Hammer’s arms and face, but he kept coming.  He fired his Glocks, but Whitcher held up one hand, still chanting.  Bullets stopped in midair in front of Whitcher and melted to the ground.

Hammer fell to his knees.  His hair burst into flames. 

Above them, the tank trundled forward.

Whitcher’s chanting was suddenly chocked off.  The relentless heat suffusing Hammer’s being immediately stopped. He looked up.

Jim-Bean had Whitcher in an arm lock.  

“Shoot him!”

Hammer didn’t hesitate.  He fired a single shot through Whitcher’s head.  Blood and brains spattered Jim-Bean as he let go of the corpse.

“Out of the way!” shouted Archive from behind them.

Hammer caught sight of a book open on the ground near Whitcher’s feet.  He grabbed it and rolled out of the way just as the flaming tank fell into the trench, crushing Whitcher’s body.


----------



## talien

*No Man's Land: Conclusion*

“Any clues?” asked Hammer. 

Archived flipped through the book. It had a skeletal winged serpent on the cover.

The full title of the work was Mein Triumph oder Drittes Buch, meaning "My Triumph or The Third Book". The author was listed as Adolf Hitler, and on the title page was written "Nach Diktat niedergeschrieben und redigiert von Dr. Olaf Bitterich" ("Dictated to and edited by Dr. Olaf Bitterich"). 

“It’s morbid, that’s for sure,” said Archive. “There’s not much actionable information in this book. Only Bitterich, in his two prefaces, mentions an SS-Karotechia, and no member of it other than Bitterich himself is named. In his first preface, the doctor rambles on about the privilege of taking the Führer's dictation after having fled the siege of Berlin on the advice of the great Siegfried. The second preface is a series of sycophantic hermeneutic exercises in which Bitterich connects phrases from the book with recent events, foreseen by Der Führer.” 

The world of the living, according to Mein Triumph, was a thin veneer kept in place by the enemies of the Aryan race while they poisoned and destroyed the true pillars of the world. Death was never permanent, though for most people, the afterlife was hollow and writhing with maggots. The iron-jawed martyrs of national socialism and other incarnations of Germania's spirit stood ready to fight unblemished, but must be called forth by a ruthless triumph of will. Until then, they were sheltered by an essence at the center of existence.

These ideas were combined with lengthy passages echoing the theories of Madame Blavatsky and her Theosophical Society, but with a heavy emphasis on race and other ways in which “men are not born equal”. Much of the language and ideology recalled Edward Bulwer-Lytton, particularly his “Vril.” There were several rituals framed as ancient ways in which to focus the latent psychic force inherent in “pure” Aryans, though there were many visions of technological dominance as well.

“There are several chapters of Mein Triumph devoted to the concept of alternate timelines,” explained Archive. “One such timeline leads to a German invasion of the American mainland. It is implied in Mein Triumph that the unforeseen advent of nuclear weapons prevented the Jews from provoking that war.”

“A timeline we prevented,” said Jim-Bean.  “Right?”

“I hope so,” said Archive.  “But we won’t know for sure until …”

“January 19, 2038,” said Hammer. “Then it’s run, revel, or suicide.”

“There’s still one part I don’t get,” said Jim-Bean.  “Who’s A Cell?  And how were they compromised?”

“I don’t know,” said Hammer.  “But I’m not sharing any of this with Majestic-12 and neither should you.”

“That’s easy.” Jim-Bean lit a cigarette.  “I try to share as little as possible with them anyway.” He peered over at Archive. “You going to hang onto that thing?”

Archive held up the Elder Sign.  “This?  This saved all our lives.”

“Sure,” said Jim-Bean.  “Just do me a favor.  Don’t date any tattooed Asian chicks.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 34: A Love in Need - Introduction*

This story hour is from the scenario “A Love in Need” by Brian M. Sammons in “Secrets.” You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*

A Love in Need is a quirky scenario about the unlikely romance between an alien sorcerer and a giant fat woman who is protective of her dying son.  I was ready to run the scenario straight as is, but couldn’t help altering the plot to fit it into the rest of the campaign’s overall mythology.  Thus the alien sorcerer became a protomatter steward, the mother was altered by the Mi-go, and the child is actually a biogenetically engineered source of BIOSAN-6.  In other words, he’s Patient Zero of a virus that could wipe out protomatter once and for all.

The agents are completely ignorant of the real story.  They’re after Jason, the mysterious boyfriend who gave a potion to Lucy Ennis. But that’s just an excuse to lock the agents up in a motel.  From there, it’s a slasher flick on steroids, combining the best of Joy Ride, Identity, and Vacancy.  It was all over in the span of just two hours.

The content of the potion has a tie to a future scenario.  And that scenario involves a certain animated object that has no business being animated. I had no idea the effect it would have on this scenario.

This is also the first time I used a rule I invented from one of my sourcebooks (Blood & Blades: The Profiler’s Guide to Slashers).  It had the exact chilling effect I intended.

Finally, we get to see just how far Hammer is willing to go to protect the Conspiracy.    

*Defining Moment:* There’s something moving in the dripping blue cardboard box.  Something Jason calls his pet. 

Relevant Media

*Critical Locations:*  For D20 Modern and a lifesaver, since Delta Green rarely provides maps. 
*Secrets:* The source for this scenario.
*Joy Ride:* One of the scariest movies about two punks being jerks over a CB. If you were a kid in the 80s who pretended he was someone else over a CB and pissed off truckers, you know what I mean. This is the source of the "jaw ripping" as well as the shotgun trap and truck attack. 
*Identity:* The classic Ten Little Indians only at a roadside motel.  A little contrived, but still very good.  This is the source of the plot involving Taggeret and Jawolalski.
*Vacancy:* Now this is the scariest staying-in-a-motel type movie!  The ambush in the hotel room is straight from this movie.
*Blood & Blades: The Profiler's Guide to Slashers:* Finally, an opportunity to use some of the stuff I wrote!
*Down With the Sickness:* by Disturbed. Because you really do need to get down with the sickness.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Prologue*



> _I can see inside you, the sickness is rising
> Don't try to deny what you feel
> (Will you give in to me?)
> It seems that all that was good has died
> And is decaying in me​_- _Down With the Sickness_ by Disturbed​



MCKINLEY, NM—Hammer turned the windshield wipers on as the storm whipped itself into a frenzy. 

“So we flew out here for what again?” asked Jim-Bean, cracking a window so he could blow cigarette smoke out the crack. 

“Remember Jason?  The guy who gave Lucy Ennis that ‘potion’ that reanimated her dad?”

Jim-Bean rubbed his forehead.  “How can I forget.”

“Well Jason Jawolalski was sighted in McKinley.  Our job is to pick him up.”

Archive, sitting in the back, chuckled.  “So that’s why you brought me?”

Hammer nodded, struggling to see through the downpour.  “You did a great job with those Nazi corpses, so I figure if this Jason guy gets creative with his potion you’ll come in handy.”

Jim-Bean flipped on the radio.  It reported flood alerts and chimed six o’clock. 

“As I recall, the Elder Sign was useless against Henry Ennis—“ began Jim-Bean. 

“Elder Signs vary in magical strength,” Archive interjected, cutting him off.  “The one I have now is much more powerful.”

“Sure,” said Jim-bean.  “Whatever.”

Distracted by the conversation, Hammer glanced up in time to see a silhouette in the path of the car. He jerked the wheel hard and the car skidded.

A body hit the left side of the hood, bouncing up and over.  The car kept sliding and a telephone pole flashed into view.  Hammer slammed on the brakes.

The car rammed into it, triggering the air bags.  Sparks and snaps crackled overhead as the power lines tore away and the pole fell across the hood of the Honda Civic.

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive staggered out of the vehicle.  

Jim-Bean tried his cistron.  No signal.  Archive ran over the man in the street.

The man was a pitiful travesty.  He was shaking and shivering, his limbs twisted and withered, and his skin had open, weeping sores covering it that drained a noxious ichor.  A steak knife was clutched ineffectively in one hand. The man wore only pajama bottoms. Archive fished through his pockets and pulled out his wallet.  His license identified him as John Andrews. 

“Don’t move, John, we’re going to get you out of here!” Archive shouted to Andrews in the rain.

Hammer struggled with the car, but wasn’t able to get it out of the ditch off the side of the road.  The mud was churning from the downpour. 

Jim-Bean stood in the middle of the road, surprised to see a pair of eyes staring back at him from Andrews’ car.  It was a young boy, maybe ten years old. 

“How bad is he?” asked Hammer.

“Bad,” said Archive.  “We need to get him inside, fast.”

“His car won’t start either,” said Jim-Bean, pointing to the distant lights of a roadside motel. “The closest shelter is there.”

“Great,” said Hammer.  “Archive, you take Andrews. Jim-Bean, you take the boy.”

“You take him,” said Jim-Bean quickly.  “I’ll carry our gear.”

Hammer shrugged and led the boy out of the car.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 1 – The Motel*

The Prairie View motel was a one-story, L-shaped structure. A rustic portico ran the length of the front, affording sheltered access to each of the twelve units and the office. A primer painted pickup truck sat outside the office, under a "$19.00 A NIGHT" sign that hung over the office screen door. Above that was a crooked "VACANCY" sign.

A bell above the screen door of the office jingled as Hammer entered.

The tiny wood-paneled room had several security video monitors on the walls behind the desk. The image of Hammer entering the office filled the screens.

Around the room, a few stock scenery pictures hung on the wall and a stuffed jack-a-lope, a rabbit with glued-on antlers, rested on the counter. At the rabbit's feet was a desk bell, with a sign: RING ME.

Hammer rang the bell. 

There was some rustling, then a man with a nametag identifying him as Kraygen appeared from the back room.  He was in his forties, five-foot nothing and a hundred thirty pounds in his sweaty t-shirt and jeans. 

He caught a glimpse of Archive carrying the bloody Andrews in a fireman’s carry towards the motel. "Jesus, what happened?"

Hammer flashed his badge.  “My name is Agent Hammer, CIFA. I need to get this man to a hospital immediately.”

Kraygen nodded and picked up the desk phone. He tried a line, clicked on the receiver, clicked again. Nothing. 

“I’m not getting a line.  It happens in the rain. Saint Jude’s has twenty-four hour emergency.  Thirty miles east, but I don’t think you’ll make it in this storm. Need a room?”

“Two, actually.”

Kraygen threw him the keys. 

A tall attractive redhead with green eyes ran out into the rain from her room, summoned by the commotion.  She was dressed in slacks, a casual blouse, and minimal jewelry.

“Oh my God!” She caught sight of Andrews and Archive. “What happened?”

“This man is hurt.  He needs medical assistance.”

“I’ll take him back to my room.  I’m a doctor. Doctor Amanda Kliss.”

Jim-Bean nervously ushered the weird little boy after them.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 2 – The Room*

“Crikes, this is rough,” whispered Jim-Bean, looking around.

The room, if it could be called that, had stained shag carpet. There were torn farm animal print curtains. Cigarette holes were burned into the paisley bedspread draped across the bed. Artificial plants hung in the corners of the room. 

Archive rushed Andrews into the bathroom and placed him in the tub. The bathroom was no better. It had a broken tile floor, a rusty faucet and a water-stained commode. 

Archived turned on the faucet. Brown water splashed out, gushing several roaches out with it. The bugs scurried around the sink and then slither down the drain.

“Anyone have a first aid kit?” shouted Kliss. “He’s in shock, he’s losing blood.”  

“We just happen to have one,” said Jim-Bean.  He tossed a rucksack onto the bed.

Archive tore it open and ran back into the bathroom.  He snapped on a pair of plastic gloves.  Then Archive peeled back Andrews’ shirt, causing blood to weep copiously into the tub. 

“That doesn’t look good,” he said to Kliss.  The look on her face confirmed his diagnosis.

Andrews clung to life.  The boy sat nearby on the bed, just staring at him. 

“All we can do is try to make him comfortable,” said Kliss.  

Andrews’ eyes fluttered open.  He looked into the next room, watching the boy.

Slowly, laboriously, in a glottal effort that sounded as though he were talking through a mouthful of mud, Andrews whispered, “horrible … it … must stop …”

Kraygen stood in the doorway.  “What the hell happened?”

“He was out in the road,” snarled Hammer, angry with himself.  “I didn’t see him …”

Andrews let out a deep shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. Archive put two fingers to Andrews’ neck.

“Is he … dead?” asked Kraygen.

Kliss nodded, tears in her eyes. 

Hammer swore softly to himself.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 3 – Vector*

Jim-Bean approached the boy, brow furrowed.

“So kid.  Did you see anything?  Anything you want to share?”

The boy just stared at him with his dead eyes.

Kliss came over.  “He’s just a boy.  Can’t you see he’s in shock?”

“Oh I can see all right.  And in my experience, the cute little kids are the most dangerous.”

Kliss blinked.  “You can’t be serious.  I think you’ve been reading too many horror novels, Agent …”

“Jim-Bean,” he said.  “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Jim-Bean lifted the Realizer crystal around his neck with one hand and focused on the boy.







> The boy was on his back, awake.  Something chitinous and fungal loomed over him.  There were either multiple things or it had more than one pair of arms.
> 
> An odd tool, made of a black shiny material and covered in strange stains was held in fine manipulators with two opposing nippers, one set ending in a blunt, soft spur-like “thumb.”
> 
> “Be still David,” whispered a deep, barely feminine voice.  “This will only take a minute.”
> 
> Jim-Bean’s first reaction was that the boy was being tortured as a long slice was made down the boy’s front.  But then he realized it was some form of alien surgery.  Where humans cut precisely and carefully with sterilized tools to prevent infection or fatal hemorrhage, the aliens ripped and rended with their bizarre instruments. Skin was ripped away without any forethought or design.
> 
> Then he realized who he was.  He was inside Andrews’ head.
> 
> Andrews was being held upright, was next to David.  He moaned, terrified. A pair of huge, meaty human hands held him fast.
> 
> Nippers yanked forth a raging, slimy thing out of the boy.  It looked like a quivering organ that had a life of its own.  The tool moved over the gaping wound of David’s ribcage and the bloody rent was healed without a scratch.
> 
> It was Andrews’ turn.  A bloody slash tore open his abdomen. Jim-Bean/Andrews screamed. The twitching organ that had been torn out of the boy was placed inside him.  And then it was sewed back up.
> 
> Immediately, Andrews broke out in blue pustules.  Unlike the boy, he had no benefit of anesthetic. Even as the wound was sewed up, he arched his back in a guttural scream...



Jim-Bean fell back from the vision, gasping.  “His name is … David.”

“How do you know that?” asked Kliss.  “By just staring at him?”

Jim-Bean looked down at his arm. Little blue buboes broke out.

“Not again,” he whispered. 

“What the …” asked Kliss.  “Are you infected?”

Jim-Bean ran into the bathroom and pulled the knife out of his boot.  Kliss caught sight of Jim-Bean slicing the knife across his forearm just before he kicked the door closed.

And all throughout, David tracked Jim-Bean with his dead gaze.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 4 – The Prisoner*

The motel room was illuminated by a police cruiser. The flashing lights were eerie in the rain. An athletic, middle-aged man in a sheriff’s uniform stepped out of the sedan.  There was a second person in the back of the cruiser.

“You the manager?” he asked Kraygen.

“Yeah?” asked Kraygen nervously. 

The stranger carefully held out his police I.D. “Office Tageret.  I’m transporting a convict.  The law grants you the right to decline us service – but the roads are flooded and I could use a room.”

A muffled cackle came from the back seat of the sedan.

“… it’s an emergency.”

Hammer walked over, flashing his own badge.  “Agent Hammer, Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.  Who’ve you got there?”

“Jawolalski, Jason Jawolalski.” 

Tageret dragged Jawolalski out of the cruiser and over to the room that Kraygen unlocked for him. 

Jawolalski’s long black hair was tied in a ponytail.  He had brown eyes and a two day’s growth of beard.  

“That’s our man,” said Hammer.  Jim-Bean joined them from the other room, his arm drenched in blood. “CIFA put out the APB. We’ll take him off of your hands.”

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Tageret.  He was perceptive enough to notice that they all had cuts and scrapes.

Jim-Bean nodded to the other room.  “Car accident.  We’ve got one dead body in the other room.”

Tageret shoved Jawolalski into the motel room.  “You can kill Jawolalski too for all I care.  This piece of garbage has enough convictions to put him away for awhile.”

“If you’re gonna cuff him to something, the toilet’s bolted down good,” said Kraygen.

Hammer shook his head.  “Keep him in sight.  Cuff him to the bed.”

The beds, like everything else in the motel, were bolted to the floor. 

“Thanks so much for your assistance,” said Jawolalski, pissed.

Tageret dragged Jawolalski over to the bed. 

Jawolalski growled in his face. “I got stripes,” he sang, “stripes around my shoulders…”

Ignoring him, Tageret cuffed Jawolalski to the bed frame.

“I got chains, chains around my feet … And them chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down.”

Tageret smacked Jawolalski’s head against the side of the bed frame.

“Ow!  Bastard!” shouted Jawolalski.

“We’ll take it from here,” said Hammer.  “Did he have anything on him?”

“Yeah,” said Tageret.  “A 9mm automatic pistol and a weird cardboard box.”

Jim-Bean arched an eyebrow.  “What kind of box?”

Tageret shrugged.  “Dripping something.  I tried not to touch it.  It’s in my trunk.”

Hammer leaned down to face Jawolalski.  “What’s in the box, Jawolalski.”

Jawolalski flashed a gap-toothed grin. “What box?”

“We know about the potion you gave Lucinda Ennis,” said Hammer.  

“Lucy?” Jawolalski cackled.  “How’s her dad doing?”

“Dead.  Both of them.”

“Oh wow,” Jawolalski feigned concern.  “That’s too bad huh.”

“I’m not going to ask you again, Jawolalski.  What’s in the box?”

Jawolalski smirked and said nothing.

“We’ve got a dead body in the other room,” said Hammer.  “Along with a little boy.  We’re not sure whom he belongs to.”

Tageret nodded.  “I’ll check it out.” He left.

Lightning fast, Jim-Bean pulled a knife out of his boot and stabbed Jawolalski in the thigh.

“AAAAH!” screamed Jawolalski.  “Jesus!  What the hell? I got rights!”

“Ever hear of the Patriot Act?” asked Hammer.  “Right now you seem like a terrorist with a biological weapon to me.  You don’t have any rights.”

Jim-Bean yanked the knife out of Jawolalski’s thigh, triggering another screech from him.  “DAMN IT!  Fine!  Fine!  I’ll tell you.  It’s insurance. I think I’m bleeding to death …”

Hammer roughly bandaged up the wound. “Insurance?  Insurance for what?”

“I worked for a company.  A company that makes some weird $#!t called Sapphire.  If you met Lucy’s dad you know what it does.  Turns out they’re crazier than even me.  I needed out.  So I took a little piece of insurance to make sure people take me seriously.  ‘Course, with my history I couldn’t very well go to the police …”

“What company?” asked Hammer.

Jawolalski started singing the ABC song. 

“Cut that out!” said Hammer.  “What company?”

“Amalgamated Bio-Carb. It’s a pharmaceutical company.”

“What’s in the box?” asked Jim-Bean tersely.  

“Rover.  Here boy!” He started whistling.  “Here boy!”

Tageret opened the door.  “What’s going on in here?” He caught sight of Jawolalski’s blood on the floor. 

Hammer got up abruptly. “Give me the keys to your car.  We’re going to check out this box.”

Tageret threw the keys to Hammer.  

“Watch him,” said Jim-Bean to Tageret as he passed.  Then they both set out in the pounding rain.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 5 - What's in the Box?*

The box in the trunk smelled like some type of chemical. The sides were stained from the inside by some kind of bluish fluid.  

Jim-Bean moved to pick it up when the box moved. Something was wetly flopping inside the box. 

Exchanging a glance with Jim-Bean, Hammer slowly reached out to pick up the box up.  It shuddered.

Hammer opened the door to the additional room he had rented from Kraygen.  

“Hey!” shouted Jim-Bean to Kraygen, who was standing in the doorway to Dr. Kliss’ room.  “You got a fish tank or something?”

“Sure,” said Kraygen.  He jogged back to the office and returned with an algae-covered, dried out husk of a fish tank with smelly gravel. “Ain’t had fish in this for years.”

“Thanks.” He took it from Kraygen. 

“So what’s in the—“

Jim-Bean closed the door on him.  He turned back to Hammer.

Hammer placed the box on the nightstand next to the bed. Jim-Bean placed the fish tank over the box.

“Ready?” asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer nodded.  “Ready.”

Jim-Bean focused and stretched one hand towards the box.

It slowly, carefully tore open, seemingly of its own accord.  In the darkness, a single eye glittered from the feeble light provided by the single bulb above them.

The thing shuddered.  Something wet and pink slithered inside. With a sudden jerk, it twitched its way out of the box.

What lay inside the fish tank was an absolute abomination against nature. The head was that of a German Shepherd, its right eye blasted away by a bullet wound.  There was a wound in the skull which had exposed the brain tissue. The jaw bone was out shot out of its right hinge.  Even so, its jaw muscles jerked spasmodically. The flesh of the bloodless stump was stained faintly blue, as was the exposed brain tissue. 

“What.  The f$%k.  Is that?” asked Jim-Bean.

The single of the dog’s head rolled madly.  It twitched its way to the side of the tank, the wet tongue leaving saliva stains as it slapped against the tank. 

“Sapphire in action,” said Hammer.  “If this ABC company is manufacturing this stuff …”

The door burst open.  It was Tageret.  “What is going on in here?”

Jim-Bean stood up abruptly, positioning himself between the tank and the cop.  “Nothing.  I thought I told you to watch Jawolalski?”

“I was!  He was talking about something about a dog’s head?  Said you guys tortured him?”

“You left the prisoner alone?” growled Hammer.  He stalked out the door past Tageret and into the holding room.

The room was dark and empty.   The bed had been torn away from the floor. The rear window was open. 

“Damn it!” shouted Hammer. 

Tageret skidded behind them.  “He can’t get far,” said Tageret.  “Not in this.”

Jim-Bean came out.  “Kraygen!  Get over here!”

Kraygen came back from the other room.  “What’s up?”

“You got any weapons?” asked Hammer.

Kraygen looked from Hammer to Tageret nervously.  “I … uh …”

“We’re not going to arrest you, Kraygen.  We’ve got an emergency; our prisoner escaped and we’re going to need every man available.  If you’ve got weapons, we could use your help finding Jawolalski.”

Kraygen seemed relieved.  “Sure.  Follow me.” 

He led them to the main office.  “I got two old pistols that hang over the mantle here,” he said, reaching up behind an overhang.  “You wouldn’t think they work but I keep ‘em in good condition.”  Kraygen’s expression changed as he pulled one of the long pistols down.  “That’s strange.”

“What?” asked Hammer.

“One of the pistol’s missing.”

“$#!T!” snarled Hammer.  “How about ammo?”

“Oh I keep it in a drawer over …” Kraygen looked over the counter.  “It’s all over the floor.”

“All right, our target is now armed,” announced Hammer.  “But he’s wounded.  He won’t get very far. Kraygen, any place you think Jawolalski could hide?”

Kraygen pondered.  “Well there’s the repair shack out back …”

Hammer nodded. “Load that pistol, you’re coming with me.  Jim-Bean, Tageret, you two go around the other side.  We’ll check room by room and meet at the shack.”


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 6 - Jaws*

Rain pounded the moonless landscape, hitting so hard that the up-spray was as fierce as the downpour. Occasional bursts of lightning took snapshots of twisted Joshua trees. 

The lights of the motel become fainter. The sodden muck tried to swallow their feet. Hammer pulled himself from the quagmire, climbed a rise and hurried over it.  Lightning flashed and he caught sight of the maintenance shed.

Jim-Bean and Tageret arrived on the other side.  The door swung open and closed in the wind. The chain that normally locked the shed had been snapped in two. 

With both Glocks out, Hammer peered around the opening into the darkness of the trailer.  Another flash of lightning illuminated the outline of Jawolalski’s form, his back to them.  

“Jawolalski!” shouted Hammer.  “It’s over.  Get up.”

Jawolalski didn’t move.  Hammer nodded to Kraygen and he flicked on the light.

Jowalaski was tied to the pole, but his head hung down. Blood and gore streamed down the front of his chest, accompanied by a horrible gurgling sound.

As Hammer move closer, Jawolalski’s head jerked upwards in pain.  His lower jaw was completely ripped off.  

“HOLY $#!T!” screamed Kraygen.

Jawolalski’s tongue flopped helplessly, choking on his own blood.  With another wheeze, he expired.

“W-what kind of an animal DOES that?” asked Kraygen.

“The kind that cuffs you to a pole first,” said Tageret.  “It’s time to get out of here.”

“I’m not waiting for that thing to kill me!” shouted Kraygen, panic in his voice.  He ran screaming into the night, back towards the motel.

Jim-Bean sighed.  “Civilians.”  He held his crystal and focused.







> And was rewarded with a flash of a giant hand, the same puffy paw he saw holding Andrews before.
> 
> Jawolalski screamed, but it was cut off as the hand shoved its way into his mouth.
> 
> Jawolalski managed a terrified moan before the hand ripped downwards. With incredible force, it tore Jaowlalski’s jaw off, snapping through, tendons, teeth, and flesh.



Jim-Bean stumbled backwards.  

“What?” asked Hammer.

“Let’s just … let’s just go,” he said.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 7 – The Plan*

“What was all that screaming?” asked Kliss, stroking the boy’s hair in an effort to keep him calm. 

“Jawolalski’s dead,” said Tageret, out of breath.  “There’s a corpse in the bathtub. And I don’t know for sure but I think I saw a dog head flopping around in a fish tank.” He addressed Kliss.  “Take your car and get out of here.  You and the kid.”

Archived looked back and forth between them.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” asks Kliss. 

“How much gas do you have?” asks Tageret.

“Half a tank.”

Tageret checked his watch. “It’s almost three.  You can drive till dawn on that. Just keep moving.”

Making up her mind, Kliss nodded.  She snatched up her keys and dragged David behind her. 

“Wait!” Archive got up from the bed.  “We don’t know if it’s safe.”

But it was too late.  Kliss pushed the boy around to the passenger side.  Then she yanked open the door to the driver’s side …

KA-BOOM! A huge explosion rocked the motel. 

A mushrooming fireball billowed from the front of the motel. In the office, the window shattered from the shockwave.  Kliss’ vehicle was a raging inferno. The fire popped and hissed in the pouring rain.

Archive ran over to Kliss.  She was alive, but unconscious and badly burned.

Tageret ran over to the boy.  “Where’s the kid?” He shouted, looking around where the boy’s body should have been. “I can’t find him!”

Hammer and Jim-Bean ran out from around the opposite sides of the motel. 

“What the hell happened?” asked Hammer.

“Kliss’ car exploded,” said Archive.  “They’re not going to let us leave.”

“I’m not givin’ em a choice,” said Tageret. “Everyone in my cruiser.”

Hammer shook his head.  “We make our stand here.  Running is suicide.  Besides, they may have rigged your car too.”

“I’ll take my chances out there than with stay whatever ripped Jawolalski’s jaw off. If you wanna stay, stay.”

Tageret leaped inside his cruiser and turned the key in the ignition.  Jim-Bean flinched.

CLICK. 

Tageret flipped the key back.  More clicks. 

Tageret shook his head and then noticed something.  The hood was raised just a few inches. Like someone worked on the engine then silently closed the hood.

His eyes jumped to the police radio ... gone ... just wires.

Tageret climbed out, his gun cocked and ready. He moved around the front of the car, scanning the area as he lifted the hood. 

FWOOSH.  A flash of pincers and pink wings.  Cilia waving madly.  Tageret disappeared with a yelp into the gray skies.

His scream returned a second later as his body smashed into the roof of his car.

“Alien dogs,” whispered Jim-Bean.  “They’re back.”

“We’ve got to make a stand here,” said Hammer.  “Archive, get Kliss to a room and see what you can do.  We’re going to check out the office.”


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 8 – The Motel Room*

Archive ran to the second room, one that didn’t already have a corpse in the bathtub, and gently lowered Kliss into it.  He turned on the spigot and began assembling a healing poultice.  He could keep her alive, at least until they were able to get proper medical help.  But she would be horribly scarred for the rest of her life.

The power went out.  Silence.  The room fell into total darkness.

There was screams from the bedroom.  Archive stepped out, Glock at the ready.

Nothing.  It was pitch black. 

The power flashed back on.  The room lit up.  The television flickered back on.  A horror movie onscreen screamed. 

Someone began banging on the wall.  

Archive spun, not sure where to point his pistol. 

Suddenly, the power went out again, sending the room back into dark silence.

The thumping on the adjoining door began again. The lights went dark, then burst back on, then off again ... repeating like a strobe ... flashes of screams erupted from the television each time it restarted.

Archive looked closer at the video.  It wasn’t a horror movie, he realized.  It was a person in the room.  It was Andrews, screaming for his life as something grabbed him.  He was stabbing his attacker with a knife.

Archive looked down.  There was a dark red stain on the carpet.

He became aware of a presence in the bathroom doorway. It didn’t move ... just stood there, filling the doorway, only a few feet away. Then it was gone.

The power came back on.  Archive ran into the room.  Kliss was missing.

There was a squeak from under his feet. Archive looked down at the rug he was standing on. He stepped off, slid the rug away, and discovered a trap door in the floor. 

He lifted it and climbed down the ladder into a six foot by six foot box.   There was nothing but the trap door in the ceiling and a small, sewer pipe-sized dirt tunnel leading out. 

Archive squeezed into the tunnel. Dirt fell over him as he crawled deeper. The dirt walls of the tunnel squeezed Archive’s body as he crawled. Rocks and underground vines jutted out of the earth.

Archived dragged himself along the seemingly endless black hole. Nothing but darkness ahead and behind him. The tunnel squeezed even tighter. The walls partially collapsed, just a sliver of space to drag himself through. Dirt rained overhead as he crawled, like the passage was only seconds from caving in.

Archive pulled along, squinting into the black, until his hand grabbed a handful of flesh and fur, which elicited a loud squeak. 

Archive pulled his hand back and watched as a rat scurried away to a larger shadow, a moving shadow. Dozens of rats filled the tunnel ahead.

He continued toward the mound and the squeaking grew louder.

Archive pushed through the center of the pile. Rats scattered, crawling over his hands and up his arms. He reached further and more rats squirmed out from under his hands, slithering out of a metal grate in the wall or scurrying beneath him. 

Archive kept crawling, sliding over the tiny bodies, until finally, the squeaks faded. All he could hear was his own breathing, desperately trying to make it to wherever the tunnel led. And then a sliver of light appeared ahead.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 9 – Orgy of Evidence*

Hammer and Jim-Bean ran into the front office. 

“OH, GOD, PLEASE NO!” shouted a man. ”I’ll give you money. As much as you want!”

There was the sound of a struggle, but it was distant.  When Hammer pushed open the door to the back room, he caught sight of who was screaming.

It was a film playing on a video monitor. A man, Andrews, was begging a killer in a mask for his life.

A wall of monitors all displayed different angles of the motel rooms and grounds. Video cameras and equipment were piled all over the place. There were shelves of tapes lining the walls, each one hand-labeled: Steve and Sharon S., Glen and Flo D., John A.

“Damn,” said Hammer.  “We were so worried about Jawolalski we never even considered Kraygen.”

“I think he’s working with the alien dogs,” said Jim-Bean.  “They were doing some sort of surgery to the kid.”

“What kind of surgery?” Hammer knew better than to ask Jim-Bean how he knew.

“I don’t know.  They took something nasty out of him and put it in Andrews.  Whatever it was, it’s like BIOSAN-4 only worse.  It was so powerful I got infected just getting inside Andrews’ head.”

Another shelf was stacked full of dusty watches, jewelry, toy dolls, truck stop souvenirs, a collection of rearview mirror crucifixes and rabbits feet, drivers licenses of various people ... all victims.

“Why do I get the feeling Kraygen’s not human?”

Something bumped beneath them.  Jim-Bean and Hammer trained their Glocks on the floor as the mat shuddered.

Archive smashed open the trap door, Glock pointed upwards.

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  “That’s a good way to get shot—“

A trashcan came hurling through the glass at the front of the office with Kraygen fast behind it.

Before Hammer could lift his pistol, Kraygen’s arms shot out.  They wrapped out, long and rubbery, around Hammer and Jim-Bean’s throats. He lifted them off their feet …

Archive, now on his feet in the room, aimed his pistol carefully.  “You don’t have enough arms to stop us all.”

“Protomatter …” gurgled Jim-Bean, “… Steward!”

“What?” asked Archive.

Another tentacle shot out from Kraygen’s torso towards Archive.  He fired and the Elder Sign-inscribed bullet found its mark, piercing Kraygen’s large forehead.  He collapsed, melting like the faux nurse Hope had before.

“Great,” said Hammer.  “That confirms it.  The Greys are using this place as some sort of experiment …”

“I thought the Greys and their alien dogs made BIOSAN to destroy protomatter?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “The protomatter we saw escaped from containers.  I think they’re a servitor race that the Greys are trying to keep under control.”

He was cut off by the front desk phone ringing.

Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged glances.  Hammer finally picked it up. 

“We had it all wrapped up,” said the deeply masculine voice of a woman. “They took the poison out of David, and then put it into people nobody cared about.  People without histories.  Nobody important. Until you showed up.  You just had to go snooping around.  You just had to go poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.  And now our little arrangement is over. Why don’t you come on over to Room 9? The doctor is in.”

“I think … that’s David’s mommy,” said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 10 – What’s Up Doc?*

The three agents closed in on Room 9. The curtains were closed.  

Archive covered the door with his pistol.  Hammer grabbed a chair from one of the other rooms.

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  “What are you doing, mate?  It’s a bloody hotel room.  It’s not that big!” 

Hammer ignored him and hurled the chair through the glass window.

Glass shattered.  Hammer caught a glimpse of Kliss, her arms and legs bound to a chair, her mouth covered with duct tape.  There was a rope wrapped around the leg of the chair leading towards the door.  Kliss shook her head violently, tears streaming from her eyes.

Jim-Bean grabbed the handle of the door. “We can just walk right through the front—“

“NO! WAIT!“ shouted Hammer.

A shotgun blast went off as Jim-Bean opened the door, spraying Kliss’ brains across the back wall.  

“Holy Christ!” shouted Jim-Bean, staring down at the headless body of the Dr. Kliss.  Blood spurted from her neck, the arms and legs still trembling.

“Damn it, Jimmy!” shouted Hammer.  “When are you going to listen?”

Pistols raised, Hammer ducked around to check the bathroom when brick exploded around him.  Two giant arms punched holes through the wall and, crumbling much of the bedroom foundation, yanked Hammer outside.

Hammer let out a yelp and fired his pistols at the huge thing.  One giant hand wrapped around his face and slammed him against the wall.  The world spun.

He snapped out of it as a shooting pain tore through his thigh.  A huge metal spike pierced Hammer’s leg and nailed him to the brick wall.

Jim-Bean squeezed off a shot and then pressed himself against the bathroom wall.  The giantess punched right through the wall to reach him. 

Jim-Bean was slammed against the fence on the other side of the wall.  The hand, dirty and smelling of mud, slapped him back against the wall, holding him by the throat.  He squirmed and then screamed as a spike was impaled through his torso.  It would have killed a normal man.

That left Archive.  He fired a careful shot from his Glock into the huge gorilla of a woman.  She roared and charged right through the ruined wall at him.  Archive barely had a chance to react before she slapped him down, then dragged him through the hole. 

The telltale scream of agony meant that Archive had been pinned too, through the shoulder.

The wire fence that blocked the back of the motel was rent apart.  Footsteps plodded away.

Jim-Bean came to.  “What … she’s gone?”

Hammer clung to consciousness. He struggled to move and screamed again in pain as he wiggled a few inches up the metal spike.  

Archive moaned. 

Suddenly there was the blinding flash of two lights.  Jim-Bean held up one hand.  He knew he was in shock; it was so bright, and all he wanted to do was close his eyes.

Then he heard it.  They all did.  The sound of a truck’s engine thrumming to life.

“Oh no,” whispered Archive.

“Shoot,” coughed Hammer.  “SHOOT!”

Archive and Jim-Bean fired blindly at the lights.  

The engine roared closer.  One of the lights went out but it was growing larger.

Click, click, click.  They were out of bullets.  

Hammer struggled to lift his Glocks.  Taking careful aim, he fired at a spot above and to the side of the lights.  

Flames erupted behind the lights.  The hunched form of the driver was illuminated in hellish relief as the truck continued to barrel down towards them.  

Jim-Bean clutched his Realizer in one hand and struggled to focus.  The pain in his gut was enormous, and every time he breathed a new burst of hot fire ripped through his torso.

Focus!

He imagined the inside of the cab.  And then he was there. She was dead all right, but it didn’t matter.  Gravity would do the job for her.

Jim-Bean focused on the steering wheel.  If he could just nudge it enough …

He strained, screaming with the exertion.  The lights became so blinding that Jim-Bean lost his concentration.  He could hear the roar of the flames and the bellowing engine—

And then the truck turned sharply, smashing through the wall just a few yards to their left.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Part 11 – David Phones Home*

The three agents limped from the hotel.  The rain was finally starting to let up, which let the fire from the truck spread to the motel. Unhindered by the storm, it roared across the rooftops.

Jim-Bean turned back. “We’d better get the dog head …”

“Forget it,” said Hammer, limping through the parking lot. “It’s too late now anyway.”

“But that’s our evidence!” 

“Of what?  Our mission was to apprehend Jawolalski and determine his sources. We have the names of the corporation and the drug.  David’s gone, Kraygen’s a puddle of mush.  We can hot wire the pickup truck and get the hell out of here.”

Hammer stopped short. David stood in the middle of the parking lot, eyes wide.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” he asked without emotion. “You killed them.”

Jim-Bean kept his pistol trained on the boy.  Unlike Hammer and Archive, he was almost fully recovered from his gut wound.  The only evidence was the huge bloody stain down the front of his shirt.

“Your parents tried to kill us,” said Hammer.

David sighed, oddly unaffected by the whole incident. “Kraygen, he wasn’t my dad.  I don’t know where he was from.  He was very nice to me.  He saved me … I would have died from the same disease that killed my dad.  Whenever I got sick, they would put me to sleep and pull something gross out of me. Then they would stick it in people.  Then they’d send the people out of town with orders never to come back. When they got married mom got big.  Not just fat, but big.  Real big.”

“We noticed,” said Jim-Bean.

David looked at Jim-Bean with a hollow stare.  “That man you hit with your van escaped.  He took me hostage in his car.  Said he didn’t want to hurt me but that I was insurance to keep him alive.  Then you found me.  My mom said we had to leave tonight.  They were going to take me to another world; it’s the only place I can survive my disease …”

A small, dark bottle hung limply from one hand.

“They told me to drink this …” He looked woozily at the bottle. “Space mead. To travel across the stars …”

Something buzzed overhead.

“David,” said Archive. “Who is They?”

“They’re here,” whispered David. 

Two of the bizarre aliens they had seen before landed with a thump.  Unlike the other “alien dogs,” as the Greys called them, these two were truly massive, with an extra pair of arms.  The arms ended in large claws, almost like a lobster. Pink cilia served as a head, with no discernable eyes, ears, or mouth.

One stood behind David.  The other next to Hammer.

For a second they froze, observing each other.  Then Hammer’s pistol came up, aimed at David’s forehead.

The aliens blurred into action.  One snatched up David, grabbing him gently in a parental embrace with all four of its arms, and buzzed into the air.  The other alien roughly pinned Hammer’s forearms, forcing him to drop both Glocks.  Then it too launched into the air.

Archive aimed his Glock.

“No!” Jim-Bean put one hand out to lower Archive’s weapon.  “Let me try.”

Jim-Bean put both hands to his temples: WE APOLOGIZE. PLEASE RELEASE THIS THING.  HE IS NEEDED BY US.

“What are you doing?” asked Archive desperately.

“Begging for Hammer’s life,” said Jim-Bean.

A moment later Hammer slid down off the one part of the sloped roof of the motel that wasn’t on fire. He rolled off the roof and onto Tageret’s car.  He was unconscious, but alive.


----------



## talien

*A Love in Need: Conclusion*

That night, the news showed an aerial shot of a structure, a roadside motel, sitting along a side road, surrounded by a vast, empty, brown wasteland. The image trembled from the rumble of helicopter blades whirling.

Several news vans, police cars, and ambulances were parked around the blackened motel. People milled about the scene.  Behind the motel, a backhoe tore into the ground. Cops circled the back-hoe, digging with shovels.

”This is a live shot of the Prairie View Motel, in the eastern side of McKinley County,” said a newscaster. “We've been told police have been working out here for several hours, but the details we're getting from them are sketchy at best. What we do know is that they've borrowed some equipment from a local farmer, and started digging in the rear of the property. What they're looking for though, we're not exactly sure.” 

The camera shakily zoomed in on the backhoe. As the machine dragged its teeth out of the earth and rose into the air, a dirt-covered corpse hung from the metal claw.

”Oh, God!” shouted the newscaster. 

In a different news report, a male reporter stood outside a motel room door.

“The best we can come up with is that some video tapes have been discovered that are somehow connected to the bodies the Sheriff's Department has found buried on the property.”

Beyond the reporter, the motel room doorway was visible. The door was just hanging on its hinges. The wall on the opposite side was blown apart. Furniture inside was blackened and scattered about and there bloodstains on the ground outside the door.

“Obviously they're being very tightlipped with details at this stage,” said the reporter, “so we don't know yet the content of the tapes.”

In yet another news report, masked paramedics carried body bags past a female reporter. “I've been told all the videos discovered are extremely violent and graphic.”

The camera followed the paramedics past the female reporter, over a bloodhound stretching its leash to claw at the dirt, as if something was buried just beneath it.  

The camera moved to a news van. The side doors had slid open, and police crowded around the video equipment inside.

“The police are actually using our GNN truck to view what they believe is the most recently recorded tape. The images I saw on tape are horrific... Unimaginable,” she said. 

“We turn now to the county sheriff.  Nina?”

The county sheriff was being interviewed by a newswoman for a television camera beyond them.

“Sheriff, can you give us an idea of how many bodies have been found?” asked Nina.

“As of about a half-hour ago, we were at twenty-seven. But we haven't covered much ground yet,” said the sheriff.

“So you expect to find more?”

“I'm afraid so, yes.”

There was a small pile of full body bags. The camera then turned to focus on the rusty vacancy sign hanging on the wall.

”As for the immediate future, local authorities will be removing the vacancy sign that until today hung here outside the Prairie View Motel. This is Nina Juarez reporting live for the Global News Network.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 35: Player of Hell - Introduction*

This story hour is from the scenario “Player of Hell” by Michael C. LaBossiere. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed*  (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss* 
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*

I wanted to continue the undead-battling goodness from No Man’s Land so that Archive could continue to shine.  I also knew that two of my players would be late, so I figured that in and came up with a quick scenario that wouldn’t take too long but would keep the group entertained. It also was uniquely suited to their talents: supernatural (Archive), surveillance (Caprice), and combat (Hammer).

This is a standard vampire hunt, with a slight tweak because it’s a vrykolakas. This meant that the agents weren't entirely sure what they were facing going in.  On the other hand, when I gave them a prop that clearly explained the vrykolakas' strengths and weaknesses, they pretty much ignored it – perhaps because in a Cthulhu campaign, a vampire is never just a vampire. Both Caprice and Hammer flatly didn't believe that Mays was really being stalked by a vampire, so they took none of the advice until they had evidence it was the real deal.

Ultimately, this little scenario was actually the most exciting of the three.  There were a hilarious turn of events, poor planning overcome by brute force, and a climactic scene in the vampire's lair.  

This is all a setup for another scenario -- it reintroduces Simon Magnus, last seen in Chapter 0.  The famous vampire hunter now has his own television show! 

*Defining Moment:* Caprice isn't above using people as bait. Or cutting them. 

Relevant Media

*Critical Locations:*  For D20 Modern and a lifesaver, since Delta Green rarely provides maps. 
*Unseen Masters:* The source for Magnus.
*Player of Hell:* The source of the scenario.
*Dragula:* by Rob Zombie. 
*Weird World:* To get an idea of how I imagine Magnus, think of V. V. Argost from the Secret Saturdays.


----------



## talien

*Player of Hell: Prologue*



> _Dig through the ditches,
> And burn through the witches
> I slam in the back of my
> Dragula​_--_Dragula_ by Rob Zombie​



NEW YORK CITY, NY—Caprice leaned back in his seat at the Asian-fusion restaurant and stared hard at Daniel Mays.

Simon Magnus had invited them to an Asian fusion restaurant in SoHo called the "Itchi-Leng." The decor was old brick walls, hardwood floors, timber ceilings, and paper lanterns, which lent the rooms some appearance of a Japanese country inn. 

In his early forties, Magnus had a very closely trimmed goatee beard, and was extremely pale and thin. He wore dark-tinted glasses and a strange Indonesian cap. He wore a dark black leather coat.  Magnus recommended a hot dark broth served with half-cooked exotic vegetables, sesame seeds, and noodles. He ordered a dish of boned chicken, scallops, and blanched spinach, and as an appetizer avocado with shrimp in miso sauce

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," Magnus said to Archive. "After your experience in defeating the Green Grove Vampire, I thought you would be just the right kind of men to defeat this threat that is haunting poor Mr. Mays."

Daniel Mays was a pale, gaunt-looking young man who was also a graduate student interning with Magnus, presumably in the art of vampire hunting. 

Hammer looked back and forth between Magnus and Mays.  "Take it from the top."

"Someone gave me a free MP3 player," said Mays, poking at his broth. "Some freaky looking old chick.  But I wasn't about to turn down some free hardware.  That's when the trouble started …"

"The next day he seemed a bit haggard and worn," said Magnus.  "He approached me after class and, knowing my interest in unusual events, related a terrible dream.  Go ahead Daniel."

Mays reluctantly related the dream.  "I was asleep in my apartment when I had this horrible nightmare. It felt like the room was cold and it seemed like I was in this black void. Out of the blackness came this terrible face … the face of the old woman. She tore at my throat …I woke up screaming, with blood on my pillow."

"Let me see that MP3 player," said Hammer.

Mays handed it over.

Hammer held it up, turned it around a few times, tapped it on the table.  "There's no battery compartment to it."

"You can't take the batteries out of iPods either," said Caprice, clearly skeptical.

"That's not what I mean."  Hammer held up the MP3 player.  "It doesn't look like it should even work." He put one of the ear buds to his ear.  "Mind if I play it?" 

Mays shook his head.  "Be my guest."

Hammer hit the play button and nodded for a moment.  "Britney Spears," he said, smirking.  "Interesting play list."

"Give me that." Caprice snatched the player from Hammer and examined it.  "No known brand I've ever seen."

"No bar codes on it, no identifying marks," said Hammer.  "Nothing."

"Could have been made in China …" began Caprice when Archive stretched out one hand over the player, whispering a chant to himself. "What are you doing?"

"Inspecting its aura," said Archive.  "It's pulsing with magic.  That's no ordinary MP3 player."

"A mark of the vrykolakas," lectured Magnus, "is that it must present its intended victim with a physical item that creates a foul spiritual link between victim and victimizer. The victim must freely take this item, but once it is in the victim's possession it proves to be indestructible and unavoidable. It has been speculated that the item is not, in fact, a physical object at all, but a manifestation of the creature itself."

Caprice rubbed his forehead.  "Seriously?" He banged the MP3 player on the table a few times, causing some of the other diners in the restaurant to look at him. 

Caprice shrugged and turned to Mays. "Let's just assume for a moment that you're not completely insane and that you didn't experience some hallucination.  Why should we waste our time surveilling your place—"

Mays cut him off.  "I thought it was a bad dream, but …" he lifted his collar to show bite marks that looked like puncture wounds made from fangs.  

"It's pretty clear to me that the kid's lost a lot of blood," said Archive. 

"I believe that we might be dealing with a vampire," said Magnus, "but not the usual European variety. I think it is likely a Greek revenant known as the vrykolakas.”

“A what?” asked Hammer.

“A vrykolakas,” said Archive. “The history of these creatures dates back to the time of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. To become a vrykolakas, one had to be cursed, die a violent death, do a dishonorable act, or be excommunicated from the church. Such vampires usually return to complete some unfinished business in their lives.”

“The method of destroying a vrykolakas is usually with fire,” said Magnus. “Crosses and sunlight are not mentioned as being effective. Neither are stakes; many accounts describe vrykolakas being impaled over and over, beheaded and so on, and still returning to haunt the living.” 

Hammer and Archive looked to Caprice.  He threw up his hands.

"Fine, fine!  But if it turns out the kid is high, don't blame me!"


----------



## talien

*Player of Hell: Part 1 – Fighting Fire With…*

A few hours and a hundred bucks later and the college student in the apartment next to Mays was vacated.  Surveillance was placed in every room with wireless cameras.  On one of the black-and-white monitors, Mays slept fitfully in his bed.

Caprice and Hammer sat at a folding table and watched the screens while they sipped coffee.  Archive sat at a table and flipped through a musty tome.

"According to De Graecorum Hodie Quorundam Opinationibus, the vrykolakas does not lie in its coffin during the day.  It feeds on blood like other vampires but when it kills a victim it devours the entire corpse. The noted German metaphysician Hasselberg speculates that the creature does this to prevent to creation of a competitor, and that a victim slain by a vrykolokas will rise again as a vampire."

"Yeah, right," said Caprice.  "So we break out the silver bullets and the wooden stake …"

Archive shook his head. "The only thing that has proven to be a reliable means of scourging the creatures is the use of fire."

Caprice yawned and checked his watch.  "It's two in the morning.  Nothing's happened so far.  I'm not even sure why we're doing this mission—"

"It's not a mission," said Hammer.  "Think of it as a favor for Archive.  He saved my life plenty of times."

Caprice shrugged and went back to blearily staring at the monitors.  "Wait a minute!"

Archive stood up and walked over to Caprice.  

"There!" Caprice pointed at the camera feed watching Mays' bedroom.  "She wasn't there a second ago!"

An ancient hag, with skin like papyrus, was hunched over Mays' bed.  The face had unusual growths of hair and the body looked starved. The eyes glittered in the nightvision scope of the camera; a predator's eyes.

Hammer loaded his pistols.  "Get the thermite grenades and the flamethrower."

Caprice stood up.  "Uh, what?"

Hammer looked at him.  "You didn't requisition any of that stuff, did you?"

"Oh come on!" Caprice ran into the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder.  "I thought the kid was nuts!"

"I don't think normal bullets are going to work …" began Hammer.  "Remember the Green Grove Vampire …"

"I'll take care of it," said Archive. "I know how to deal with these sorts of things."

A minute later Caprice came out of the kitchen with a supersoaker water rifle with a barbecue lighter duct-taped to it.

"What the hell are you up to Hot Pants?" asked Hammer.

Caprice grinned.  "Rubbing alcohol, a pressurized tank, and a little ingenuity!"


----------



## arun

Hah I can't wait to see how that "flame thrower" turns out!


----------



## talien

*Player of Hell: Part 2 – …With Fire*



arun said:


> Hah I can't wait to see how that "flame thrower" turns out!



About as good as the rest of their plans. 

========​
Hammer kicked open the door, Glocks at the ready.

"Step away from the bed!" he shouted. 

The hag, crouched over Mays unconscious body, whirled.  Her eyes flashed red in the darkness.  Hammer staggered backwards, covering his eyes.

Caprice squirted the supersoaker and missed completely, soaking the wall.  The lighter ignited the stream of flames, setting the curtains on fire. The room was bathed in a hellish light.

Archive held up the leather patch that had the Elder Sign on it.  "Behold the power of the Elder Sign!" he shouted.  

That got the hag's attention.  She shrieked, recoiling as the eye at the center of the Elder Sign opened to stare at her. 

She vanished in a puff of smoke, like the witch out of the Wizard of Oz.

Hammer ran into Mays' kitchen and returned with a small fire extinguisher, spraying the room before the flames could spread.

Mays bolted upright, gasping in his bed.  "Did you get her?" He looked around and then focused on the wall.  "What happened to my wall?"

Caprice pumped the supersoaker several times.  "She uh … shoots fire out of her eyes."

"I told you your makeshift flamethrower was a bad idea," muttered Hammer.

Mays grabbed the MP3 player off of his nightstand. "I think … I think I can feel her."  He held up the MP3 player like a compass. "Yeah.  She's …" he pointed towards his bedroom window.  "She's going that way.  It's getting fainter."

"Let's go!" Archive ran out the apartment, dragging Mays with him.  

Caprice gave his supersoaker a few more pumps and ran after them.

Hammer ducked out the door and slammed it shut behind him. 

Having second thoughts, he returned a second later and grabbed the fire extinguisher.


----------



## talien

*Player of Hell: Part 3 – Welcome to My Home*

A motley parade followed behind the blood-drained graduate student holding out an MP3-player before him: a mystic with a leather patch and two agents armed with a supersoaker and a fire extinguisher.  

The MP3 player led Mays through a very bad part of town, but nobody crossed their path. If the denizens of New York City were interested in harassing them, they thought better of it.

Mays pointed at a pile of old boxes behind a locked gate.  "She's down there."

Caprice took two tools out of one of his pockets and fiddled with the lock for a moment.  It sprung open. 

Hammer shoved the boxes inside, which revealed two heavy metal doors. He wrenched the doors open.  Steps yawned into the darkness below. 

Caprice pushed Mays ahead of him towards.

"Wait, I don't want to go inside!" wailed Mays.

"Don't be such a baby," said Caprice. "We may have trouble finding her down there."

Hammer put his flashlight headgear on and scanned the area. 

The room they entered was decorated as a strangely incongruous but tastefully decorated living room. Alcoves all around them were filled with what appeared to be valuable works of art.  On the far end of the room was a broken gate, hanging off its hinges.

"She turned to mist, right?" Caprice asked Archive.

"Yes.  She could be anywhere."

"Then we have to draw her out."  Caprice waved Mays over.  "Come here."

Mays edged over to Caprice.  "What now?"

"Give me your hand."

"Why?" asked Mays, his voice rising.

Caprice sighed.  "Just give me your hand!"

Mays put his hand out.  Lightning quick, Caprice slashed his palm with a knife.

"AHHH!" screamed Mays, clutching his dripping hand.  "You cut me!"

Hammer rubbed his forehead.  "Hot Pants …"

Stumbling away from Caprice, Mays wailed and plunged into the dark gate on the other side of the room.

"What?" asked Caprice.  "We have to lure her out!"

Then he ran after Mays.


----------



## talien

*Player of Hell: Part 4 – Coffin Up Blood*

Mays ran into the room, screaming hysterically.  It was sparsely furnished, with a single coffin at the end of the corridor. Droplets of blood made it easy to follow his trail.

Hammer had both Glocks out.  "I don't like this Hot Pants."

"It'll be fine," said Caprice, pumping the supersoaker again.  "Just keep an eye out for freaky-looking old chicks."

Mays stopped screaming and slumped in front of the coffin.  Archive checked his pulse.  

"I think he fainted." He addressed Hammer.  "Hold out your pistols."

"Why?" asked Hammer.

"Just trust me."

Hammer held out his Glocks.  

"Normal bullets won't work." Taking out a piece of chalk, Archive inscribed a tiny Elder Sign on the hilt of each of them. "This should help."

"Behind you!" shouted Caprice.

Archive ducked as a flaming stream of liquid fire arced from Caprice's supersoaker to the materialized hag, hovering over Mays' unconscious body. The flames struck her back.  Her flesh peeled like burning paper.

Hammer let loose with both pistols.  "Don't look at her eyes!"

Chanting, Archive held up the leather Elder Sign before him.  

The vrykolakas ignored Archive and launched itself at Hammer.  Hammer emptied both Glocks into the vampire at point-blank range.

The hag's expression changed from rage to surprise as the bullets punched out her back, spiraling trails of dust and crusted blood.  

A gout of flames nearly singed Hammer's hair.

"Watch where you point that thing!"

"What do you want from me?" shouted Caprice, frantically pumping the supersoaker.  "You told me not to look at her!"

"Just don't point it at me!"

Hammer dove as the vrykolakas easily closed the distance between them.  Claws raked his back as he rolled to his feet.

WHOOSH! Another gout of flames struck the vrykolakas.  She launched herself into the air at Caprice, who was frantically trying to pump the supersoaker again. 

The vrykolakas landed like a cat, claws and fangs extended.  With the vampire looming over him, Caprice gave up on the supersoaker and struggled for his pistol.

The vrykolakas' head exploded.  Archive stood with one arm extended, his Glock still smoking.

The vampire dissolved into a red mist.

"About time," muttered Caprice as he got to his feet.  "Where did she go?"

Archive kicked the lid off the coffin.  He pointed at the shriveled dead body, mouth yawning wide in a death grimace.  "Here."

Caprice picked up the supersoaker and pumped it as he walked towards the coffin.  "This will only take a minute."

"Wait."  Hammer put one hand out.  "This is too easy." He knocked on the coffin's interior.  "There's a hollow space beneath this."  

All three of them grabbed the edge of the coffin bottom and pulled.  It came up and the decoy corpse slid off of it, rattling to the stone floor.

Beneath was the vrykolakas herself, arms at her side.  Her eyes and mouth were open in a feral snarl of rage, but she was frozen.  Just staring at them.

"She can't hurt us now," said Archive.  "It's okay to look at her."

"Who would want to?" said Caprice.  He leaned over the coffin.  "Boy, you must be really mad at us for breaking up your little file sharing scam."  He reached down to pick up Mays' dropped MP3 player and flipped it into the coffin.  "Here.  You can listen to this in hell."

Then he torched the coffin.


----------



## talien

*Player of Hell: Conclusion*

"So that was a real vampire, right?" asked Caprice, hanging out at the apartment they had rented in New York City.  His feet were up on the couch as he flipped through the channels. "Not the illegal immigrant we murdered last time?"

Archive hushed him.  "That guy was magically enhanced by the Gaunt. So in a sense he was a vampire."

"Sure," said Caprice.  "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"The point is that we beat it," said Hammer. "And this time it was a real vampire."

"Maybe we're real vampire hunters after all." Caprice flipped through the channels with the remote.  

"What about the kid?" asked Archive.

Hammer glared at Caprice, who seemed utterly indifferent.  "He had a nervous breakdown.  Apparently he's had a history of mental illness and was on serious medication to begin with."

Archive smirked.  "If that's true, the vrykolakas was probably tripping on Mays' blood."

"Rule number one for vampires," said Caprice, eyes still on the television, “never bite a hippy.”

"Mays was given a psychiatric evaluation, but I don't think he's going to be talking to the press any time soon – about us, or the so-called vampire."

"Shh!" said Caprice. "Check this out, Archive, it's your buddy!"

"Join us as Simon Magnus gives you a private peek at the strange, bizarre, and unexplained artifacts he's collected from across the globe," shouted the television. "A vial of vampire blood, a vampire teeth necklace, the mummified remains of vampires long extinct, the list goes on.  Prepare yourself for the most unbelievable sights on television!"

Magnus himself appeared on screen in full vampire hunter getup. He wore a puffy shirt and monocle and held a wooden stake in one hand.

"Greetings and bien venue," he said theatrically.  "Tonight is a special showing of Curse of the Undead, the first Western/Vampire movie!"  Magnus threw the wooden stake over his shoulder and it clattered behind him on the cheesy soundstage.  "This showing is dedicated to all my fellow vampire hunters, who know that the truth is out there … and it hungers for our blood."

The camera started to pan away but Magnus stepped out in front of it again.  "And kiddies, never accept a gift from anyone for free.  There's always a price."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 36: Dreams Dark and Deadly - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of “Dreams Dark and Deadly” by Michael Szymanski from Cthulhu Now, “Little Slices of Death” by Monte Cook from D20 Call of Cthulhu and “The Truth Shall Set You Free” by Bruce Ballon from Unseen Masters. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed*  (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss* 
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (portfolio banking investing mortgage credit at creepyportfolio.com) 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)

When I learned that both of the Joes would be available to play and we’d have every single player back in action, it was time to bring Guppy back into the fold.  I had planned this for months, but I wasn’t sure when exactly to spring the scenario on them.

In the interim, I ran a separate email campaign with my brother as Guppy slowly descended further and further into schizophrenia. I used Fight Club and Dreamscape as inspiration and set up John Grant’s fake business as the Puschky Real Estate from Mugshots Two: Taking Care of Business.

By far the best part of this scenario was the role-playing between Guppy, trying to convince the other agents that there was a vast conspiracy, and the rest of the players who thoroughly enjoyed grilling Guppy and not believing him.  I was practically in tears I was laughing so hard.

Unfortunately, the momentum established in the beginning of the scenario wasn’t easily sustainable.  Several days in one facility made it hard to keep things interesting for everyone, and when the PCs split up it became even more difficult to keep everyone engaged.  Archive suffered most of all in this regard, not having official access to the facility, with Guppy a close second as he was poked and prodded but otherwise helpless.  

There is a huge reveal at the end of the scenario, but given that the agents already thought Guppy was insane, they’re not sure if they believe him.

*Defining Moment:* Archive vs. Nina Juarez, intrepid reporter.  So much for the power of the press!  

Relevant Media

*Right Where it Belongs:*  by Nine Inch Nails.
*Unseen Masters:* The source for the scenario, "The Truth Shall Set You Free."
*Cthulhu Now:* The source of the scenario, "Dreams Dark and Deadly."
*D20 Call of Cthulhu:* The source of the scenario, "Little Slices of Death."
*Fight Club:* The inspiration for the Bringers of Sacred Light.
*Dreamscape:* The inspiration for the nightmare scenes in the Dreamweb.
*Mug Shots Two:* I used maps and characters from this book to flesh out John Grant and his office.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Prologue*



> _What if all the world's inside of your head?
> Just creations of your own
> Your devils and your gods all the living and the dead
> And you're really all alone​_--_Right Where It Belongs_ by Nine Inch Nails​



For the past six months, Guppy hadn’t been able to sleep. 

He stood at a gate counter.  An attendant smiled at him. “Check-in for that flight doesn't begin for another two hours, sir.”

Guppy looked with blearing eyes at his watch.  Majestic-12 had taken away his cistron.  He stepped away and looked at an overhanging clock. 

Pacific, Mountain, Central.  Lose an hour, gain an hour.  This was Guppy’s life, and it was ending one minute at a time.

His eyes snapped open as the plane landed. He woke up at Air Harbor International.

Guppy sat next to a frumpy woman.  They chatted.  Guppy turned to look at his food, took a bite.  He turned back and saw…

…a bald man next to him, talking.  Guppy took another bite, turned back and it was...

…a businessman next to him.  Guppy took another bite, turned back, and it was...

…a business woman next to him.

Guppy’s eyes snapped open. 

Turgid silence.  Guppy turned to the window.  

He saw a glowing light next to the airplane and for a second he could see a grey, bulbous head staring at him through the window. There was a bright light and a feeling of intense heat …

The plane buckled -- the cabin wobbled.  People panicked.  Masks dropped. 

Then the side of the plane sheared off.  Screaming passengers were sucked out into the night air, flying past the quivering wind.  Magazines and other objects flew everywhere. 

DING! -- the seatbelt light went out.  Guppy snapped awake. Everything was normal.  Some passengers got out of their seats. 

From next to Guppy he heard, “There are three ways to make napalm. One, mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice..."

He turned to see a steely-eyed man with a crew cut. “Two, equal parts gasoline and diet cola,” he continued. “Three, dissolve kitty-litter in gasoline until the mixture is thick." He offered Guppy his hand. “Fred Butts. You can call me Freddy.”

"Hank," said Guppy, shaking Freddy's hand slowly.  "Hank Gupta."

“You know why they have oxygen masks on planes? Oxygen gets you high.  In a catastrophic emergency, we're taking giant, panicked breaths...” Freddy grabbed a safety instruction card from the seatback and handed it to Guppy. “Suddenly, we become euphoric and docile.  We accept our fate.” 

Freddy pointed to passive faces on the drawn figures. “Emergency water landing, six hundred miles per hour.  Blank faces -- calm as Hindu cows." Freddy reached under the seat in front of him and lifted a briefcase. He turned the top of his briefcase toward Guppy. “Open it.”

When Guppy opened the lid, he saw quaintly wrapped bars of soap. “Soap -- the yardstick of civilization.” Freddy reached into his pocket. “I make and sell soap...” He handed Guppy his card: THE PAPER STREET SOAP COMPANY.

“If you were to add nitric acid to the soap-making process, one would get nitroglycerin.  With enough soap, one could blow up the world, if one were so inclined.” Freddy snapped the briefcase shut.  “We are defined by the choices we make.”

Freddy went to the curtain dividing First Class, slapped the curtain aside and sat in an empty seat.  

Guppy looked at the card.  It had only a phone number.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 1 – Another Dream*

Guppy was back in the terrible world that he had dreamt before. He knew he was dreaming, but the experience was very lucid. 

"You're dreaming," Guppy said to himself.  He pinched and kicked himself, but he couldn't seem to wake up. 


> A horde of Grey aliens came rushing from an alley. Guppy ran.
> 
> He ran through the devastated bone yard of the city. As the things began to close on him, he turned, filled with the knowledge of some great secret.
> 
> The horde halted as their eyes fill with fear. Guppy called upon a great cosmic power, and light shined forth from the heavens.
> 
> The Greys screamed as they burst into flames.
> 
> Guppy laughed and kept on laughing until a huge lobster with wings appeared.
> 
> "Thizzz izzz but a dream," it buzzed "I zhall dezzztroy you in the waking world before you can focuzzz zzzuch power."



Guppy woke up with a strong feeling of fear, the bed sheets soaked with perspiration.

He looked at his alarm clock in the small apartment, where he was on mental health leave.  He wasn't considered dangerous, just in need of some vacation time.  Still, he had a caregiver who checked in on him from time to time.

Guppy was taking a mild sedative, or so they would have him believe.  He had to check in with his caregiver occasionally, but other than that he was pretty much on his own. 

He was late for his meeting with Rachel.  Guppy hopped in the shower, threw on some clothes, and took the subway over.

She was sitting at a table by herself.  Nobody looked at her. 

Rachel flashed him a wan smile. “I'm glad you came."  

"Sorry, I overslept." Guppy sat down across from her. 

"It's okay, what I have to tell you was worth waiting for."  She leaned forward. "Ever since my experience with Blink, I’ve been having…” she struggled with the word, “hallucinations.  Or dreams.  Or nightmares.  I’m not sure.  But I’ve been having them.  I know you’ve been having them too.”

"Yes.  Yes, I think…" Guppy rubbed his forehead.  "I think it has to do with my abduction."

Rachel nodded appreciatively as Guppy confirmed her suspicions.  “It’s because we were in Daoloth.  It’s opened our perceptions.  We do not have much time.”

"Much time?" Guppy swallowed hard.  "Why?  What's going to happen?"

“There are only a few of us out there, battling against the forces you have begun to see.  Your powers are great, greater than you know."

"Me?" Guppy squeaked.  "What kind of powers?"

"You have the gift of second sight.  They allowed you to get glimpses of what is happening. You need to see it all.  Until then, it will be hard for you to tell whom to trust—you will find some of your closest friends turning on you.  You must remain free.  I will give up my life for you, if need be.”

Guppy's brow furrowed.  What Rachel said made sense.  The dreams had been haunting him. Hammer HAD turned on him.  He was being watched, he was sure of it.  And that whole trip where he met Freddy … was that a dream?  Or had he really been traveling?

“If you want answers, then continue to do what you are doing," said Rachel.  "Majestic-12 is working with the Greys. All the food you eat and beverages you drink have been spiked with hallucinogens.  Change your diet and wait a few days.  I’ll be back then.”

Guppy looked down at the sandwich he didn't remember ordering. Now that he thought about it, he had only been drinking water and eating some small bits of food.  With all that had been going on, he seemed to have been neglecting his meals.  

"Change my diet to what?"

"Boiled rain water, grass, rice, and natural honey.  It has to be all natural. Recycling and purifying your own liquids is also an option."

Rachel looked around.  "It's not safe here.  I have to go.  I will contact you again soon."

And with that she left.


----------



## talien

*Dreams Dark and Deadly: Part 2 – From Bad to Worse*

After two days of Rachel's new diet, Guppy began to see things differently.  The skyline often looked distorted, as if the skyscrapers were made of towering columns of bones.  The beings that watched him in a crowd look like strange toad-like beings.  The images of the dead were almost always flashing out of the corner of his vision.  

On television, Guppy heard messages directed to him: “Obey, zzzerve, and you zzzhall die quickly; rezzzizzztance zhall be met with unending agonizing torture.”  

The TV anchor people were cadavers, their flesh melting off their bones; however, they still gave out the news in raspy whispering voices…” Guppy stopped watching television after that.

He got an early morning phone call from Rachel to meet at a busy nightspot, Club Apocalypse.  They used to go on dates there, many years ago.  

“Come alone,” said Rachel, whispering over the phone. “You can’t trust your teammates. Hammer is not on your side. He’d sooner eat your brain than smile at you.”

As Guppy traveled, many people were going about their business, oblivious to what seems to be around them. Although some buildings seemed normal, others clearly were not.  

The alleys were strewn with human bones and decaying corpses.  Many structures on the street were built out of bone and human skin.  There were large pits off the sides of the street from which he could hear wailing.  Many other buildings seemed to have fallen into ruin.  The sky was a dark, turbulent smoke color.

Was this the future?  Or was it the present, cloaked by an illusion? 

At one point, a group of Greys walked by, carrying whips.  They seemed to be herding naked humans towards the pits, hurling them in. A short time later, a human-sized winged-lobster sucked the entire face off of a beautiful naked woman it had grappled. Guppy remembered what happened to Sheriff Oakley and hurried along.

Almost at the nightspot, he stopped when a terrifying structure came into view.  Constructed of odd stalactites made of fungus, it almost resembled a hand with fingers that looked like sinister towers.  A glowing red light emanated from the top of the palm, sending shivers down Guppy's back.

He made his way inside.  The bouncer nodded to him and let him.

Club Apocalypse was busy.  There was the occasional scream of agony from places around the bar, and Guppy saw people being dragged out by Greys.  The rest of the crowd acted as if nothing was happening.  

Where was Rachel?  Guppy started to sweat, feeling nauseous. Bile rose in his throat.

Guppy stumbled towards the men's room and made it just in time. After heaving into the toilet, he wiped his face, washed his hands, and exited the bathroom.

Rachel was by the doorway, stepping out of the darkness. She held a drink.  

“Glad to see you made it.  Get a good look?  See what is going on? We’ve been invaded.”

"So that's all real?" asked Guppy, wiping the sweat from his brow.  "This is what's actually going on?"

“The Greys actually serve those lobster-things…you call them alien dogs.  They are called Mi-go. They are using us as cattle, raiding our DNA so they can reproduce. And they are remaking our world in their image. They are splicing the DNA into some of us using protomatter. It’s been happening since the 1960s.  They’ve taken over key government officials and politicians to carry on their work…and all of Majestic-12.  Think about it: why do they keep sending you on those missions?  You keep destroying Grey work in the CIVILIAN sector.  That’s because Majestic-12 doesn’t want to SHARE!”

She sighed.  “The Greys have been dumping protomatter into food and drink to cover their invasion, just like in Groversville.  Only they got smarter.  Now it covers up what’s really going on.  Just a few people classified as nutty survivalists remain immune.  You and me, because of Blink…I guess we’re lucky.” She laughed bitterly, and there were tears in her eyes. 

"We have to stop it," said Guppy, trembling. "But how?"

“The only way we can get around them is to alert the world – not by telling them, they’d never believe us anyway.  We have to SHOW them.  Show them by destroying the world they hold dear, by making it makes less sense. Once we shake the foundation, it will prepare humanity to see it.  We can perform the Light of Sacred Truth, and then they will ALL see the world for what it really is.”

"There are so many of them …" began Guppy.  The very thought of resisting made him tired. 

“We can’t do it alone," said Rachel. "We need other followers to summon the Sacred Light. You alone have the power within you to summon it.  Show them the truth, and then, when the time is right, you must summon the Sacred Light.  You’ll know when.”

"What about you?" 

Rachel frowned. “The Greys already tried to blow up my apartment. The cops say the pilot light might have gone out, letting out just a little bit of gas. The gas could have slowly filled the condo.  Seventeen-hundred square feet with high ceilings, for days and days. Then, the refrigerator's compressor could have clicked on...” She looked around suddenly.  "I have to go…it’s already too dangerous for us to be seen together…”

She fled back into the darkness of the club.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 3 – The Bringers of Sacred Light*

Guppy looked up at the street sign.  He had called the phone number on Freddy's card and it led him to here, Paper Street.  It wasn't really a street, more a dirt road. 

A stockade sat on one side, facing a lone house on the other.  The rest of the land was grass and weeds.  It was a grand, old three-story, long abandoned.  

Freddy was there, waiting for him.  He was dressed in fatigues and splattered with paint. "Come to check on the troops?" He grinned.  "Come on in, let me give you the tour." He led Guppy to the stockade.

The stockade looked just like the cavalry forts portrayed in movies about the Old West.  It boasted four guardhouses and two small guard posts on either side of the gate.  The entire compound was made of tarred pine logs. The two largest buildings had two floors, the upper levels serving as barracks.  A kitchen and mess hall were located beneath the married couples’ barracks, with a storage area under the single persons’ barracks. 

Freddy led Guppy to one of the barracks. Triple-decker bunks cluttered the barracks, as many as could fit into the space.

They entered the kitchen.  Freddy grabbed beers from the refrigerator. "Want some?"

Guppy shook his head. 

Freddy shrugged and popped one open with his teeth.  He took a few swigs.

Guppy noticed rope and rappelling tools on the table.  Freddy nodded towards the living room, hefting a case of beers.  "Go on in, we're celebrating."

Guppy hesitantly entered the room.  Several other guys sat in front of the television, chanting quietly, all dressed in fatigues and also splattered with paint.

Freddy came up behind Guppy. “You are not your job,” he chanted.

“You are not your job,” said the others together.

“You are not how much money you have in the bank.”

From upstairs, a buzzer sounded.

"New recruit," said Freddy.  "Come on, let's see what he's got." Freddy led Guppy up to the sentry post.

A young man stood at the gate, staring ahead in subordinate military style.  He wore black pants, black shirt, black shoes, held a paper bag, with an army surplus mattress rolled-up at his feet.

Freddy stepped up beside Guppy to look the kid over.

"You're too young,” he shouted down at the kid. “Sorry."

Freddy pushed Guppy back inside the sentry post and shut the door. "If the applicant is young, we tell him he's too young.  Old, too old. Fat, too fat. If the applicant waits at the door for three days without food, shelter or encouragement, then he can enter and begin training."

"Doesn't that seem harsh?" asked Guppy.

"Harsh?  We're fighting a war here!" Freddy shook his head.  "There's no room for luxuries.  Each applicant is asked to bring the following: two black shirts, two black pants, one pair of black boots, two pair of black socks, one black coat, and three hundred dollars."

"Why three hundred dollars?"

"Personal bury money," said Freddy. "Come on, let me show you a project we're working on."

A half-dozen of survivalists were preparing a square of the backyard inside the fort. They pulled weeds, cleared rocks; worked with shovels and rakes.  They carted away wheelbarrows of rocks and carried in sacks of fertilizer.

Everywhere Guppy went, survivalists rendered fat and made soap.  They pinched herbs, adding them to the mix.  They added vodka.  Off to the side, a couple survivalists stirred a vat of rice.  

Freddy led Guppy to his office. On the wall was a big bulletin board with hundreds of driver's licenses; a sign above it read: "HUMAN SACRIFICES."

"Human sacrifices?" asked Guppy nervously.

"They only look human," said Freddy.

In the office, Freddy made a mark on a chart. Survivalists shuffled papers and news clippings.  Walls were lined with files, each labeled with a street address, under individual signs: "Mischief," "Disinformation," "Human Sacrifices," "Arson."

"What is this?"

"This?" said Freddy with a sweep of his hand.  "We are the Bringers of Sacred Light."

"I don't understand," said Guppy.  "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you told us to."  The other men laughed.  He handed Guppy a folder.  "These are your targets.  We're ready to move on the Protomatter Stewards now.  Take a look." 

There were four files. Archibald Denton, Larry Tolkien, Malcom Trent, and John Grant. 

Guppy flipped through the files and stopped on the last one. There was something about John Grant that evoked a feeling of terrible rage.  Guppy didn't like the look of him.  

"Grant," said Guppy.  "I'll take care of John Grant myself."


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 4 – Change Agent*

Hammer was just about to drop Archive off at his apartment when his cistron and Caprice's beeped at the same time.  It was an urgent message from Sprague.

Archive had the door partially open when Hammer slammed on the gas, hurling him back into the car and slamming the door shut. 

"What the—I thought you were dropping me off!"

"Not anymore," said Hammer.

"It's Guppy," said Caprice, reading off the cistron.  “His apartment exploded."

"Was Guppy hurt?" asked Archive.

Caprice shook his head. "There was a body, but it wasn't Guppy's.  The STREETSWEEPER team got there too late.  It was Rachel Hayward, Guppy's ex-girlfriend.  Forensics determined Hayward was dead for weeks."

"Where's Guppy now?"

"Guppy's last access on BLACKNET was to look up John Grant, who went to the same elementary school as Guppy.  Sprague thinks he's going to attack Grant where he works, at Puchsky Real Estate in the Uptin Arms Hotel."

The cistrons beeped again.

"Now what?" asked Archive.

Caprice sighed.  "And there's the alert to all the OTHER agents to catch Guppy."

"Great," snarled Hammer, dodging in and out of traffic.  "If Warner's Delta boys get to him first…"

"Warner would just love that," said Caprice.  "Guess we'd better get to Guppy before he does something stupid."

"I'm not sure if I should be on this mission," said Archive.  "This sounds like an inter-agency thing."

"Don't worry about it," said Hammer.  "You can cover our backs when we go in."

They arrived in Peterboro four hours later.  Hammer pulled the card over in front of 142 East "A" Street.

Hammer was about to get out of the car when a message from Jim-Bean crackled over the comm. "Took you guys long enough.  You may want to see this."

A video feed flashed on their cistrons.

"We interrupt this program for a NEWS ALERT," said a reporter in front of a news desk. "Global News Network received an anonymous tip that the mysterious Indian agent, responsible for rescuing Indianational Flight 270, was recently spotted entering the Uptin Arms Hotel in Peterboro." 

"Son of a BITCH," swore Hammer.  "Someone tipped them off!"

A grainy picture of Guppy flashed on the screen. "The mystery agent single-handedly saved four hundred passengers by skydiving out of a jetliner over Warsaw, Poland," continued the reporter at the news desk. India has unofficially claimed responsibility for this heroic agent’s actions, but many feel the U.S. is responsible. This network’s research has been thwarted at every turn – our files were destroyed in a mysterious fire and our archives were hacked. Someone doesn’t want us to find out the identity of this man."

Archive looked around.  "There.  That unmarked white van.  It's got satellite equipment on the top.  That's got to be a GNN van."

"We’ve dispatched our best reporter, Nina Juarez, to the scene to find out more. After all, we just want to express our thanks to the four hundred people and the thousands more that would have died if it weren’t for this man’s actions."

Hammer loaded his Glocks.  "I don't have time for this."

"I’ll take care of it," said Archive. He whispered a chant to himself and stretched out one hand towards the van, eyes closed.

"We're going to go to a live feed.  Nina?"

The cistrons flashed with a scene from the news van.  Nina Juarez, a pretty Latina reporter, spoke to the camera inside the van. 

"Thanks Chuck," said Nina.  "I'm inside the GNN van as we prepare to enter the Uptin Arms Hotel.  We have reason to believe the mystery agent is inside."  She pulled open the door to the van.  

Across the street, the agents could see the van opening.

"Archive…" said Hammer.  "Guppy's not the only agent she's going to get on camera…"

Nina shrieked on their cistrons.  There was a flash of water streaming down the front of the camera.  Nina screamed and fell out of the van, her hair plastered against her face from the sudden downpour that appeared inside the van.  Electrical equipment sparked and hissed. Then the feed went blank.

"We seem to be having technical difficulties…" began Chuck at the GNN desk.

Hammer grinned. "I knew we wouldn't regret bringing you along."  Then he and Caprice joined Jim-Bean at the entrance to Puchsky Real Estate.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 5 – Mental Estate*

A crystal dragon greeted Guppy in the lobby of Puchsky Real Estate.  Mr. Grant’s secretary was a gorgeous Japanese woman with an icy stare.  

"Hello," said Guppy.  "My name is Hank Gupta. I'm here to see Mr. Grant."

His secretary greeted Guppy icily.  “Mr. Grant is extremely busy.  Can I ask what this is about?”  

Guppy leaned forward.  "This is about a special situation that he alone can deal with."

The secretary sneered.  "One of those meetings."  She pressed the intercom.  "Mr. Grant, a Mister Gupta is here to see you?" She hung up the phone and addressed Guppy. “Mr. Grant is expecting you,” she said flatly.  “You are not permitted weapons beyond this point.”  She unlocked a drawer in her desk and looked in Guppy's direction.  

Guppy held up his hands.  "I don't have any weapons."

In truth, his pistol and cistron had been confiscated when he was put on mental health leave.  He had to hack his way into Blacknet just to get Grant's information.

The secretary led Guppy into an oak-paneled conference room with comfortable chairs and an expensive marble tabletop.

Two large men in suits entered the room and stood on either side of the head of the table.  John Grant entered.  

Grant was a mountain of muscle.  His clean-shaven face was scarred and he wore a permanent scowl.  His hair was in a buzz cut style. Grant was dressed in a pinstriped suit. 

“Hanky, sorry to keep you waiting," he spoke with a Brooklyn-Italian accent. "Can I get you a drink?” he offered.  John snapped his fingers and his bodyguards immediately began mixing Guppy a drink.  “I understand you have a mysterious business proposition for me.”

"I need to speak to you privately," said Guppy, taking a seat across from Grant.  

Grant nodded towards his bodyguards.  "Fix yourselves drinks, boys."  He turned back to Guppy.  "I don't know what you're into, Hanky.  But you're in way over your head.  I haven't seen you since elementary school, and now I see you twice in one week.  The guy you were hanging out with, he's bad people.  Did he owe you money too?"

Guppy didn't know what the hell Grant was talking about. "No, forget that.  I think you're in grave danger.  There are these…aliens.  They have taken over the world…"

Grant leaned back and laughed.  "Oh man, Hanky.  You look like something the cat threw up.  Are you high?  You need money for drugs, is that what this is about?"

"You're not LISTENING," said Guppy urgently.  "I think that you're caught up in some sort of invasion—"

Grant sighed and took a pistol out from behind his back.  He placed it on the table.  "Hanky, look.  People come in here to either give me money or ask for money. You're doing neither, so at this point you're starting to look like some crazy junkie wasting my time.  And nobody wastes my time."

Grant's eyes flicked to his phone.  A light was flashing urgently.

"Someone tripped the alarm." Grant stood up, pistol in hand, and pointed it at Guppy.  "This some kind of trick, Hanky?  Boys," he ordered his bodyguard, "secure the door! Who are you fronting for?'

Guppy threw up his hands. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"We'll see." Grant pressed the speakerphone without taking his eyes or pistol off of Guppy.  "Lillian.  Lillian?  What's going on out there?"

"We have you surrounded," came Jim-Bean's voice, with a thick British accent.  "Put your weapons down and come out with your hands up."

"You gotta be kiddin' me—"

"We have a sniper trained on you right now.  He can put a bullet in your head. I repeat, put your hands—"

Grant smacked the off button on the speakerphone.  "We're getting out of here, but not before I clean up this little mess."  He took careful aim at Guppy's forehead.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 6 – Government Lobby*

Jim-Bean put the phone down.  "That should get them away from the door."

Hammer zip-tied Lillian's wrists.  "Stay here."

Caprice looked out the window and swore.  "That reporter's coming back here with a camera."

"I thought you shorted out their cameras!" Hammer shouted at Archive over his cell phone.

"Just their transmitting equipment."  Archive was walking quickly to intercept her.  "I'll take care of this."

"You, sir!" shouted Nina.  The camera crew turned to focus on Archive. "Are you affiliated with this—"

He held up one hand, palm open.  There was a symbol scrawled on it.  

Nina turned and fled, stumbling in her high heels.  The cameraman dropped his camera.  The boom mic operator just dropped the boom.  He struggled for a second as it unplugged from its power source on his backpack, and then he too fled. Archive kneeled down and ejected the tape from the camera.

Archive sauntered into the lobby with a big smile on his face. He handed the tape to Hammer. 

Hammer didn't have time to congratulate Archive on his ability to strike fear into GNN reporters. "Stay here, watch the door, make sure the secretary doesn't do anything stupid."

Archive nodded and took a seat.

Hammer, Caprice, and Jim-Bean were doing a silent count to bust in the door when tear gas billowed around the door frame. 

Jim-Bean shook his head and put on his gas mask.  

"How did you know there was another raid going on?" asked Caprice.

"He's psychic," said Hammer.

"Actually," said Jim-Bean through his gas mask.  "I was bluffing."  Hammer kicked open the door and let Jim-Bean go first.

Two thugs were on the floor, eyes tearing.  Guppy was slumped over a desk.  A female agent in full riot gear had a pistol pointed at the back of Grant's head. 

"Larry?" asked Jim-Bean.  "What are you doing here?"

"Warner's orders," said Larry, his voice muffled by his gas mask.  He turned to point his pistol at Hammer.  "This is our collar."

"Guppy’s our team member," said Hammer, stepping out from behind Jim-Bean to train his Glocks on Larry.  "We'll take it from here."

Keeping his pistol trained on Hammer, Larry called into his walkie-talkie. "Bill!  Bill get in here!"

Bill didn't respond.

Caprice added his pistol to the mix of weapons pointed at the two agents. "You're outnumbered.  Why don't you just take these two thugs here and call it a day?  Little fish are better than no fish."

Bill shook his head.  "These are rubber bullets, but they'll still hurt. Now I'm going to take Guppy—"

Bill swore as his pistol was shot out of his hand.  "Damn it!"

"You were saying?" asked Hammer.

Bill clutched his weapon hand.  "Fine, fine.  But officially you got here before we did."

Hammer smirked.  "Sure." 

Jim-Bean grabbed Guppy by the leg and dragged him out of the room.   Caprice zip-tied Grant's wrists behind his back.  Then Hammer roughly shoved Grant along behind Jim-Bean and Guppy.

They passed Agent Bill, who was frozen with his pistol aimed at some invisible foe.

Hammer knew it had to be Archive's doing. "What did you do to him?" 

Archive shrugged. "I stopped him."

Jim-Bean and Hammer marched Guppy and Grant to their car.  Caprice shoved Lillian in the direction of Morgana, who stopped her advance to deal with the new collar.

That left Caprice alone with Bill.

Caprice smiled wickedly at Bill.  "Bill!  Old buddy, old pal! Remember me?" 

Bill's eyes widened in alarm.  He couldn't move at all, but their last encounter hadn't gone well.

Caprice stepped up to Bill so they were face to face.  "Tell Warner Sprague's team says hello."

Then he yanked Bill's pants down to his ankles and ran out to join the other agents.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 7 – The Trouble With Guppy*

Hammer turned around to face Guppy and Grant. They had transferred to a van that Jim-Bean drove to Peterboro, which gave them more room to conduct the interrogation as they drove Guppy to undisclosed location.  

"So now that we've got some alone time together, why don't you tell me what you two were doing?"

Grant shrugged his shoulders.  "What do I know?  I seen Hank last week; haven't seen him in forever since I used to beat him up for his lunch money. Next thing I know Hanky here is talking about aliens and conspiracies…"

Hammer frowned and looked at Guppy.  "That's how we got into this mess, remember?"

Guppy shook his head.  "You don't understand!  I've seen it.  They're already here!"  He leaned forward to whisper.  "Grant is a Protomatter Steward!"

"That's not too hard to confirm," said Hammer.  "Jimmy?"

Jim-Bean stepped over to Grant.  "Hold still."

He put one hand on Grant's shoulder and concentrated for a second.  "Nope.  A sleaze ball, but that's it."

"It's true!" protested Guppy. "I saw a file!"

"What kind of file?" asked Hammer.

"On Grant! It proves that he's part of the Conspiracy.  They're controlling us all, manipulating you even now!"  He peered at Grant.  "They can change shape.  They can be anybody!"

Jim-Bean leaned back.  "You know, he's got a point."

"I think he's snapped," said Caprice from the passenger's seat.  Archive was driving.  "Guppy's a danger to himself and others. He should probably be committed."

"You're not really helping," muttered Hammer.  He turned back to Guppy.  "Do you have any evidence of this?"

"Ask Rachel!" shouted Guppy.  "She can tell you—"

"Guppy, Rachel's dead," said Jim-Bean.

Guppy blinked.  "What?"

"She's dead.  That's why we came to pick you up.  Her charred corpse was found in your apartment." 

"But…" Guppy recovered. "I spoke to her a few days ago…"

"She'd been dead for weeks," said Hammer.  "You mentioned a file.  Where did you get this file?"

"From Freddy Butts. He gave it to me."

Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged glances.  "Who?"

"Freddy," said Guppy.  "He leads the Bringers of Sacred Light. They have a fort.  He makes soap, but he’s actually making explosives. I was there!"

"Where Guppy?" Hammer said urgently. "We need an address."

All their cistrons beeped.  "Wow," said Caprice.  "Sprague's getting pissed.  We better drop him off."

"Keeping driving," snapped Hammer. "I want to investigate this myself before we just hand Guppy over." He turned back to Guppy.  "The address?"

"There's a card in my pocket," said Guppy.

Jim-Bean fished the card out and looked at it.  "Just a phone number to a soap company."

"That's a start, we can trace it."  Hammer flicked the card over to Caprice. "Hot Pants?"

"On it."  Caprice rolled out a keyboard and plugged it into his cistron.  

Hammer called the number.  It rang and a recorded message answered him.  He hung up.

"Got it," said Caprice.  "It's registered to one…Hank Gupta."  He turned back around.  "Man you really are nuts."

"What?" shouted Guppy in disbelief.  "I'm being framed!  You have to believe me!"

"We tried Guppy," said Hammer.  "I'm sorry, but we have to drop you off."

Grant cleared his throat.  "I don't mean to interrupt, but being that this appears to be way above my pay grade, you mind dropping me off?"

"Stop the van," said Hammer ominously.

Archive pulled over.  Jim-Bean threw open the side door to the van. Then they tossed Grant out of it.

Grant rolled to the ground, sputtering in the dust.  "For government agents, you guys are really rough!"

"Who says we're government?" asked Hammer.  Then he slammed the door shut and the van roared off.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 8 – Dungeons & Dinosaurs*

Located at the end of a cul-de-sac on the edge of the mostly suburban incorporated village of Bountin, Dinosaur Lodge sat on nine acres of land covered in standing copses of trees and bushes, surrounded by a twelve-foot stone fence.  

"This place looks familiar," said Archive. 

They drove all the way down to Maryland from New York, non-stop.  Guppy had given up on trying to convince his former teammates that they were wrong and had lapsed into a depressed state, numbly staring at the far side of the van. 

They stopped at the front gate.  "We're dropping off Hank Gupta at the request of Major Sprague," said Hammer.

The guard looked at his clipboard.  "Yep, okay.  Welcome to Dinosaur Lodge." He waved the van on. "Go on through."

Archive parked the van in the visitor lot and they walked into the facility.  The walls were oak-paneled and the rooms well furnished.  The place was more like a vacation lodge than the housing facility of a research center, which the broad verandas and sunlit rooms emphasized.  

Impossible to ignore, just within the main entry, was a gigantic mounted skeleton of an allosaur, poised menacingly toward the visitor.  A housekeeper cleaned and polished the cool brown bones.

"Wow." Jim-Bean stared up at the allosaur skeleton.  "That thing is totally going to come to life and eat us."

An attractive thirty-something woman greeted them.  "Hi!" she chirped.  "I'm Angela Smith."  She shook Jim-Bean's hand, smiling warmly at him.  "Welcome to Dinosaur Lodge! Please fill out these papers, Mr. Gupta, and we'll get you processed."

Hammer grabbed the pen from Angela.  "I'll do it for him.  Gupta is not to be released from his restraints."

While Hammer filled out and signed a number of standard forms and waivers, a slender, professional-looking woman arrived followed by a large bald man. 

"Hello.  I'm Dr. Marina Ivanovna.  This is Farley Danzer, one of our orderlies."  She looked Hammer and his team over.  "I've been instructed to assign you to security.  So you'll be working in conjunction with the team here to secure the facilities."  Ivanonva paused as she caught sight of Archive.  "You're not on my list."

"He's a consultant," said Hammer quickly.  

"He's not authorized," said Ivanovna curtly.  "So he'll have to stay in our guest facilities.  Sorry."

Archive shrugged.  "No problem."

Angela handed each of the agents security badges.  Archive received a badge that read VISITOR in big bold letters.

"Angela, please show mister…"

"Fontaine."

"…Fontaine to the guest house.  The rest of you, follow me please."

Archive left with Angela, who shot a smile over her shoulder at Jim-Bean before departing.  Then they followed Ivanovna into the facility. 

"Dinosaur Lodge is a dream research and sleep facility," said Ivanovna.  "The first floor contains general access rooms, the kitchen and dining room, and offices.   The second, third, and fourth floors are devoted to the staffers’ rooms. You'll be staying there as well."

There were guards armed with sub-machineguns at every intersection.  They wore black, unidentified patches. 

"The real work goes on in the Dreamweb."  Ivanovna led them out of the Lodge and towards another building.

"Dreamweb?" asked Caprice.

"The Krogen Institute studies and monitors dreams, primarily through the use of an amazing technological innovation called the Dreamweb, a device simple in concept and awesomely complex in construction and operation," explained Ivanovna as they walked. "The Dreamweb monitors minute electrical impulses and chemical changes in the brain of a sleeper, translating them into bits of data decipherable by a computer.  This data becomes a video image transmitted to one or more recording sites. By inducing minor chemical changes in a sleeper’s bloodstream and applying electrical stimuli, dreams can be slightly altered, though the precise nature of the induced changes is still unpredictable."

"And you think this can help Gup—I mean Hank?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Yes.  We've had some major successes with some other patients like him.  Mr. Brendel is a similar case, a programmer who suffered some extreme mental stress. Dr. Perov has made great progress with him by examining his subliminal consciousness. Here we are."

The Dreamweb was contained in a circular, glass-in chamber at the center of the lab building.  In the middle of the chamber was a plush examination couch that promoted deep relaxation. Dozens of electrodes were taped to key points on the subject’s head and body.  Wires from the electrodes extended to banks of sockets mounted on the curved wall, giving the chamber a rather spidery look when in operation.

"Now I know why they call it the Dreamweb," said Caprice.

Around the outside of the web chamber were banks of consoles displaying the input from the monitoring electrodes.  
Each of the five monitoring stations, as well as the two observation areas, were equipped with viewing screens on which dreams were displayed. They ranged from flying to a person standing naked in front of an audience to reunions with relatives.

"From here," said Ivanovna, "researchers can track incoming data while simultaneously observing the dreamer through windows. Let's get started shall we?"


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 9 – Welcome to My Parlor*

Dr. Ivanovna led Guppy into the Dreamweb proper.  When all the other agents started to crowd in, she turned.

"Gentlemen, I appreciate that you're all eager to keep Mr. Gupta safe but I must insist that only one of you be in the room.  It's clear he's stressed and your presence isn't going to help."

"I'll stay," said Jim-Bean.

"Thank you."  

The other agents left the room.

"Okay, Mr. Gupta.  Please change and we'll get started."  

"I'm handcuffed," said Guppy.

Ivanovna sighed.  "I think we can let Mr. Gupta free now, don't you?"

Jim-Bean shrugged.  "Sure, fine."  He took a knife to the zip tie and cut it.

Guppy walked around behind a dividing curtain.  He came back out in a hospital smock. Ivanovna led him over to the couch.

"There are eleven leads that connect to various parts of your body. I'm going to tape them to you.  They're a little cold, so I apologize in advance."

Guppy nodded mechanically as Ivanovna attached the sensors.

"So, Hank.  Can I call you Hank?"

"Sure," said Guppy.

"So Hank.  Tell me a little about yourself." 

Ivanovna asked Guppy personal information, including his name and address, his chief complaint, the history of his current psychiatric problem, previous psychiatric problems, family psychiatric history, medical problems, and family background.

Guppy patiently explained it all. "My chief problem is that nobody believes the aliens are already here.  They've taken over." His glassy eyes struggled to focus on Ivanovna.  "You don't believe me either, do you?"

"I do not agree with that thinking, but I understand your belief system," said Ivanovna.  "That doesn't lessen that what you're experiencing is extremely frightening and real to YOU.  That's what matters."

Guppy seemed to take comfort in that response.

"Now I'm going to ask you some questions about your current state of mind," said Ivanovna.  "Answer from zero to five, with zero being not at all, one just a little, two somewhat, three moderately, four quite a lot, and five all the time.  Okay?"

"Okay."

"I feel that others control what I think and feel," began Ivanovna.

"Five."

"I hear or see things that others do not hear or see."

"Five."

"I feel it is very difficult for me to express myself in words that others can understand."

"Three."

"I feel I share absolutely nothing in common with others, including my friends and family."

"Three."

"I believe in more than one thing about reality and the world around me that nobody else seems to believe in." 

"FIVE!" said Guppy emphatically.

"I talk to another person or people inside my head that nobody else can hear."

A voice spoke in Guppy's head.

LIE, GUPPY.

Guppy paused.  He looked at Ivanovna.  She hadn't heard the voice.

A voice that nobody else could hear had just told him to lie about hearing a voice nobody else could hear.  Guppy broke out into a cold sweat.

He looked at Jim-Bean.  Jim-Bean just smiled at him.  It had sounded like Jim-Bean. But Jim-Bean's lips hadn't moved.

"Mr. Gupta?"

"Zero," said Guppy.  He answered the remaining five questions with an answer of "zero."

"Interesting." Ivanovna leaned forward and asked, "So, Hank. What can you tell us about Majestic-12?"

Guppy blinked.  "What?" He looked at Jim-Bean, looked up at the banks of windows above him, and then back at the camera.  "I don't know what you mean …"

"Well, that's odd," Ivanovna's demeanor turned cold. "Because your co-workers tell us that you mutter about Majestic-12 constantly. You say things like 'I didn't want to kill him. Majestic-12 told me to.' or 'When is Majestic-12 going to call?' or 'If Majestic-12 had sent me backup, that thing wouldn't have eaten Oakley's brain". 

Ivanovna followed up on these revelations with questions about stress, dreams, hearing voices, talking to god, magical powers, occult conspiracies, and so on. It was obvious Ivanovna thought that Guppy had become schizophrenic, and had invented an elaborate conspiracy theory and a supernatural authority figure which justified taking the law into his own hands.

"I'm not here to get you, Mr. Gupta.  I'm here to help you realize you have a problem. If you agree to therapy, including drug therapy, mandatory counseling, and treatment here at Dinosaur Lodge, we will excuse you from work with fully pay due to work-related stress until a subsequent assessment determines that you are fit for active duty. Your psychological evaluation will also be cited in your defense in an inquiry or trial should Mr. Grant press charges."

Guppy sighed, beaten.  "Fine."

"Good."  Ivanovna's demeanor changed instantly back to the warm, concerned psychotherapist. "I'm going to arrange a complete blood count, electrolytes, thyroid function tests, urine toxicology screen, and urinalysis as well as an EEG, CT scan, and PET scan. But given the circumstances, I think it's safe to say that you are either developing or have a psychotic illness.”

She got up, and Danzer led Guppy out of the room. 

"There was some audio glitch," said Hammer, greeting Ivanovna just outside the Dreamweb.  "It cut out while you were in there."  He frowned at Jim-Bean.  "What happened?"

Dr. Ivanovna shrugged.  "The Dreamweb uses an extraordinary amount of power; we have surges occasionally."

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" asked Caprice.

When Guppy was out of earshot, Ivanovna replied. "Mr. Gupta's suffering from psychotic symptoms that significantly impair functioning and that involve disturbances in feeling, thinking, and behavior.  The disorder is chronic and usually has a prodromal phase, an active phase, and a residual phase. Fortunately he's in the residual phase at this point."

"English please," said Hammer.

"Schizophrenia," Dr. Ivanovna said simply.  "Paranoid schizophrenia."


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 10 – Mr. Sandman*

The first night spent at Dinosaur Lodge was Guppy's acclimation night. No real study or observation was attempted. The idea was that the patient should relax, become used to his surroundings, and be able to have a normal night's sleep the following night. 

Jim-Bean stood outside of Guppy's room, yawning.  It was going to be a long night.

His date with Angela had gone well, but not so well that Jim-Bean was at her place rather than standing in a cold hallway.  As long as things kept going the way they were going, Jim-Bean hoped he would have an excuse to change shifts with Caprice.

Bored, Jim-Bean pulled out a file from the wall bin near Guppy's room and read it.  

Guppy's blood work was totally normal.  An EEG showed an epileptic wave of force during the times Guppy claimed he experienced a vision.  A CT scan indicated an increased ventricular size in the brain, which was an associated finding with schizophrenia.  A positron emission tomography (PET) scan measured and map out metabolism and chemical distribution in the brain.  Guppy's CAT scan on indicated cortical hyprofrontality and high activity in the left temporal lobe.  Both were associated findings in people with schizophrenic illness. Neuropsychological tests (including the Thematic Appreciation Test and Rorschach test) turned up bizarre responses. 

In short, as much as Jim-Bean wanted to believe Guppy, he was starting to think Dr. Ivanovna was right. But after what they had all experienced, after what Jim-Bean actually WAS – who was he to say what was real or unreal?

The lights flickered.  When Jim-Bean looked up, a man stood in front of him, eyes half-lidded. His nametag read: BRENDEL.

"Hey!" said Jim-Bean.  "Hey, what are you doing?

In his late thirties, Brendel looked like a stereotypical pudgy computer programmer.

Brendel tried the door to Guppy's room.

"What the – stop that!"

Brendel ignored him.

A broad-shouldered, well proportioned man ran down the hallway, a clipboard under his arm.  "Don't touch him!" he shouted.  "Don't touch him!"

"Get him away from the door," said Jim-Bean, hand on the holster of his pistol.  "Or I will."

The man's nametag read: DR. PEROV.

Perov deposited his clipboard in the empty slot near Guppy's door so he could use both hands to grab Brendel by the arm. "Don't disturb him or you could inflict severe psychological damage!" 

"That's not all I'm going to inflict—"

Perov sneered at him.  "I expected nothing less from you people."  Brendel let go of the door.  "Let's go Sam, back to bed with you."

"You were monitoring him?  How'd you lose track of him? I thought you guys had monitors everywhere?'

"I was having trouble getting proper readings with my equipment," said Perov. Brendel slowly started making his way back the way he came. Perov followed behind him.

Jim-Bean reached into the bin and pulled out the clipboard.  It was Brendel's psychological profile. 

Sam Brendel had been arrested the month before for the brutal murder of his wife. Brendel claimed that he had no memory of it--he just woke up and found her stabbed, bludgeoned, and dead. Dr. Perov' analysis was that Sam was the victim of an extreme sleep disorder known as severe parasomnia. 

There was another note.  It was from Warner, with inquiries weekly about his progress.

Jim-Bean smirked.  "So Warner's got a crazy agent in here too."


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 11 – Power Hour*



> Angela sighed dramatically.  "Oh goody, another note from the Director."
> 
> Jim-Bean leaned over her desk to take a look.  He'd been spending a lot of time at her desk.  "What's that?'
> 
> "Director Krogen is complaining about the large electricity bill," she said, holding up a memo. "He even left a nasty note on the employee bulletin board in the lounge."
> 
> "What do you think that's all about?"
> 
> "Oh who knows with this place," said Angela. "It's probably the furnaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
> 
> Angela screamed as she was enveloped by a huge pair of jaws that appeared out of nowhere.  She disappeared into the phantom maw.
> 
> Jim-Bean ran.  The teeth faded out, in hot pursuit.  They flickered in and out of existence.  The jaws could be anywhere.  They were everywhere.  The teeth would swallow him whole like some kind of demented Pac-Man game.
> 
> “Jim-Bean!” shouted Hammer’s voice, far off in the distance.  “Wake up!”



Jim-Bean snapped his eyes open.  He was standing in his boxer shorts in front of Guppy’s room. Hammer stood in front of him, Glocks out but lowered.

Jim-Bean looked around.  “Was I…sleepwalking?”

The lights dimmed for a second. 

“Yep,” said Hammer.  “You okay?”

“Yeah. Had a strange dream.”

“Not surprised.  This place is pretty creepy.” He nodded towards the ceiling as the lights flickered again. “Lights have been flickering all night.”

Jim-Bean cocked his head.  “Hear that?”

Hammer listened too.  “Yeah.  Some kind of buzzing.”

“A machine,” said Jim-Bean. “Has to be loud for us to hear it here.”

“Yeah,” said Hammer, trying not to look at Jim-Bean.  “So…maybe you should go back to bed.”

Jim-Bean checked the time on his cistron. “Nah, it’s my shift anyway.”  He rubbed his forehead.  “Let me get changed and I’ll come back.”

Hammer nodded.  “I’ll get some coffee.”

Jim-Bean turned to go and then paused.  “You staying up?” 

“I’m not going to sleep until morning,” said Hammer.  “Just in case.”


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 12 – Fielding Questions*

Caprice fiddled with the lock to Valentine Krogen’s office.  He had placed a repeating image of the hallway on the monitors.  The place was far more secure than a simple facility. And yet he had gotten in relatively easily.  There was something familiar about it. 

Jim-Bean had found out from Angela that there was a receipt from a Burton Fielding.  Angela didn’t know what the receipt was for or who made the purchase, but she needed to find out for her accounts. Caprice suspected that the director knew.

Caprice popped the lock.  The room was peculiar.  Several statuettes were scattered about the suite, octopoid in nature and carved of green-veined soapstone.  A painting above the mantel depicted a horrendous circle of half-human entities baying at the moon.  A brass plaque gave the title and painter: “Ghouls Baying,” by R. U. Pickman. There were piles and piles of periodicals on psychiatry and technology, none of them read. 

Caprice made his way over the computer at Krogen’s desk.  He hooked up his cistron to it and started hacking.

Security was tight.  But it wasn’t insurmountable, complicated by the fact that Caprice was an inside man: he knew how Majestic-12’s systems worked and he knew how to circumvent them.  Data from 1966 onward was contained in the computer and text files.  He searched for Fielding.

Burton Fielding was an electrical engineer who had worked for some important firms in their research divisions. He was thought of as a crackpot, an alcoholic, and a ne'er-do-well. Caprice also found a record of Fielding’s education.  He had taken several university-level courses and advanced study.  Fielding’s imagination wavered for several years, then began to gnaw on and race through specific courses, while dropping others and simply failing to attend many more.  He had attended six universities, but had no degrees whatsoever. 

Caprice found a highly-technical, trail-blazing monograph on advanced dream research by Fielding.  It was difficult reading, even for Caprice, but he had an appreciation for the man’s intellect.  Fielding was clearly the inventor of the Dreamweb.  It was possible, Fielding explained, through the use of a Crystal Matrix Artificial Intelligence. It was the kind of crystal used by the Greys, the kind Caprice and his team had worked hard to prevent Centurion Computer Systems from using, and the kind that powered SINNER and Blacknet.  

There was also something else: work on a three-dimensional dream imager, which could be used to monitor a subject’s sleeping visions.  Its development easily rivaled the Dreamweb itself in sophistication.  The file ended abruptly.  

“What happened to you, Fielding?” Caprice asked himself.

He pulled up a map of the facility.  There was reference to a Datamaster computer that handled the Dreamweb, but no actual location.  It was only notable because it was missing; the amount of computer power necessary to run the Dreamweb was awesome in scope, and it required a huge cooling facility to keep it running.  The computer was secreted somewhere on the acres of property of Dinosaur Lodge.  But where?

On a whim, he searched for information on Guppy.  And he got more than he bargained for. 

There were medical reports, summaries of “treatments,” and even around-the-clock transcription of subjects’ speech during the course of the experiments. There were files on more than fifteen thousand test subjects, as well as several hundred summaries of stress simulations, such as “Subject informed of parent’s violent death” and “Simulated schizophrenic degeneration,” each rated from 1.0 to 10.10 in .1 increments.  The highest was 10.10—“Alien Invasion Scenario 4.” Each file described in great detail how to conduct each simulation, all created using Dreamweb technology. And all of it watched over by Warner’s Delta team.  

The Dreamweb could be used to control a subject’s dreams as well as record them.  Dr. Ivanovna had done so several times while charting the reactions of violent patients.  Such control made the Dreamweb perfect for interrogations or torture.

And yet there were no files on Guppy.  There were conflicting orders between Sprague and Warner.  Sprague didn’t want Guppy to go to Dinosaur Lodge, but Warner got his way.  As usual, they were chess pieces in a larger political battle between the two men.  Sprague’s team may have beaten Warner’s team to the punch by picking Guppy up first, but ultimately Warner had gotten his way.  All files about Guppy were forwarded to the Puerto Rico facility and required MAJIC-level clearance.  Caprice checked the other agents. Oddly, they all abruptly started after 1995.

He typed in Jim-Bean’s codename and it returned: 







> STRESS SIMULATION 8.5, “Subject is buried alive.”




He typed in Archive’s name: 







> STRESS SIMULATION 7.0 “Simulated amputation.”




He tried Blade: 







> STRESS SIMULATION “2.5. Subject informed of nuclear terrorist attack on Washington, D.C.”




His throat tightening, Caprice typed his own codename. 

It returned 







> STRESS SIMULATION 6.9, “Subject immersed in vermin.”




Ah yes, Caprice remembered the fire ants well. 

Caprice was typing in Hammer’s name when an alert dinged on his cistron.  A sniffer was on to him.  Time to go. He shut off the computer.

Once he had placed everything back where he’d found it and left Krogen’s office, Caprice opened a secure channel over their cistrons.  “Guys, I think I know why this place is familiar.”

“Why?” asked Hammer.

“Because we’ve been here before.  This is PROJECT OUTLOOK.”


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 13 – Capricious Dreams*

The lights flickered.  When Sam turned the corner, Caprice was ready.

“Dr. Perov,” called Caprice over the comm. “Brendel’s sleepwalking again.”

Static.  He wasn’t getting any reception.  Great.

Caprice was curious.  What did Brendel want with Guppy? He decided to find out.

Brendel made his way over the door.  He tried the lock.  It didn’t open.

WHAM! He slammed his shoulder into it.  WHAM!

Another slam and the door splintered off its hinges.  The strength Brendel had was incredible. 

Guppy was awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at Brendel fearfully.  “What is—“

That was all he got out.  Brendel closed the distance between them and, grabbing Guppy by his hospital gown, hurled him into the wall.

Caprice drew his pistol.  “Okay, that’s enough of---“

Brendel slammed into him, grabbing for his pistol. 

“Backup!” shouted Caprice into his headset.  “I need backup!”

Brendel grabbed Caprice around his throat.  He coughed and wheezed, trying to focus, but the man’s grip was incredibly strong.  The edges of his vision faded…

Brendel fell to the ground, jerking from the sparking taser in Hammer’s hand.

“Out of my way!” shouted Perov.  He shoved past Hammer into the room.  “What did you do to him?”

“He was attacking another patient,” said Hammer.  “You’re lucky he’s not dead.”

“No thanks to you!” snapped Perov.  He dragged Brendel to his feet, who was blinking away.  “Come on, Sam.”

Caprice checked on Guppy. “Guppy’s hurt but alive.” 

“He’s not my patient,” said Perov over his shoulder.  Then he half-dragged Sam out of the room.

Hammer called after Perov. “Strap him down doctor. Or next time Brendel will get more than a shock.”


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 14 – Blind Date*

Jim-Bean straightened his tie. This was his third date with Angela.  Hopefully he would have an excuse to switch his shift.  

He knocked on the door to Angela’s apartment.  No answer. 

Jim-Bean called Angela’s cell phone.  She didn’t pick up.

Jim-Bean checked his cistron.  Nine p.m. He was on time, for once.  Something was wrong. 

“Angela?” he shouted through the door.  “You in there?”

No answer.

Jim-Bean kicked open the door, snapping the chain.

The room was quiet.  Angela’s tabby meowed hungrily at him.  

Jim-Bean drew his Glock.  Yep, something was definitely wrong.

He went from room to room, stopping at her bedroom.  

Jim-Bean had plans to visit her bedroom.  But not like this. 

Her bedroom was empty, but there were signs of a struggle, including shredded and bloody sheets. There was a strange, sticky substance as well. 

Jim-Bean remembered his dream.  A giant maw, opening wide…

He ran back to his car and gunned the engine.  “Guys!” he shouted over his cistron.  “Guys?”

Static.  He knew what that meant.  The power surge again.  

Jim-Bean drove through the checkpoint, but no guards greeted him.  The facility was wide open, unprotected.

He parked the car and sprinted to Guppy’s facility.  This time the power had simply gone out.  Emergency lights illuminated the hallways with a hellish glow. 

Gunfire echoed throughout the darkened hallway.  Hammer stood, Glocks out, over the bleeding form of Brendel.

“What happened?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I told the Doc I’d shoot Brendel if this happened again.” Hammer squinted past Jim-Bean.  “Perov should have been running down here by now.  Something’s seriously wrong.  I can’t raise Caprice and Guppy’s room is empty.”

“The gate was open and there aren’t any guards outside,” said Jim-Bean.  “Angela’s missing.  I think something ate her.”

Hammer lifted up one sleeve. “You mean the kind of thing that might leave a bite mark like this?”  There was a strange mark on his bicep that looked almost as if he’d been bitten by a shark. 

Screams echoed throughout the entire facility, first in the distance, then closer.  Jim-Bean drew his Glock.

“We have to find Guppy.”

“Agreed,” said Hammer.  “Let’s—“

Hammer just started firing.  Floating down the corridor was a floating bag of putrescence, like a jellyfish mixed with human organs, dangling shark-like jaws.  It shimmered in and out of existence. 

Jim-Bean remembered the thing.  He had seen something like it before when he and Hammer had had been trapped inside Daoloth. 

They both emptied their pistols into it, but the thing kept coming.  One tentacle darted off into the wall, only to come out the other side near Jim-Bean’s head.  He fell backwards, pulling the trigger on his Glock until it clicked.  Empty. Hammer fumbled to reload his own pistols.

The mouth yawned wide…

And then the creature howled in pain.  The crack of a pistol tore through the creature’s roars.  It shimmered away.

Archive was at the other end of the hallway, holstering his Elder Sign-inscribed pistol.

“I am so going to get you reinstated,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 15 – For Whom the Bell Tolls*

The carillon was a thirty-foot circular tower of stone blocks.  It housed an elevator, the normal access to the Institute’s emergency power and, Caprice suspected, the Datamaster computer.  When the power went out and he wasn’t able to raise Jim-Bean or Hammer, Caprice decided to strike out on his own and track the source of the loud buzzing that could sometimes be heard accompanying the power outages.

It led him to the tower.  When Dinosaur Lodge was a vacation attraction, the tower held a carillon, a number of differently-toned musical bells. 

Judging by the amount of security on the doors, it was a carillon no longer.  Caprice spent several minutes disabling the alarm on the door.  Then he popped the lock.  

Within the base of the tower was an elevator leading down and stairs leading to the elevator mechanisms above.  By the doors stood a narrow length of pipe topped by a palm-sized disk perforated by a keyhole.  An elevator call plate.

Caprice used his cistron to hack the elevator call plate.  It dinged and opened for him.  He took it down to the basement.

He faced an entrance with a keypad.  He could see a computer room beyond an antechamber blocked by sliding glass doors.  

On the floor before the doors was a black pad.  Caprice recognized the room: it was a sterilization chamber.  The tacky pad used a harmless electric current to remove dust particles from the clothing of anyone entering the sterile room.  

Caprice hooked up his cistron to the keypad and went to work.  A minute later the doors whisked open.

“Easy as pie,” said Caprice.  He stepped onto the pad…  

Electricity tore through his body, jolting him spastically.  His only saving grace was that he had already opened the doors.  He was blasted into the sterilization chamber.

His body smoking, Caprice tried to clear his head.  He looked over his shoulder just as the doors whisked closed. A red klaxon whirled above him.

A sign flashed over and over: STERILIZATION IN PROGRESS.

Caprice shook his head.  The tacky pad was supposed to be harmless too.  He caught a glimpse of a security camera in one corner of the room focusing on him.  The Datamaster was defending itself.

Fans whirred to life.  This was normally to prevent outside air from contaminating the filtered, temperature-controlled atmosphere of the computer room. But they kept on whirring, sucking the air out of the room.

Caprice stumbled over to the keypad and hooked up his cistron.  He had only a few seconds before he ran out of air.

He typed furiously, running several hacking programs of his own design.  The only way to get to the Datamaster quickly was a brute force attack, pinging it from multiple nodes.  Except that Caprice didn’t have that luxury from within the limited access of the carillon tower.  He was more like a mosquito to a giant, poking at it feebly.  

The world turned gray.  Caprice was starting to black out.

The Datamaster’s firewall had been compromised.  Intentionally, it seemed.  Someone had shut down its defenses.  Someone on the inside.  

Caprice’s vision faded.  All he could see was the cistron’s display.  He felt light-headed…

Another program was running, this one separate from the Dreamweb.  It was Fielding’s Dream Imager!

Caprice changed tactics and ordered his programs to mimic the Imager.  Sure enough, it had full administrative rights.  He just had to pretend he was the Dream Imager.  Caprice clicked a button and promptly blacked out…

He awoke, gasping.  The door was open and cool air brushed his face.  

How long had he been out? Caprice ran into the computer room.  The Datamaster itself covered three walls of the room, with a single terminal.  Two metal consoles on either side of the doorway contained hundreds of discs.  A security camera swiveled menacingly in each of the room’s four corners.

Caprice tapped into the security cameras and communications system.  What he saw was complete chaos.

There was a flash of something over the nearby lake.  It might have been a person, floating in mid-air, sweeping a beam of light like a lighthouse across the Dinosaur Lodge grounds.  Fires were raging.  

“Dr. Perov?”

Caprice flipped through the cameras. He found Dr. Perov’s horribly mutilated body in the computer lab. The corpse appeared to be covered in horrible bites, with large chunks of him missing. 

“Dr. Ivanovna?” 

There was no response.  Caprice flipped through the log until he found her in one of the rooms where other patients were sleeping, all of them hooked up to IVs.  

The warning monitors were blaring as all of the sleeping patients thrashed and gasped.  Caprice confirmed the warning code; they were all having massive heart attacks. The alarm was supposed to alert the doctors on call, but nobody was responding. Dr. Ivanovna walked past them as if in a trance, injecting each IV with a long needle.

“Dr. Ivanovna,” Caprice shouted through the intercom, “Stop!”

Ivanovna, needle in hand, plunged it into her own eye.  She screamed as the chemical she had used to murder her helpless patients was pumped directly into her brain.  Then her suffering was over too.

“Hammer?” shouted Caprice into the intercom, everywhere at once.  “Jim-Bean?”


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 16 – The Horrible Truth*

The other agents ran towards the Dreamweb facility.

“I saw the guards open the gate and let in a bunch of armed survivalist-types,” shouted Archive.  “That’s when I came looking for you guys.”

“There’s some kind of interference,” shouted Hammer.  “I can’t use cell phones or cistrons.” 

Jim-Bean pointed at a blazing white pillar of light over Holly Lake. “You think that might be the reason?” 

“Don’t look at it!” shouted Archive.  

The bays of guard dogs echoed in the darkness ahead of them. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean let loose, cutting down the dogs before they could close.

Automatic weapons fire sparked back at them in the darkness. The three agents took cover in the woods. 

“Whoever they are, this was an inside job,” said Hammer.  “There’s no way they could have gotten past the defenses so easily.”

“Guppy must be in the Dreamweb!” shouted Jim-Bean.  

The beam flared and a long column of light swept towards them. 

“Get down!” shouted Archive.

They flattened to the ground and the beam flashed overhead, sweeping the Dreamweb facility.

A series of horrible wails and shrieks rose up from the Dreamweb.  There was some sporadic gunfire.  Out in the Dinosaur Lodge proper, there was more screaming.

“Go, go, go!” ordered Hammer.  They crouched over to the entrance.

The survivalists were all dead. Some had clawed their eyes out.  Others had shot themselves or each other.  

“What the hell happened?” asked Jim-Bean, stepping over a dead body.

“I don’t plan to find out,” said Hammer.

Klaxons sounded.  Security curtains slowly descended all around them.  The Dreamweb was locking down.

They made their way past dead and moaning bodies to the Dreamweb monitoring room. The normally transparent glass was covered by metal shutters.  The monitors showed only static.

One man was slumped over the keyboard.  Jim-Bean yanked him back by his hair.  

The man’s head lolled, drool and blood dripping from his chin.  His eyes were moist sockets of blood.  Blood dripped down the man’s crushed fists, and Jim-Bean knew what he held there.

“The first rule of the Bringers of Sacred Light…” the eyeless man gasped, “is there are no Bringers of Sacred Light.”

“Where’s Guppy?” shouted Jim-Bean.

“The Light of Sacred Truth,” said the man.  “The veil of earthly illusion is rent…I saw the ultimate dimension…monstrous horrific shapes, saw touches, saw tastes…saw all.” He expired on the spot.

“Now we know Guppy wasn’t crazy,” said Archive, pointing at the man’s nametag. It read: BUTTS.

“We have to get inside there.” Hammer pointed at the Dreamweb dome.  “If Guppy’s the source of this, there’s only one way to stop it.”

“I’ll take a look,” said Jim-Bean.  He concentrated…



> Jim-Bean was walking through an alley, hurrying home.  Looking across the street, he saw “El Caballo,” the Belize expedition van.  What was it doing here?
> 
> By the side of the van Jim-Bean saw a pair of boots … his boots, still caked with mud, and suddenly he knew something was WRONG.
> 
> Looking up, a bat-winged shape passed against the stars, and Jim-Bean screamed as he realized that it was ALL WRONG! The hearing … the smugglers … there was something wrong about it … he couldn’t remember … then he realized he wouldn’t remember … the mind playing tricks … IT WAS ALL LIES!
> 
> Jim-Bean staggered into an alley, head reeling, when out stepped Kyle Woodson, spattered with blood, a huge hunk of his head missing.
> 
> “It’s all there…” he said in a gurgling, buzzing voice … an inhuman voice.  “It’s all at El Cacao.  You must go—“
> 
> Then his head exploded in a shower of gore and an alien Grey in a blood red surgeon’s gown leaped from the shadows.  It raised a scalpel and lunged.
> 
> Jim-Bean fell backwards in confusion.  Where was he?  What the hell was going on?
> 
> The Grey moved supernaturally fast.  It slashed once, twice, and Jim-Bean was forced to jump backwards each time.  He finally hit the cold hard stone of the wall. He was at the end of the alley.
> 
> The Grey raised its knife, only to suddenly explode from a shotgun blast.
> 
> Guppy was standing there, shotgun still smoking.
> 
> “Where are we Guppy?”
> 
> Guppy, dressed in his usual clothes, looked around.  “I think…I think we’re in my head.”


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 17 – The Dream Dies*

Caprice called for Jim-Bean and Hammer over the intercom.

Hammer ran over to the intercom button.  Jim-Bean was comatose.  “Hot Pants?  Where are you?”

“I’m in the Datamaster computer room.”

“Open the Dreamweb up!  Guppy’s trapped inside and Jim-Bean is comatose!”

There was silence as Caprice tried it.  “No luck.  There’s an emergency security protocol in effect.  I can undo it, but it will take time.”

“We don’t have much time…” said Archive.  “That light is going to spread, and if it hits Bountin…”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Caprice.  “There’s a door to your left.”

Hammer looked around. A sign on one door read: DREAMWEB CLEAN ROOM. Beneath it was a smaller sign: DO NOT ENTER.

The door clicked and something heavy moved within it.  “I just unlocked it.  There should be steps on the other side.  Go downstairs.”

Hammer and Archive ran down the steps.  At the bottom of the steps, directly beneath the Dreamweb itself, was a primitive but efficient laboratory set up around a weird device attached to numerous controls and monitoring instruments.  The device consisted of a ten-foot in diameter circular platform with a hard, transparent surface, beneath which was visible a precise arrangement of glass lenses.  A duplicate of the platform was suspended from the ceiling, and it was connected to the four chairs by finger-thick fiber optic cables. A bright light pulsed between the two platforms, illuminating the room with flickering shadows.

Around the platform and attached to it by curving plastic struts were four smooth-edged chairs with domed helmets, a bit like a salon dryer chair.  The inner surfaces of the domes were also transparent and revealed more glass lenses within.  

“The guy who developed the Dreamweb didn’t trust it completely,” said Caprice over the comm. “Fielding developed this Dream Imager as a failsafe. It will plug you into the Dreamweb directly.”

“Plug us in?” asked Hammer in disbelief.  “Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Close the gate,” said Archive grimly.  “Guppy has opened a portal to another dimension.”

“We’re not trained to do this.” Hammer strapped himself into the chair and Archive did the same.  “Hot Pants, can you influence the Dreamweb from there?”

“I think so.  What did you have in mind?”

Hammer closed his eyes as the machines whirred to life.  “Guns,” he said.  “Lots of guns.”


> They flashed through a tunnel of light.  Then they were on the other side and…
> 
> They were in a cave, littered with bodies missing the tops of their heads.
> 
> “BE CALM. BE SILENT,” said a voice; a horrible whispering, buzzing voice.  There was a shining metal cylinder sitting on the floor, connected by wires to a strange machine.
> 
> Guppy and Jim-Bean were there, in civilian clothes, unarmed.
> 
> The cavern wall rippled open and something entered.  They couldn’t look directly at it, but it scurried towards them, pincers outstretched…
> 
> “Hot Pants!” shouted Hammer.
> 
> Glocks appeared in all their hands.  The soldier caste Mi-go, the big kind with four claws, scrabbled towards Guppy.
> 
> Hammer fired.  The bullets were real enough, tearing through the thing’s fibrous carapace. Jim-Bean and Archive joined in.  Then Guppy.  Finally, it lay unmoving.
> 
> Caprice’s voice echoed all around them.  “You’re almost in the Datamaster’s Crystal Matrix.  You just defeated the second firewall.”
> 
> “Guppy,” said Archive urgently.  “I think you infected the Datamaster computer and it’s projecting your nightmares onto reality.”
> 
> “I don’t…” Guppy looked around.  “I don’t think this is a nightmare. I think this is a…memory.”
> 
> “It’s tearing the veil between the two worlds,” said Archive urgently. “You’ve got to stop—“



He was cut off as they faded into another dreamscape.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 18 – The Truth Shall Set You Free*

They awakened on a large table, eight feet square and made out of a dull, gray plastic.  A huge cluster of tendrils, arms, and tubes sprouted out of the ceiling directly over the table. 

They were all there, only younger: Guppy, Caprice, Archive, Blade, Jim-Bean, and Hammer. 

The left-hand wall of the chamber consisted of some kind of cabinet with a transparent door.  Inside, eight more bodies floated without visible support.  Four were female and four were male. Tubes had been inserted for nutrients and waste, and their lungs and hearts seemed to be working normally.  The skin color was normal.  Their eyes were uniformly closed, as if dreaming.  A grey-orange tube from the back of each head extended that led to the back of the cabinet and disappeared through a wall. A faint pink seam crossed each forehead. 

The right wall was covered in tubes and strange machines, some of which were studded with lights.  All of the machinery looked as much as it had been grown as it was made.  All of it was of the same dull gray finish.

Another object like a desk extruded out of the back wall.  On the ledge of it sat several curious devices and cylinders.

Two sets of cables connected a shiny new cylinder to one device.  

Guppy sat bolt upright.  The others were waking slowly.  He looked closer at one of the females. 

It was Rachel.  Younger Rachel.  Rachel from the past, back when they were dating, back when Guppy was lovesick over her and foolish enough to go on a dangerous expedition.

But the others.  What were they doing here?

Archive, Jim-Bean, and Hammer sat up.  

“Uh, if this is a memory, what are we doing here?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I don’t know,” said Hammer.  “But I don’t remember this.”

“Me neither,” said Archive.

“I was in a boarding school for the psychically gifted in Britain.” Jim-Bean looked down at his hands.  “Wasn’t I?”

Guppy was staring at Rachel.  It was Rachel as he remembered her, before she cut her hair, still in the flower of youth.  Gone were the lines of worry and sadness.  She still had some weight on her, before her drug addiction turned her into a scarecrow.  

The eye flicked open.  “Hank,” her voice echoed in Guppy’s mind.  “Hank, all I want to do is tell you the truth.  That’s all I’ve been doing this whole time.”

“Rachel…” said Guppy.  “Rachel, it’s all a lie.  All this time you were dead.  And I killed you.”

Rachel was fully awake now.  She shook her head, still speaking to him from the nutrient bath.  “No.  No, the real Rachel was already dead.  Freddy’s men killed her.  She was trying to have you committed.  She didn’t believe you.  I took this form so you would listen…”

“To what?” Guppy looked around.  “So much suffering, for what?”

“I am showing the others the realms beyond the first twenty five dimensions.  You are my Chosen, you will serve me as my priest.”

Guppy shook his head violently.  “No.  No!”

Rachel’s gaze turned murderous.  “I have given you a blessing, and yet you would still refuse me?” 

Guppy pointed at Rachel. “I want you out of my head.  Now.”

“Fool,” snarled Rachel, her form twisting and morphing. “You are in MY HEAD.” 

Rachel’s head shrunk into her torso, eyes popped out along the length of her abdomen, and two massive arms exploded out of her sides, ending in powerful pincers.  Dozens more tiny limbs sprouted along the length of her body. Her lower torso ended in a serpentine tail with a vicious stinger.

“What the hell is that?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I think that’s the Datamaster,” said Archive. “Whatever thing that’s been in Guppy’s head has infected the Crystal Matrix AI that runs the Dreamweb.”

“Hot Pants!” shouted Hammer, helpless.  “We could use those weapons we talked about.”

There was no answer.  The thing burst from its confines and slithered towards them. 

YOUR FRIEND CANNOT HELP YOU NOW.

“No,” said Guppy. “But maybe I can.” 

Guppy concentrated and Glocks flashed into everyone’s hands.  

They wasted no time.  Everyone pointed their weapons at the thing and fired. 

Bullets ricocheted off its hide.  It swept equipment aside with its huge claws as it advanced.  

Guppy, Archive, and Jim-Bean kept firing.  In the dream realm, they never ran out of bullets.

Hammer was in front.  He ducked a sweep of its claws and then shrieked as a piercing pain tore through his back.

The thing’s stinger protruded out Hammer’s torso.  He disappeared into his own nightmares and memories with a flash.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Part 19 – Execution Scenario 2*

“It’s time,” said the warden, accompanied by three corrections officers.

Hammer was too disoriented to stand up.  Where the hell was he?

The officers helped Hammer to his feet and he began walking to the death chamber. 

It was a small gray room with cinder-block walls and a large wooden chair in the center of the room. One wall featured a large plate-glass window, and Hammer could see three rows of folding chairs behind it, where some men and women in suits were scribbling notes or just watching.  

Hammer was placed in the chair and his forearms, ankles, waist, chest, and head were tightly secured.  A well-worn leather mask was placed over his face, leaving only his nose exposed.  Then two electrodes were placed upon his body.  The first was attached to a metal receptacle that was encased in a leather shell and rested on top of his head.  The second was attached to his hairless right calf.  

A sponge was dipped in water and placed on top of Hammer’s head, underneath the leather cap.  He was now alone in the room; the guards and executioner had left.  It was eerily quiet.

This was a dream.  It was just a dream.  He was in his own nightmare.  

No, he was remembering.  That’s right, he was remembering his stress test!  This was OUTLOOK.  This was his initiation.  This was the Datamaster digging into its files and forcing Hammer to relive his worst nightmare.

_It isn’t real.  IT ISN’T REAL. IT! IS! NOT—_

Hammer was back on the table in the chamber with lobster-like thing.  Archive and Jim-Bean were gone.  Only Guppy remained.  The thing loomed over him.

Hammer raised his pistol, only to discover he had no pistol.  He was back to square one, as if he had just joined the dream.  

“This isn’t real!” shouted Guppy.  “This isn’t the truth!  It’s all a lie!”

The creature and the dreamscape tore apart, shattering into a million pieces.


----------



## talien

*Dreams: Conclusion*

Hammer blinked awake inside the Dream Imager.  Archive was just getting up. 

They ran upstairs.  Jim-Bean was there, opening the door to the Dreamweb.  Guppy groggily disconnected himself from the myriad of wires entwining him.

“It is over?” asked Guppy.

“Yeah,” Caprice’s voice clicked over the intercom.  “The light over the lake stopped.  Everybody else is dead. I think it’s safe to raise the curtains.”  The metal curtains covering the windows slowly winched upwards.

They escorted Guppy outwards.  The entire facility was eerily silent.  Piling into Jim-Bean’s car, they drove past the gate.

Jim-Bean’s cistron beeped.  “Good news,” said Jim-Bean over his shoulder to Guppy.  “You were telling the truth.  SINNER triangulated the coordinates of the cell phone calls and we found a facility.  It was deserted, but it was just like you said – traces of bomb-making material was on site…”

“He’s out,” said Hammer. “Let him be.”

Guppy was asleep, snoring with his mouth open.  

“So Sprague tries to cover up Guppy’s breakdown.  Warner finds out and has him assigned to his top secret OUTLOOK facility,” said Jim-Bean. “Guppy’s stuck in the middle of a tug of war.  Fortunately for Sprague…well this happened.  Warner takes another hit.”

“I’m still not sure if Guppy is crazy or not,” said Archive.  “But whatever was in his head infected the Datamaster, which in turn infected the entire staff. We’re lucky we didn’t see experience whatever it was sharing with everyone else to make them go insane.”

“I think we did,” said Jim-Bean.  “In a sense.  We saw Guppy’s memories.”

Hammer shrugged.  “Through Guppy’s biased perspective.  We don’t know what’s real or what isn’t. Speaking of which…what happened to your accent?”

Jim-Bean blinked.  He hadn’t realized he was talking without it.  “I’m trained to speak in a variety of accents, you know.” He didn’t use his British accent then either.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Caprice.  “If Butts was making bombs, what was he doing with them?”

He got his answer as a terrific explosion engulfed the battered remains of Dinosaur Lodge, igniting the landscape behind them.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 37: Angular Gods - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of “Fractal Gods” by Steve Hatherley from The Stars Are Right and “Angular Dreams” by Angus Boylan from The Last Province #1. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (portfolio banking investing mortgage credit at creepyportfolio.com) 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)

Of all the scenarios we’ve played, this is probably the one I tinkered with the most.  I took the elements involving Tiger Transit, Coca Loco, and the Tcho-Tcho from Delta Green: Countdown, mixed it with the previously alien-technology swiping of Centurion Computer Systems and Walter Morrow, threw in the Hound of Tindalos-summoning fractal virus, the virtual hangout of Lord Vapor from d20 Cyberscape, the Tick-Tock Man, Terrors from Beyond, a certain geeky damsel in distress…and by the end of it ended up with something that looks a lot like Tron.

The vibe I was trying to go for at the very beginning of the scenario was the same effect as The Ring: the idea that every television (or in this case, cistron) could be a gateway to another world. 

Unfortunately, the scenario also looked a lot like the scenario just before it: trapped in another dimension? Check.  Can a hacker modify what the agents inside experience?  Check.  Guppy the central role? Check.  In terms of game mechanics, there’s not necessarily that much of a difference between a dream world and a virtual world.  I didn’t realize the similarities until we were playing the scenarios back-to-back.

That said, this scenario was an opportunity for Guppy to show off his utility, prove he can still be a team player, and reconnect him with yet another ex-girlfriend.  It will serve as a springboard to The Wild Hunt and At Your Door.

*Defining Moment:* Talk about your wrong number!

Relevant Media

*The Stars Are Right!:*  Source of Fractal Gods.
*Delta Green: Countdown:* For information on Tcho-Tchos and Tiger Transit.
*D20 Modern Critical Locations:* Modern maps.

*D20 Cyberscape:* The source of the Virtual Lounge.
*The Fractal Realm:* RPG.net takes the Fractal Realm detailed in The Stars Are Right and expands it.
*The Ring:* The Fractal Gods virus spreads through phones instead of televisions, but you get the idea. 
*Virtual Insanity:* by Jamiroquai.


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Prologue*



> _Futures made of virtual insanity
> now always seem to be governed by this love we have
> for useless, twisting, of our new technology
> Oh now there is no sound, for we all live underground​_--_Virtual Insanity_ by Jamiroquai​



It was night. A storm was beginning outside, but the agents were fortunately in a warm place.  

Jim-Bean handed Guppy his cistron and Beretta.  "Welcome back."

Guppy squinted at Jim-Bean.  "Thanks, I think."  He was still getting accustomed to life as an agent. They were at the apartment rented in New York City as their temporary base of operations.  Guppy scanned his thumbprint. It read: ON PROBATION.  

“I’m sure it’s temporary,” said Jim-Bean.  

Archive smirked.  “Just like my ‘Friendly’ status that Hammer applied for, right?”

There was an awkward silence when Hammer walked into the kitchen. Hammer was somewhat responsible for putting Guppy on mental health leave.  

"How you feeling, Guppy?" asked Archive warily.  

"You mean the visions?" Guppy said with a slight smile.  " I feel much better actually.  Better than I have in years.  The migraines and the nightmares stopped."

"Maybe the Dreamweb really did help," said Jim-Bean.

More uncomfortable silence.  

Hammer's cistron rang. He jumped at it. 

“Hello?  This is Walter Morrow! I was told to contact you if I saw anything suspicious and I think something really strange is going on."

"Morrow?" asked Hammer.  "From Centurion Computing Systems?"

"Yeah."

Morrow had been released through use of the COCKTAIL, a chemical concoction that caused memory loss.  As a Grey plant, Majestic-12 was using Morrow as a sort of catch-and-release program.  To do anything more drastic might jeopardize the Accord and let the Greys know that Majestic was on to their meddling in the private sector.

“There’s a project I was working on before the--the incident with the PlayPal: PROJECT RELISH.  It was taking place in one of the basement labs of our military hardware development center, but I’ve been denied access for security reasons. James Morton and Lisa Patterson, my colleagues, have become increasingly hostile and almost threatening.  Several employees were electrocuted in what they’re calling an industrial accident. Yet,” Morrow sounded very tense, “the bodies were savaged, not burned, and the room it happened in contained nothing more than a few computers.  You’ve got to help me!”

"Calm down," said Hammer.  "Tell me where you—"

“I overheard Lisa saying it was, 'Mh’ithrha’s will,' in reference to the accident.  What the—“ The phone went dead.

The storm grew worse.  The lights flickered and the echoes of thunder grew louder. 

"Since when does Morrow call us?" asked Jim-Bean.

Before Hammer could answer, his cistron rang again.  He picked it up.

There was a long pause followed by a series of fast beeps and clicks, like an incoming fax only faster.  When it stopped, all the lights went out.  The apartment fell silent and dark, save for the glow of their cistrons.

"I don't like this," said Hammer.

His cistron displayed a series of jagged fractal-like images in a hypnotizing, nauseating, series of purple and blood-colored tints.  Jim-Bean stumbled around in the dark.

"You okay?" asked Guppy.

"Just feeling a little…" gasped Jim-Bean.  "Weak."

"It's draining his psychic energy," said Archive urgently.  "Shut it off."

The fractals on the cistron suddenly changed, taking on a more tortured, angular look.  The spiral effect became less and less distinct until it appeared to be a long, writhing tunnel.  Odd text, possibly Arabic or Greek, sped across the screen, appearing and vanishing far too quickly to be read. 

"Shut WHAT off?" asked Hammer.  "I'm not even sure what's going on!"

"It's casting a spell!" shouted Archive.  "Shut it off!"

Hammer placed the cistron on the kitchen counter and backed away from it, drawing his Glocks.

Something shot from the back of the screen to the front where it crouched, staring outwards, lashing at the glass, distorting the screen as it howls through the speaker.  It had a lean, painfully thin canine form, its skin a coruscating sea of cyan and violet, reflecting the room on its shifting eyes and flanks, all sealed and coated with a dripping blue ichor.

Archive picked up the cistron to smash it, but a bolt of light shot from the screen into the corner of the room.  In a flash, a dog-like thing was in the apartment. 

Bluish pus coated the long, lean hound. The flowing, dripping integument gives the hound a half-formed appearance.  Before Archive could complete the throw, it lunged at him.

Archive was knocked over as the blue, dripping hound pinned him.  His companions all fired at it.

The guns sparked in the darkness.  The bullets fired into the thing and through it, moving in slow-motion like a bullet-time effect out of the Matrix, punching out the other side without inflicting any damage.

A spiral, fang-tipped tongue punched a perfect hole in Archive's arm.  He managed to shove the thing off of him.

The hound turned to face Jim-Bean, who backed out of the room, still firing.

Then Hammer was in its path.  Trained in dealing with attack dogs, Hammer let it bite the back of his forearm and took a careful shot aimed between its eyes with his free hand.  But the hound's tongue tore a seeping blue hole through his forearm and nearly reached his face.

Hammer fell back, helpless to do anything but keep the thing's tongue from punching a hole through his head.

Another pistol sparked, and this time it shivered and disappeared in a blue haze. It was Archive's pistol that did the trick.

The lights flickered back on.

"What WAS that?" asked Hammer, rubbing the blue hole in his forearm.  It was painless.  He could see right through to the other side.

"A Hound of Tindalos," said Archive.  "They're predators.  They generally only notice humans if they cross the boundaries of time and space."

The other agents looked at Hammer.  He had already sent a message to himself from the future.  

"Guppy, can you—"

"Already on it," said Guppy with a smile. "I triangulated the call. He's in Partridgeville, Massachusetts."

Hammer patted Guppy on the shoulder.  "It's good to have you back.  Let's go."


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 1 – On the Morrow*

The sleepy old colonial town of Partridgeville was small and decaying, and had a New England air about it.  There was a village green, narrow winding streets, clapboard cottages, and a white-steeple Congregational church. Out from the center of town, the streets broadened and straighten, and the yards were deep and shady. Out even further were housing developments and a shabby industrial area. 

From the outside, Morrow’s house looked perfectly normal.  It was a small, two-storied, country house with what appeared to be an attic, and was made from stone with a thatched roof.  A van was parked outside. There was no sign of movement about the place, and all of the curtains were drawn closed, except in the attic where it looked as if the small gable windows had been painted over.  The garden was well-trimmed, with several small rose-beds and a tall hedge enclosing it from outside observers.

“Phone line’s been cut,” said Hammer, pointing at where the wires would normally connect to the house. 

They made their way inside, pistols out.  Guppy disabled the alarm system and then unlocked the door.

Inside, the house was well-made, with thick stone walls and new wooden floorboards.  All of the rooms combined to create the image of someone who was intensely house-proud, but at the same time loved old worn and used furniture. There were numerous antiques about, many of a simple, pine design.  All of the floors were carpeted, and all the rooms were based around a central chimney which had fires in each of the three main ground floor rooms.

The entire house was curved. All the interior walls, windows, and furniture were formed without angles. It gave the normally rustic house a retro space-age look.  The filling material was not part of the house proper, a sort of filler foam that clashed with the otherwise attractive home.

Archive looked around.  “This is…this is very strange.”

“Spread out,” said Hammer.  “Jim-Bean, Archive, see what you can find. Guppy, you’re with me.”

Jim-Bean called into the comm. link from downstairs. “Just a bunch of PlayPals networked together in the basement.”

“Playpals,” said Hammer. “The same kind Tucker was trying to find at WeeBee Toys.”

“The Navi chip,” said Guppy.  “The same kind of chip that ran the Dreamweb. The Crystal Matrix AI created by the Greys…”

“Destroy them,” said Hammer.

“Already did,” reported Jim-Bean. “Going upstairs next.”

Hammer stopped short at Morrow’s study. 

The study was a mess, in contrast to the rest of the house, with files scattered all around the twin desks, coffee spilled across reams of computer paper, and a chair pushed over onto its side.  

“Someone’s been in his study,” said Hammer. “It looks as if someone was either searching for something or was surprised and subdued after a brief struggle.”

The main desk was dominated by a PlayPal 611. The vast majority of books in the book cases were scientific journals, computer manuals, with the occasional out of date local paper or copy of MUFON. On the desks themselves are much the same thing, as well as a large number of fact files on CCS products such as all their new hardware lists, peripherals, and the like.

“Jackpot,” said Hammer.

There was a stamped package addressed to Morrow, posted four days before the night of the storm. Hammer tore it open.  It contained a DVD and a note.  Hammer read it to the team.

“Looks like a warning from Wang-Li Gi, Morrow’s coworker, talking about a conversation with some sort of alien intelligence.”

“Warning about what?” asked Guppy.

“An experiment that CCS was conducting without Morrow’s knowledge: PROJECT RELISH.”

Guppy pulled out a portable DVD reader and plugged it into his cistron.  Then he pushed the disc into the player and hit play.

There was a crackle and hiss of a tape as it started, then dropped into the sounds of people moving about a room.  In the distance, a humming could be heard, along with several muffled voices talking in whispers.

“The system is on-line and running, doctor,” said a woman with a French accent. “We should have fully tapped the subjects in less than thirty seconds.”

An old man’s soft voice responded, “How are they holding up?”

“I think that’s Lisa Patterson.”  Guppy scanned the note.  “The man is James Morton.”

“At present, just as expected,” said Patterson. “Heartbeat down, along with blood pressure, and reduced brain activity, just as in the previous trials. The tapping method seems to create a form of tiredness that can’t be explained by the presence of fatigue poisons.  It…wait.  The PlayPal is up and ready.  At your command, doctor.”

“On my count?” asked Morton. “What will see this time, eh? ‘The glory of Him who moves all things soe’er impenetrates the universe, and bright the splendor burns, more here and lesser there.  Within that heav’n which most receives his light was I, and saw such thing as man nor knows, nor skills to tell, returning from that height.’”

“I’m sorry, sir?” asked Patterson. “I didn’t catch the reference.”

“Never mind Lisa,” said Morton. “Just do it now.”

“Yep, that’s Lisa Patterson,” confirmed Guppy. 

There was a series of rapid clicks and an increasing hum, like enraged mechanical bees, until suddenly a vast roar broke the cacophony, along with the creak and groan of metal under stress.  From far off, someone gasped, and a dreadful hissing was audible, broken by the noise of something lashing back and forth.  After a moment of this, a mechanical voice spoke.

“WHO ARE YOU THAT YOU SHOULD DARE TO SUMMON ONE SUCH AS US THROUGH THE ANGLES?”

“Forgive me, Lord, if I have caused affront, but I had wished to speak to you as seeker to boon granter,” said Morton.

“BOON GRANTER?” said the mechanical voice. “YOUR SPEECH IS AS MUCH AN AFFRONT TO US AS YOUR THREE-SHAPED FORMS. WE SHALL TEAR AND REND WHAT REMAINS…VIRGINAL WITHIN YOU, LITTLE SHADOW.”

“God, that face, it’s like –“ began Patterson.

“GOD?” asked the voice. “YOU SPEAK OF OUR MASTER? OR DO YOU TALK OF WHAT YOU GROUNDLINGS HAVE MADE IN YOUR TEMPLES AND OFFERED PRAYERS TO? THE CREATOR WAS MADE IN YOUR IMAGE?! SUCH ARROGANCE! TO THINK YOU TIME-BOUND CREATURES ARE THE SUM OF ALL! YOU ARE NOT.  YOU ARE THE SCUM ON THE SURFACE OF THE DARKNESS, THE (pause) FUNGI WHICH NEEDS TO BE SCRAPED CLEAN BEFORE THE POOL IS CLEAN AGAIN.”

“So you have a master?” asked Morton. “One who lies at the heart of the angles?”

“OUR MASTER IS NOT FOR ONE SUCH AS YOU TO HEAR OF. NOW RELEASE ME!”

The sound of metal being stressed increased and more roaring was audible.

“HOW CAN YOU CONTAIN US? HOW DARE YOU? NONE OF YOUR SORCERERS HAVE DONE SO!”

“Man must not rashly scorn science, eh?” asked Morton, bemused. “Simply choose and read with care to find true power, which lies in the grapes surrounded by thorns.  Well, I have plucked the grapes, and they lie within my hand, as do you.  Now, we do not bind one such as you without a gift.  They lie there, enthralled at your presence.  Their…virginal limbs, as you put it, are yours, in return for answers.”

There was a strange noise, like mechanical laughter. “THEN OFFER THEM TO USE AND WE SHALL SPEAK FURTHER, OF TIN’DALSOS, YOUR LIVES, AND OTHER BLOODY THINGS.”

The tape ended.

“Whoever Wang-Li was,” Guppy held up an employee data sheet.  “He’s dead now.” 

The data sheet contained a complete listing of all twenty-three CCS employees, from the janitor to James Morton.  Three names, Wang-Li Gi, Edwin Walker, and Alexander Holcroft were scored out, with the words DECEASED written by them.  Eight of the names were starred with an asterisk stating, “Access to military room granted.  Why?” It was accompanied by a set of security passes all stamped with a digitized picture of Walter and all bearing the CCS logo. 

“We found Morrow,” said Jim-Bean.  “You’d better take a look at this.”


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 2 – Hanging Around*

Hammer and Guppy came upon a swinging body, hung from the stairs.  It was Morrow. 

He was naked, with a full beard and shoulder length hair, both gray. His long fingernails hadn’t been cut in weeks. 

“We found this note taped to his chest.” Jim-Bean handed Hammer a note. “It’s addressed to somebody named Melissa.”

“The answer might be in the wall safe we found in his bedroom.” Archive came out of Morrow’s bedroom. “But we can’t open it.”

Hammer nodded at Guppy.  

“On it!” chirped Guppy.  He disappeared into the bedroom. 

Hammer scanned the note.  “Blackened cities, twisted shells of buildings.  Tortured souls penned for the spheres to feed on from between the planes.  What does: Chu htn llo han zob kzad mean?”

“That’s a Tindalosian chant!” began Archive but it was too late. 

Hammer saw hideous visions of an alien universe and a swirling mass of iridescent spheres. He blinked, stunned by the sight.

“What did you see?” asked Archive frantically.  “What did you see?”

“Another place.  Old…it’s hard to describe.”

“But it wasn’t an ocean, right?” asked Archive.  

Hammer shook his head.

Archive relaxed a little.  “Good.  If you had a vision back far enough in time, the Hounds of Tindalos can track you back to here. Don’t…” Archive put one hand on Hammer’s shoulder.  “Don’t read out chants in the future, okay?” He was sweating.  

“Yeah,” said Hammer, shaken. “Sure. Let’s see what we’ve got in Morrow’s bedroom.”

This large bedroom had a picture on one wall of Morrow. A much younger Morrow stood in front of a plane with the words, “Air America,” scrawled on one side of it.  A second picture showed Morrow, a bit older, with four young dark-skinned Asian boys.   A third picture was actually a magazine cover: CENTURION COMPUTER SYSTEMS ACQUIRES TIGER TRANSIT.

Jim-Bean sniffed the air.  “You smell that?”

Archive took a deep breath.  “Rotting meat,” he said quietly.

“Guppy, Jim-Bean, you two work on that wall safe.  Archive, you’re with me.  Let’s go find out what’s in the attic.”


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 3 – Sacrifices Must Be Made*

As Hammer opened the door, his nostrils were assaulted by the smell of rotting meat and the faint buzzing of flies.  

“Got the safe open,” said Guppy over the comm.  There’s a diary.”

“What’s it say?” asked Hammer.  “We’re entering the attic now.”

“Someone named Cho Chu-tsao introduced Morrow to Blink,” said Guppy.  “He made her his personal assistant. Then he signed proxy votes of Tiger Transit over to Matthew Lewis, making him Chairman of the Board and CEO. Sounds like he was addicted to the stuff.”

The attic was entered via a very steep staircase that led from the upper landing. Hammer and Archive ascended the stairs. The smell became progressively stronger and stronger until they stepped out onto a confined area, a room piled up to the sloping rafters with sheet-covered crates.  

“Something went wrong,” continued Guppy.  “Morrow took something new from the tcho-tchos, a more pure version of Blink.  His mind went back, far back.  Then he says something followed him to the present.”

Archive nodded.  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

After exploring for a few minutes, they found a clear space and in its center, a sheet covered in odd scorched holes that seemed to form some sort of circle.  

“It was Cho who had the house remodeled to remove all angles,” said Guppy.  “Morrow hung on to his majority stock and if he died, Cho wouldn’t get any – he still had his ex-wife, Melissa, in his will.  He wanted to transfer majority stock to somebody named Sang, but didn’t think it was safe. It looks like Morrow killed himself to screw everybody, and called us in the hopes that we would follow the trail back to CCS’s new headquarters.”

“Sang’s one of his four foster children,” said Jim-Bean.  “He’s the one missing an arm in the one of the pictures on Morrow’s wall.”

Hammer knelt down to take a closer look. “The blood spatter pattern looks as if it were splashed over a figure lying on the sheet.”

Next to the mark was a long, bloodied knife with a curving wooden grip.  Above it hung a large sheet, tied up to contain something, which dangled from the ceiling.  Its bottom half was covered with blood.

“He asked Morton to look into controlling the thing that pursued him, on the side.  He says the other tcho-tchos were visiting frequently and there were odd smells coming from upstairs…”

Just then the bag, soaked with blood, burst.  Writhing maggots and reddish-brown organs spattered to the ground.

“Sacrifices,” said Archive, holding his nose.  “They were trying to placate the Hound.”

“And instead it got sent to us using some virus program?” asked Hammer. “We’d better report this to Sprague…” he attempted to connect to Blacknet but his cistron was unresponsive.

“SINNER locked down Blacknet,” said Guppy.  “Standard procedure for a security breach.” 

“What can get through Blacknet’s defenses?” asked Hammer in bewilderment. 

“Magic,” said Archive.  

“Guys,” reported Jim-Bean urgently.  “You’d better get down here. We’ve got company.”


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 4 – Family Matters*

Several men dressed in white outfits crept up to the door.  

White Shadows.  Hammer knew them well. 

“Tcho-tchos,” snarled Hammer. “I hate Tcho-tchos.”

He hid around the corner and waited.  He had to draw them in first.

A wiry little man wearing dark sunglasses and a business suit stood in the doorway.  He barked some commands in Vietnamese and the White Shadows spread out. 

Hammer leapt out from his hiding place and, with both Glocks blazing, unleashed the entire clips in a spray at the front door.  

The leader held up one hand and some of the bullets ricocheted off of his palm, peppering his nearby companions.  They went down, twitching.

But Hammer kept firing.  The onslaught was too much even for tcho-tcho magic.  The Vietnamese man fell, gurgling from a bullet that pierced his defenses and struck him in the throat.  The other White Shadows fled.

The other agents came downstairs.  

Jim-Bean stared in wonder at the carnage of tcho-tcho corpses. “Jesus, Hammer, have a bad day?” 

Hammer didn’t say anything.

“This is Sang Eh-poh Morrow,” said Guppy.  “Morrow’s adopted son.”

“How can you tell that?” asked Hammer.

Guppy gave the dead man’s arm a tug and pulled off his prosthetic arm.

“Great,” said Hammer.  

“I think we just got in the middle of a family squabble,” said Jim-Bean.

“We’d better get to this CCS headquarters before Morton summons more of those things,” said Archive.

“Without access to Blacknet, I can’t hack their security,” warned Guppy.

Jim-Bean smirked. “Just give me a knife and some glue and I’ll hack their security my own way.”


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 5 – Hail to the Chief*

Centurion Computer System’s new headquarters sat on flat, empty fields in Partridgeville, which in turn were surrounded by an electric fence that stretched all around the complex except across the main gate.  There was a medium-sized sign with “CCS Ltd-MAIN COMPLEX” written on it and a gatehouse.  The entire area around CCS seemed empty and lifeless, a feeling enhanced by the way hardly anyone seemed to come and go from the building.

Walter Morrow leaned out his Honda Civic window to greet one of the guards.  

“Sir!” said one of the two guards, surprised to see him. “We haven’t seen you in so long.”

Morrow smiled and slid his badge along the scanner.  “I’m coming with a few guests.  Do you mind clearing them?”

The sensor flashed green. 

“Not at all sir,” said the guard.  He waved to the other guard and the gate opened.

Jim-Bean, disguised as Morrow, grinned at Guppy.  “And that’s how we kick it old school.”

They drove up to the front door and parked in the executive spot.

Inside, the complex was very efficiently laid out, with the ground floors taken up by a large, open-plan office area.  Despite the initial Spartan feel of the place, the building conveyed wealth and prosperity.  The carpets were very rich, some of the corridor pictures on the upper floor walls are cubist originals, and all the furniture was designer-made. 

“We don’t know where Morrow’s office is,” said Hammer out of the corner of his mouth.

“It’s an office complex,” said Jim-Bean. “Just follow the signs.”

Sure enough, the executive suite was obvious.  It was a corner office on the second floor, on the west side of the building, with little to indicate that it is Morrow’s aside from the nameplate on the door.  It was clean, well-kept, and looked as if it hadn’t been used for some time. 

Guppy hooked up his cistron to the computer system.  He rolled out a portable keyboard and tapped away.

“Interesting,” said Guppy.  “Even though Morrow has executive-level access there are certain files that are restricted.”

“Morton’s hiding something,” said Hammer.  “Morrow mentioned a basement.”

Guppy tapped more keys.  “It’s not on any floor plans.”

Hammer smiled grimly.  “Then that’s where we need to be.  Let’s go.”


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 6 – Fractal Gods*

The real heart of CCS was in the basement. Every door was protected by a series of computer locks and the only means of bypassing them was via a set of security cards. Fortunately, Morrow had access.

They passed a sign beyond a pair of steel doors that read: “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.” After passing through a long tunnel, they entered the testing labs. 

The testing labs could only be seen as darkness through the window, lit by the occasional flash of reddish light, flaring and dying away.  There were definitely larger machines in the lab, but it was difficult to make out what they were.  They appeared to be hulking metallic shapes in the darkness, and the flares of light revealed coils of heavy, twisted cables strewn over the floor.

Guppy slid Morrow’s card along the reader and the door to the lab hissed open.

The room itself was dimly lit.  The machines had become warped and pitted, as if they suffered severe metal fatigue.  Odd smells drifted through the air, and occasionally mist rolled over the cables.  

“These are all PlayPals,” said Guppy, inspecting the machines.

“So they’re using the computing power to control the Hounds of Tindalos,” said Archive. 

Just then a tall, skull-faced man with receding white hair and yellow teeth entered on the other side of the corridor, eyes blazing. He was dressed in a conservative, dark suit cut in an old style. Four security guards stood behind him with automatic weapons.

“That must be Morton,” said Jim-Bean.

“You!” snarled Morton.  “You would dare destroy our great work?  Don’t you see what we’re trying to do?  These are Crystal Matrix Artificial Intelligences – they are the only tools that can truly comprehend the power of Tindalos. This is the only way humanity can survive – we’re trying to ENLIGHTEN the human race!”

Hammer didn’t bother to respond.  He raised his Glock and fired.  The bullet ricocheted off the glass.  If it hadn’t been for the bullet-proof glass, it would have been a perfect head shot.

Morton pressed a device and security curtains slammed shut all around them.

“The Greys gave Morrow a gift, but he didn’t understand how to use it,” said Morton’s voice over the intercom. “The CMAI doesn’t just have fantastic computing power, it can access another world! With access to these beings, we would have the ultimate weapon! Our plan was to release millions of PlayPals as the platform for our invasion.  Now that you’ve interfered, I’ll have to launch it to just a few hundred.”  

The PlayPals in the lab whirred to life.  A series of email addresses flicker along with a prompt: SEND FRACTAL_GODS.ZIP

“Oh man,” said Guppy.  

“But look at me, prattling on,” said Morton, a sneer in his voice. “Why should I rant about such things when I can show you?” 

On the screens, in the middle, against a black background, a mathematical equation was given form through the awesome calculating power of the PlayPal.  

“Guys,” said Archive.  “That’s a summoning ritual…”

A shiny silver ball emanated from the fractal in the middle of the screens. Abruptly, the ball opened slightly to give way to a single fire-red tentacle that started exploring the surroundings. It hatched, filling the screens. 
“Shoot the computers!” shouted Hammer.

The bizarre creature drifted around the screens, searching for a way out.  It seethed and pushed hard against the screens, which abruptly rippled and bulged.  

A hailstorm of firepower raked the PlayPals, sparking and smoking.  The screens flickered and died.

“Guppy, get us out of here!”

Guppy cracked open the keypad on their side of the door and hooked his cistron to it.  “This would be a lot easier if we had access to Blacknet,” he mumbled.

The security curtains lifted. Morton and his guards were gone.

The whole place shuddered.

“What is going on up there?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I’m afraid to ask,” said Hammer.  “Guppy, can you—“

Guppy cut him off.  “This is the control room!”  He kicked open the door and plugged his cistron into the small computer room.  

“I’m going to…this is weird.”

“What?” asked Hammer.

“All the systems are being used.  Lots of lag.  Every computer is running the same program.”

“Fractal Gods is a summoning program!” said Archive.  “Can you stop it?”

“I can try.”  Guppy tapped a few keys. Klaxons went off.  “Just turned on the fire alarm system.”

The place rumbled again. 

“Can you see what’s happening upstairs?”  asked Hammer.

Guppy pulled up the black-and-white security feed.

All the computer screens in the cubicles on the first floor whirred and clicked, running through complex calculations.  James Morton stood in the center as multicolored strands arced from one monitor to another, forming a complex pattern.  

In another window, Guppy ran a tracer program.  “The good news is most of the computers can’t handle the enormous computing power that Fractal Gods requires,” said Guppy.  “Not many PlayPals made it out to the public.”

“Are there any other systems that could run it?” asked Hammer.

Guppy nodded.  “SINNER, for one.  Any other CMAI.  There was only one successful delivery…oh no.”

On screen, Morton chanted, “Chu htn llo han zob kzad!” and stepped through the gate formed by the complex pattern. The building shuttered again.

A gigantic fractal, rising from the wreckage of the now ruined computers.  Expanding quickly to cathedral size, it smashes through the roof, gouging a great furrow in the ground.  

“We’ve got to go!” said Hammer.  “Move, move!”

Hammer dragged Guppy away from the computer screen.  The agents sprinted down the tunnel and out through the stairwell, through an emergency exit into the street. 

Fractal tentacles reached out towards nearby structures but then, as the gate collapsed, it vanishes with at terrible thunderclap. 

“Lisa,” whispered Guppy, bruised and covered in dust. “Fractal Gods was delivered to Lisa Howell.”


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 7 – The Tick-Tock Man*

Dr. Lisa Howell, Guppy’s former girlfriend, worked for USAMRIID, an organization of the U.S. Army Medical Research and Materiel Command. It was the lead medical research laboratory for the U.S. Biological Defense Research Program. The Institute played a key role as the only laboratory in the Department of Defense equipped to safely study highly hazardous infectious agents requiring maximum containment at biosafety level-4. It also worked for Majestic-12.

Fort Detrick was located in Frederick, Maryland, in the heart of Frederick County, the third fastest growing county in Maryland. Fort Detrick was the center of the biomedical technology growth that had occurred in the county. It was located approximately one hour’s drive from Washington D.C. metro area and Baltimore, Maryland, easily accessible by major interstate highways.

They tried calling Howell’s cell phone, sent emails, faxes, nothing.  There was a lockdown of all government communications. 

The agents pulled up to Fort Detrick.  

“You guys go inside,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’m…” he looked pale. “Not feeling so good.”

Guppy didn’t argue.  He sprinted towards the entrance.

Fort Detrick’s offices were plush and modern. Desktop computers were found on every desk, networked to a large mainframe.

The secretary at the front desk looked bewildered.  “We need to talk to Dr. Howell,” said Guppy.  “Now.”

Dr. Howell was paged.  She arrived a minute later.  “Guppy?”  She looked around.  “Hammer? Where’s…” she caught herself before she asked for Jim-Bean.  “What’s this about?”

“Listen to me, this is very important,” said Guppy.  “Did you receive an email with the attachment, Fractal Gods?”

Howell’s brow furrowed.  “My personal account?”

“No,” said Guppy, leaning forward to talk more privately.  “The other one.”

“The Tawil server?” said Howell.  “No, why?” She put her hands on her hips.  “Hank, if this is some kind of weird stalker plot—“

“I’m not stalking you,” said Guppy.  “Take us to the server room.  Right now.”

“Fine, fine!”  Howell shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t even check it that often.”

The other agents looked at Guppy quizzically as they walked quickly down the aisles of cubes and computers.  “Lisa runs a virtual game on the servers called ‘Umr at-Tawil’s Lounge.”

Hammer squinted at Howell. “You’re running an unauthorized game on a government server?”

Howell blushed.  “It’s only for government employees…”

“It’s how we met,” interjected Guppy.

“And this just happens to be a Crystal Matrix AI,” said Archive.

Howell shook her head.  “No way!  We don’t have a CMAI here.  But we do have an ASC Purple server and several Crays.  But to harness that power you’d have to network the entire system, and their computer power is divided up running different analysis programs right now...” She opened the server room door and stopped short. 

A humanoid figure composed of wires filled the room, with tendrils of wires and motherboards spiraling out from it.  Its head was a computer screen and the Purple server was visible at its core.  

“That’s one way to network the servers,” said Guppy


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Part 8 – ‘Umr at-Tawil’s Virtual Lounge*

“Tear it up!” shouted Hammer, firing his Glocks at the thing at the center of the servers.

Bullets had little effect.  The thing shouldn’t have been working in the first place; its arrangement of wires and monitors made no sense at all.

The monitors lining both sides of the room powered up, screens flickering all around the figure.  The fractal edges of a gateway yawned wide, beyond the edges of the computer screens.  

“It’s creating another gate!” shouted Archive.

The fractal edges stretched upwards, through the walls of the monitors and up to the ceiling. A tentacle of wires shot out and grabbed Howell by the torso.  The mechanical monstrosity disconnected itself from the web of computers and retreated through the shimmering gate.

Guppy didn’t need to be told what to do. He dove right in.  

He was reduced to a series of pixels on the screens. The image gradually dwindled in size until it blinked out. 

Guppy experienced intense needling of the skin as though he was being charged, and then an intense release of the charge akin to a static shock.  

Guppy found himself an amalgamation of polygons in a bad virtual reality nightmare. He had stepped out of a newsstand on the street in front of a vast building of art deco style and bright neon lights.

Guppy looked over his shoulder.  There was a low-resolution image of a window behind him. 

Hammer and Archive stepped out of the window to join Guppy, similarly pixilated. 

“‘Umr at-Tawil’s Lounge,” said Guppy breathlessly.  “We’re here.”

Guppy looked up. The fractal universe was a Technicolor world of infinite detail and incomprehensible behavior.  Huge, foamy mountains drifted in meaningless circles above them, while revolving fractal entities swarmed everywhere, bustling about their alien activities. 

Shaking his head, he ducked into the Lounge.  

The agents jogged up a set of stairs and passed through the main doors to gain access to the lounge. An attractive blue-skinned, bald woman sat at a desk before the entrance.

“I’m sorry but you’re not authorized to access this server,” she said.

Guppy concentrated and a keyboard appeared in front of him.  He typed rapidly. 

“What are you doing?” asked Hammer.

“Hacking the system,” said Guppy.  “There.”

The administrator disappeared.  They ran past her desk into the dance floor.

The dance floor was a large, open dance area with a glowing grid floor, multicolored spotlights, flashing strobe effects, and various DJs in floating music platforms. 

Each time an avatar gets on the floor, it can choose music from one of the DJs to listen to. Thanks to complex programming, the DJs always play songs with similar tempos and lengths, so two avatars can dance together even if they’re hearing different music.

“The Tindalosians are trying to come through the gate,” said Archive.  “They need a sacrifice to make the portal permanent.”

“I can find them!” shouted Guppy over the music.  He tapped a few keys and the music stopped, although the other avatars, which ranged from weird furry anthropomorphic humanoids to odd stick figures, didn’t seem to notice.  “I’ll just move us into the administrator’s lounge…”

The surroundings shimmered and were replaced as Guppy gated them directly to Howell’s location. 

They appeared in private room with a conference table, vending machines, a sound system, and posters that changed over time. 

Howell was strapped to the table.  A silhouette of a man stood over her behind a strange, shimmering veil. 

“Let her go!” shouted Guppy.

Tawil turned and pixilated tentacles launched themselves from beneath his veil. 

Hammer got off a few shots.  To his surprise, the bullets actually fired, raking the figure but having no effect.  More tentacles tore the weapons from his grip.

Archive began to chant a defensive spell, but a tentacle snapped around his throat, choking off the words. He struggled futilely to remove it. 

All the while, Guppy tapped furiously. His form shimmered and reappeared as…

A giant humanoid lizard with large, dragon-like ear fins.  He roared and tore into Tail, shredding the tentacles.  But it was a virtual world with virtual rules, and it just sprouted more and more.  The crush of virtual tendrils threatened to overwhelm him. 

Distracted by the assault, ‘Umr at-Tawil did not see the anime-style female with short flaming-red hair, huge red eyes, wearing a military-style jacket, miniskirt, gray thigh-highs, and black military boots rise up behind him.  She wielded two huge 72mm artillery rifles, one in each hand.

There was a shocked moment of silence as Tawil turned to face the overwhelming display of force. 

“GET OFF OF MY GAME!” shrieked the avatar of Dr. Lisa Howell. 

And then the room was nothing but bullets.


----------



## talien

*Angular Gods: Conclusion*

Hammer, Guppy, Archive, and Howell appeared through the gate.  Jim-Bean was leading a team of government employees clearing a path through the wires.  When the gate collapsed behind them, fires broke out, but Jim-Bean, fire extinguisher in hand, had it well under control.

The agents, covered in smoke, bruised and battered, sat down on the steps leading to the government building. 

“What was that, exactly?” asked Hammer.

“Oh that?” said Guppy sheepishly.  “That was just a combat form I coded to—“

“That’s Calactyte, the form Guppy used as his avatar on my game,” said Howell.  She had a black smudge across her nose and she had long since lost her glasses.  “I’m going to miss that game.” 

“You look exhausted,” said Guppy, changing the subject.  “Are you okay?”

Archive nodded.  “The portals are powered by psychic energy.  That’s what was affected Jim-Bean the first time we encountered the Hound, and it’s why the portal closed right after Lisa left it.  She was powering it.”

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean.  “That’s a perfect explanation for why I didn’t go in with you guys.”

Guppy frowned at Jim-Bean.

“If it weren’t for your quick-thinking with that fire extinguisher, we would never have made it out,” said Howell, beaming at Jim-Bean.  “You’re amazing!”

She laid her head on Jim-Bean’s shoulder.  Jim-Bean shrugged and got up. “I’m going to go home and take a long nap.”

“But—“ Guppy sputtered, rising. “I…”

“Let it go.”  Hammer patted Guppy on the back as they all limped back to the Honda Civic.  “Sometimes it’s not worth arguing the point.  Trust me on this.”

Guppy sighed. 

As they got into the car, all their cistrons chirped, including Guppy’s.

“Looks like you two are reinstated.  Guppy’s back on full service and Archive's Friendly status has been approved. " Hammer nodded at Archive. "You won’t have full access to Blacknet but at least you can use our comms.”

Jim-Bean smirked.  “Cheer up, Guppy.  You may not be the king of the virtual server anymore, but you’ve still got an online admirer.”

He showed the email that had been sent to the team.  

It read, “WELCOME BACK AGENT GUPPY.  LOVE, SINNER.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 38: The Wild Hunt - Introduction*

This story hour is “The Wild Hunt” by Bruce Ballon from Unseen Masters. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia* 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)

Wild Hunt is, at heart, a criminal investigation in the tradition of Kolchak and other 1970s-style cop procedurals, long before crime procedurals like CSI and Law & Order became popular. Thus it has a certain quaint charm about it; there’s reference to the Feds “newfangled computers” and one of the NPCs talks like Popeye. I chatted with my players about this and it didn’t bother them in the least—indeed, they saw many of the NPC quirks as just part of the colorful terrain of role-playing in my campaign.  If they were okay with it, I was too.

The Wild Hunt is peculiar in its selection of props.  Many of the props are red herrings involving vampire research, while props that are really useful to the investigation, like autopsy reports and media statements, are missing.  So I made my own. 

Picking up where we left off, I planned this scenario down to the hour.  We had approximately six hours to play the game, so I made each day of the investigation take one hour. This kept the game moving.  There’s certainly plenty to do, but it's an open question as to how long each route of the investigation should take.  With just under a week to solve the case, the agents had plenty of leads…

Until they didn’t.  Then they got completely sidetracked by another red herring: Club Apocalypse. This turned out to be a gift in disguise, because a certain powerful NPC then gently pushed the agents back on track.  It introduced someone who has been lurking in the background of the campaign.  

In the end, although Hammer and Jim-Bean did most of the investigating, Archive was the real star.

*Defining Moment:* Archive turns to one Great Old One to defeat another. 

Relevant Media

*Unseen Masters:*  Source of the scenario The Wild Hunt. 
*Delta Green: Eyes Only:* For information about Club Apocalypse.
*The Collector:* by Nine Inch Nails.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Prologue*



> _I'm trying to fit it all inside
> I'm trying to open my mouth wide
> I'm trying not to choke and
> Swallow it all, swallow it all, swallow it all, swallow it all_​
> --_The Collector_ by Nine Inch Nails​



Agents Jim-Bean and Hammer met at 8 p.m. in a conference room at City Hall in New York City.

"What's this about?" asked Jim-Bean, looking around.

"Not sure," said Hammer.  "Special murder case.  One of our friendlies, Dr. Conrad, called in CIFA after finding some evidence of the preternatural.  So here we are."

They took seats around a large table in the conference room.

"Hello Agent Hammer," said a familiar voice.

Hammer looked over in surprise. "Magnus? What are you doing here?"

It was Magnus, the vampire hunter who had his own show on late night television.  

"I think that will all become clear in a moment," said Magnus in his rich baritone.  

After a few minutes, Captain Matheson, Sergeant McGarnagle, Dr. Conrad, Dr. Gourdie, and District Attorney Chester Boulder walked in. They called the conference to order and briefly introduced themselves.

Hammer nodded at the DA.  "That's Boulder. More of a politician than a lawman. He is up for re-election in a few months."

"How do you know that?" asked Jim-Bean.

"My grandmother raised me in the Bronx," said Hammer.  

The district attorney was a tall thin man in his forties, gray-haired and clean-shaven. He was dressed in a dapper suit. 

"Welcome," said Boulder. "You have been called here to form the core of a task force to apprehend a killer or killers. You might wonder why we needed to call upon all of you for this. To the point, we believe these are serial murders; these murders are out of the ordinary, as you will see. We want minimal press coverage of this investigation. We feel that if certain details of the killings are released, it may cause a panic. The autopsy reports are currently sealed--we are labeling the deaths 'Undetermined cause, still under investigation.'"

The folders contained profiles of the two victims and autopsy reports for the two victims, and a map of SoHo showing the location of the two bodies.

Matheson continued. "Wendy Hughes, age twenty seven, and Lori Atkinson, age twenty two, were brutally murdered over the last two days. You can look through the profiles of the victims later. The same bizarre features found at the autopsies connect the murders. The victims seem to have been shredded by a wild animal, and drained of all their blood!" 

"The motive for the killings was not robbery not vengeance, and not rape," added Dr. Conrad.  Conrad was in his early fifties, with a Freudian beard and gold-rimmed spectacles. He was dressed in a mock-turtleneck sweater with a dark sport jacket and pants. 

Matheson cleared his throat, studying the assembled members' faces. "There's more to this weirdness. We have witnesses to the killings. I'm going to play the taped statements of both. We felt that the first witness was an unreliable drunk, until we heard the witness to the second murder. Their testimonies seem to support each other." 

He motioned for his aide, Sgt. McGarnagle, to set up the tapes.

“The first witness is Horace Cobb. He was picked up for questioning when the police searched the area of the first killing. He was found drinking, babbling about monsters. He saw a pretty woman attacked near the area he was sprawled. She matched the description of Wendy Hughes." Matheson signaled McGarnagle to start the tape. 



> "I was lyin' in a nice cozy blanket in the park. I was propped up behind some statue or other, to block the wind. It was a cool night, y'know. I was drinking my hooch whens I sees this pretty young girlie walking down the street near the park. I was drinkin' a bit too much, so I couldn't even whistle at her. Thens I smell this horrible stench, like that outta a slaughterhouse- it reeked of death, I tells ya! I began puking.”
> 
> “Whens looking through the tears running out my eyes I sees all this mist forming, and I notice this man in a dark long trench coat and broad-brimmed hat. His back was turned to me. He, like, seemed to come out of nowhere! He grabbed the girl and picked her up like she was a rag doll. He turned around and seemed to wrap around her-it was crazy…it's like he kept changin' shape or somethin'. Then I sees a bit of his…I mean its face-yeah…you gonna say it's me drink insides me—well, go to hell—I tells ya what I seen!—teeth, big fangs, fangs, fangs! I heard it snarl in a voice that belonged to Satan himself--' I thirst!'"
> 
> "I couldn't bear lookin' at it—it was evil! Maybe it was the drink, but I passed out. I don't remember anything until you guys rousted me and dragged me down here."




The tape ended.

"The next tape you are about to hear is from Ms. Kate Rowlins," said Dr. Conrad, "the person walking home with the second victim. She was Lori Atkinson's roommate. She saw the killing take place before her eyes. However, the event traumatized her severely. The following dialogue is an interview of Kate Rowlins with a police officer at the station. Due to her agitation, the police doctor on call gave Ms. Rowlins two milligrams of lorazepam before the interview This allowed her to regain lucidity for a few moments." 

McGarnagle started the second tape.



> "Aaaaa...No, no, no, no, no-please!" screamed Rowlins on the tape. "Monster! Monstrous! Howling—howling!"
> 
> "What did he look like?" asked the detective.
> 
> "What? Who was it...what did he look like..." A long bout of crying followed. "It wasn't human! Wolf-like...wolf-like...yet it was a man—I think. It was different things—different shapes—as it moved...its trench coat flapped about, like huge wings—it seemed to be in different places at the same time..."
> 
> "Can you describe the man's face?"
> 
> "No...please don't make me describe its face—please." Rowlins started crying again.
> 
> "Tell us what happened," said the detective.
> 
> "It took her—we were just walking—walking home from the gym-lousy basketball game...Lori was eating ice cream, I was carrying the basketball. We went by our favorite shops...then...then..."
> 
> "Then what?" prompted the detective.
> 
> "Then the blazing eyes!—or did it have eyes?"
> 
> "Go on."
> 
> "I remember the horrible smell-the mist-then suddenly Lori was gone-I turned around…and…and…"
> 
> "Yes?"
> 
> "Fangs! Fangs! Aaaaaaaaah! No, no, no, no—had to run...had to run—it howled like it was laughing. It would have had me next—I left her—I ran. No, no, no, no, no." Rowlins' crying jag was followed by silence.  The tape finished.




"Despite another administration of lorazepam twenty minutes later," said Dr. Conrad, "the woman could not be brought back into a state of lucidity. She has been transferred to the psychiatry ward at Bellevue for treatment. Currently she is in a dissociative catatonic state." 

Boulder stood up. "Both witnesses, of course, are questionable in their ability to give an accurate history but we are probably dealing with a maniac...or maniacs-into ritualistic killings, or who think they are Count Dracula!" 

Dr. Conrad nodded. "I believe our killer does indeed have vampiristic tendencies, and agree the supernatural has nothing to do with it. I suspect most of you agree with me. Listen closely..." Conrad droned on in a monotone voice about clinical vampirism and the psychological state of its subjects. 

"We are probably dealing with a sadistic, psychotic psychopath who is high on drugs," said Matheson. "We want him caught fast, before he kills again. I recall a few months back that a group of kids who were into blood drinking in South Carolina were also into Goth culture. They killed their parents, too. We need someone to check out that angle. McGarnagle can show you some of the Manhattan nightspots those punks hang out in, if you don't know your way around." Matheson nodded at Hammer and Jim-Bean. "Maybe you can also check into any patterns of the killings with those new-fangled computers you Feds got. I hope some of you will help out with the forensics as well. Any questions?"

There were none. 

"Good.  Let's get going people: If anyone can shed light on the occult thinking of the killer or killers-if they are part of some Satanic cult, vampire cult, or whatnot, I want answers, fast." 

As the others got up to leave, Magnus pulled Hammer aside. 

“You know what this is, of course."

"I do?" asked Hammer.

Magnus looked around conspiratorially. "There’s another one. I caution against suggesting our 'unimaginative' colleagues in law enforcement. We'll have to prove it to them first, or they will dismiss us as madmen. Meet me at the restaurant where we met last time."

With that he left.

Jim-Bean and Hammer exchanged glances. 

"Who's that?" asked Jim-Bean suspiciously.

"Nobody," whispered Hammer.  "A friend of Archive's. He thinks we're vampire hunters."

"What?" asked Jim-Bean.  "Why would he think that?"

"Long story.  I'll tell you on the way over to Itchi-Leng restaurant."


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 1 – My Dinner With Magnus*

Magnus met them at an Asian fusion restaurant in SoHo called the "Itchi-Leng."  The decor consisted of old brick walls, hardwood floors, timber ceilings, and paper lanterns, which lent the rooms some appearance of a Japanese country inn. Magnus recommended a hot dark broth served with half-cooked exotic vegetables, sesame seeds, and noodles. He ordered a dish of boned chicken, scallops, and blanched spinach, and as an appetizer avocado with shrimp in miso sauce. 

“There is no doubt in my mind—we face the undead! However, the question is what sort—vampires are as varied as ice cream flavors...We must find proof before we tell the rest of the team, or they will dismiss us as madmen!”

Hammer rubbed his forehead.  "You can't be serious."

"Deadly serious, I'm afraid," said Magnus with a bemused smirk.  "You yourself staked a vampire."

Jim-Bean looked at Hammer.  "Wait.  What?"

"It's true.  He staked a vampire!"

Hammer just shook his head.  "We're not sure what we killed, but that doesn't—"

"Of course it does!" rambled Magnus. "The witnesses mentioned the perpetrator had giant teeth. Fangs, if you will."

"Yes, so?" asked Hammer indignantly.

"The perpetrator smelled of death, a frequent observation in the vampire literature, especially their breath." 

"Bad breath doesn't make this a vampire," said Jim-Bean.

"Think about it!" Magnus ticked off his fingers.  "One, there were no traces of blood left in the body. Just like a vampire! Two, human saliva was found around the edges of the wound."

"A big hole in the woman's torso," said Hammer.  

Undeterred, Magnus continued. "Three, the killer growled, 'I thirst!' Just what a vampire would say!"

"I don't know what who the killer is," said Jim-Bean.  "But what you're saying doesn't make sense.  It seems like you're trying to fit this into a pet theory that's not matching up with the facts."

"Facts?" asked Magnus with a smirk.  "When it comes to predatory hemophages such as this, facts simply don't apply. The victims had their life force drained. Although not traditional blood drinking, psychic draining has also been reported in the literature.  How can you deny the evidence when you yourself defeated the Green Grove Vampire?"

"The what?" asked Jim-Bean in disbelief. 

"The thing in Arizona," said Hammer.

Jim-Bean leaned forward.  "Where did you hear that?"

"That's not important," said Magnus indignantly.  "What's important is we have a serial killer who drinks the blood of his victims.  And I'm the only one who can help you."

Jim-Bean opened his mouth but Hammer put one hand up.  "Fine.  What are you offering?"

"The witnesses had the impression the perpetrator became like a wolf; they cannot explain this perception. Vampire legends speak of the undead being able to shape-shift into animals such as wolves. One witness clearly said the killer seemed to literally shift shape. I believe this is likely a Greek revenant known as the vrykolakas, related to the one we defeated previously. I will research this creature further and get back to you.  Shall we meet back here, same time?"

Hammer ignored the "we" comment.  "Fine."   He got up and Jim-Bean, followed, glaring at Magnus.  “See what you can find out.  And bring that book you showed us last time.”

With that they left.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 2 – Having a Ball*

The next morning, Hammer and Jim-Bean visited the second crime scene. It occurred in an alley two blocks away from the first murder. Police tape cordoned off the area. Inside was another taped outline of the victim. 

Hammer looked around.  “Coast clear.  Do your thing.”

Jim-Bean nodded and kneeled down.  He put one hand within the tape outline. 



> Jim-Bean was with Kate Rowlins.  Rather, he was looking out from her eyes.
> 
> She and Lori were walking home from the YMCA when the monster attacked them. It had the shape of a man, was dressed like a man, but was not a man. It was inhumanly quick and strong.
> 
> When Jim-Bean saw its face, he was overcome with a fear that threatened his very soul. It was wolf-like, with blazing eyes and clashing jaws shifting-a kaleidoscope. That was all there was to its face: huge clashing jaws.
> 
> From its jaws, a monstrous snake oozed forth, and fastened itself onto Lori’s chest. Lori went limp.
> 
> Jim-Bean, transfixed until that time in utter horror, screamed. The monster turned toward him, and he threw the basketball he was carrying at the thing. The monster recoiled for a moment, dodging the ball. Jim-Bean turned to run…



And he was back.  

“Well?” asked Hammer, staring at him curiously.

“This…this thing.  It reminds me of those dogs that attacked you.”

“PROJECT RELISH,” said Hammer. 

“Anything useful from that vision?” asked Hammer.

“Not unless you count a bouncing basketball,” said Jim-Bean.  “I got a good look at the thing though. It has a long snake-like tentacle and a huge mouth. It shifts in and out of time and space, I think.  Hard to look at it directly.”

“You think it’s a Tindalosian Hound?”

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “Not sure. It may be two different entities. It’s hard to—“ Suddenly he went quiet. When Hammer started to ask a question, Jim-Bean shushed him. He cocked his head. “Did you hear that?”

Hammer listened.  “No?”

“Howling.  Like a pack of wolves.  Really pissed off, weird wolves.”

Hammer shook his head.  “I don’t hear anything.” He squinted at Jim-Bean.  “You sure you’re not getting any psychic interference or something?”

Jim-Bean looked around, clearly spooked.  “I don’t know how this works.  But it’s never happened before.”  He dragged Hammer with him towards a flower shop.  “Let’s hide in here.”

A bell rang as Jim-Bean entered the small flower shop.  The woman at the front desk barely got out, “can I help you?” before Hammer dragged them back out again.

“What is wrong with you?  There’s no dogs!  We’re in the middle of New York City! One dog, maybe.  But not a whole pack—“

Jim-Bean ducked into a small church overlooking the parks in the middle of the north side of the Hob’s Court, The Church of the Savior. 

Hammer muttered an oath and then caught himself as he entered the church.  He hadn’t been to church in awhile. 

He looked around.  Jim-Bean was sitting at a pew, apparently in prayer.  It was a tiny church, nondescript except for a sparkling fountain to one side.

Hammer joined Jim-Bean on the pew.  “What are you doing?”

“Praying,” said Jim-Bean.

“Since when?”

“You got a better idea?”  Jim-Bean closed his eyes and resumed his meditation.

Hammer sighed and then joined Jim-Bean in prayer. 

He eventually felt a presence at his shoulder.  Hammer fought the urge to draw his pistols.  

A Greek Orthodox priest, complete with black garb and long beard, smiled benevolently down at them.

“It is good to see you gentlemen,” he said in a thick accent.  

Hammer nodded politely. 

“You are the government men searching for the vampire, yes?”

Jim-Bean cracked open one eyelid to look at the priest. “Vampire?”

“Yes.  I have spoken with Magnus, the famous vampire hunter.”

Jim-Bean stood up.  “The famous…”

Hammer put one hand on Jim-Bean’s shoulder.  “You shouldn’t listen to Magnus, Father.  He’s a little confused.”

“But on the television,” said the priest, “the reporter said the SoHo Killer murdered another woman today, and that he drinks their blood—“

“Juarez,” said Hammer.  “She never gives up.”

“Yes, that’s her!” said the priest.

Hammer and Jim-Bean got up.  “Thank you for the sanctuary, Father. It helped,” said Jim-Bean.  “The demons in my head stopped barking.”

The priest look startled but he nodded hesitantly as they left. 

“No more hounds?” asked Hammer when they were outside.

“I think they’re gone now,” reported Jim-Bean, obviously relieved. “They’re not howling anymore, anyway.”

 “I think we’d better talk to Magnus,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 3 – My Scuffle With Magnus*

Back at the Itchi-Leng, Magnus was waiting for them. 

Jim-Bean and Hammer slid into the seats across from Magnus.  

“Did you bring the book?”

Magnus nodded, one hand tapping the cover of the dusty tome he had provided last time. “The De Graecorum Hodie Quorundam Opinationibus isn’t going to make much sense to you of course.  Only Agent Archive will be able to read it—“

“We’ll be sure he gets it,” said Hammer. “We’ve got him examining the forensic evidence.” But Magnus didn’t lift his hand off the cover.

“From what I can discern, the history of the Vrykolakas dates back to the time of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. To become a vrykolakas, one had to be cursed, die a violent death, do a dishonorable act, or be excommunicated from the church. Such vampires usually return to complete some unfinished business in their lives.”

“It’s not a Vrykolakas,” said Hammer.

Magnus continued. “The method of destroying them usually was with fire. Crosses and sunlight are not mentioned as being effective. Neither are stakes; many accounts describe vrykolakas being impaled over and over, beheaded and so on, and still returning to haunt the living. I recommend that the police arm themselves with holy water, flame-throwers, and flare guns.”

“Magnus,” said Jim-Bean.  “It’s not a vrykolakas.  It can’t be.”

“The word "vrykolakas" means "wolf-pelt wearer,” said Magnus.  

Jim-Bean pounded one fist on the table.  “It’s not a vampire damn it!”

Magnus stopped speaking.  “And how do you know that?”

“Because I SAW it.”

Magnus’ eyes widened in surprise.  “When?”

Jim-Bean started to speak then caught himself.  “Doesn’t matter.  I saw it.  It looks nothing like a vampire or a vrykolakas.  It has a tongue like a snake and its face is almost all jaws, no eyes or nose…”

“Wolf-like jaws,” exclaimed Magnus. ““This matches up with what the witnesses reported, a wolfish look of the vampire--”

Jim-Bean hauled off and slugged Magnus across the jaw.  

It was a perfect hit.  Magnus’ head bobbed back and for a minute he just clutched at his mouth, blood dripping down his split lip.  

“You…you hit me?!”

Jim-Bean leaned forward.  “You’re lucky it was me who hit you.  Because if it was Hammer here, you’d be dead.  And Hammer really wants to hurt you right about now.”

Hammer crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. 

“You keep this vampire crap up and somebody’s going to get killed.  Now I suggest you shut up about the vampires and stop talking to the police.”

Magnus abruptly got up and stalked towards the exit. “You’ll hear from my lawyers.”

When he was gone, Hammer sighed heavily. “Did you really have to do that?”

“He was pissing me off,” said Jim-Bean.  

Hammer was about to say something more when his cistron beeped.  He picked it up.  

“A police patrol spotted three shadowy figures heading into an alleyway.  Let’s go.”

Hammer stomped out the door.  Jim-bean got up to go. 

A second later he came back to scoop up Magnus’ book and then dashed after Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 4 – Gregor and Co.*

The three shadowy figures were heading into an alleyway connecting Mercer and Greene streets, between Spring and Broome. 

Hammer pulled their car in front of the alley and hopped out.  There were three tall, snarling, skinny men with fangs, dressed in black clothes and trench coats at the center of the alleyway. 

“Federal agents!” shouted Hammer, flashing his badge.  “Stop right there!”

The three started climbing a fire escape.  A police car screeched to a halt, lights flashing, on the other side of the alley, weirdly illuminating the fleeing figures. 

Hammer swore and holstered his pistols, climbing up after them. 

“Jimmy!” shouted Hammer.  “Cut them off!”

The Goths clambered up above him, onto the rooftop, only to bump into Jim-Bean.  He was standing imperiously on the roof, pistol out.  “Going somewhere?”

All three of them gasped.  Then they bowed down.  “Lord and master, we have searched you out so that you may bestow your gift upon us. Please bring us across.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean. 

Hammer cuffed the three young men, who offered no resistance.  “What are you three on about?”

“You wouldn’t understand, mortal,” sneered the leader. 

“Great,” said Hammer.  He looked Jim-bean up and down.  “They think you’re the vampire.”

“I should have punched Magnus out earlier,” muttered Jim-Bean.

They led the three men to the police waiting below the fire escape.  Their cistrons beeped.

“Don’t tell me,” said Hammer.

“While we were out dealing with these idiots, our guy committed another murder. This time there’s a coherent witness.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 5 – Shadow of a Man*

Jim-Bean and Hammer entered the neurosurgical unit at New York General Hospital. 

“What have we got on our witness?” asked Hammer.

“Quentin Collins’ back was broken when the attacker hurled him against a wall. He’s thirty, single, works at the symphony, and has a clean police record.”

They entered the hospital room. Collins was in a full-body truss, his head and limbs surrounded by metal structures and most of his upper body in a cast. Only his right arm was free. A morphine drip provided a sinister rhythm in the background. 

“Mr. Collins,” said Hammer.  “I know this is a difficult time, but we need to speak with you.”

Collins’ eyes rolled open.  “You’re…with the police?”

“Federal agents, actually,” said Jim-Bean. “I’m Agent Grange, this is Agent Baxter.”

“Good.”  Collins licked his cracked lips and tried to speak; nothing but a croak came out.

“Let me help you,” said Hammer.  He went into the bathroom and came back with a cup of water.  “Here.” He tilted it to Collins’ lips.

Collins took several swallows until Hammer took the cup away.  

“Tell us everything you can remember,” said Jim-Bean. 

"We were walking to her place when a horrible decomposing rot—I think that is the best description—breezed over us. I held my dinner down, but poor Wilma doubled over and vomited. I was suddenly shoved from behind by a powerful blow, and was hurled into the side of a building. I twisted up in pain, and I saw…him.”

Hammer leaned forward.  “Go on.”

”He was dressed in a black trench coat and wide-brimmed hat. His features were hidden by the hat and upturned collar. He had lifted up Wilma with one hand. He then walked into the alley with her, but as he walked it was if his shape rippled—dark ripples swimming over him. He was moving as if twisting, or swirling…bending. I—well, this sounds fantastic—but I glimpsed his face.”

“Yes?” asked Jim-Bean, rapt. 

“I don’t know if you can even call it a face. It appeared to be a giant set of jaws—wolf-like.”

“No eyes or nose, right?” asked Jim-Bean. 

“That's right, just fangs! Fangs…poor Wilma…I passed out. When next I awoke. I was in the hospital, getting this cast. The doctors say I only have a slim chance of walking again.”

Hammer nodded.  “Thank you Mr. Collins, that’s very helpful.” 

They turned to go when Collins’ arm shot out and gripped Hammer’s sleeve tightly. 

“You get this bastard—you get him good.”

“We will,” said Hammer, gently releasing Collins’ grip.  “We will.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 6 – Bad Dog*

It was nearly two in the morning when Jim-Bean and Hammer arrived at the crime scene where Collins was attacked.

Jim-Bean yawned and stretched as they got out of the car.  “Can’t we investigate this tomorrow morning?”

Hammer shook his head. “The killer’s moving fast.  We can’t spare the time. Besides, do you even sleep anymore?”

“Yes, I sleep,” said Jim-Bean, irritated.  “I just don’t…look, I sleep okay?”

Hammer leaned down and scanned the crime scene with his cistron.  It beeped.  

“Interesting.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean, peering over his shoulder.  

“Footprints.” The cistron analyzed the footprints.  “Size 11 shoe.  A dress shoe.”

Hammer followed the tracks via the cistron’s night vision optics, the subsequent image illuminating his face with an eerie dark green glow. 

A muddy, litter-strewn alley showed that the person seemed to walk toward a wall. Then the tracks stopped.

“Weird, he ran towards this wall here and then stopped and turned…” Hammer turned to follow the trail.  The trail continued to a blind comer of the alley.  “And the tracks end right here.”

“Maybe he climbed up?” asked Jim-Bean.  “It’s a corner after all.”

“Maybe,” said Hammer.  “Or maybe he travels through corners.”

“Tindalosians,” said Jim-Bean.  “That’s right, didn’t Morrow cover up every corner of his mansion because he thought they could come after him that way?”

Hammer nodded, distracted. “Yeah, but I’ve got something more important.”  He reached down and picked up a crumpled up hat in one corner of the alley.  “I think this is the killer’s.”

“Only one way to find out.” Jim-Bean picked up the old, wide-brimmed black fedora and concentrated.

Something barked in his face.  He stumbled backwards as a long, lean canine form oozed out of the corner of the alley.  Bluish pus coated the thing. The flowing, dripping integument gave it a half-formed appearance. Beneath the goo, was the indistinct form of a very large greyhound.

It advanced on Jim-Bean, snarling.

Hammer drew both Glocks and sprayed the back of the beast.  Some of the bullets passed right through it.  

Jim-Bean backed up and drew his own Glock, firing into the things face.  It crouched and then shifted sideways, so quickly that it became a zig-zagging blue blur.  A searing hot pain pierced his shoulder.  Jim-Bean screamed and fell backwards.

The hound was atop him, its long, snake-like tongue darting towards his forehead.  Hammer hesitated firing, lest the bullets pass right through the thing and kill his companion.  But if he didn’t fire Jim-Bean was as good as dead.

With a yelp, the hound was blasted to the side into a bluish mist.  

Archive, magical pistol still smoking, lowered his weapon.  “Sorry I’m late guys.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 7 – All That Glitters*

“I think the FRACTAL GODS virus may have weakened the boundaries between Tindalos and our world,” explained Archive over the back seat to Jim-Bean, who was driving the agents’ standard-issue Honda Civic.  “That’s why your powers summoned the Hound.”

“So this is all related to Centurion Computer Systems?” asked Jim-Bean.  “It’s too much of a coincidence that these freaky dogs show up repeatedly.” Jim-Bean rubbed the bloodless wound that the hound’s tongue had left in his shoulder.  “Is this ever going to heal properly?"

“Not without the assistance of some magical poultices, no,” said Archive.  “In the mean time, I don’t recommend using any powers if you can help it.  These Hounds travel in packs, and I don’t think we could take on more than one.”

“What did your forensics study find?” asked Hammer.  

“In all cases, death came quickly, within a minute, by strangulation. The killer's grip is inhumanly strong, literally bone crushing- the humerus of the first victim was gripped and pulverized; the second had her scapulas squeezed to small fragments. The vertebrae of the neck were also crushed.  Analysis of the tissue found under the victims' fingernails-the tissue is crumbly and almost crystalline. By optical microscopy, the tissue is not made of animal cells, but crystal dust. Under electron microscopy, the crystals can be seen as tiny triangular objects, which seem to shift and vibrate. They appear to vanish over time. The same crystalline substance is found in the claw wounds of the victims as was found under the fingernails. The edges of the tissue seem totally intact, as if the neighboring cells simply winked out of existence, or disintegrated. This phenomenon applies to all edges of the hole.”

“That’s the same kind of holes the Hounds made in all of us,” said Hammer, looking around at each of them.  Jim-Bean reflexively scratched at the bandage where the Hound had pierced him.  “So it seems the murderer and the Hounds are related.”

“Great,” said Jim-Bean.  “Are the Hounds smart?  Can they talk?”

“Not that I know of,” said Archive.  “But as PROJECT RELISH discovered, they’re intelligent. So it’s possible.”

Hammer pulled the car over at the southeast comer of the Avenue of the Americas and West Houston Street.  A storefront read: EUROPEAN TREASURES.

“What are we doing here?” asked Archive. 

“There were two jewelry store robberies over the past two days.  The police think it’s related.”

Detectives Rice and Curtis met them at the store entrance.  Rice recognized them with a nod of his head.  “Agents.”

“What have we got?” asked Hammer.

“Both the Royal Fine Gems and the European Treasures jewelry stores were robbed within a span of two days,” explained Rice. “At close to midnight, each store was robbed of numerous diamonds.”

“Anything on the security feed?” asked Hammer.

Detective Curtis shook his head. “The security videotapes show nobody in the store during the time of the robbery. Motion detectors went on and off over and over again, indicating the presence of something, then nothing. When we arrived, nothing could be found. The doors, windows, and other entrances were locked securely.”

“How much time elapsed between when the alarm was sounded and you arrived?” asked Jim-Bean. 

“Approximately four minutes each time,” said Rice. “In that time. diamonds worth over five million dollars in total were taken from both stores. That’s not the weird part.”

“It gets weirder?” asked Archive.

“Incredibly, the thief stole only internally flawless diamonds, E color, round cut stones, of a variety of karat sizes,” said Curtis. “These were taken from the safes and display cases. In the European Treasures store, the thief must have been in haste; three large diamonds of the type usually taken remained in a display case clearly visible in the middle of the store.”

They walked into the store as Rice continued.  “There was a horrible charnel smell present at both scenes. One police officer swore he noted a small patch of mist fading away in the shadows.” 

“What about the safe door?” asked Hammer.

Curtis frowned. “You’d better see for yourself.”

The door of the safe lay warped and torn on the floor. A huge bite mark had rent it open. 

“There’s a hole just like this at the other jewelry store,” said Rice.

Hammer took some pictures with his cistron and ran calculations via Blacknet. “One and a half meters. Jagged tooth-like marks. They appear to be from different lengths and diameters of teeth, as if the jaw contained teeth that either kept shifting or kept changing their lengths.”

Jim-Bean turned to Archive.  “Can your Hounds do that?” he asked apprehensively.

Archive swallowed.  “I hope not.”

“What about the video tapes?” asked Hammer.

Curtis handed them a jump drive. “It was halfway recorded at the time of the four-minute robberies. We didn’t find anything but maybe you guys will have more luck.”

Hammer plugged it into his cistron, then fed the feed to Jim-Bean’s. 

On screen, jagged holes suddenly appear in the safe's door. Some movement could be seen in the darkness inside the safes. A moment later, police came into the scene, guns drawn, searching about. 

Hammer tapped a few keys.  The images enhanced. 

Within the safe, diamonds could be seen being shifted about by some invisible force. Some of them floated up and vanished, as if pocketed in an invisible pouch. 

Hammer applied some light-distortion enhancement. It showed the floors of each room beginning to fill with a fine mist from off-camera.  A strange distortion could be seen moving from that source towards the safes. It looked like triangular fragments of heat distortion that shifted and reshaped in geometrical patterns. The distortion moved towards the safe, and as it hovered over it, the tear appeared over the doors. After the diamonds were scooped up into the distortion, it moved away off camera.

“There,” said Jim-Bean, pausing the video.  “See how it keeps its distance from the large display case in the center of the room?”

Rice led them over to the display case. The gems were displayed in the middle of the shop, suspended on special holders within a spherical display case of one-inch thick bulletproof clear plastic- polymer. The case rested on a platform and was partially sunk into it. The case itself was one meter in diameter.

Rice read from his notepad. “According to the owner, the gems in this case are twenty karat, perfect cut, E color, and internally flawless. They are called the Stars of Shiva.”

Archive nodded.  “The Stars of Shiva were a gift from the god Shiva, the Destroyer, to a high priest in the 11th century. Each stone had amazing protective powers, and together they could be used to banish all forms of evil demons from the earth, especially rakshasas.”

“Rakshasas?” asked Hammer.

“A rakshasa is an Indian spirit who can take on the form of the person you trust the most, so he can sneak up and eat you.”

“So that’s what we’re dealing with!” asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer shook his head.  “Keep that up and you’re no better than Magnus.  We don’t have a clear identification of this thing just yet.”

Their cistrons beeped.  “Looks like we’re about to,” said Jim-Bean.  “The killer’s been spotted off of Wooster Street.”

The agents ran out of the store.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 8 – The Thing in the Alley*

Hammer pulled the Civic to a screeching halt in front of a dead-end alley leading off of Wooster Street facing Hob's Court.  A police car was already parked in the alley, lights flashing, blocking the agents’ progress.

There was a dark figure in a black overcoat and broad-brimmed hat.  A limp body was in its arms, and three young men were at the far end of the alley behind the killer.  They were on their knees, shouting “Master!”

“Looks like the kids found their vampire,” said Jim-Bean. 

Two police officers were firing their pistols as they ran down the alley.  

The thing didn’t wait.  With a casual swipe of its arm, it dismembered the first cop.  Its snake-like tongue shot out and pierced the head of the second cop.  He fell to the ground, dead. 

Three more police cars pulled up around them. 

“Wait here,” rasped the killer to the three Goths. Then it slowly, casually turned to face the agents.

“Fire!” someone shouted.

The cops, crouching and running towards the abandoned cruiser in the alley, unleashed a hailstorm of gunfire on the figure.  It shimmered as it advanced, unhurried, until it reached the front of the police car in the alley.

With a mighty heave, it hurled the police car end over end.  It rolled up in the air and landed on the other cops, smashing some and scattering the few who were fast enough to get out of the way. 

There was just one problem: the upside-down cop car was now blocking the cops escape. Hammer and Jim-Bean fired around the vehicle as the black-clad figure hurled policemen all over the place.  

Hammer and Jim-Bean hopped over the car and ran down the alley. 

All that was left were dismembered bodies. A patch of mist dissipated away, with a remnant stench of decaying flesh.

“Jesus,” whispered Hammer. 

Every policeman involved in the fray was killed. Their heads were crushed, their necks broken, whole limbs torn off. The legs and pelvis of one man had vanished, bitten in two like a cookie. 

As the agents took in the scene, a brilliant light illuminated them.

“I’m Nina Juarez, here at the crime scene of the recent attack by the SoHo Killer…” She craned her neck to try to get a better look at the bodies littered in the alley, but the ruined police car mercifully blocked her view.

Archive rolled up his sleeves.  “I know how to take care of her.”

Jim-Bean put one hand out.  “I’ve got this one.”  He hopped over the car.

“Nina Juarez,” said Juarez, introducing herself quickly.  “Are you one of the federal agents involved in this case?  What happened back there?”

Jim-Bean nodded.  “Yes, and all will be made clear. But this is a crime scene, we can’t talk here.” He put one hand over the camera and pushed Juarez’ microphone with the other. “We can conduct an interview tomorrow night at 8 p.m. at this location,” and he whispered the location in her ear.

Juarez blinked and nodded as more police cars screeched onto the scene, ushering the GNN reporter away.

“What did you tell her?” asked Hammer.

“I have no idea,” said Jim-Bean.  “But that should keep her busy for at least one night.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 9 – Desperate Times…*

The agents, along with what remained of the police force, were gathered for the daily briefing at the NYPD station. Captain Matheson’s face was beet red. He flipped on the television.

“This is a Global News Network Special Report,” said Juarez on the screen.  VAMPIRE ON THE LOOSE was plastered across the bottom of the news report in bright red letters. 

“Last night there was a battle between dozens of police and the lone killer.  I spoke with an expert on vampires last night…”

“Oh Magnus,” snarled Jim-Bean, “I am so going to murder you.”

Sure enough, Magnus’ mug appeared on screen.  There was makeup over the bruise on his face.  “The only explanation is that the killer is indeed a vampire.  No one person could take on that many police, much less flip a police car!”

Matheson clicked off the television.

“We lost eight men last night.  Eight men to this son of a bitch!”  Matheson paced in his rage.  “I want roadblocks.  Checkpoints on every street leading to Hob’s Court.  I want a door-to-door search. Helicopter surveillance!  And I want this F&*CKER caught!”

Sergeant McGarnagle cleared his throat.  “I think we can do better. I think we should leave out bait.”

“Bait?” asked Matheson, catching his breath.  “What do you mean?”

“This guy likes to kill women, right? We send out one of the vice girls.  Set up a trap.  Then we wait.  And when he springs, we hit him with everything we’ve got.”

Jim-Bean and Hammer exchanged glances but stayed silent.

“Don’t either you think this is a bad idea?” asked Archive when they were outside of the briefing room.

Hammer nodded.  “It’s a terrible idea.  But it may be our only chance to catch the SoHo Killer.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 10 – …Desperate Measures*

The three agents staked out the policewoman, who walked down the alley as bait.

“You think this is actually going to work?” asked Archive.  “If this killer is intelligent, would he really fall for this?”

“It doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything,” said Hammer.  “But no, I don’t think this will work.”

“At least it will buy us some time to get a fix on him,” said Jim-Bean, staring through his binoculars at the alley across the street.  “Those poor bastards don’t have a chance.”

Archive looked curiously at Jim-Bean.  “Since when did you become so casual about sacrificing people?”

“Sacrificing people is right.” Jim-Bean lowered his binoculars. “We’re all that stands between total chaos and reality as we know it.”  He laughed a bitter laugh. “If we have to sacrifice a ten or twenty people to save a thousand, so be it.”

“He’s right. We’re doing this for the greater good.” Hammer pursed his lips. “When did we become so cold?”

Jim-Bean lifted the binoculars again.  “When I became the discarded class project of an alien research lab.”

Suddenly their cistrons crackled with warnings.  

The agents were sitting in their Civic across from the alley.  Jim-Bean lowered his binoculars.  “It’s him.”

“Go, go, go!” came the command across the police channel.  

Four police cars blocked both ends of the alley. Eight SWAT team members, Bill Mayham, and Captain Matheson charged into the alley. 

“Give me your pistols,” said Archive.

Jim-Bean looked at Archive sideways.  “What for?”

“Hello, Captain Matheson,” rasped the killer at the far end of the alley.  

Matheson responded with “Fire!”

Automatic gunfire erupted. It was followed by screams and shouts.

“Just give me your pistols damn it!” shouted Archive.

Hammer and Jim-Bean dutifully handed over their pistols as Archive inscribed the Elder Sign on each of them with a piece of chalk.

Helicopters flew overhead, shining spotlights over the alleyway. The shimmering black overcoat and fedora of the SoHo Killer whirled as he tore through the cops, tossing one here, tearing one in half there.

In the spotlight, the killer was momentarily illuminated as its whip-like tongue snaked around Matheson’s throat and lifted him into the air overhead.  Then, in cartoon-like fashion, the killer’s maw opened impossibly wide and swallowed the police captain whole.  His terrified screamed was choked off as he disappeared into its mouth.

There was a momentary pause in the firefight as the cops witnessed their captain eaten swallowed whole before their very eyes.  Then the gunfire renewed with vigor. 

The black-clad figure pointed.  And then slowly, with intense purpose, he stalked down the alley, heedless of the attacks of the SWAT team.

“I think he just pointed at us,” said Jim-Bean.

“We could really use those guns right about now,” said Hammer.

Archive was sweating.  “Almost…finished. There!”  He tossed the enchanted Glocks back to Hammer and Jim-Bean. 

More screams.  The figure tore through a throng of SWAT team members clustered in front of one of the police cruisers.  Then it shimmered and warped, stuttering towards them as if in a sped-up film, clearing the distance between them and passing right through the remaining cruiser.

All three agents opened fire, but the SoHo Killer was gone. 

Hammer lowered his Glocks.  “Damn.”

There was no SWAT team left. Every one of them was dead.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 11 – I Want a New Drug*

It was around 2 a.m. when the agents got a call about victims arriving from Club Apocalypse.  The agents met them at St. Vincent’s Hospital.

“What happened?” asked Hammer. 

Curtis was there to give the report.  “Witnesses saw these four kids start screaming at 2:14 a.m., and then they ran out into the street.” 

Two body bags were carried passed them into the ER. “A car hit this girl as she ran wildly, clawing at invisible things.  The guy stabbed himself in the throat with his own knife. Both were DOA.”

“But there are survivors?” asked Jim-Bean hopefully. 

“Two other males: one’s been curled up in a fetal position and the other won’t stop—“

Two more men on stretchers were wheeled in.  One of them was shrieking at the top of his lungs.

“—screaming,” finished Curtis.

Archive wrinkled his nose.  “What’s that smell?”

A horrible stench seems to surround each of the survivors.

Dr. Donato, the doc on call, ushered the two survivors into the ICU and started shouting commands to his staff.  

“We need to talk to them, immediately,” said Hammer. 

“Let me get them stabilized,” shouted Donato amidst the swarming nurses and interns. The doors to the ICU slammed shut in front of Hammer. 

The victims were restrained and hooked up to IVs with morphine drips.  Ten minutes later the room was silent; even the screaming stopped. 

Hammer shoved the doors open.  “We need to speak to them.  Now.”

The only sounds were the rhythmic breathing of the men and the comforting beeps of their monitors. 

Dr. Donato stood protectively in front of the two beds.  “Neither of these men are in a position to talk with you, I’m afraid.”

“Wake them up,” said Hammer.  “I don’t care how you have to do it, but wake them up.”

“I can’t,” said Donato.  “Even if I could, they’re in critical condition…”

The monitors snapped out of their rhythm with a cacophony of warning beeps. 

Donato whirled, the agents temporarily forgotten. “We’re losing them!” 

Nurses rushed back in.  

“What’s happening?” asked Jim-Bean.

“They’re slipping into comas!” shouted Donato.  “I want you out of my ER, now!”

“Archive,” began Hammer, “can you—“

The commotion on the other side of the doors suddenly went silent.  Donato came out a moment later.  “We lost both of them.  At the same time.”

Hammer swore.  “I want access to their blood work.”

“I don’t think…” began Donato.

Hammer flashed his badge.  “We’re with CIFA.  I’m not asking you to think.  Give me the blood work or I’ll have you indicted on obstructing a federal investigation.”

Donato snapped his mouth shut.  A few minutes later the toxicological data was uploaded to their cistrons. Archive ran it through Blacknet’s analysis programs, speeding up reports that would have taken hours. 

“Blood work is normal,” said Archive. “The urine toxicology screen is positive for alcohol, THC, LSD, and a ketamine.”

“What kind of ketamine?” asked Jim-Bean. 

“The ketamine is a variant form of standard ketamine.  It has been modified in an unknown process to have new chemical side chains.” The chemical chains appeared on their cistrons. “These side chains have a configuration that defies known scientific theories.” A three-dimensional model of a human body flashed, focusing on the brain. “According to SINNER’s simulations, it causes a coma and brain death in a very short period of time. Whatever this drug is, it’s something new.”

Jim-Bean scratched his head.  “What does this have to do with the killer?”

“I’m not sure,” said Hammer, “but put on your best outfit.”

“What for?” asked Archive.

“We’re going to visit Club Apocalypse.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 12 – Apocalypse Now*

Located at 128 E. 98th Street and Lexington Avenue beneath the huge 55-story Teese Tissue Building, Club Apocalypse’s entrance was not marked in any way.  Thirty-one steps wound down in a sharp curve leading to two large blue-steel doors, which were not visible from the top of the stairs.  The Club usually opened at around ten o’clock, but the agents got there a little early.

Bouncers stood in their way.

Hammer snapped his badge.  “Federal agents.”

The bouncer took a look at it.  “Don’t care who you are.  You’d better have a warrant if you want to get in here.”

Jim-Bean leaned forward.  “I think you should let us in.”

The bouncer scratched his head, as if he had just remembered something.  “Okay.”

As they passed in with their weapons intact, Hammer turned to Jim-Bean. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that?”

The foyer was a small, dim red-velvet cubicle that contained a few stools for the bouncers, and a small counter through which coats and other items were checked with a clerk.

Past the foyer was the main bar.  This large room was classically styled in red velvet and dark earth tones.  Lighting was from the ground up, and portions of the floor were actually recessed lamps.  Fifteen booths occupied the wall opposite the foyer entrance and wrapped around to almost meet its door.  On the open wall across from the foyer entrance was a wall of stars, a bizarre group of more than forty finely-framed photographs of dead media celebrities.

Archive waved his companions over to the wall. “Take a look at this.”

There were rock stars, movie stars, each pictured shaking hands with who he presumed was the owner of the club.  In each photo he appeared identical: same suit, same unreadable expression on his face.  In his collection were such famous dead stars as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Steve McQueen, Sid Vicious, Harry Nillson, Elvis, John Lennon and more recent additions such as River Phoenix, Tupac Shakur and Kurt Cobain.  Each photograph was personally inscribed by the star in question, along with a date marked in the lower right-hand corner in tiny, machine-like hand.  The dates were often weeks or even days before the death of the subject in the photograph.

On the opposite wall from the booths was the main bar.  It was a sinuous mahogany affair with more than forty stools following its graceful curve.  The back of the bar was a huge silver mirror etched with a fascinating filigreed design of questionable origin.  Four bartenders staffed the bar.  The hat check clerk came and went from a small door at the back of the bar.

At the end of the fifty feet of mahogany bar, directly opposite the foyer door, was a thick, curtained double door leading to the main dance floor. A bouncer stood there. On the other side of the main bar was a large set of double doors leading to the more private areas of the Club.  

Music boomed. The songs include morbid lyrics from such bands as God's Lost Children, In Morto Veritas, Skinny Puppy, Bauhaus, the Rising, Charnel Dreams, and others. 

The people inhabiting the labyrinth of darkness wore black flowing clothes. Their faces were white as death, and their eyes shined out from dark pits of black eye makeup. Some seemed to have fangs. Many were drinking, dancing, and doing drugs while leaning against statues. Up close, most of them seemed to be adolescents. Some anorexic females cavorted by, dressed in nothing but thin leather strips and thigh-high boots. One winked and smiled at Jim-Bean, showing a fanged mouth. 

The agents spread out, mixing in amongst the crowd. Dressed in their usual work getup, they stood out like sore thumbs.

They convened at the bar.   Jim-Bean had to tear himself away from a particularly sultry, undulating brunette with long hair and a nose ring.  

“Well?” shouted Hammer over the noise of the club, which was now getting louder as more people arrived.

“Gregor was here,” said Jim-Bean. “Most of the Goths know of Gregor and they don’t like him much. He works in a tattoo parlor called Jesus Wept. Seems he was looking for the ‘vampire’ to make a deal with it.”

“And they think that Gregor was responsible for the drug overdoses?”

Jim-Bean nodded. “Yeah.”  He took a swig of a drink the woman had given him.  “I could learn to like this place!”

Hammer frowned.  “Don’t get too comfortable.  What did you find Archive?”

“There’s numerous rave posters about,” said Archive. “The next big rave advertised is called ‘Ghost Walk to the Lake.’ It occurs on Halloween, starting at 10 p.m. People are to gather at Columbus Circle. A route shows a path leading down Central Park West Street, up to 72nd Street, then a turn into Central Park towards the lake.” Archive had taken a picture of the poster with his cistron. He flashed the image to the other agents.

“Good,” said Hammer.  “Then it’s time to visit the tattoo parlor.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 13 – Jesus Weeps*

Gregor’s employer at Jesus Wept directed the agents to his squat.  It was a crumbling old warehouse in the former downtown of old New York, located south of Canal Street, between Center and Baxter Streets. 

Many walls had holes and other signs of decay. Along the outer walls were painted swastikas. Candlelight could be seen coming from the abandoned building. 

Hammer kicked in the door.  “Federal agents!”

People scattered. A few froze.  They squatters included a few Goths, ravers, and ex-gang-type youth. A few teenage mothers with their babies hid in the adjoining rooms. 

Jim-Bean collared one of squatters, a tough looking bald guy with a tattoo on one side of his face.  “Not so fast.” The thug reached for a knife but Jim-Bean cocked his pistol and pointed it at his head.  “Don’t even think about it.”

The thug dropped the knife.

“I’m not in the mood, so I’m going to ask you this just once.  Where is Gregor?”

“F%$K YOU!” The thug spat at Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean lowered his pistol from the thug’s forehead and fired at his calf.

The thug fell to the ground. “Ahhh!” he shrieked. “Jesus!  You SHOT me!  What is your F#$KING problem man!”

The other squatters fled the building, screaming into the night.

“I told you,” said Jim-Bean calmly.  “Now that’s just a flesh wound, because I was feeling charitable.  But so help me God, if you don’t tell me what I want to know I will kill you right here and nobody will find you.  Do you understand me?” He pressed the pistol up against the thug’s forehead so hard that it left a red mark.

“Jimmy,” said Hammer nervously, “calm down.”

Jim-Bean was sweating, his pupils dilated. “I’m fine,” he snapped.  “Now ANSWER ME.”

“All right, all right!”  The thug clutched his leg.  “Gregor hangs out with Xavier and Wolfen. They’re sicko bastards, killing stray cats and dogs and drinking their blood. They had stopped for the last couple of weeks. Gregor swore an oath that he would get revenge on all ‘No good raving scum!’”

“That’s it?” Jim-Bean’s left eye twitched.  “That’s everything?  Don’t lie to me!”

“That’s it, I swear!”  The thug started to weep. “I swear! We told to leave them and we haven’t seen ‘em since!  Please don’t kill me!”

“I SHOULD kill you,” snarled Jim-Bean, shuddering.  “I should…I should…”

Archive put one hand on Jim-Bean shoulder.  “Jimmy, you okay?”

“I…”  Jim-Bean’s eyes rolled.  “I don’t…”

Hammer gently pushed the pistol away from the thug’s forehead.  “Something’s wrong.”

Archive helped Jim-Bean to his feet. He looked Jim-Bean in the eye, then put one hand to his wrist.  “His pulse is racing.  I think someone spiked his drink.  He’s having a bad trip.”

“Great,” said Hammer.  “Let’s get Jimmy to a hospital before we attract more unwanted attention.”

Jim-Bean waved them off as he stumbled out of the squat.  “I’ll be…be fine…just give me water…can piss out…the toxins.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Archive.

“It does…with me…” gasped Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 14 – Apocalypse Remix*

It was clear that not fitting in at Club Apocalypse was a liability.  Jim-Bean’s drink had been spiked for precisely that reason.

Jim-Bean recovered by the time they had purchased new clothes.  It was past midnight when they returned to the club. 

Hammer bought himself a new tailored suit, all black.  It was modern and stylish, without looking too much like a Fed. Archive wore a magical practitioner’s garb, complete with robe and wand. He looked like a cross between a grungy street preacher and a deluded Harry Potter fan.  Jim-Bean wore what could only be described as a pirate costume of darkest red. 

“The manager of Club Apocalypse,” said Archive, “is Robert Hubert.  He’s the guy in those pictures. His background is hazy. He graduated from Bard in 1960. That’s it.  There’s nothing else in Blacknet on him.  Hubert’s an enigma.”

They passed through the front door of the Club as before, with Jim-Bean “persuading” them to see his way. 

“The killer’s got to be Hubert,” said Jim-Bean when they were inside the main dance floor.  “The owner of this place hasn’t aged, he’s been around everybody famous who has died, and the drug overdose happened here.  We should just raid the place.”

“I want to talk to him first,” said Hammer.  “But we’ll have to get past the bodyguards.”

“The real bodyguards,” said Jim-Bean.  “Not the pretty boys at the front door.”

Jim-Bean was back to his old self, his protomatter body having processed the PCP out of his system after he gulped several glasses of water. He marched up to the private area of the club, the Green Bar. Two bouncers stood before him.

“Federal agents,” he said, flashing his badge. “I want to speak with the owner.”

“He’s not speaking with anyone he doesn’t want to speak to.” The bouncers shook their heads.  “Your badge is no good here.”

“Fine,” said Jim-Bean.  He squinted at them.  “Let me be a little more persuasive. Why don’t you let us in?”

The bodyguard smirked.  “That might work at the door, but it won’t work here.”

Jim-Bean looked puzzled for a moment.  Then with an elaborate sigh, he reached for his Glock.  “Fine, we’ll do this the hard—“

There was a cold, clammy grip on his shoulder, as if a coat rack had accidentally caught hold of Jim-Bean’s jacket.  When he turned, the man in the photos was standing there with one hand on his arm.  Only it didn’t feel like a hand, more like a dead tree branch, completely lifeless and cold.

It was Hubert. He had prominent, high cheekbones, a narrow chin, a long face, and a heavy brow. His features were distinctly Aryan, as was his tousled blond hair. He looked twenty-five, but his skin had a somewhat plastic complexion to it.

“Gentlemen, that’s not necessary.  I can introduce you to the owner.”

Hammer relaxed slightly, moving his hands away from his shoulder holsters.  “You mean you’re not the owner?”

“My name is Robert Hubert, but you can call me Belial.” He flashed a humorless, plastic smile that didn’t show in his eyes.  “Follow me please.” 

He waved them on.  The bodyguards parted to allow the agents access.

Through the double doors was the Green Bar, a large, finely-decorated art-décor bar that was packed ear-to-ear with celebrities and their entourages.  It had a small dance floor, a quarter the size of the main one.  Belial led them past another set of double doors, which opened onto a small bar with several tables, finely but sparsely decorated, most near-empty.  As soon as the doors closed, the rhythmic beats of the dance floor were instantly silenced.

An exquisitely coifed and tanned older man dressed in a white suit sat at a table in the center of the room.  He sprang up as soon as he saw the agents.

“Gentlemen!  Come in, come in!  It’s so good to make an acquaintance of Agent Blade!”

Hammer flinched.  How did he know Blade?

“Oh, that’s right, he died.” He looked sad for the briefest of moments.  “But where are my manners?  I’m Stephen Alzis, the owner of Club Apocalypse.  Please, have a seat, drinks are on the house.”

He gestured to chairs at the table.  There were precisely three empty chairs.

The agents slid into the seats.

“We’re after the SoHo Killer,” said Hammer, staring sideways at Belial.  

“Oh, right, right, the incident.  And you…” Alzis’ eyes widened.  “Oh you don’t think…” he snickered.  “You don’t think Belial here is the killer?”  He laughed, shaking his head.  “You Majestic-12 boys can really be quite foolish, you know that?”

Archive leaned forward. “How do you know about Majestic—“ 

Hammer glared daggers at Archive.  Archive clamped his mouth shut.

Alzis seemed amused.  “I know everything that goes on in my Club, and quite a bit more that goes beyond it.  It seems we’ve got a new designer drug on the streets, a drug I didn’t authorize.  It’s called Coca Loco. At first I thought it was the Tong Shugoran, but frankly not even the Tcho-Tcho are that stupid.  And they can be pretty stupid.”  He patted Jim-Bean on the shoulder.  “Am I right?”

Jim-Bean blinked.  He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but he didn’t like it.  “Uh…so you know who the killer is?”

Alzis smiled.  “Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with wholesale murder.  But I do object to the massacre of my clients.  I mean, I have a reputation to uphold, and these people pay good money for my protection.”  Alzis seemed indignant.  

“What does this have to do with the killer?” asked Archive.

“Do you have a dog, Mr. Grange?”  

Hammer stared at Alzis.  “No.”

“Good.  I don’t like dogs.  Can’t stand them.  Always barking, tracking things down, eating the souls of people who look too far back in time.  Terrible things, dogs.  You asked me if I know who the killer is, but maybe you should be asking yourself.  You know who the killer is.  You met him.  You saw him walk through a gate.  And every time someone walks through a gate, they come out somewhere else.  It just might not be where or when or where they expected.”

“Morton,” said Archive.  “Dr. James Morton, the guy who walked through the gate at Centurion Computing Systems’ headquarters.”

“Bingo,” said Alzis with a smile.  “The same scientist hired by Walter Morrow to stop the Tindalosians from killing him.  Looks like that didn’t work out for him though, did it? I’d check with his ex-wife, Melissa Morrow.”

“Why are you helping us?” asked Hammer.

“Consider it a little exchange of favors,” said Alzis. 

“Your help comes with a price,” Hammer said flatly.

“Everything comes with a price,” said Alzis. “Everything.” He stood up.  “Except the drinks.  They’re on me.  I’d move quickly if I were you, Morton won’t wait much longer. Have a good night gentlemen and good luck in your hunt.”

And with that, Alzis stood up and walked out.


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 15 – Welcome to Partridgeville*

The drive to Partridgeville took a few hours. The sleepy old colonial town was small and decaying, and had a New England air about it.  There was a village green, narrow winding streets, clapboard cottages, and a white-steeple Congregational church. Out from the center of town, the streets broadened and straightened, and the yards were deep and shady. Out even further were housing developments and a shabby industrial area. Downed tree limbs and toppled telephone poles signified recent storms. 

“What do we have on Morton?” Jim-Bean asked Archive.

“We’ve got a short set of notes from the director of the lab,” said Archive. “One Llewellyn Crabwell. It discusses the director's difficulty in working with Morton. He described Morton as a top man in his field, but Morton's fascination with the occult worried Crabwell enough to keep an eye on him.” 

“Not very useful,” said Hammer.  “Where’s Melissa Morrow?”

“In Partridgeville, just like Alzis said,” said Archive.

“That dude freaks me out,” said Jim-Bean.  “Seriously, he knew way too much.”

“Speaking of which,” said Hammer, eyes still on the road, addressed Archive, “the next time you mention Majestic-12 I will shoot you.”

Archive swallowed hard and ignored the threat. “Melissa’s not listed in the telephone directory.  Assuming she kept her ex-husband’s last name, there’s one candidate: M. Morrow, on 33 Sussex Drive, on the edge of town.”

A few minutes later Hammer pulled up to a small white bungalow. The lawn was perfectly cut. A strange looking weather vane, shaped like a crescent-moon with a lens in its middle, waggled on the roof. 

Hammer led the other agents to the door. 

An older woman answered his knock. 

“Miss Morrow?”

“Yes?”

Hammer shoved open the door.  “I’m Agent Hammer, with the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency. We’re here to talk to you about your ex-husband.”

“Oh, my!”  She looked flustered as they filed into her small home. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“When did you finalize your divorce?”

Melissa frowned.  “We never did.  We separated, but he never would sign the papers.”  She sat down on her sofa.  “Can I offer you a spot of tea?”

Jim-Bean flashed a dazzling white smile.  “That’d be wonderful.”

They all sat down as Melissa puttered in the kitchen. 

“Before he became CEO of Centurion Computer Systems, Walter was a contributor to Weird Tales and other classic pulp magazines.” She brought out some yellowing original issues for all to read, along with tea and cookies. “All of his tales were stories about things called ‘The Dark Beasts,’ strange creatures of darkness that hide in forests. These creatures can only be driven off by bright light, or by not letting their image take form in the viewer's mind; they are creatures of the imagination, and by shutting one's eyes tightly and not believing in their existence, one can make them vanish.” 

She sighed and sat down.  

“Did he ever speak about his work?”

Melissa shook her head.  “No.  That’s why I asked for a divorce.  He valued his work more than me.” 

“Can you remember anything, Ms. Morrow?” asked Jim-Bean, sipping his tea.  “Anything at all?”

Melissa thought hard. “One time, in a fit of drunken depression, William mentioned he had ‘looked too far back,’ and that something came back with him. He then said, ‘Beware gazing into the abyss, for if you gaze too long, it shall gaze into you.’ That’s what killed him in the end, I suppose." 

“In a manner of speaking,” said Archive.

“I do remember an old chest in the basement that is filled with his belongings. Do you think that might be helpful?”

Hammer tried to remain calm.  “Yes, that’d be very helpful.”

After nearly an hour of shifting broken furniture and wooden packing cases, the agents uncovered the chest. Inside were odds and ends-silver candlesticks, good china plates, a gold watch, and so on. Two interesting items turned up—a leather-bound book, filled with odd scribbling, and a small Chinese puzzle box. 

Hammer handed both items to Archive. 

Scrawled in almost unreadable English, the leather binding of the book was burned and discolored.  

Archive flipped through the pages. . It was filled with strange geometric diagrams, mathematical equations, and chemical formulas.

“This is Morrow’s diary,” said Archive. “It describes in detail his research in transcendental time travel.”  He paged through it. “The stuff we already know: his addiction to Coca Loco, the Hounds passing through angular space and…wait a minute.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean.

“The journal ends with Morrow working on a complex equation he dubbed the ‘Einstein Formula’,” said Archive,” but he never had a chance to perform it. One of the freelancers he hired to repel the hounds gave it to him.”

“A spell, like the one that took out that animated statue,” said Hammer.

“What statue?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Different mission,” said Hammer.  He turned back to Archive. “Can you learn it?”

Archive’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I think so. It involves hyperdimensional physics, which is extremely dangerous.”

Hammer checked his watch and then started climbing the steps. “Study up,” he said over his shoulder.  “The Rave starts in a few hours.  You’ll need to learn it before then.”


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Part 16 – Happy Halloween!*

It was Halloween. Ravers and their friends and acquaintances were ready to partake of a night of drug-filled, music-blasting fun. They began to gather at Columbus Circle at 9 p.m. Hammer, Jim-Bean and Archive wore their Goth outfits and joined the procession.  

Whenever around twenty people showed up, half of them begin walking the route. This prevented the police from noticing a large mass of people.  Around two hundred people went to the rave in this manner. 

At the beginning of the procession, a number of ravers drank a large amount of alcohol, and smoked some marijuana. 

The route headed past the "haunted" apartment building of the film Ghostbusters, at 55 Central Park West and 66th street. Male ravers shouted things like "I am Vince Clortho, Keymaster of Gozer!" while females yelled "I am Zul, the Gate Keeper!" and engaged in provocative hugs and caresses. The ravers started to use ecstasy, crystal, GHB, LSD, and ketamine. 

The route continued north to stop in front of the stately Dakota building, on 72nd street. One of the first fashionable West Side apartment buildings, the relatively squat building was better known as the place where Rosemary's Baby was filmed, and where John Lennon was shot. Ravers made various Satanic salutes and said things like "He has his father's eyes!" and "All them witches!" Ravers who had not yet used the typical raver drugs started to take them. Mushroom and PCP use started. 

The ravers then headed over to the park itself, and traveled over the hilly stretch of parkland designated Strawberry Fields in the memory of John Lennon. Ravers mockingly sang Beatles tunes. Some ravers actually thought they were seeing John Lennon's ghost. Most ravers were actively using drugs and alcohol.  They proceeded along a path toward the north side of the lake, toward the Ramble. 

“Give me your pistols,” said Archive.

Hammer and Jim-Bean slipped him their weapons, and received them back a minute later after he had inscribed the Elder Sign on each weapon’s handle with a piece of chalk.

A few torch poles were planted around a small clearing. The stage and speakers were set up in a circle around the dance area. Large water bins were placed around for the ravers to keep drinking so they didn’t dehydrate. 

The party began. The agents spread out amongst the crowd, staying in touch via their cistrons. The rest of the partygoers arrived throughout the night, about ten at a time. 

“Now what?” shouted Archive into his comm, trying to look everywhere at once.

“Now, we wait,” said Hammer.

Hundreds gyrated to the music blaring from super-woofers, the light from the burning torches, and the drug-induced exhilaration. They dressed in a variety of ways—snug, geek, porn star, Goth. Near the stereo system, people took turns being DJ. Drugs were handed about like candy. Synthetic heroin, crystal-meth, Special K, GHB, PCP, marijuana, alcohol, and more were being used with wild abandon. The party was getting started. 

Suddenly, the expressions of numerous people went blank. 

“This is a wild trip!’ shouted one woman dressed like a witch near Jim-Bean. “I can see through the past…I’m heading back, BACK!” 

Other ravers fell to the ground, screaming and clutching their heads.   

“It’s going down!” shouted Jim-Bean. 

The air began to shimmer as if heat was rising from the ground. A hazy image appeared, superimposed over the area. The strange dark corkscrew towers of a city were framed by a sky of pitch-blackness. From the windows of the towers could be seen red blazing eyes. The image grew more and more substantial. 

“That’s Tindalos!” shouted Archive. 

Hammer drew his pistols.  “Start the spell!”

Archive drew a circle with chalk on the ground. He stood inside the circle, then concentrated on specific numerical formulas concerning extrapolations of spheres and spherical sections in various hyperdimensions. 

Howls echoed all around them.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who can hear that!” shouted Jim-Bean, his Glock out.  

The ravers didn’t notice the armed agents amongst them, too busy helping screaming friends to think much about it. However, their general incapacitation from drug use was beginning to freak them out. Morbid fear grew within them, transfixing them in fright. 

Within the Einstein Circle, Archive felt a pull to release his life force. 

“I hear it,” said Hammer.  “Where’s Morton?”

Jim-Bean pointed.  “There!”

The black-garbed figure of Morton stood at the center of the distortion, indifferent to the pandemonium surrounding him.  The howling moved closer.  

Forces were unleashed around Archive that tore about the area. Multi-colored spheres of various sizes, including colors never before seen in this dimension, began to bubble out of the ether around him. Archive was filled with the sensation of incredible forces transcending space-time. 

Hammer shoved a raver out of the way and then unleashed both Glocks on Morton. 

Morton’s body jerked from the impact of the Elder Sign-infused bullets, surprised by their effect.  

Suddenly a sharp, piercing pain rent through Hammer’s torso.  He whirled to find Gregor snarling against him, a knife buried to the hilt in Hammer’s abdomen.

Jim-Bean fired at Morton, but this time he was ready.  Morton’s form shuttered left and then right, like a stuttering film reel.  The shots went wide. 

Archive concentrated, forming a sphere of chronal energy around himself. As he concentrated, the chalk circle rose into the air and spun around him at an ever-increasing rate of speed like a gyroscopic hula-hoop, forming a chronal energy sphere. 

Morton’s huge maw opened and Jim-Bean got a close-up look at what he had seen only in visions.  A whip-like tongue snaked towards his head.  He ducked.

The tentacle-tongue snapped past his face and only too late did Jim-Bean realize Morton wasn’t trying to skewer him. The tongue whipped around him several times, binding his arms to his sides and hoisting him into the air. 

The howling became unbearably loud. The image of Tindalos became crystal clear, as packs of hounds arrived. 

Hammer turned and, pressing both pistols to Gregor’s forehead, pulled the triggers. Gregor was still screaming when Hammer blew his head off.

Jim-Bean was suspended in the shimmering air.  Morton’s huge maw opened wide beneath him.

Just then, Archive’s Einstein Sphere collided with Morton.  He was slammed sideways from the impact and the tongue went slack, dropping Jim-Bean to the ground. 

“The key!” gasped Archive, eyes glowing with raw power. “Destroy the key!”

“Key?” shouted Jim-Bean, looking around.  Then he saw the spherical gemstone, about the size of a softball, sitting at the center of the disturbance. 

Morton flashed in front of Jim-Bean and the Crystal Key, blocking his path. Then he whirled as Hammer peppered Morton with gunfire. 

The hounds were everywhere, tearing the reeling ravers apart.  One lunged towards Hammer.  

Archive’s whistling sphere flashed forward, intercepting the Hound in mid-leap.  It flashed out of existence with a yelp.  

A pair of jaws the size of a truck began to materialize over the carnage. Blazing red eyes opened above it. 

“What the hell is that?” asked Jim-Bean, agape. 

The jaws rained blue ichor upon the bloody scene below. Triangular crystal segments formed, the gigantic head of a wolf-like entity slowly manifesting around the jaws and eyes.

Morton stutter-stepped to Hammer, grabbing him by the throat.  Hammer unleashed the entire clip of both pistols into Morton’s torso and he finally released his grip, falling backwards, tongue flailing in agony. 

Hammer took careful aim at the key.

Click.  He was out of bullets.

A Hound slammed into him, knocking him down.  Archive slammed into the Hound, knocking it off Hammer. As it touched Archive’s sphere, the hound flashed out of existence.

“I can’t…control the spell!” shrieked Archive.

“The Key!” Hammer shouted to Jim-Bean. “Throw it to Archive!”

Jim-Bean snapped out of it.  He outstretched his free hand towards the Crystal Key and concentrated.

The crystal floated into the air.  All the hounds stopped what they were doing and turned as one, heads pivoting to focus on the source of psychic energy nearby. 

Jim-Bean flicked his finger towards Archive and the crystal obeyed. The Crystal Key whistled towards Archive’s sphere just as the hounds turned to pounce on Jim-Bean. 

The Key exploded as it impacted the edge of the Einstein Sphere. The entire radius around the Key was swept with interdimensional forces. 

Morton was swept away through the vortex into the realm of Tindalos. The huge wolf-like head recoiled with an unearthly howl.  The Hounds of Tindalos all flashed out of existence. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean dove to the ground. The Tindalosian dimension had disappeared, but the fabric of reality continued to warp.

Archive rose up into the air, the wind whistling around him, cackling madly.  “You are all insects! I will crush you like eggshells!" 

“He’s going to blow!” shouted Hammer.  “Run for it!”  Hammer took off at a jog. 

Jim-Bean aimed his pistol.  “Not this time.”  He squeezed the trigger…


----------



## talien

*Wild Hunt: Conclusion*

“Good morning,” said Nina Juarez to the screen. “I’m outside Central Park, the site of a terrorist attack on a rave this past Halloween.  Early reports indicate that the terrorists spiked the water supply, causing several ravers to hallucinate. We have a witness here with us.  Sir, can you tell us what you saw?”

“Wolves,” said a wide-eyed Goth.  “Wolves man.  All over.  And then this one giant wolf.  It was huge, man, HUGE!”

“Huge wolves.  I know Central Park can be pretty wild, but I don’t think we have any resident wolves,” joke Juarez.

“And there was this huge glowing guy in a sphere!  And he was all like: I will crush you like ants!  And we were all like: AAHH! And then he exploded.”

“Exploded?”

“After the wolves left.”

Juarez turned back to the camera.  “Clearly, something happened to disrupt the festivities.  The government has cordoned off the site, but from what we were able to see with our cameras, it appears that there was a disturbance in the Ramble area.  Whether or not this was due to drug-addled ravers or a bomb of sorts is unclear.  Government officials assure us that no dirty bomb was used and there is no imminent danger to the citizens of New York City. We have also received reports that the SoHo Killer was shot dead in a standoff with government agents.  What’s that?“ 

Juarez put her finger to one ear.  “I’m just getting a report that a Father Voineskos of the Greek Orthodox Church of the Savior was founded beheaded in an alley.  He had a crucifix and some holy water on him.  So it looks like there was one final victim of the SoHo Killer—wait, here comes another witness now…”

Archive, his clothes in tatters, stumbled dazedly onto the screen.

“Sir?  Sir!  You look you had a rough night. Can you tell us what happened?”

Archive blinked at the camera.  “It was…” he said with a slow smile, “enlightening.” Archive was hustled off screen by a government agent.  

Then a hand pushed the camera away.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 39: Dead Letter - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of “Dead Letter” by Adam Scott Glancy from Delta Green: Countdown and “Come for the Reaping” by Rich Redman. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia* 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

When I first started this campaign, my original promise was to deliver a game filled with zombies. It took nearly 40 sessions to finally deliver on that promise.  

My primary issue with Dead Letter was that it provided a host of details without a clear plot to follow. It’s entirely possible to conduct a raid without encountering any zombies whatsoever (a crying shame!) or the Karotechia. So I of course manipulated the plot to ensure both Reinhard Galt, the Neo-Nazi cannibal, released the Sapphire pathogen just as the agents arrived, ensuring zombies of all types.  What I didn’t plan on was the forethought of the players, who so energized the plot with their role-playing that they convinced Fiona Lin-Wei, an irritating hippy activist and one-note NPC, into a full-blown radical eco-terrorist. She became far more important than I ever imagined, and suddenly the entire campaign revolved around her: Hammer’s relationship with her, Archive’s Elder Sign, and the very future itself. 

The only thing more shocking thing than delightful turn of events was how close this scenario mirrored the plot of the new Terminator movie. We all went to see it afterwards, and the similarities are eerie: the protagonist meets an exotic woman of mixed Asian/European descent and teams up with her, special forces raid a processing plant, encounter mindless humanoid killing machines, and finally a heavily accented and indestructible Austrian stalks our hero through a dangerous industrial site.

*Defining Moment:* When Galt is temporarily incapacitated by Archive’s spell, the agents have seconds to take him out. Jim-Bean knows just the solution. 

Relevant Media

*RE: Your Brains:*   By Jonathan Coulton 
*Delta Green: Countdown:* Source of the scenario Dead Letter.
*Come for the Reaping:* I promised my brother a scenario with zombies. It only took thirty-nine chapters to get around to it.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Prologue*



> _Heya Tom, it’s Bob from the office down the hall
> Good to see you buddy, how’ve you been?
> Thing have been OK for me except that I’m a zombie now
> I really wish you’d let us in_​
> --_RE: Your Brains_ by Jonathan Coulton​



Hammer hung suspended over Jason Jawolalski’s impounded car in a full body harness, suspended in space by a truss that kept him from contaminating the crime scene. A pair of goggles provided a zoom function to scan every square inch of the car. 

He thought he caught a hint of white sticking out of the inside of the door frame.  Hammer pulled out a pair of tweezers from one of the many pockets of his overalls and leaned forward to get a closer look.

The intercom crackled. “Could you give it a wash too when you’re done?” It was Jim-Bean, watching from the observation room above him. 

“Very funny,” said Hammer. “Sprague ordered me to give Jawolalski’s car the once over.”

“Didn’t Warner’s team already look at it?”

Hammer didn’t answer.  They both knew that it in was Warner’s best interest to overlook any evidence that would help Sprague’s team. 

Yep, there was definitely something sticking out of the door.  Hammer wiggled the tweezers into the gap.

“I don’t know why I’m here, anyway.”

“You’re with me,” muttered Hammer.

“We’re on a date now?”

“I’m assigned to watch you,” said Hammer.  

“Archive went completely bonkers and they assign you to watch ME? How come nobody’s watching HIM?”

“Because,” grunted Hammer, “he actually went crazy for a reason.  The psych eval said he’s fine, except for a phobia of spheres. You on the other hand…you’re a tool of MJ-12. I’m your keeper. That’s how PROJECT RECOIL works, you know that.”

“And what are you supposed to watch me do, exactly?” Jim-Bean snorted over the intercom.  “Watch me go crazy?”

“Then I will end you,” said Hammer.  The white corner was a piece of paper.  Hammer got hold of it with the tweezers.

“As if you could,” said Jim-Bean.  “Nobody can.”

“There’s always BIOSAN-5.”

“Or BIOSAN-6,” said Jim-Bean.  “But using that would be worse than…wait, you don’t carry any BIOSAN with you, do you?”

Hammer didn’t answer.  He tugged, and the paper came free.  “Got it!”

“Got what?”

“Our next mission,” said Hammer.  It read: FIONA AT THE ECOTOPIAN.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 1 – Finding Fiona*

Hammer pulled up the briefing file on his cistron.  Agents Archive, Guppy, and of course Jim-Bean were all present. Nobody mentioned Archive’s recent breakdown.  He seemed all right after the explosion, which was good enough for the mental health review—barring the fact that he now had a phobia of spheres of all types, of course.  But that was best left unmentioned…they all had their own personal hang-ups.

“What have we got?”

Guppy pulled up a web site.  “The Ecotopian is a professional produced magazine printed on newsprint, running thirty-two pages an issue.  It is a bi-monthly magazine devoted to environmental activism, published by Full Wilderness.  Here’s the web site.”

The most recent issue had a cover story on a legal whale hunt undertaken by the Makah tribe of Washington State, a hunt opposed and occasionally intercepted by activists from the Full Wilderness organization.

Guppy continued.  “CIFA believes that The Ecotopian has a radical, criminal agenda.  The Ecotopian’s staff includes members of Earth First, PETA, ALF, and of course Full Wilderness.”

“Full Wilderness?” asked Hammer. “They’re out in the woods somewhere?”

Archive chuckled.  “Full Wilderness is a non-profit organization that espouses the extinction of the human race through one hundred-percent birth control.”

Jim-Bean looked up from his reading.  It was a long flight to Samson, California from the East Coast.  “Full Wilderness’ program is unremarkably preservationist, advocating world-wide rescue of and protection of ecosystems, and of the abolition of industrial poisons.”

“What are you reading?” asked Hammer.

“One of Jatik’s books,” said Jim-Bean.  “It’s very educational. The last book of his I read, A Task Received, summarized and viewed with alarm the state of the planetary environment; this book, Hard Lessons, summarizes the greenhouse crisis and outlines several dozens of procedures and actions designed to buy time for humanity to successfully adapt to lessened industrialism and lowered population. Jatik's books present the hypothesized crisis totally in positive terms: not only will planetary life survive and prevail, but the essence of human life will have improved when his program is carried out.”

“So Jatik leads Full Wilderness,” said Guppy. He brought up an article about Full Wilderness from Harper’s magazine.

“Jatik's title, council head, corresponds to president or chief executive officer,” said Archive. “Jatik pretends that the Full Wilderness organization is a tribe, and that all decisions are communal. Functions across the Full Wilderness year correspond to ceremonies one tribe or another of Native Americans practiced.”

“That’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Hammer.

“It’s pretty lucrative,” said Guppy. “Full Wilderness does as well as for-profit corporations.”

“Hippies,” muttered Hammer. “What does Fiona have to do with this?”

“She’s the editor-in-chief of the Ecotopian,” said Archive. Fiona’s file popped up on their screens.

Born August 3, 1971, Fiona Lin-Wei was of Scottish-Chinese descent.  

“She’s a firecracker, this one,” said Hammer.  “She’s been arrested for battery twice, using pepper spray on men she said assaulted her.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jim-Bean. “Burglary, grand theft, felony criminal mischief…all to release a bunch of monkeys in a lab. Listen to this, from her psych file: ‘Ms. Lin-Wei has a serious anger control problem. She is extremely insecure, both physically and intellectually.  This insecurity often manifests itself in an aggressive confrontational stance.  When her intellectual positions or moral beliefs are challenged, Ms. Lin-Wei will often resort to physical intimidation.  Attempts to match her physical intimidation will characteristically results in a violent response.”

“She hates government types,” said Hammer.  “This is going to be tough.”

“Not as tough as you might think,” said Jim-Bean with a twinkle in his eye.  

“What do you have in mind?” asked Hammer.

“Let’s just say I learned from my mistakes in New York City,” said Jim-Bean.  “We’ve got some shopping to do in Samson.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 2 – Lost in the Wilderness*

After an uneventful night, ground transportation awaited them at Eastwood International. Hammer and Archive had reserved a gas guzzling black Ford Expedition truck, while Jim-Bean and Guppy were in a green Prius.  Though it was early in the day, the air was warm and close, and there was a feeling of cool relief when the agents moved through the doors of the building's main entrance. 

As they waited for an elevator, there was a slight stirring sound, and then the door shifted perceptibly. Overhead the lobby's grand chandelier swayed softly. 

“Uh, what’s that?” asked Guppy.

There was silence for a moment, then door and chandelier stopped moving, and the sound died. Replacing the sound was nervous laughter and comments: 

“That was a mild earthquake,” said Archive, “the sort that residents have long grown used to.”

Guppy clicked through on his cistron as the elevator arrived. 

“The Daily Samson reported a Richter 3.1 magnitude earthquake centered 14 miles east of town.”

Jim-Bean and Guppy were dressed in tie-dye shirts, jeans, and no socks. Jim-Bean wore round glasses with green tints. 

“This is where we split up,” said Hammer as they arrived at the vehicles.  “Keep in touch and call us when you’re ready.”

They drove off in their respective vehicles. 

Full Wilderness’ headquarters was located in the Bridgestone Building. The Bridgestone Building was packed with prosperous corporate and professional offices: it stood at the edge of Samson's financial district.

Beyond the humble pose of its non-profit corporation tax status, Full Wilderness occupied the whole of the thirteenth and fourteenth stories of the Bridgestone Building. Views, dramatic lighting, fine rugs, luminous wood inlays, photo landscapes (always without human form or participation), and excellent sculptures of whales, grizzly bears, porpoises, and other wilderness creatures decorated a long two-story high reception hall. 

The lavish reception area was intended to impresses every visitor. The reception hall looked very much like a shared tribal space, where everyone sat around the camp fire. A stone fire ring actually existed, with stones of polished marble and quartz, and artfully asymmetric magnetite veins. The name at the center of the fire ring, FULL WILDERNESS, burned blue from bottled propane hidden in the base of the sculpture. Recorded bird calls and the sounds of water rippling over rocks occasionally came from hidden speakers.

“It’s like Disney-land meets PETA,” said Jim-Bean breathlessly, taking it all in.  “This is great!”

The Full Wilderness staff, passing constantly across the tribal space, dressed well and stylishly in natural fibers and leather (though no furs). Gold watches, gold rings, gold bracelets, gold brooches, and fine-water diamonds flashed persistently. Favored jewelry designs were derived from Native American, Bengali, and Celtic originals. 

“Looks like the article in Harper's was correct,” said Guppy. “Those connected with Full Wilderness are doing as well financially as Jatik's books would have them doing spiritually.”

The reception hall bisected the two floors of offices into four differing sections. Approaching the reception desk, the inner and outer executive offices and conference rooms, including Jatik’s, were found to the left. To the right from the reception desk were rooms filled with computers, phone solicitors, and supplies, a day-care center, gymnasium, and droves of scurrying support staff. 

Upstairs right was the editorial, advertising, and design offices for Full Wilderness’ high-circulation magazine, the Ecotopian. That was their destination.

“This has to be the busiest workplace I’ve ever seen,” whispered Guppy. Not once do they pass anyone idly talking on the phone, playing a computer game, or staring out the window.

They made their way to the Ecotopian’s offices. 

The cluttered interiors of the office were well-lit by large banks of windows and a skylight. The work area was one large open suite, its wall lined with filing cabinets and the floor filled by a half-dozen desks piled high with computers, bric-a-brac, and loose paperwork. The walls were plastered with Greenpeace and Earth First posters. Plants adorned the desks and filing cabinets.

The desk nearest the stairs acted as a kind of reception.  A bespectacled and bearded young man greeted them. “How can I help you?”

Jim-Bean leaned forward. “I’m looking for Ms. Fiona Lin-Wei.”

The man arched an eyebrow. “About?”

Jim-Bean exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Guppy. “I have a submission.”

“I’m afraid Ms. Lin-Wei doesn’t meet with people over submissions,” the young man sneered, whose nametag labeled him as Dwight Jenkins. “You can submit documents via our web site…”

“No!” said Jim-Bean urgently.  “This is important.  I can’t transmit any files over the Internet.  The government is watching us!”

Dwight blinked. “Uh, oookaaaay,” he said slowly.  “Listen, perhaps if you drop the document off with me—“

“I knew this would happen!” shouted Guppy, at the top of his lungs.  The buzz of the office stopped as everyone turned to look at him.  “This is just another corporate arm of the Man!  Our article is too radical for this place!  Let’s go!”  He began tugging on Jim-Bean.

“Wait,” said a female voice with a Scottish brogue.  “I’ll meet with them.”

Dwight shrugged.  “You can speak with Fiona at her desk,” he said, as if willing them to leave him alone. 

Jim-Bean and Guppy hustled over to her.  “My name is Jimmy,” he said, pumping the petite Asian woman’s hand.  “This is Guppy.” She had a feral, exotic look to her; like a coiled wildcat, all stringy muscle on her compact frame with large, intelligent eyes.  Jim-Bean liked her immediately.

“Please, have a seat,” said Fiona.  “What’s this all about?”

Jim-Bean smiled. “I’ve read your work in the Ecotopian.  I really admire what you’ve done so far, and,” he leaned forward, “what you did. It’s why I’m here.  You’re a true believer.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy,” said Guppy suspiciously.  “Just because she believes in Mother Gaia doesn’t mean—“

“So you’re familiar with the Gaia Hypothesis,” said Fiona.  “Good. What is this article you were ranting about?”

“Human civilization is a cancer upon the Earth,” began Jim-Bean.  “Humanity has overforaged and ruined its natural ranges.”

“The tribes of man are one with the beasts of the forests,” babbled Guppy, “all must be culled when their numbers grow too great! Mother Gaia has yet to cull humankind, for they have grown clever, but she will. Oh yes,” his eyes rolled madly, “she will!”

“What my colleague and I are proposing is that for nature to rebound, humanity must be in parity with the rest of nature. Left to its own base nature, humanity will continue to punish us.  What we propose is to save the Earth before Mother Gaia punishes us once and for all.”

“And that is?” asked Fiona. 

“The solution is simple,” gasped Guppy, “a few insightful humans of great determination must sponsor or precipitate a limited disaster in order to prevent the apocalypse.”

“We call these people Gardeners,” said Jim-Bean.  They were rehearsing the script of a book titled _Ending History_, by Robert Jatik.  Jim-Bean knew that Fiona hadn’t read it, but that she largely subscribed its ethos, at least in a spiritual sense. “They will then linger on as guardians to prevent man from regaining his Bad Old Ways…”

Fiona was about to say something when the phone rang.  

“Excuse me,” said Fiona.  She picked up the receiver and listened. “Yes.”

Jim-Bean and Guppy exchanged looks. 

“Yes. Yes. No, I can handle it. Yes. Okay. I will.” She hung up the phone.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” said Fiona.  “Listen, it isn’t safe to discuss this here.  We should go off premises.” She stood up.  “Follow me please.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 3 – When the Man Comes Around*

Hammer and Archive entered Full Wilderness’ lobby just fifteen minutes after Jim-Bean and Guppy.  They asked to see Robert Jatik.

They were taken into Jatik's inner office, a large room with only narrow windows high up the wall. With the cool grays, buffs, and blacks of the furnishings, and only the sky visible, Jatik's office became a cave or a fort, perhaps a kiva perched on a canyon wall. The resulting privacy was partly welcome, partly intimidating as the morning light glinted away from Jatik’s silver hair and cast his halo into the surrounding air.

Robert Jatik was white-haired, blue-eyed, with a full trim beard and the deep tan and facial lines of an outdoorsman. He was about sixty, an intelligent-looking man. In keeping with his outdoorsman image he wore a wool plaid shirt open at the neck, along with well-cut dark linen trousers and expensive Italian shoes. 

“We’re with the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency,” said Hammer, flashing his badge imperiously.  “We’d like to speak with you about an urgent matter.” 

“Gentlemen, please sit.” Jatik pointed at the two seats in front of his desk, then sat behind it. “What can I do for you?”

“We believe that a known terrorist is on your premises.”

“Oh my,” said Jatik, bushy eyebrows rising in concern. “Not one of my staff, certainly!”

Hammer shook his head.  “Not unless you hire eco-terrorists.” He tossed a picture onto Jatik’s desk. “This is Jimmy Baxter. We’ve been monitoring him for weeks and believe he came here with an accomplice to try to convince the Ecotopian editors to print his anti-government screed.”

“Well we can’t have that,” said Jatik.  “You believe he’s here, now?”

Hammer nodded.

Jatik buzzed his secretary.  “Get Fiona on the line.  It’s urgent.”

Jatik switched the headset to speakerphone. Another beep and Fiona answered.  “Hello?”

“Fiona, it’s Robert. Listen to me carefully: I want you to only answer yes or no. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a person with you named Jim Baxter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, keep him there until security arrives.”

“No, I can handle it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good, bring them to the lobby.  We’ll meet you halfway.  I don’t want them endangering any of our staff.”

“Okay.”

“And Fiona?  Be careful.”

“I will.” She hung up.

After another call to security, Jatik turned to the agents. “She’ll bring them to the lobby.”

“You’re sure?” asked Hammer. “An untrained civilian shouldn’t try to take on a known terrorist.”

“You don’t know Fiona,” said Jatik with a smirk.  “She can take care of herself.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 4 – Raising the False Flag*

Guppy froze in his tracks.

“Guppy?” asked Jim-Bean.

“No, I think this is a trap.” His eyes darted to the other workers. Computer speakers dinged as a mass email was sent to everyone.  Staff slowly started to get up, their eyes on Guppy and Jim-Bean.

“Look,” said Fiona. “Just follow me—“

“No!” shouted Guppy.  “I can see you are in it with them! The only way we can bring about balance to Mother Gaia is through force and fire!”

Fiona’s hand slipped under her desk.  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?” 

“I’m threatening the world!” shouted Guppy, spittle flying from his lips.  “I—“

Before he could continue with his rant, Fiona lifted a black canister and pushed the trigger.  Pepper spray hit Guppy full in the face.

“Run for it!” shouted Jim-Bean.  

Guppy shrieked, pawing at his eyes.

Jim-Bean hurdled a desk, shoving Jenkins aside, and slid down the banister of the steps to the lobby. Guppy attempted to follow, running blindly in the direction of Jim-Bean’s voice…

Only to smash his groin into a desk.  He groaned, bent over in pain.

Downstairs, Hammer and Archive reached the lobby just as Jim-Bean did.  The staff, up to this point calm and collected, panicked.  People started screaming as Jim-Bean tore through the lobby, dashing out the exit.

“Stop!” ordered Hammer. He comically fumbled for his gun, giving Jim-Bean ample time to get away.  Guppy was not so lucky.

One hundred pounds of angry editor kicked him square in the back.  Guppy flipped over the desk.  Fiona leaped from the desk onto Guppy’s torso, straddling his throat with her thighs.  She had one fist upraised over him. 

“Wait!” gurgled Guppy.

Then Fiona punched his lights out.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 5 – My Friend Fiona*

Fiona was reaching for her car keys when she heard footsteps behind her. She whirled, pepper spray at the ready.

“Wait!” Jim-Bean ducked out of the shadows.  “Wait, I know we got off to a bad start before.  But I believe that you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” he cleared his throat, “without, you know, all the drama of my compatriot.”

Fiona’s aggressive stance didn’t change.  “You’ve got ten seconds before I call security.”

“Do you know a Jason Jawolalski?”

“No. Who is he?”

“He’s dead. We found three words on a note in his car: FIONA and THE ECOTOPIAN. Whoever he was, he was looking for you.”

“Why should I care?”

“He was working for Amalgamated Bio-Carb.  And he had a very important package that I believe you’d be interested in.”

Recognition flickered across Fiona’s features.  “ABC?  I wrote an article about them, they’ve performed all kinds of animal tests.”

Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder.  “The security cameras are going to swing back this way in another few seconds.  Can I buy you lunch?”

“Meet me at the Starbucks across the street,” said Fiona.  “I’ll see you there in ten minutes.”

“How do I know you won’t call the police?” asked Jim-Bean.

“You don’t,” said Fiona.  “But then, you came to me, so I guess you’ll have to trust me.”

Jim-Bean nodded and faded back into the shadows. 

Sure enough, Fiona came into the Starbucks ten minutes later.  Jim-Bean was already seated at a small table.

Fiona put her satchel down next to her.  She placed her pepper spray on the table, a very clear warning.

“First, who are you really?”

“I’m with…a group that has common interests to your own. My request to meet with you about my article was just a cover.  I’m trying to uncover whatever ABC was up to.”

“What do you know about ABC?” she asked.

“Not much,” said Jim-Bean.  “We know that ABC is an aggressive bio-technology research and production firm that seeks to patent new drugs and chemicals which have applications to human and animal medical needs.  They also subcontract their chemical and pharmaceutical production facilities, producing orders for customers around the world.”

Fiona shook her head.  “That’s just scratching the surface. The long-term corporate goal is to turn their own production facilities to the production of patented drugs that ABC produces.” She pulled out her Macbook Pro and booted it up, tapping a few keys.  “ABC currently has twenty-tree drug patents pending.  They are particularly interested in drugs that affect the central nervous system: anti-psychotics, anti-seizure medication, etc.  Their first commercial product, currently undergoing FDA review, is a drug used to revive long-term coma patients.  They’ve also been seeking artificial neurotransmitters which could be used to ‘bridge the gap’ in severed nerve ganglia. But they’ve been burning through money like mad with their research division.”

“I think that research has resulted in something,” Jim-Bean searched for the right word, “unnatural.”

“Unnatural how?” asked Fiona.

“Jason Jawolalski was dating a woman, Lucinda Ennis.  She received a chemical from Jawolalski that she used reanimate her father’s corpse—“

“Stop right there.  Did you say ‘reanimate’?”

Jim-Bean nodded.  “Her father, Henry Ennis, killed several people in the town of Runville, Massachusetts, before he was finally destroyed.” The reality was that a Majestic-12 retrieval team had ferried the animated corpse off to a containment facility.  There was no stopping Henry Ennis. “This chemical, called Sapphire, reanimates dead tissue.  It took us awhile before we were able to track Jawolalski down.  By the time we caught up with him, he was dead.”  That was a lie too – Jawolalski was killed by the protomatter enlarged Phyllis Kraygen, but the details were unimportant. “Before his car was impounded, we found a box.  A box that moved.”

Fiona leaned forward, intrigued.  “What was in the box?”

Jim-Bean kept his expression grim.  She was falling for it.  “An animated dog’s head.”

Fiona gasped.  The death of Jawolalski meant nothing her.  But to kill a dog…

“We believe Jawolalski defected from ABC and was intent on rendezvousing with you.  His plan was to show you the dog head and convince you to help him bring down ABC, by force if necessary. The men who were pursuing me were tipped off by ABC.  They framed me under some ridiculous terrorist plot.”

Fiona nodded.  “That explains a lot. There is a persistent rumor that ABC researchers conducted human experimentation in China as part of their program to repair neural damage, and their name was mentioned by congressional representatives in conjunction with the ongoing debate over high-technology leaks in China.”

“I’m impressed,” said Jim-Bean.  “You’ve done your research.”

“I’ve done more than that,” said Fiona. “I’ve discovered ABC’s Blackfoot production facility.  If they’re processing anything illegal, my guess is it’s there.”

The name sounded familiar.  Jim-Bean recognized it as the same reservation Blade grew up on. “Where?”

“It’s twenty miles north of Browning, Montana. The Blackfoot tribe is exempt from EPA regulations due to a legal loophole.  ABC took advantage of that and built a chemical production facility there.  Nobody’s supposed to know about it.”

“That’s exactly what we needed.  Do you have information as to the location—“

“I do,” said Fiona. “But if anyone’s going to take down ABC, it’ll be me.”  She scribbled an address on a napkin.  “Meet me here at midnight.  I’ll assemble a team.  We’ll drive out to Montana – can’t appear on any passenger lists.” She stood up.  

Jim-Bean, taken aback, stood up as well.  “I’ll find Guppy.  I doubt they can make any charges stick.”

Fiona frowned.  “Fine, but make sure he keeps his ranting in check.  I’ve dealt with too many nutjobs in my day to have one endanger a mission as important as this.”

She whirled out of the room, leaving Jim-Bean a little lightheaded.

He tapped the hidden earpiece.  “So, uh…guys?”

“What did you get out of her?” replied Hammer.

“I think it’s the other way around.  Fiona just recruited me.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 6 – The A Team*

Fiona’s team consisted of Keith Bass, contributing editor; scruffy socialist and self-styled ecological Che Guevara and Dwight Jenkins, gofer, receptionist, part-time environmentalist and full-time horn dog. Jim-Bean guessed blowing up ABC was right up Bass’ alley.  As for Jenkins, he undoubtedly hoped blowing up ABC would be right up Fiona’s alley.

Sure enough, they picked up Guppy just before getting on the road.  Hammer was careful to leave Guppy in front of the Samson police station just in case.

Fiona drove.  Jim-Bean sat in the passenger seat.

“You got any weapons?” asked Jim-Bean.

Fiona shook her head.  “Just pepper spray.”

Guppy rubbed his eyes.  “As dangerous as I know you are with that, I think I can help.”  He opened up his jacket. There were sticks of C-4 along with detonators.

The others gasped. 

“Where did you get that much explosives?” asked Dwight.

“Oh I carry it with me,” said Guppy nonchalantly, patting a bulky satchel. 

Dwight and Keith exchanged glances but kept their mouths shut.

“Here,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’ve got a few weapons you can use.” He handed his Glock 18C to Keith.  “Be careful with it.”

Keith took it gingerly and nodded.

“What have you got for me?” asked Fiona.

Jim-Bean pulled a Smith and Wesson Model 29 revolver out of his bag. 

“That’ll do,” she said.

“I don’t think…”

Fiona, one hand on the wheel, snatched the heavy revolver from Jim-Bean.  With a flick of her thumb and snap of her wrist, she opened the chamber, glanced down to ensure it was loaded, then snapped the cartridge back in and spun it.  She shoved it into one of her boots. 

“I thought you didn’t know how to use guns?” asked Guppy.

“I said I don’t HAVE any guns,” Fiona corrected him.  “I didn’t say I don’t know how to USE guns.”

Jim-Bean looked around the seat at Guppy, out of Fiona’s field of view, and mouthed, “Wow!”

“What about me?” asked David.

“You’ll be fine,” snapped Jim-Bean.  “Just stay behind me.”

“Hold on tight boys,” said Fiona.  “It’s gonna be a long ride.”

She hit the gas.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 7 – The B Team*

Hammer and Archive flew ahead of Fiona’s team to scope out the plant. 

ABC’s Gemstone facility was located at the end of a six-mile-long private access road off County Road 464.  The facility was within ten miles of the Canadian border, which local Blackfeet still referred to as “the Medicine Line.” The Milk River ran past the facility and supplied it with water.  There was also a rail line which crossed the Milk River and headed into Canada.  The property was surrounded by an outer fourteen-foot chain link fence topped by razor wire and an inner twelve-foot fence also topped with wire.  The two fences were separated by a thirty-foot wide kennel run; guard dogs patrolled the kennel run at night.  The fences surrounded an area of about fifty acres.

The Gemstone facility consisted of a set of four low-lying bunkers arranged in a cloverleaf design around a central fifth building.  The central building, known as the Aguas Mansion, included the administration offices, data processing, a security office, six research-project labs, cafeteria, medical center, and emergency decontamination facilities.  Each of the four surrounding bunkers was a production unit.  

There were also a few outlying buildings, including the waste-incineration building, the temporary staff quarters, the dog kennel, and the security annex and vehicle garage.

“The central building is a huge Chateauesque structure begun in 1901 and completed in 1903, built by a magnate from America’s Industrial Revolution,” said Archive. It had cast-iron roof cresting and steeply pitched hipped roofs. Its stone walls were a mixture of French Renaissance and Gothic styles, and it had tall, elaborate brick chimneys. “In the 1950s it was converted to a sanatorium. ABC purchased the mansion and surrounding olive grove in 1993.”

“A sanatorium,” snorted Hammer, peering through a scope of the sniper rifle. “Why am I not surprised?”

A Bell JetRanger helicopter landed the night before and discharged a Germanic-looking muscle-bound executive and his entourage of five men, all dressed in designer suits. 

“We’ve got movement,” said Archive.

“I see it,” said Hammer.

A train arrived at the south gate at 9 p.m. 

“And here comes the A team,” said Archive.

Jim-Bean’s car pulled up on a bluff overlooking the facility.  The five of them filtered out, all clad in black.  The distant figure that could only be Guppy stumbled down the slope towards the entrance. 

Hammer chambered a bullet into the sniper rifle.  “This is going to be a disaster,” he sighed.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 8 – Little Fish in a Big Pond*

Guppy stealthy made his way to the front gate.  He had hacked the security camera with his cistron to provide a repeating feed.  The only thing he had to worry about was the guards, and there was a window of a minute where the gate wasn’t covered. It was all going according to plan…

Until Guppy tripped.  He rolled, tumbling out of control, past the olive trees and landed flat on his back in the road.

“Ow,” said Guppy without thinking.

One of the guards peered down at him.  “Hey!”

Guppy looked up.  He was a dead man.

Then the guard jerked as he was struck in the back of the head.  He fell over on top of Guppy.

“Oof!” shouted Guppy.

The others joined him. 

“What happened?!” asked Fiona, helping him to his feet.

“I fell,” said Guppy. He looked down.  “Then he did.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Jim-Bean, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I have some compatriots helping us out.  Native Americans, actually.”

“Whoever they are, they’re crack shots!” said Keith, peering into the darkness.

Suddenly a klaxon blared and lights strobed.

“We’ve been made!” shouted David in a panic. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Wait,” said Jim-Bean.  “Look at the color of the lights. They’re a bright green.”

The lights weren’t the usual red of an alarm.

“What does that mean?” asked Keith.

“Not sure,” Jim-Bean lied. “But whatever it is, we didn’t set it off. Something else is going on in there.”

Guppy went over to the gate and applied some C-4.  “Don’t have to worry about being stealthy now.  Stand back.”

They stood back as Guppy blew the gate.  

More guards fell before they could react, sniped from a distance.

Fiona waved Keith and David through.  Guppy hung back long enough to ask Jim-Bean a question.

“What does a green light mean?”

“A chemical breach.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 9 – Who Let the Dogs Out?*

Howls and growls echoed all around them, an interruption to the staccato beat of the alarm that rang across the facility.

“Guard dogs?” asked Fiona, pointing her revolver everywhere at once.

“Worse,” said Jim-Bean.

A bluish-red hound, its flesh torn and hanging, lurched from the darkness and slammed Keith to the ground.  He unloaded Jim-Bean’s Glock into its stomach, but the thing didn’t even react.  It bit hold of Keith’s face and worried his head like an old rag.

Jim-Bean fired his HK in a spray, peppering the hound with bullets.  Its head exploded and it fell off of the bloody mess that was Keith.

“I need a weapon!” wailed David.  “Keep them off me!”

Jim-Bean didn’t get the chance to celebrate his victory.  Something big and wet slapped into his back, knocking him to the ground.  He rolled as teeth snapped at his face.

It was another hound.  Jim-Bean struggled to maneuver the HK into position but he didn’t have room.  It bit down hard on his arm.  He screamed.

The hound’s head exploded.  Fiona stood over Jim-Bean, both hands on the revolver, the barrel still smoking. 

“Thanks,” said Jim-Bean with a smile.

“That was close,” said David, clearly shaken.  “What happened to Keith?” He took a closer look.  “Oh Jesus, look at his face!  LOOK AT HIS FACE!”

Keith had no face. 

Guppy was down as another hound knocked him over.  He struggled to keep the dog’s mouth from biting his throat, but only ended up getting one arm gnawed on. 

Fiona took aim and fired.  BOOM! The midsection of the hound exploded off of Guppy.  

As David stood freaking out, another hound snatched his ankle.  He fell down, wailing.

The dog began dragging him into the darkness when its jaw was torn off by a sniper’s bullet.

Fiona spun, pistol at the ready.  “Is that it?  Is that all of them?”

“I think so,” said Jim-Bean.  He put to fingers on Keith’s throat.  “Keith’s dead.”

“Oh God,” moaned David, clutching his ankle.  “I think it bit my ankle.”

Fiona leaned over Guppy and listened to his breathing.  “Guppy’s unconscious, but he’s alive.”

“I don’t feel well…” said David.

Jim-Bean walked over to David, who sat rocking on the ground.  “That’s because you’re infected.”  He put the HK to the back of David’s head and pulled the trigger.

He never knew what hit him.  A bullet hole exploded out of David’s forehead.  He slumped over.

Fiona screamed, whirling on Jim-Bean.  “You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!”

Jim-Bean put up his HK in a gesture of compliance.  “Easy.  Easy.  David was infected with the Sapphire pathogen.  He’s was already dead, he just didn’t know it. That’s why there’s a green alarm instead of a red one; there was a chemical leak at this plant, something we had nothing to do with.”

“What about you?” snarled Fiona, the revolver steady in her hands as she aimed it at Jim-Bean’s forehead.  “You were bitten!”

“I…can compensate.”

“And Guppy?  Are you going to kill Guppy too?”

Jim-Bean sighed.  “No, I’m not going to kill Guppy.  I have friends who can help him.”

“What kind of friends?” asked Fiona, not taking her eyes off Jim-Bean.  “Your American-Indian friends?”

“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Fiona,” said Jim-Bean carefully.  Behind him, Hammer and Archive stepped out of the shadows.

“You!” said Fiona.  “You’re not government agents, are you?”

“Close,” said Hammer.  “We’re something more than that.  Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to save Guppy’s life.”

Fiona put the pistol down.  Archive went over to Guppy and applied a poultice to the wound. 

“Your arm,” said Fiona softly.  “It’s not bleeding anymore.”

Jim-Bean held up his forearm. There was no trace of a wound. “Just a scratch,” he said with a smile. “Like I said, I haven’t been entirely truthful with you. But I need to know I can trust you with that gun, because we’ve still got a job to do. If this chemical leak gets out into the atmosphere, the damage to the environment could be catastrophic.”

“Are we still here to blow up ABC?”

Jim-Bean nodded. “They have to be stopped.  If they can do this to dogs…”

Fiona lowered the pistol.  “Then count me in.  But after this, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

“We’ll explain it in full detail,” said Jim-Bean.  “I promise.”

Guppy sat up gasping from Archive’s ministrations.  “Dogs! Big dogs!”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 10 – The Running Man*

The main entrance to the mansion proper was a covered car port. The driveway ran directly from the inner gate under the car port and around the front, ending in a turnaround outside the garage. Employee cars lined the driveway. Broad, shallow stairs led from the car port up to ten-foot wide oak doors. Bloody footprints led to the doors. The terrible stench of rotting flesh lingered.

“This isn’t right,” said Hammer. 

“The alarm may have been triggered just now,” said Archive. “But whatever happened here has been going on for awhile.”

A man thumped softly on the mansion’s front door, smearing gore from his now-damaged hand. Only when he turned was his face visible; a bloody, eyeless, ruin.

“Zombies,” said Jim-Bean with a frown.

Hammer took careful aim and pumped several bullets into faceless thing.  It jerked.  With a moan, it whirled and began dashing toward them.

“Fast zombies,” said Hammer. “Great.”

They all opened up on it.  The zombie pitched forward, its legs torn out from beneath it as gunfire perforated its knees.  It fell to the ground, twitched a few times, and finally lay still.

“Fast zombies, dogs…” Guppy blinked.  “This is just like Resident Evil!”

“You play too many video games,” said Jim-Bean.

“So that begs the question.” Archive cut Guppy off.  “If Sapphire has been leaking for some time, and someone just set off the alarm, who set it off?”

“Maybe there’s someone still alive inside,” said Hammer.  “Or maybe someone started the leak on purpose.”

They took up position on either side of the door and kicked it open.

Inside, the lobby of the mansion was a fifteen-foot Egyptian statue of Set. Security desks flanked the statue, and folding wooden doors led into the dining hall. Two security guards sat at the desks in the lobby. Both were male, one African-American and one Caucasian.  The African-American guard was disemboweled. The front of his uniform was a bloody mess.  The Caucasian guard’s throat had been torn out and his lower jaw torn off. Something bit out his tongue. The shoulders and the front of his shirt were soaked in blood.

They immediately hopped up and over the desks.  Again gunfire tore into them.  This time they cleared the distance to reach Hammer.  

Fiona dropped one of the zombies with a well-placed shot to the head from her revolver.  Hammer cut down the other.

“Check them for ammo,” said Hammer. “We’re going to need every bullet.”

Archive fingered the leather phylactery that hung around his neck. “Don’t worry,” he told Hammer. “I’ve got the heavy ammunition when we need it.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 11 – Brains*

Hammer kicked open double doors to a large, multipurpose space that had stacks of plastic chairs and folding tables against the walls, white boards, a speaker system, and a wooden floor.

A guard from the second floor study and all the Research Vice Presidents were present. One female still wore her glasses, but her face and arms bore terrible bite wounds, her left ear torn off. A stocky, red-haired Caucasian woman in her early thirties lurched forward with a broken neck and her skull slightly misshapen.  A frail sixty-year old Caucasian man’s head had been crushed and his jaw dislocated. The others bore similar bite wounds; clearly the dogs and zombies had gone to work on each other before succumbing. 

“Back!  Back!” shouted Hammer.  He yanked the door shut just as the zombies slammed into it. 

They retreated down the hallway. 

“Bathroom!” shouted Jim-Bean.   He sprayed the hallway just as zombies stumbled out into it.    But they were ineffective, and the zombies fell over each other as they dashed towards them in pursuit.

They ducked into nearest restroom.  It was one of those bathrooms with no doors.  

Hammer fired a burst at one zombie as it reached the opening.  Its head burst open like an overripe fruit. “There’s too many!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Archive, they’re all yours!”

He spun out of the doorway and back into the rest room as Archive slid out to face the zombie horde.

“By the power of the Elder Sign, I repel you!”

He held up the symbol tattooed on the leather remnants of an Asian woman’s human skin.  The eye at the center of the pentagram opened wide, unleashing a blazing red light onto the advancing zombies.

They burst into blue flames, howling and clutching at their faces, enduring suffering even more awful than their Sapphire-infected state. 

There was nothing left but blue dust.

“Wow,” said Guppy. 

“This isn’t working,” said Jim-Bean. “The more noise we make, the more of those things we attract.”

“We have to find the entrance to the Sapphire processing plant,” said Hammer.  “It shouldn’t be this hard!” He pounded one fist next to the emergency exit plan on the wall.  “That’s it! First floor, through the security office.”

“Well get going!” said Fiona, shoving Hammer ahead of her. “You’re not supposed to be here anyway.”

“What?” asked Hammer.

Fiona tapped the sign of a woman in a skirt.  “This is the ladies room.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 12 – Insecurity*

Hammer ran into the room at the top of the stairs.  Zombies howled and shrieked behind them.

He pointed down the steps. “The security office should be down this way!” 

Jim-Ben and Archive slammed the glass doors shut behind them.  

“Good, then we can set the C-4 and finally get out of—“ Fiona was cut off as a zombie smashed its arm through the glass door and looped it around her throat.

Fiona shrieked, clawing ineffectively at the zombie’s blood-encrusted arm.  

“I can’t get a clear shot at it!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “Stop struggling!”

Fiona’s eyes bugged.  “STOP. STRUGGLING?”

“Archive!” commanded Hammer.

Archive presented the Elder Sign.  The zombies shrieked, bursting into blue flames around Fiona.

The supernatural energy, the zombie attack, it was all getting to her.  Fiona kept screaming and, free of the zombie’s grip, lunged toward the stairs.

“Fiona!” shouted Guppy.  “Wait!  It’s not safe to go down there!”

Fiona turned and punched Guppy in the face.  He fell back, stunned, half-sliding down the steps.

“Damn it woman!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “Calm the hell down!” When Fiona spun with a raised fist, he clocked her in the jaw.

Fiona’s eyes rolled as her head bobbed back.  She fell backwards down the steps.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” shouted Hammer. 

Jim-Bean looked at his fist. “I didn’t mean to hit her so hard…”

Guppy, down at the bottom of the steps, managed to cushion Fiona’s fall with his body.  He rolled her off of him and lifted his pistol.

They were in the security room.  Guppy got to his feet and realized who was in there with him.

“Mother trucker,” he said.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 13 – Hasta la Vista, Baby*

Gunfire erupted down below them in the security office. 

“What the hell is going on down there?” shouted Jim-Bean.

Archive caught sight of a huge man in a dark-green Kevlar body suit.  It covered him from head to toe.  A swastika was emblazoned on one arm. 

“Karotechia!” said Hammer, shocked.

Straddling the now bleeding Guppy and unconscious Fiona, the Nazi aimed his Luger at Hammer at the top of the steps.

“'Bthnk! Ftaghu! Fhtagn!”

Archive pointed and the Nazi froze in place, his finger on the trigger.

“My turn.”  Hammer took a running jump and flipped over in the air down the steps, landing right in front of the big Nazi.  With both pistols out, he put them to the Nazi’s chest and pulled the trigger.

The Nazi’s body jerked as the bullets sparked off of him, ricocheting around the security room.  Hammer spared his Glocks a look of disbelief before he ducked for cover as the other Nazi stormtroopers fired at him.  

Hammer dove and rolled, firing back.  A red hole appeared on the forehead of one of them and he fell, dead.

“They’re not all invulnerable!” shouted Hammer.

Jim-Bean slid down the rail of the steps, spraying the room.  The other Nazis ducked behind the security console in the center of the room.

All around them, green lights flickered warning.  The words CHEMICAL BREACH flashed.  A map identifying the four cylinders of the chemical plant, each color-coded, flashed on the blue plant in particular.  The Sapphire plant.  

Hammer looked around.  A safe was open in one corner of the room behind a desk. 

“They started the leak!” shouted Hammer. He crouched towards the desk.

More gunfire ripped through the room.  Jim-Bean focused and, pointing at Guppy’s unconscious form, then pointed at the Nazis on the far side of the room.

“Guys,” said Archive.

One of the C-4 sticks with a detonator attached flipped through the air, guided by Jim-Bean’s will.  Jim-Bean focused and the detonator connected to the stick went off.  The explosion forced the Nazis troopers to dive for cover.

Hammer peered into the safe.  Papers labeled Nuevas Fronteras. “They’re destroying evidence, covering their tracks!”

“Guys?” said Archive, sweating as he focused on the big Nazi.

Hammer raked gunfire over the desk, forcing the Nazis to duck.  

“GUYS!” shouted Archive. “I can’t keep him still for long!”

The big Nazi grunted.  He was breaking free of the spell.

Jim-Bean blinked.  “I got it!”

He pointed, and one by one, C-4 floated from Guppy’s unconscious form and slapped itself onto the broad pecs of the Nazi.

“When I’m done with this we’re not going to have a lot of time!”

Fiona stirred.  

“Grab Guppy!” shouted Jim-Bean.

Fiona dragged Guppy up the steps. 

“What about Hammer?” asked Archive.

“Don’t worry about me!” shouted Hammer from the other side of the room.  “Go!  GO!”

Jim-Bean shoved Archive up the steps as the big Nazi roared free of the spell through sheer willpower. He took careful aim of at Jim-Bean’s retreating back.

The four blocks of C-4 stuck to him all began beeping at once.

“NEIN!” shouted the big Nazi as the explosion tore through the security office.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 14 – It’s Been a Blast*

“Gogogo!” Jim-Bean ran.  

The horde had swelled to include every zombie in the facility, over one hundred, clawing and screeching, stumbling over each other to get to the sweet flesh.  

The agents skidded out into the main hall.  They were surrounded.  The zombies began to moan softly, tightening the noose as they closed in on their prey.

“BY THE POWER OF THE ELDER SIGN I REPEL YOU!” shouted Archive.  He thrust the phylactery before him and the zombies, as one, were thrust backward as if hit by a wave of force.  The sign was losing its efficacy against them.

They dashed for the door.

“Fiona!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “Throw Guppy’s satchel behind you.  Now!”

Fiona didn’t need to be told twice.  She had Guppy in a fireman’s carry, but she managed to unsling his satchel and drop it at the entrance to the building.

They kept running.  Archive’s temporary distraction had bought them a few seconds lead, but not much.  Jim-Bean skidded to a halt and turned, concentrating.

Zombies poured through the opening.  Security and administrative staff, research and production, from the highest vice president to the lowest custodial staff, all were united in their bloodlust for the living things that continued to evade them.  They didn’t notice the beeping of the detonators in the satchel even as they kicked and shoved past it.

Jim-Bean dove to the ground.  “Get down!”

They all hit the ground just an explosion ripped through the mansion.  It collapsed the entrance and the covered garage, bringing tons of rubble down on the zombies.  The explosion tore through the front of the structure and the entire front of the mansion collapsed, sliding forward in a waterfall of brick and stone.

Fiona got to her feet. “That is one useful symbol,” she said to Archive, appreciatively. 

“Thanks.” Archive dusted himself off.  “What about Hammer?”

Jim-Bean got into one of the employee vehicles.  “He’ll be along in a few minutes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Jim-Bean smirked.  “You don’t know Hammer like I do.”

“No,” said Fiona, her expression distant, “I guess I don’t.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 15 – Safe at Last*

Hammer creaked open the safe door.  Fire and sparks lit the darkness around him.  Plaster and wires hung from the ceiling.  The explosion deafened him.  His ears were ringing.

The world swam as Hammer stumbled out of the rubble.  He looked around.  All the Nazis were dead. 

Klaxons continued to wail.  The way back up the steps was blocked, but Hammer could make out the opening to the Sapphire plant, a stairwell on the other side of the room.  He shoved some debris out of the way. 

Hammer sensed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look.

One blackened, burned hand shoved its way out of the rubble.

“Oh, no…” whispered Hammer to himself.  He dug faster.

Like some Nordic god, the Nazi rose up naked out of the scorched earth around him. He was over six feet tall, with a very muscular physique and classic German features.  His blonde hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven.  He looked as if he could have stepped out of a World War II SS recruitment poster.  

“No!” Hammer dug faster.

The Nazi reached over and pulled out a jagged piece of metal.  Testing its weight in his hands, he slowly stalked towards Hammer with murderous purpose.

Hammer cleared a path.  He ducked through the hole and clambered up the steps.

An air lock blocked his path.  Mustering all his strength, Hammer wrenched open the air lock and slammed it behind him.  He knew it wouldn’t stop the Nazi for long.

Inside the decontamination chamber, Hammer ran to the other side.  

The German reached the airlock door.  The door slowly winched open.

“Come on, come on!”  Hammer spun the wheel to open the other side of the airlock. Blue gas hissed through the opening.

The Nazi entered the chamber behind him.

Hammer dashed out onto the catwalk suspended above the Sapphire chemical plant.  Below him, it was clear that the covered vats that normally protected the chemical processes had been torn open by an explosion.  An explosion the Karotechia had intentionally set off.  Blue chemicals bubbled within.

Hammer ran across the catwalk.  There was a spiraling stairwell at the center of the plant.  If he could make it…

The German forced open the second door of the airlock.  He stepped out onto the catwalk behind Hammer.

Hammer, grunting from the exertion, dropped to his knees.  Then he rolled over the edge and gripped the catwalk with both hands.  Swinging himself back and forth, Hammer hurled himself over to a nearby catwalk.

Hammer slammed sideways into it and nearly lost his grip, scrabbling to gain purchase.  He hoisted himself up onto the catwalk and rolled over on his back to catch his breath.

The catwalk shuddered from the weight of something heavy. Hammer didn’t have to look up.  He knew the Nazi had jumped the distance between the two catwalks effortlessly.

“Ich werde die haut schneiden sie ihr gesicht und essen sie!” snarled the Nazi. He lifted the metal shiv over Hammer’s head.

The catwalk shuddered from an explosion and the big German windmilled.  Then he lost his footing, hurtling down into the vat of Sapphire fifty feet below.

Hammer slid down the spiral steps as the entire complex began to go up in flames.  “This is Agent Hammer!” he shouted into his comm. “We need a STREETSWEEPER team at my coordinates!”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 16 – Men in Black*

Hammer, Archive, and Jim-Bean drove Fiona back to the nearest Majestic-12 facility. Guppy lay unconscious in the back seat.

“Tell her,” said Jim-Bean.  “She’s seen too much already.”

Archive looked fearfully at Hammer, who was driving.  But he nodded. 

“We work for an organization, an organization of the highest level of secrecy,” said Hammer. “It’s a clandestine taskforce that deals with the elimination and obscuration of preternatural phenomena that pose a threat to our citizens and their country."

Fiona, dirt smudging her face and an ugly purple bruise on her cheek, looked askance at Hammer.  “And what organization might that be?”

“Majestic-12,” said Jim-Bean.  “But our cover is the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.”

Fiona sighed.  “So you ARE government goons.”

“We’re beyond the government,” said Hammer. 

“You’re all the same,” said Fiona with a scowl.  “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because we want you to join us,” said Hammer.  “You know your way around a pistol.  You dealt with the supernatural calmly.  You’d be a good fit.”

Fiona barked a bitter laugh.  “Oh you think so, huh? Was that before Jim-Bean punched me in the face or after he killed my friend?”

“I told you,” said Jim-Bean with a sigh, “he was infected…”

“So is Guppy,” she said, pointing at the bluish tinge to Guppy’s skin.  “So are you.  Hammer was exposed to the fumes in the plant, more than any of us.  And yet everyone trusts him to drive.”

Hammer shrugged.  “The Redlight boys say they have an antidote…”

“So there’s an antidote?  Where was the antidote when Jim-Bean shot David in the back of the head?”

“Look, we make decisions based on our best judgment,” said Hammer seriously. “Jim-Bean made the call and I agree with it.  The man was a liability.”

“Is that what they were?” snarled Fiona.  “A liability?” She crossed her arms.  “I suppose you’ll just kill me if I say no.”

Hammer shook his head.  “We’ll give you the COCKTAIL, a chemical that will erase your short-term memory.  Your friends died in a car accident while you were driving to intercept ABC. It will explain your bruises.  Keith and David’s corpses will be placed in the car.  Someone will drag you to safety but not in time for your two friends, who will die in the inevitable explosion.  You’ll wake up in a hospital and resume your normal life.”

“And what about the rest?  The chemical plant?”

“We have STREETSWEEPER teams for that,” said Jim-Bean. “It will probably be chalked up to a chemical spill.”

Fiona rubbed her forehead.  “I don’t believe this.” She looked sideways at Archive.  “And what about you?”

Archive shrugged.  “Don’t look at me, I’m just a Friendly.”

“You don’t look too friendly to me.”

“Are you joining us or not?” asked Hammer.

There was a long pause as Fiona picked her words carefully. 

“People like you are why I started writing for the Ecotopian.  You think you can just do whatever you want, just cover things up, just take away civil liberties.  Well enough.  I may not be able to stop you but I can at least not be a part of your stupid games.  David and Keith had lives.  Lives that you sacrificed all because you wanted to blow up some factory.”

“A zombie factory,” added Jim-Bean.

“Shut up!” snapped Fiona. “I used to think you were cute. But you’re just as bad as him.”  She jabbed an accusing finger at Hammer.

Hammer’s expression darkened as they pulled up to an innocuous-looking warehouse.  “We’re here. You’ll be decontaminated, given a cover story, and dropped off at the nearest hospital.”  

They all got out of the car. Guppy was taken away by stretcher. 

Hammer looked as if he was about to say something else to Fiona.  But whatever it was, he changed his mind.

“Have a nice life,” was all he said.

Then he stalked away, leaving Fiona to the techs who swarmed around her with needles and tubes.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 17 – Skin in the Game*

True to his word, Hammer argued vehemently to have Fiona given a COCKTAIL.  For a little while it looked like she might be given the 9mm retirement plan, but ultimately Sprague prevailed.  It was easier to have at least one witness alive; if everyone died, it would look like ABC was covering up something, and Majestic didn’t need more GNN reporters snooping around.

Hammer, decontaminated and showered, took a look at himself in the mirror. 

Maybe Fiona was right.  Maybe he was becoming a cold bastard.  But then, he did what he had to do.  To protect everybody.  People like his grandma in Manhattan. 

His grandmother lived a life Hammer wanted her to maintain.  It made him happy, thinking of her smiling at him from her porch, standing in the sunlight.

It was a fiction, of course.  He knew that. But fiction was what counted as life for most people.  The truth was ugly and violent.  It killed Blade.  And it would kill him one day too, if the package he had sent himself from the future was any indication.

In the mirror he looked tired, older. The job aged him.  Gray streaks were sprouting at his sideburns. Hammer left the decision to pluck or dye them or do nothing at all to another day.  

Hammer opened the medicine cabinet and popped some aspirin.  Another day.  He had killed the Karotechia sorcerer, Whitcher, just as his future self had indicated.  But the other parts – the scar on his thumb, the woman with the tattoo – hadn’t yet come true.

Or did it?

Hammer closed the medicine cabinet mirror and looked at himself again.  Didn’t Jim-Bean say something about not dating any Asian chicks? What did he mean?

“That is one useful symbol,” he remembered Fiona saying as she watched Archive display the Elder Sign.

“Oh no,” said Hammer.  He reached for his cistron.  

The possibilities spun in his mind.  It was a paradox, that the sight of Fiona’s own tattoo caused her to get that tattoo.  Was that even possible?

But if he was trying to keep his fragile future together, follow some sort of script, fix things that weren’t meant to be broken in the timeline…simply dumping her off in a hospital was a bad idea.

He pulled up a news report. His stomach clenched.  Fiona was missing.

GNN reported that one of the interns at the hospital, John Mackey, was assaulted by three skinheads. A doctor, Kevin Shapiro, got the blue panel van’s license plate.

“Damn it!” shouted Hammer into his cistron.  “Jim-Bean, Archive, Guppy, meet me at the car.  Fiona’s been kidnapped.”

They split up.  Hammer and Guppy went to the hospital, Jim-Bean and Archive tracked down the car. 

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Fiona was long gone. 

Hammer scoured the room for evidence.  There was ample hair, fiber, and fingerprint evidence – Fiona put up a fight.

Guppy plugged the data into his cistron.  The prints popped up immediately.

“They’re all members of the Bear Flag Republic, a white separatist movement,” said Guppy.  “All of them have criminal records in the state of California. I’ve got their addresses.”

“Skinheads.” Hammer shook his head.  “Won’t matter, by the time they return it will be too late for Fiona. What about the car?”

“We found it on the side of the road,” said Jim-Bean over the comm. “They switched vehicles to a van.”

“Can you track them?”

There was a pause.  “Yeah.  Fortunately they were looking at GPS in the car.  I got a good look at their location.  It’s off of State Road 12.”

Hammer was already out the door. “I’ll meet you there.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 18 – A Real Bear*

The Training Center was located off State Road 12, on a logging road deep in the Rocky Mountains north of Sonora, California. The terrain was mountainous with dense pine and redwood forests. The agents were positioned on top of a ridge overlooking the facility. 

The Bear Flag Republic Training Center was a large compound surrounded by a ten-foot-high, chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. A two-lane paved road led up to a gatehouse, from which an armed security guard checked in visitors and monitored the compound on closed-circuit TV. Guards with dogs made one patrol of the compound every four minutes. Beyond the gate were several buildings of various sizes and a parking lot. 

The lot contained a dark green Chevy Suburban (license plate UBER-01) and a black van with license plate AIK 834. In the center of the compound was a large, cylindrical tank approximately 100 feet in diameter and 100 feet high. The road led right up to the tank and encircles it. The other buildings in the compound were the office, the garage, and the barracks.

An unmarked tanker truck stopped at the gatehouse for clearance, then pulled up to the tank, connected a hose to it, and transferred its cargo.

“That’s got to be Sapphire.” Hammer handed off his binoculars to Jim-Bean.  “Guppy, think you can override their security cameras?  A place out here probably doesn’t have too many wires…”

Guppy tapped a few keys on his cistron.  “Yes.  It’s wireless all right.  I can put in a repeat feed.”

“Do it.”  He turned to Jim-Bean.  “Jimmy, I need you to provide a distraction.”

Jim-Bean grinned.  “No problem.”

“What about me?” asked Archive.

“I want you to go with him,” said Hammer.  “One guy by himself will look suspicious—“

“I’d rather not,” said Archive. 

“Excuse me?” asked Hammer.  “I’m mission leader.  You do what I say.”

Archive frowned.  “I think I’d be better served hanging back.  Jim-Bean’s better at the social engineering stuff than I am.”

Hammer’s expression darkened. “I gave you your Friendly status, but I can take it back—“

Archive cut him off. “Jim-Bean left already.”

Jim-Bean was walking down the road in plain sight of the guard.

Hammer sighed.  “Fine.  Get back to the car and keep it warm.  We’ll need to be ready to bug out here at a moment’s notice.”

Archive seemed satisfied with that.  He took off.

“Okay, the feed’s set up,” said Guppy.  “You’re clear.”

Hammer, cursing Archive under his breath, ran off down to the fence.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 19 – I Know Nahzing!*

Jim-Bean sauntered up to the front gate. He yelled at the guardhouse. “Hello?”

A guard stepped out, dressed in camouflage and carrying an automatic weapon.  “This facility is private property.”  He tapped the large sign that read: PRIVATE PROPERTY.  “You must leave.”

“Oh that’s okay, I don’t plan to stay long,” said Jim-Bean. “I’m looking for Fiona Lin-Wei, have you seen here?”

The guard went into the gatehouse and picked up a phone.  After a hushed conversation, Jim-Bean was ushered in. 

“Jaeger will see you.  Follow me please.”

Jim-Bean was led to Horst Jaeger’s private office. It was furnished with a desk and a large chair, plus two more chairs next to the door. On the desk was a computer.

Jaeger was very overweight, but still muscular.  He wore his hair long, his beard thick, and sported camouflaged U.S. military fatigues. 

Jaeger stood up.  “Who are you?” he asked.  “And what do you want?”

“You can call me Jimmy,” he said.  “I’m looking for Fiona Lin-Wei.”

“My name is Horst Jaeger,” he said gruffly. Jaeger pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“No thanks,” said Jim-Bean.

Jaeger shrugged and poured himself a glass.

“She’s a friend of mine,” continued Jim-Bean. “She went missing a few days ago and I lost track of her until I heard she got into a car accident recently on the news.  But when I got the hospital she was missing.”

“I know of Ms. Lin-Wei,” said Jaeger.  “She came by here two weeks ago and was asking a lot of questions.  We sent her on her way, but when I told my superiors about the incident, they told me about her connection to the Karotechia.”

“Karotechia?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Who’s that?”

“German terrorists,” said Jaeger smoothly.  He downed his drink in one shot.  “I haven’t seen or heard of Ms. Lin-Wei since then.  My guess is she went into hiding because her cover was blown.”

Jim-Bean leaned forward. “You know, it’s funny…you never asked me why I came here, specifically, to this place, to ask you about her.”

Jaeger glared at him.  “This conversation is over.  Get out.” He pressed a button.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “Fine.  But I’ll be back.”

Once the guard escorted him off the premises, Jim-Bean spoke into his comm. “I hope that bought you some time, Hammer.  Because I’m coming back to teach this smug bastard a lesson.”


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Part 20 – Going Ape*

Thanks to Guppy’s repeating feed, it was a simple task for Hammer to cut through the barbed wire fence and past the guards. What wasn’t as simple was finding Fiona, who could have been in any one of the buildings.  He crouched from window to window, peeking in to try to determine if Fiona was inside.

He stopped at the garage.  It was a small, single-story building meant to house vehicles being serviced. It held several workbenches, a wide variety of tools for automotive repairs, and what looked like cages covered in black cloth. Fiona Lin-Wei lay bound and gagged on a cot in one corner. On a stool across from her sat an armed skinhead guard.

Hammer snuck up to the doorway.  “Get that distraction ready,” whispered Hammer into his comm.

“On its way!” shouted Jim-Bean.

The guard got a phone call.  Frowning, he walked over to a phone on the wall.  Hammer slipped in through the unlocked door. The skinhead finished talking and hung up. 

Hammer put his silenced Glock to the back of the guard’s head.  “Don’t move.”

The skinhead whirled for his pistol. Hammer plugged five bullets into his chest.

Hammer walked over to Fiona.  She was barely conscious.

The sound of a roaring engine reached his ears.  Hammer grabbed Fiona and dragged her out of the way.

The front end of a car smashed through the garage door, ramming into the cages in the back of the garage. 

Hammer peered through the window.  Jim-Bean, slumped over the wheel, looked up.  “That enough of a distraction?”

Hammer frowned.  “Yeah.  Keep them busy, I’ll get Fiona to safety.”

“Oh sure,” said Jim-Bean. 

Hammer fled, half-dragging Fiona with him. 

Heavy breathing caused Jim-Bean to peer back through the front of the car, beyond the cracked windshield.  Something huge and dark moved in the shadows of the now torn open cage.  

Jim-Bean threw the car into reverse, but the wheels merely screeched. The vehicle was held fast by two huge, gangrenous paws that gripped either side of the front fender.

Jim-Bean hit the gas.  Gaping white jaws lurched forward, bellowing with such ferocity that Jim-Bean could smell its fetid breath.  It was a huge ape, muscle and bone exposed, tinged with blue.

The car groaned as it struggled to break free of the ape’s grip.  But it was no match for the reanimated gorilla.  It began rocking the car back and forth.

Jim-Bean gave up trying to drive and reached for the door…

The car flipped sideways, rolling over and over.  For a moment there was silence.  

The passenger door was torn off like tinfoil.  The ape roared again and reached inside for Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean wrenched the driver door open and dove out the other side.  Enraged, the gorilla pawed at him through the car.

Jim-Bean ran over to the dead guard and shrugged on his jacket.  The ape was temporarily distracted, tearing the car apart.

Two guards, similarly attired, skidded to a halt in front of the garage opening. 

“It’s escaped!” shouted Jim-Bean, pointing into the garage.  “Fire!”

The guards unslung their automatic weapons.  Jim-Bean ran past them. “I’ll get help!”

Then the guards were simply not there. A heavy, black object smashed into both of them, crunching their soft bodies across the pavement.  The object bounced its way ahead of Jim-Bean.

It was the car’s engine block.

Jim-Bean kept running right out through the hole in the gate.  To his surprise, Archive had the second car ready to go.  Hammer, Fiona, and Guppy were inside with him.

Jim-Bean clambered into the back.  “Looks like you had the most important job of all,” he said with a grin to Archive.

They took off, leaving behind the screams of the guards and the gorilla.


----------



## talien

*Dead Letter: Conclusion*

“What the hell was that?” asked Hammer.  

Fiona sat in the middle between Hammer and Jim-Bean.  She was still coming to. Archive drove and Guppy sat in the passenger seat. 

“I think that was patient zero,” said Jim-Bean.  “Whatever it was, it’s been dead a long time.”

“And infected with Sapphire,” said Hammer into his cistron. “Site compromised. Initiate PURGATORY.  Repeat: PURGATORY.”

“I remember that,” said Jim-Bean, “wait, you’re not…”

“I am,” said Hammer.  “The entire site has to be wiped out.  If that gorilla makes it out into the wild…”

“But the evidence!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “We can trace this back to the Karotechia!”

“No time,” said Hammer.  

Jim-Bean focused.  He might not be able to gather evidence physically, but he had his own ways of gathering information.  He concentrated.

Horst Jaeger was screaming frantically in German to a laptop microphone and webcam. A bandaged figure, with the same pale blue eyes as the big Nazi they encountered at the chemical plant, barked a command. Jim-Bean’s remote viewing couldn’t make out the location of the Nazi, but he could see his name written at the bottom of the screen: REINHARD GALT. 

Jim-Bean didn’t speak German.  Galt’s speech was slurred and there was interference in the wireless feed.  He could make out the words “The Doctor” and “Rosetta, Texas.”

The signal suddenly went out.  The laptop rattled.  Jaeger looked up in fear…

And Jim-Bean was back in his own body, just in time to see the breathtaking sight of two black fighter jets shriek overhead, their sonic booms rattling the car as they passed.  Jim-Bean craned his neck to track them as they passed beyond the car.

FWOOSH! Each jet released two missiles.  They spiraled and ignited, pirouetting up into the heavens and then down onto the military facility.  The annihilation was instantaneous.  A small mushroom cloud billowed up behind them. 

Fiona slowly came to, her head leaning on Hammer’s shoulder.  She looked up at him. 

“You saved me,” she said with a smile.

"Wow," said Guppy.  "We really did wipe your memory, huh?"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 40: Last Rites of the Black Guard - Introduction*

This story hour is from “Last Rites of the Black Guard” by Ed Wetterman. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia* 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

If you’re familiar with the Karotechia in Delta Green, you know that it is led by a triumvirate of Nazis on their last legs: the ancient Olaf Bitterich, the artificially sustained Gunter Frank, and the immortal Reinhard Galt. Advancing the Delta Green timeline thus causes a bit of a problem, because Bitterich should be dead of old age. The solution: Last Rites of the Black Guard (LRBG).

LRBG assumes the characters will conduct a séance, which isn’t necessarily something every group will try. Instead, I had our resident psychic character possessed by Aimee’s spirit and let him role-play out the answers with the other characters. Only after enough clues were gathered about what happened to the spirits did I reveal that there was once a Nazi living next door.

LRBG then moves to the second part of the scenario, which is essentially a death trap. Once the investigators find their way down to the secret door, it locks behind them and they are engaged in a fight for their lives with a Risen of Osiris, an undead monster. Since I adopted this monster to a Delta Green setting, I changed it to a Screaming Crawler. The effect is the same: the investigators have to slog it out in a toe-to-toe fight. My players were unhappy about this, expecting to uncover some plot-device to destroy it. The monster has no other purpose than as a guardian, which surprised my players, who expected it to be the old Nazi himself. 

This scenario provided a mix of creepy investigation and slugging it out with a supernatural beast. Because of how the fight went down, Archive was taken out early, which left it up to the gunslinger and the faceman. The gunslinger enjoyed himself, the faceman didn’t. 

*Defining Moment:* Since his incident with Yog-Sothoth, Archive is terrified of spheres. Which just happens to be the form an ABE takes…

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0011Z0YJK?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0011Z0YJK]Follow You Home[/ame]:*   By Nickelback
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0981963706?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0981963706]Last Rites of the Black Guard[/ame]:* Source of the scenario.


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Prologue*



> _You can dig me up a grave
> And try and stick me in the ground
> You can tie me to the bed
> And try and beat me half to death
> But you can never keep me down
> And I will survive​_--_Follow You Home_ by Nickelback​



Rosetta was a small suburban town, widely known for its beautiful woods. The total population just touched 53,000. Many wealthy families lived in the area and this affluence provided access to many amenities and services. The city had a large library, a first class private hospital, and a professional police force and fire department.

Rosetta was home to RaeMart Industries, a large scientific firm that created specialized missile technology. Rosetta’s schools were some of the best in Texas and the students consistently scored among the highest in the state. Rosetta was home to the American Dream.

The north side of town consisted mostly of industrial zones and shopping areas, including a large mall. The east side was the oldest part of town and many of the families who lived there were very wealthy and owned large plantation-style homes. To the south lay the “poor” section of town, which was the only area zoned for apartment buildings.

“So there’s supposed to be a Nazi around here somewhere?” asked Hammer, driving a huge black SUV.

Jim-Bean shrugged from the passenger seat.  “I know what I saw. Galt said Rosetta, Texas. And some doctor.”

Archive scanned his limited-access cistron.  “The old town square holds an arts and crafts festival most weekends and is ringed by a number of antique stores. The most popular restaurant is The Cattleman, but many chain restaurants can be found on the north side of town.”

“But nothing about Nazis?” asked Hammer.

“Nothing yet,” said Archive.  “But if you had a Nazi living in town, wouldn’t you bury it?”

“Point taken,” said Hammer.

Archive’s phone rang. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean stared at Archive, who stared at the cistron.

“Who has that phone number?” asked Hammer indignantly.

“Not many people,” said Archive. 

“Are you going to pick it up?” asked Jim-Bean.

Archive picked it up.  “Fontaine,” he answered.

“Mr. Fontaine? This is Lisa Gray.  You don’t know me but we have a mutual friend.  I called his show when the noises first started…”

“Mutual…friend?” whispered Hammer. “Who?”

Archive shrugged.

Jim-Bean started shaking his head.  “Don’t say it.”

“When I told him what it was, he said he doesn’t deal with ‘noncorporeal entities’.  He recommended I call you…”

“Don’t say it,” said Jim-Bean, rubbing his temples.

“Who is our mutual friend, Ms. Gray?” asked Archive.

“Magnus,” said Gray.

“Of course,” said Jim-Bean, banging his head on the dashboard.  “Because he couldn’t spin this into one of his idiotic vampire stories any other way.”


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 1 – Going Gray*

Ms. Gray’s home was in the west side of Rosetta on a cul-de-sac containing only five homes. A concrete sidewalk connected each home along the cul-de-sac. 

The Gray home was a single story, red-bricked home with an attached garage. There was a large pecan tree in the front yard and several oak and pine trees shading the back yard. The backyard had a seven-foot wooden privacy fence. Although Ms. Gray had rose bushes and colorful annuals bordering her home, they were neglected and many had withered. Very little traffic occurred in the area. Lisa drove a new, white minivan, which she parked in the driveway.

Hammer pulled the SUV up.  “Maybe we should stay in the car,” he said with a frown.

Archive blinked.  “Why?”

“This isn’t our case.  I don’t want to freak the poor woman out.”

“You?” asked Jim-Bean with a smirk.  “Intimidating?” He switched to a Texas drawl. “Why I do declare I’ve never heard – I say I’ve never heard – of such a thing!”

“That sounds like Foghorn Leghorn,” said Hammer.

He got out of the car, if only to get away from Jim-Bean, and followed Archive to the front door. 

The front door opened and a tall lady, wearing jeans, a pink blouse and tennis shoes, greeted them. She was an attractive blond with green eyes and appeared to be in her early thirties. At her thigh clung a sickly, young girl, probably seven or eight years old. The girl’s eyes were ringed with dark circles as if she had not slept well in a long while.

“Hi, I’m Lisa Gray,” said Lisa, shaking Archive’s hand. 

“Joe Fontaine,” said Archive.  “These are my associates, Jim and Kurt.”

“Thanks for coming. Please, come in.”

After offering tea and coffee in the kitchen, she led them back to the living room. Her daughter, Marissa, tiredly curled up against her mother. Her son, Matthew, was in the room but asked to be excused.

“Thank you so much,” began Lisa. “I’ve tried everyone and everything. It’s been two months, and no one has been able to help me, not even Magnus. Marissa woke me up early one morning, screaming that the men were here to take her…to kill her. She was very upset and it took me hours to calm her down. She missed school that day and I stayed home with her. At first I believed she had a nightmare, but it turned into our nightmare. She has awoken every night since, screaming. She describes horrible things. People skinned alive, purposely burned, and mounds of dead bodies. She refuses to sleep. She’s scared the dark man will take her.”

Lisa paused to sob, covering her face with a lace kerchief. 

“Go on,” said Archive, encouraging her.

Lisa looked out the window and took a deep breath.

“The third night, I slept in her room with her. The hall clock had struck a quarter to midnight and I lay awake next to her. A few minutes passed and she started shaking in her sleep. I moved to calm her when I noticed a shadow. It stood taller than a man, maybe seven feet, and solid black. It passed the bed and moved toward the door. When I screamed, it disappeared. I’ve wondered how long it stood over me… It still does. From that night on, we’ve all felt a …presence…in this house. Then, things started moving— shoot, some things started flying! Dishes flew out of the cupboard and crashed onto the floor. Lights and electrical appliances come on and go off on their own. Banging noises, it’s too much!”

She hid her face behind the kerchief once more.

“Matthew hasn’t had the dreams, but he’s been talking. Talking to someone nobody else can see. He says her name is Amy, and that she’s scared. He also says that the dark man will hurt them. I don’t know who he means by “them,” but I’m praying it’s not us. I have taken the kids to a motel, but the ghost follows us. We can’t escape it! Please, help us. I’m so scared.”

“There, there ma’am,” said Jim-Bean, patting her hand.  

Archive didn’t look at the others for permission.  “We’ll stay overnight and get to the bottom of this.”

Lisa sniffed.  “Thank you so much.” She put one hand on Archive’s.  “Magnus said you were a good man.”

Archive gave her a weak smile.  “Do you mind if we look around?  That might help.”

“Of course, of course,” said Lisa, rising.  “Please, help yourself to anything in the fridge.  I’ll get the kids ready for bed.”

Jim-Bean smiled and nodded.  He continued to speak in his Texan drawl. “If there’s a problem, I’m sure my colleagues and I will be able to get to the bottom of it.”

Lisa nodded and left the room with Marissa.

Hammer looked askance at Jim-Bean.  “Are you going to talk like that all night?  Because if you are, I can’t take you seriously.”


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 2 – The Book of Matthew*

Matthew’s bedroom was covered in toys, especially army toys such as helicopters, planes, etc. Despite the mess, his queen-sized bed was immaculately made, covered with a Star Warrior’s bed cover. Matthew was playing a violent zombie-shooting game on a PlayPal connected to a twenty inch television that rested on a cherry wood dresser. 

Jim-Bean and Archive scanned the room, each perceiving it differently.  

"You shouldn't play that kid," Jim-Bean muttered, pointing at the PlayPal.  "It'll rot your brain."

Archive paused, staring at the closet in the northeast corner of the room.  He put one palm on the closet door, eyes closed.  “Mind if we look in your closet?”

Matthew shrugged, never taking his eyes off the game.  A zombie groaned just before its head exploded. 

Archive opened the closet door.

It was a large walk-in closet, littered with several boxes of toys, clothing, and shoes. Archive pushed aside one of the boxes.  He pulled out a handmade scroll made from colored paper that was glued in strips to two small pieces of wood. 

Lisa looked on apprehensively.  “What’s that?”

“It looks a bit like the Torah,” said Archive, unrolling it on Matthew’s bed.  “It’s in Hebrew.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Hammer.  “I’m not Jewish.”

“Me neither, but I can read it,” said Archive, squinting down at the scroll. “It’s from the Book of Exodus: _God heard their groaning, and remembered his covenant. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm, and I will take you for my people. It was a night of watching by the Lord, to bring them out of the land of Egypt. Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today._”

“Who wrote it?” asked Lisa.

 “I don’t know,” said Archive. “Has anyone else had access to this room?”

Lisa shook her head.  “Matthew, do you know anything about this?  Matthew?”

Matthew finally looked up.  “No,” he said sullenly. “It was probably the Rabi.”

“Who?” asked Hammer.

“The Rabi. He’s cool.”

Archive sat on the bed.  “You mean a Rabbi?”

“Whatever,” said Matthew.  “I don’t mind him.”

“Why don’t you mind him?” asked Archive.

“He’s nice.  He says that it’s okay. Aimee though…she’s something different.”

“Who’s Aimee?” asked Hammer.

“A little girl.  She’s always scared.  She wants to go.”

“Go where?” asked Archive.

Matthew shrugged. “There are bad ones too.  Some are angry and want to hurt us, but Rabi won’t let them.”

Lisa pulled Archive out of the room.  “Is there a ghost in my son’s room?”

Archive chose his words carefully.  “More like a guardian spirit,” he said.  “This Rabbi, whoever he is, is watching over Matthew.”

Lisa sighed.  “About time one of them was useful.  I’m going to go put Marissa to bed.  Wake me if you need anything.”

Lisa left.  Hammer and Jim-Bean joined Archive at the doorway, leaving behind the electronic sounds of exploding zombies. 

“So how did that scroll get in there?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Ghosts don’t usually write things without help.”

“Help?” asked Hammer.

“The Rabbi possessed Matthew,” Archive said grimly.


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 3 – They’re Here*

The grandfather clock in the Gray’s house bonged twelve times. 

Archive’s cistron buzzed.  He had voice mail.

Archive clicked on the ear bud in his ear. “Any of you guys just leave me a message?”

Positioned at guard posts in the intersecting halls of the house, Hammer and Jim-Bean confirmed they hadn’t.

“Maybe it’s one of your fans,” muttered Hammer.  “Since everyone seems to have your phone number.”

“Very funny,” said Archive.  “My old cell phone number redirects to the cistron.”

“Maybe you should play it,” said Jim-Bean.

Archive replayed the message with the other agents on the line. 

The message crackled with static.  But there was a whispered, urgent message within the noise. 

“What was that?” asked Hammer.

“I think it said something about finding a body,” said Archive. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I thought I heard something in the dining room,” said Archive.  “I’m going to check it out.”

The dining room was a large, rectangular room. There was a door to the north leading into the kitchen and an open area leading into the entryway to the east. In the center of the room was a beautiful polished wooden table, with place settings and chairs for six. On the west wall was a large glass cabinet with fine china and other knickknacks on the lower shelves. A large impressionist painting of colors and flowers hung on the north wall. The curtains lining the large window to the south were rose-colored and tied to the side, revealing a good view of the front yard and the street beyond.

Archive peered at the glass cabinet.  It was curiously bare.

He craned his neck.  Dust covered the top of the cabinet, except for perfect round circles, where figurines had been there once before.

Jim-Bean’s voice crackled over the comm. “Hey guys? I just found a bunch of figurines glowing with psychic energy in the little girl’s room.”


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 4 – “I Love You…”*

Jim-Bean pushed aside a floppy orange-colored doll with wide, staring eyes and a huge grinning maw to reach for the figurines.  To his psychic perception they were sparkling with energy. He had no idea how they’d gotten into Marissa’s closet.

Jim-Bean didn’t realize the temperature in the room had plummeted until he caught sight of the sleeping girl’s breath, misting in the air.  He shivered.  

Banging resounded from the kitchen, breaking the silence within the home. Crashing sounds and breaking glass quickly followed, as the volume of noise increases to deafening levels.

Jim-Bean leapt up and ran into the kitchen, pistol out. Archive and Jim-Bean skidded into the kitchen at the same time.

The cabinets of the kitchen violently opened, slammed shut, and opened again. With each opening, contents of the cabinets crashed out onto the tiled floor. 

“What the hell is going on?” shouted Hammer, pointing his pistol everywhere at once.

“Poltergeist!” shouted Archive. “It’s probably connected to the girl—“

The pantry door boomed as it banged shut, and reopened. 

Jim-Bean ducked a can of food.  Unlike his two companions, he could see the normally invisible poltergeist.  

It looks just like Marissa’s doll, only larger.  It had two saucer-sized eyes, the black pupils punctuating the white surface.  Its maw was in a perpetual expression of slack-jawed stupidity.  It had large, bird-like feet and rubbery arms that ended in cartoon-like hands with just three fingers.  A short stubby tail wagged behind it as it tore open cabinets and tossed their contents around like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

Forks, spoons and knives leaped from their drawers and struck the opposite walls. 

“I’m going to wake up the girl,” said Jim-Bean. 

The huge glowing orange head turned to face Jim-Bean, the black pinpricks moving to focus on him. It started a slow, shambling gait after him like a gorilla, picking up speed.  

It shambled right through the bar, the drinking glasses above the bar shattering as it passed, sending shards of glass in every direction.

Jim-Bean ran into Marissa’s room and over to her bed.  “Wake up kid!” he shouted. The girl didn’t react.

When Jim-Bean looked up the thing was at her doorway.  Its features had shifted from benign stupidity to malevolence – a brow it didn’t have before furrowed over its vacant eyes, and it curled newly-formed lips over its huge teeth in rage. The thing grabbed hold of the door.

Jim-Bean shook Marissa.  “Wake up!”

He ducked as the door, torn off its hinges, flew through the air. It smashed through Marissa’s bedroom window on the other side of the room.

The orange thing smashed drawer and dolls aside in its fury as it stomped towards Jim-Bean.

There was only one chance.  Jim-Bean opened a link between his mind and the girl’s…

And then everything got real quiet.


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 5 – Chasing Aimee*

Lisa gathered up Marissa at the entrance to the girl’s bedroom, sans door. An incredible force had ripped it right off its hinges.

“What happened?” she asked, half-fearing the answer.

“Whatever it is, it’s gone now,” said Archive. 

Lisa peered into the Marissa’s room.  “What’s he doing?”

“You’d better get Matthew and go to your bedroom,” said Archive.  “Lock the door.”

Lisa, pale with fear, carried Marissa to Matthew’s room. Archive took a deep breath and walked into Marissa’s room.

Jim-Bean was on the floor, playing with Marissa’s dolls, and most specifically a floppy orange little monster. 

“Jimmy?” he asked.

Jim-Bean looked up.  His pupils were completely white.

“_I am…Aimee Resnick_,” said Jim-Bean in a soft, feminine voice.

“Aimee?” asked Archive.  “Is that who I’m speaking to?”

“_I am twelve-years old._”

“What happened to you Aimee?”

“_I died in July of 1943._”

“How did you die?”

“_I was murdered_,” responded Jim-Bean.

“Where?”

“_In Bergenvalden. In Poland._”

“Who murdered you?”

“_The man in the black robe killed me._”

“What’s his name?”

“_His name was Dr. Bitterich._”

“What did he have to gain from killing you?” asked Archive.

“_He controls us. There are many of us. He uses us. Gains power from us. He wants…immortality._”

Jim-Bean’s eyes widened.  He stood suddenly, his eyes wide with fear. His limbs were rigidly straight and his head snapped back, looking at the ceiling. He appeared to float a foot above the floor, and suddenly his voice screamed out, "_HELP US!_” 

Then he dropped to the floor, unconscious.


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 6 – The Doctor is In*

Hammer checked in on Matthew, who was sitting up straight in his bed, listening to the ruckus.

“You okay kid?”

Matthew nodded.  “Yeah, the Rabbi says it’s okay.”

Hammer edged into the room.  “He’s here with you now?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I speak with him?”

Matthew cocked his head, listening.  “He says you can speak through me.”

Hammer nodded. “Okay then. Can you ask him his name?”

“Rabbi Joshua,” said Matthew. 

“What happened to you, Rabbi?”

“He was…murdered.  By the Nas…Naz…”

“Nazis,” said Hammer with a frown.

“Yeah, them. A Doctor. A bad doctor.

“Is the doctor’s spirit here too?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what’s keeping the other spirits here? This doctor?” 

“He’s trapped too.  There are others who bound him.  They want his power. His life.”

“What’s that have to do with the spirits?” asked Hammer. 

Matthew listened and nodded.  “The ones who bound the doctor want the spirits.  They’re the power.”

“How do we stop them?”

Matthew stopped talking.

“Matthew?” asked Hammer.

“He’s gone,” said Matthew. 

“Why did he leave?”

Matthew swallowed hard, fear in his eyes.  “The doctor. He’s here.”

Lisa arrived shortly thereafter to usher her son out of the room.


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 7 – Sphere of Influence*

Archive was helping Jim-Bean to his feet when Hammer met them in the kitchen. 

“What happened?” asked Hammer, pistols out.  

“Jim-Bean was possessed by an entity,” said Archive matter-of-factly.  “A victim of somebody called…”

“The Doctor.  I know, I heard about him from Matthew.”

“You okay?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shook his head to clear the cobwebs.  “I’m fine,” he said.  “That was weird.”

“The little girl was…a…” Archive’s eyes were focused on the other side of the room. “…conduit…”

A six-inch diameter ball of energy emerged from the ceiling and floated before them. 

Archive stumbled backwards, panting in fear.  “Oh Jesus!” he wailed, falling over one of the bar stools.  “Get it away from me!”

The orb flashed colors sequentially, going from white to blue to green to red, and back to white. 

“Archive,” said Hammer slowly.  “Be cool.”

Archive ran towards Lisa’s room.

“What the hell?” asked Jim-Bean.  “I mean, it’s a ghost and everything but he was cool about the poltergeist…”

“It’s a sphere,” snapped Hammer, pointing his pistols at the thing.  “Remember what happened at the park?”

The orb hovered for an instant, then began to float towards Hammer.

He fired his silenced pistol.  The bullet punched a hole in the wall in the far hallway.

Hammer holstered his pistols.  “Bullets aren’t going to do anything!”

“I’ll get Archive,” said Jim-Bean. 

The sphere followed Hammer, relentlessly tracking his movement. He kicked over a lamp and, tearing the wires out of the connecting end, held them up towards the sphere.

It flashed with incredible heat.  Hammer reflexively jumped backwards, dropping the wires.  He had intended to electrocute the thing, but it was clear there was no earthly physiology to the sphere. 

The orb expanded, flashing so brightly that spots danced before Hammer’s eyes.  He stumbled backwards until he hit the hallway wall.  The heat was immense as it hovered closer – it was like staring into a miniature sun…

“In the name of the Elder Sign, I repel you!” shouted Archive from across the room.

The sphere shrunk to a pinpoint and flashed through the wall.

“Follow it!” shouted Archive.

Jim-Bean poked his head through the torn doorway of Marissa’s room.  “It went through the wall and out into the backyard to the neighbor’s house.”

Archive wiped the seat from his brow.  “Then that’s where we’re going.”

Hammer smiled at him.  “Good to have you back.”


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 8 – House Inspection*

The house next door to the Gray’s was a large gray-brick home with an attached two-door garage and a large privacy fence encompassing the back yard. The home was two-stories tall with large bay windows along the front. Very few flowers grew in the yard and tall bushes filled the flowerbeds bordering the home.

Police flyers posted on the doors and windows pronounced that the home was “sealed by order of Judge Joe McCrary of Rosetta, Texas, pending completion of a criminal investigation. Anyone entering the premises without proper authority are in violation of this court-order and may be subject to criminal procedures.”

Jim-Bean approached the door.  It was locked. He put one palm on it and concentrated.

The door clicked open as the various locks and chains undid themselves, bending to his will.  The door flung itself open to reveal…

Hammer standing there.

“The window was open,” muttered Hammer, shaking his head. 

The living room was spacious but sparsely decorated. An entertainment center sat on the north side of the room, just right of a door leading to the guest room. A 19” television set and an impressive surround sound system dominated the entertainment center. Lining the center was a rack of music CDs. 

Jim-Bean checked out the audio equipment.  “Manufactured in Germany.  Go figure.”

A small brown couch and a faded leather recliner were centered on the entertainment center. Only two pictures were hung on the walls. One was a painting of a blonde boy looking upward, and the other was a picture of the 69 Mets following their World Series win. Under the picture was a banner with the caption, “You gotta believe!” 

“I didn’t figure Nazis for Mets fans,” said Hammer.

A small fireplace filled the east corner next to the back wall. There was a closet beside the front door and an opening that led to the office on the southern wall. Two archways opened on the northern wall, one leading into a formal dining room, while the other provided access to the kitchen. There was a set of stairs going up in the center of the western wall, and a restroom door as well. A balcony overhung half the room, providing a good view of the front door and the front half of the living room.

“Spread out,” said Hammer.  “I want a room by room search.  Whatever happened is going on with this Doctor has something to do with this house.”

Jim-Bean caught a glimpse of a figure slipping across the threshold of the stairwell upstairs. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

“This is Nina Juarez,” whispered the GNN reporter into her handheld wireless microphone. “I’m here live in the Nazi house of Frank Manz, also known as Doctor Olaf Bitterich.  I’ve searched the rooms here and despite the house supposedly being abandoned there’s evidence that someone, or something, is living here. Curiously, I found a pen with Dr. Revinowitz’s name on it, the forensic examiner on the case.  I think I just heard someone enter the home…”

Jim-Bean’s psychic senses were suddenly tugged downwards into the center of the house, as if something was trying to get his attention.  He perceived a terrible screeching, like nails on a chalkboard – he didn’t hear it, but he felt it tingle up and down his spine. 

Jim-Bean sighed.  “It’s that GNN reporter again.”

“How did she get here before us?” asked Archive.

“Juarez!” shouted Hammer.  “Get down here!”

Nina slunk her way down the steps.  “Agent Grange?  What are you doing here?”

“You are in violation of a court order!” snarled Hammer.  “Get out of here!”

Nina recovered, holding the microphone up to Hammer’s face. “Why is the government interested in this place, Agent Grange?”  

Archive lifted one hand and the microphone began to spark. 

Nina threw the microphone down in disgust.  “Why does this keep happening!”  He took out her tape recorder.

Archive kept his hand up, whispering to himself.

Nina played the tape.  All that came out was static.

“Oh come on…”

Archive’s chanting grew louder.  He opened his eyes and Nina was compelled to look at him. 

Then she bolted for the door.

“What did you do to her?” asked Jim-Bean.

Archive shrugged.  “Broke her microphone, degaussed her tape recorder, and scared the crap out of her.”

“So pretty much what we did to her last time,” snorted Hammer.  

“I also saw something else.  Something’s in the house.”  Jim-Bean walked around towards the dining room.

The formal dining room was furnished with a well-polished oval, cherry wood table and with six delicately carved cherry wood chairs. Two large windows overlooked the front yard and the horizontal blinds were currently closed. An archway in the south wall led back into the living room. A second archway provided egress east, leading into the kitchen. A wooden china cabinet with glass doors covered the wall south of the kitchen archway along the east wall. The china cabinet contained a collection of floral patterned plates, cups and saucers.

Jim-Bean tapped the china cabinet and it swung open on an axis, revealing a set of wooden stairs leading down. 

“Whatever it is we’re looking for,” said Jim-Bean, his breath misting in the suddenly chill air, “I’m pretty sure it’s down there.”


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 9 – You Scream, I Scream…*

The stairs led down into extreme darkness. Their flashlights did not illuminate in the normal way, casting a much dimmer light upon their surroundings. The basement was circular, approximately sixty-foot in diameter. Images of demonic figures, and black writing accompanied them.  A large pentagram sketched in white chalk covered the center of the room. The chalk glowed as their flashlight beams traced its perimeter. 

A tall man sat akimbo inside the center of the pentagram. He appeared to sleep with his arms folded across his chest. He wore jeans and a dark polo shirt. He was barefoot, with a tag on one toe. What was visible of his body was entirely covered by blackened and blistered skin, oily and sticky to the touch.

Thirteen burned red candles ringed the pentagram. On the opposite side of the room was a small rectangular table that held seven small statues. 

Hammer drew his pistols.  Jim-Bean pulled out his gas mask and put it on top of his head, ready to be flipped down over his face at any moment.

The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, and the candles spontaneously lit. A demonic voice echoed through the chamber and the man rose…

Hammer fired several bullets into the figure, but he barely reacted. 

“He’s already dead,” said Archive. “Mundane weapons won’t work.”

“Well do something about it!”

With a scream, the man reared back and black tar spewed out of his mouth.  

Archive pulled out a piece of chalk and penciled an Elder Sign onto the hilt of Hammer’s pistols.  Then he made a mark on Hammer’s forehead.

“What’s that for?” asked Hammer.

“It will protect you,” said Archive. 

“Oh man that’s disgusting,” said Jim-Bean, transfixed.  The vomiting continued, as the tar slowly encompassed the corpse, volume far beyond the capacity of a human stomach to contain. 

“What about my gun?” asked Jim-Bean.

“No time,” said Archive. He tossed him a pocket knife.  “Use mine.”

“But this is…” Jim-Bean looked down. It was a Glock.  “Never mind.”

The tar rose into a roughly humanoid form, rippling like a pool of black mud, exploding in geysers. It expanded to a size larger than an elephant, but only because of its lengthy lumbering limbs and legs did it project size. Its head was topped by a single black oval eye and snout-like mouth, a receptor filled with needle-like teeth similar to the spines of a cactus. The stench of ammonia filled the room.  But by far the most awful part of the beast is its shriek, which sounded like a dying animal slaughtered in the most horrific manner.  It echoed inside their skulls.

Archive presented the Elder Sign amulet.  “In the name of—“

The Screaming Crawler moved with the grace and speed of a leopard. It closed the distance to Archive in one stride, slamming him against the wall with an undulating limb of ooze and claws.  

Hammer fired at it, tearing holes of ichor that slowly reformed.

Jim-Bean ran along the other side, raking the altar with gunfire.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Hammer.  “SHOOT IT!”

“I’m trying to stop the Doctor!” Jim-Bean shouted back. “This has got to be his canopic jars and the source of his—“

The canopic jars exploded, spreading still-preserved organs everywhere.  The Screaming Crawler didn’t even flinch.

Hammer ducked and rolled as the thing swiped at him, tossing Archive aside like a discarded toy.  The needle-filled proboscis darted at his head.

Jim-Bean turned and fired Archive’s pistol at the thing’s back.  It whirled…

Hammer came up from his tumble, firing both pistols. The Screaming Crawler staggered backwards as a chunk of its shoulder splattered across the cavern wall. 

“I’m running out of bullets!” shouted Jim-Bean.

Hammer felt to one knee, panting.  The thing had raked him with just one claw, but it was a deep gouge.  Blood drenched his right arm.

For a split-second the Crawler seemed torn between attacking Jim-Bean and Hammer.  Then it made a decision and lunged at Hammer.

All the candles went out.

Hammer stayed focused on where the thing was.  It was so big, he couldn’t miss…

He emptied both pistols.  The shrieking stopped.  Cold ooze lapped around Hammer’s boots.

The candles flared back to life.  What was left of the Screaming Crawler was just sludge, puddled in front of Hammer.  One more step and the thing would have beheaded him.

“Open up!” shouted someone upstairs.  “Police!”

“Always late,” said Jim-Bean, clucking his tongue.


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Part 10 – Dead Rising*

There was a slam, and then the door burst open. Two men entered wearing badges on dark black overcoats. 

“This is the police,” shouted a blonde man in an overcoat.  “Put your weapons down!”

Hammer held up his badge.  “I am Counter-Intelligence Field Agent. You put your weapon down!”

“I am Detective Martin and you have no jurisdiction here!  This is my crime scene! Now put your weapons down!”

Jim-Bean, who had run over to check on Archive, squinted at the dark-haired man behind Martin.  “Revinowitz?  What’s the forensic examiner doing here?”

Martin fired his pistol, missing Hammer.  Hammer retaliated, but bullets sparked off an invisible force field around them.

“Hammer, get ready!” Jim-Bean flipped down his gas mask over his face. Then he tore a tear gas grenade off his belt and tossed it onto the steps.

Both Revinowitz and Martin were chanting when the tear gas exploded.  

Revinowitz’s concentration broke first.  He gagged and wheezed, clawing at his eyes. 

Hammer raked the steps with gunfire, separating Martin from Revinowitz.  

Jim-Bean charged up the steps and grabbed Revinowitz by the hair.  With a heave, he tossed him off the edge…

The forensic examiner hit the ground with a crunch. Jim-Bean holstered Archive’s pistol and drew his own Glock.  He stalked towards the feebly moving Revinowitz with murderous intent.

A dark shadow coalesced around Revinowitz.  He rose up into the air, gasping and clawing at his throat. 

“What did you do?” asked Hammer, lowering his pistols.  Martin was choking and wheezing on the steps.

Revinowitz’s eyes rolled and his jaw went slack with a shuddering gasp. The dark shadow dropped the crumpled body and floated overhead. 

“YES!” it shouted, a roar echoing throughout the home. 

Glowing spheres of light rushed into the house from all over, sucked into the black swirling void of the shadow. 

“He’s alive!” shouted Martin, tearing back up the steps. “We are doomed! He’ll kill us all!” 

Hammer grabbed Archive.  “Let’s go!”

Jim-Bean didn’t need any prodding.  They ran up the steps after Martin.

Red and blue lights flickered outside.  The house was surrounded by police cars. 

“This is the police!” shouted a cop on a megaphone.  “Come out with your hands up!”

Martin ran heedless to the door, screaming and waving his pistol.  “We are doomed—“

“Gun!” someone shouted. 

The cops, spooked by the flashing spheres of light entering the house, opened fire, riddling Martin’s body with bullets.  He jerked like a marionette on strings and collapsed at the front of Bitterich’s home.

Hammer dropped Archive to the ground.  He had dripped blood all the way up the stairs.  

“Wake him up,” he told Jim-Bean. 

“I’ll try,” said Jim-Bean, slapping Archive’s cheek.  “But that thing hurt him pretty bad.”

“If he doesn’t wake up,” Hammer slowly slid to the ground, wincing and holding his bloody arm.  “I’m a dead man.”


----------



## talien

*Black Guard: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean, Hammer, and Archive walked slowly out of the house, backwards, weapons on the ground.

“We’re with CIFA,” said Hammer.  “My badge is on the ground.”

The cops grabbed their badges and cuffed them while they checked out their identification.

Nina Juarez was at the ready, this time with a camera crew.  

“Agent Grange,” she said, “we’ve gotten reports that Dr. Bitterich was seen at Revie’s Retreat, a funeral home.  Was his death a hoax?”

“I don’t know,” said Hammer, looking a little pale.  “You tell me.”

“If they saw Bitterich,” said Archive, frowning, “then that means…” he caught himself when Nina swung the camera to face him.

“What was that?” The floodlight beamed onto Archive’s sweaty face. 

Archive smiled and whispered something.

The camera popped and sparked as the floodlight went out.


----------



## talien

*The Evil Stars: Introduction*

This story hour is from “The Evil Stars” in Cthulhu Now by the late Keith Herber. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia* 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

Despite the fact that I wrote scenarios months in advance, sometimes I get caught by surprise.  And this session, the players finished the previous scenario faster than I anticipated.  I had my notes, so we dove right into the next one. The challenge was that I knew we wouldn’t finish the second scenario, so I had to find a natural break.  Fortunately, this scenario does just that.

The Evil Stars is a scenario loaded with cheese.  It features an evil rock band who makes a deal with dark mythos forces in the most complicated way imaginable.  God’s Lost Children, whom I introduced in a much earlier scenario, uses its tours across the U.S. to lead the crowd in a mystical chant that in turn empowers standing stones.  The chant idea is actually pretty cool – the notion that a major death metal star is hiring cement trucks to build massive standing stones at each concert isn’t nearly as a cool.  But far be it from me to shrink from a challenge. I can only go to this “heavy metal really is evil” well so many times, so I crammed it full of every cliché I could think of. 

First, we actually start with the biker gang, Satan’s Sadists, as part of the At Your Door campaign. This is a nice introduction to the gang and gives the agents a reason to care what they’re up to. After the gang attempts (and fails) to steal the baby dark young they were transporting to a Majestic-12 front company, the agents get a lead on the gang.  They’re not hard to follow, since they’re security for God’s Lost Children.  

But I didn’t stop there.  I shifted Star’s role to a much more important one, turned Billy into a killing machine, and created a narrative that took a page from Terminator: Star wants to snitch on Satan’s Sadists, but it’s up to the agents to retrieve her.  And when Brianne (changed from Brian, because I have a rock star female miniature) Lochnar of God’s Lost Children finds out, she calls in a Mythos favor to set Billy on Star's trail.  What ensues is a long string of violent interludes that culminates in a battle of the bands. 

*Defining Moment:* Hammer discovers that knowledge can be a lot more threatening than a gun.

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001037WSE?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001037WSE]Let Sleeping Gods Lie[/ame]:*   By Darkest Hillside of the Thickets.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635516?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635516]Cthulhu Now[/ame]:* Source of the Evil Stars scenario. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635648?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635648]At Your Door[/ame]:* Source of Full Wilderness scenario. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0954752627?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0954752627]The Book of Unremitting Horror[/ame]:* Source of Organ Grinder.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Prologue*



> _Violet flows from the wound in your chest
> Black is the hole in which you rest
> Your heart of gold was ripped in two
> Soaked in the sickness that is you._​
> --_Colour Me Green_ by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets​



“So Fiona said this was something we should see, huh?” asked Archive as they made their way through Full Wilderness’ headquarters. 

Hammer nodded. “She’s come a long way from not trusting us.”

“Memory loss will do that to you,” Archive said ruefully. 

“Not everyone has memory loss, that’s why we had to leave Jim-Bean in the car,” muttered Hammer.  They hadn’t anticipated on returning so soon, so it was best if Jim-Bean laid low for the moment. The staff of Full Wilderness would undoubtedly recognize him from his last “terrorist” incident.

Jatik welcomed them into his office and got right down to business. 

 “Full Wilderness has for several years sponsored a variety of natural science researches, especially investigations into insect ecologies, energy budgets, and symbiotic relationships. You see, a symbiotic relationship is merely one between two species in which each benefits from the association—for instance, in the bottle-tailed squid some species of internal bacteria generate the luminescence for the squid's photophores, and in turn are fed by the creature. Beneficent human intestinal bacteria are another example. The organization does this to contribute its share in the pool of scientific research needed to save the planet. I do not know how well-acquainted you are with the ongoing crisis, but I can assure you that recent efforts to downplay the significance of a degrading environment stem from scientific misinterpretations and the grossest of economic motives, Every day lost cannot be regained, and may in the end prove our undoing."

“What does this have to do with us?” asked Hammer. 

Jatik continued: “This last week I received a personal call from a Dr. Harold Gall, who swore that some of Full Wilderness's money "was being misused for the foulest purposes." About just what he was alarmed was not made clear. Fearing exposure and loss of employment, Gall sent a communication by private courier in support of his charges.”

Jatik handed Archive a computer printout.

“Dear Mr. Jatik,” read Archive aloud. “This situation is so upsetting to me that I am unable to work effectively.  I really don't know how to reply to your questions. There are so many things to explain, and so many places I could start. Now that I have raised the issue, I need a few days to compose a methodical presentation which you can use to create a plan of action. Per the enclosed exhibit, please follow the instructions carefully. It has to do with the work being done here. Enough of these things have died that I can fake the death of one more.”

Archive hesitated.  “There’s a paragraph entitled ‘feeding instructions.’”

Jatik nodded sagely.  Hammer encouraged Archive to keep reading.

He shrugged and continued. “The specimen currently eats a diet of 6 parts raw hamburger, 4 parts freshly-killed flies, and 1 part bone meal, in the total amount of 1 kg per 10 kg of body mass. It does not appear to ingest liquids directly, though a colleague believes that it does in higher humidity. Since acquisition, it has grown slowly—weight it weekly and increase feedings proportionately.”

“What eats freshly killed flies?” asked Hammer.

Jatik cleared his throat. “Dr. Gall disappeared approximately a week ago. His dented and damaged car was found abandoned al Seacliff Palisades Park, in a quiet residential neighborhood. Based on evidence found in the car, the police believe that Gall committed suicide. They make that guess mostly from the evidence of Tail's car. I can supply the name of the detective in charge of the case. Sgt. Jack Bolling." 

“So someone killed him to shut him up?  What did he give you, Jatik?” asked Hammer. 

"The affair is even stranger than you may be guessing,” said Jatik. He uttered a brief command into a phone, and two aides pushed in a short dolly. It bore a crate covered by a tarpaulin.

Jatik dismissed the two men. As he swept back the covering. Jatik couldn’t refrain from a flourish, but his "Tah-dah" was flat and ominous, as it might be: inside wriggled an eighteen-inch-high tentacle THING.

As soon as the tarpaulin was lifted, the thing leaped across the container towards Hammer in a single lunge, squeaking fiercely, its tentacles gripping the sides of the cylinder in a fruitless effort to snag such toothsome food.

The creature was in a travel container, a Plexiglas cylinder about a yard wide and a yard high, walls an inch thick, closed at either end by stout hydraulic clamps and double-latched. A few breathing holes broke the seal.

“What the hell is that?” asked Hammer.

Jatik shook his head. '"This arrived by messenger the day that Gall disappeared. What is it? Where could it have come from? What could it be for?”

Archive pointed a shaking finger at the thing.  “That…that is unnatural.”

"It put one of my employees in the hospital,” said Jatik. “Gall must have somehow drugged the thing. It arrived here limp, in this cylinder. We thought it had died. No heartbeat. Then it suddenly jumped our resident zoologist and bit off her left thumb. The teeth are razor sharp. Now she's suing us because we wouldn't kill it to get her thumb back."

It was indeterminable if the thing has a front or a back, just meaningless knobs and bumps and hollows. Drool and pus seeped from various mouths and orifices: a foul stench filled the air. Its multiple mouths opened and shut with voracious clicks and disturbing slurps.  After a few minutes, the thing begins to squeal incessantly.

Putting the tarpaulin back over the container brought more piercing screams. Jatik sighed and called in the aides, who remove dolly and contents.

“The existence of the monstrosity is more than enough reason for Full Wilderness to be concerned. I shudder at such a thing turned loose in a favorable environment. I of course thought of the helpful government agents and was sure they would be interested.”

Hammer frowned.  “We’ll take it from here.

As they left to go, Jatik said over their shoulders: “Full Wilderness has tens of thousands of local and national contacts. We are as much a philosophical organization as one devoted to practical ends, and consequently we have influence at every level of government. If you need the way smoothed, we can help."

Somehow, that bothered Hammer more than the creature did.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 1 – The Inevitable Happens*

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive drove down a large black truck down a four-lane thoroughfare--two lanes each northeast and southwest—past dusty commercial offices and light industry. 

“You see that?” asked Jim-Bean, looking back over his shoulder out the window.

“What?” asked Hammer, eyes on the road.

“Motorcycles.  Lots of ‘em.”

The thrum of motorcycle engines was suddenly all around them.  

Three motorcycles pulled up on either side of them. Each motorcycle was driven by a massive biker wearing leathers, a beard, sunglasses, dangling skull-and-crossbones earrings, confederate flag patches, imitation Iron Crosses, and handlebars that end in spiked mace heads. All of the biker gang wore jackets with a cartoon face of Satan flanked by Capital S’s on their backs. One biker-man's T-shirt read “GLC”.

Riding behind two of the bikers were tough-looking young blondes dressed less remarkably. Each woman carried a medium-sized flat box with the butt end propped against her right thigh.  One biker-woman's pants had a two-inch circle carefully cut in the seat, through which showed skin and a neatly-tattooed yellow triskelion.

“Hammer,” said Archive, “there’s a black van in front and behind us—“

The truck jolted as the van behind them hit its bumper.  The van in front began to slow down.

“They’re boxing us in!” shouted Hammer. 

Gunfire peppered the back of the truck and there was an explosion. Hammer yanked hard on the wheel, struggling to keep the truck under control.

“I got it,” said Archive, whispering a chant to himself. 

Suddenly the truck righted itself again.  “What did you do?” asked Jim-Bean.

“I healed our truck,” said Archive nonchalantly.

“Take care of the bikers!” shouted Hammer.  The van in front of them slowed down, ramming their bumper.

Jim-Bean focused on the bike to their right.  The biker took a sudden sharp turn, losing control of the vehicle as it smashed into the bike behind it.  Both vehicles flipped, causing a pile up behind them.

Archive pointed at one of the bikers, still chanting.  Sparks arced from the engine and the biker peeled off.

“The vans!” said Hammer through gritted teeth.  Another tied exploded from gunfire, and this time Archive didn’t have time to repair it.  “Stop the vans!”

The beast under the tarp began to shriek.

Archive inscribed something on his palm and held it out to the back window.  Seeing his palm, the driver of the van yanked the wheel hard, taking out another bike and peeling off pursuit.

Hammer drew his Glock from his shoulder holster and, in one smooth motion, blew the tire out of the adjacent motorcycle.  It skidded to a stop.

The truck lost control, spinning sideways to a stop.  The van in front of them pulled over.  One motorcycle was still coming at them.

“Steady,” said Hammer.  He took careful aim…

Hammer fired just as the biker closed on them.  The front tire exploded, bucking his motorcycle forward and hurtling the rider up and over the truck.

“Our truck is shot!” said Jim-Bean, inspecting the tires.  Men in dark suits and sunglasses, carrying 9mm parabellum pistols, filed out of the back of the van. They opened fire, further peppering the truck.

Another tire blew.  The thing in the back squealed piteously. 

“Don’t hit their van!” said Jim-Bean.

Archive chanted and a swarm of buzzing insects spiraled down from the heavens onto the men.

“What the hell is that?” asked Hammer, firing on them.

Jim-Bean rummaged through his rucksack.  “A diversion.” He snapped on a gas mask.  “Speaking of which.”  He held up a tear gas grenade.

A second later the grenade was spiraling in front of the van.

Jim-Bean strode through the cloud, firing his pistol into the foreheads of the gagging men.  He then grabbed the driver out and tossed him aside.

Archive pointed, and the buzzing swarm descended on him.  When it lifted, there was nothing but bleached bones.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Jim-Bean hopped in. The engine was still running.  “Looks like we’ve got our new ride…”

Archive and Hammer hoisted the beast into the back of the van and took off.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 2 – Zymvotek*

The biotechnology firm Zymvotek was a five-minute drive away. The agents pulled into a new industrial park, one of those campus-like affairs, with freshly-dyed grass and newly-purchased trees. They stopped before a silver-and-black, block-long building with a twelve -foot-high orange “Z” looming beside the main entrance.

The guards directed them to a loading dock, where they were greeted by two people in white lab coats, far down the side of the building. They passed out visitor passes to everyone.

“Oh great,” said Hammer.  “It’s your girlfriend.”

“Not. My. Girlfriend,” said Jim-Bean through gritted teeth.

Dr. Lisa Howell had improved her looks since they last met, changing her haircut and even putting on makeup.  She was cute, in a geek girl sort of way.

She smiled at Jim-Bean as the other lab assistant trundled the thing out of the back of the van.  It began squealing again. 

“So you got transferred, huh?” asked Jim-Bean, trying to make polite conversation and get Howell to stop smiling at him.

He was being nice; Howell was running a virtual reality server on a crystal matrix AI.  It had nearly cost Howell her life.  The saving grace was that the entire server system had been destroyed by the FRACTAL GODS virus, so there was no evidence of wrongdoing.  Still, Majestic-12 punished any failure, including being in the wrong place at the right time.  Her transfer to the opposite coast was a mild slap on the wrist. 

Howell nodded. “At Zymvotek, we mostly study the commercial possibilities of bacteria—as food for humans, of course, and that's how the company began, but also as oil-eaters, selenium-fixers, mineral-concentrators, that sort of thing. Until a few weeks ago we had a division dedicated to cosmetics tests on animals. Everyone was glad to halt those tests, and the facilities are still intact: Corporate doesn’t know what to do with them until next year’s budget plan is complete. We can use this area for several months without interference: I've already gotten the space allocation." 

They entered a large room, silent and empty except for lab benches, utility connections, and stacked rows of gleaming stainless steel cages numbering in the hundreds.

Howell’s chatter ended abruptly when the assistant removed the tarpaulin and she actually saw the creature in the cylinder. Her jaw dropped in delight. 

"Sprague said this was something special, but I could never have dreamed of this! This is no recombinant product, gentlemen." she chuckled happily to herself, and began to make plans. Jim-Bean was abruptly forgotten.

“Have fun,” said Hammer.  “In the mean time, we need to track down that biker gang. They somehow knew what we had in the truck.  That means there’s a leak.”

Archive nodded.  “I looked it up.  Those bikers were members of Satan’s Sadists.  They’re also security for God’s Lost Children—“

“GLC?” asked Jim-Bean.  “One of those guys was wearing a shirt with GLC on it.”

Archive nodded.  “God’s Lost Children. Harking back to such elaborate ’70s rock acts as KISS, Pink Floyd, and Alice Cooper, God’s Lost Children is as much a visual tour de force as an act of pure sonic aggression — which is exactly why their handlers at Grandeur Records have pumped millions of dollars into making the band one of the top acts in the world. Through constant media exposure, the whole process has taken less than six months.”

“I remember them,” said Hammer.  “We played their record backwards…”

“Secrets of N’Kai,” said Archive, nodding along with Hammer. “That’s how we defeated that statue of Tsathoggua—“

“Sorry, what?” asked Jim-Bean.

“You weren’t there,” they said in unison.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “Oh.”

Archive continued.  “God’s Lost Children has a concert tomorrow in Jacksonville, Florida. There are rumors that they incite riots everywhere they play.”

“I bet,” said Hammer.  “I don’t like the sound of this one bit.”

 “You should see their music video,” said Archive.  He clicked a button and an embedded video flashed on their cistrons.

The video was ineptly shot and edited. No attempt was made to synchronize what was happening on the soundtrack with the action on the screen. Most of it was a languorous art-house rolling shot of subway tunnels, trash piled up against walls and sleeping tramps. This was interspersed with images from occult books, mostly woodcuts of Satan and his witches, as if someone had held a video camera directly above an open book. At various points, heavily made-up faces leered into the camera from a few inches away.

Then they saw it.

The thing had its back to the camera and was tearing up homeless people. Then it stopped, like a dog sniffing the air, and turned round. There was no face, just a peeled back skull and something like a huge set of dentures in the middle. Industrial limbs extruded from its shoulders, tipped with whirring claws. It started to stride towards the camera. It moved with a horrible lurching gait, like Sadako from Ringu, as if it were broken on the inside. 

The three agents watched, fascinated, when suddenly the thing in the cage started shrieking, causing them to jump.  Archive stopped the video, breaking the tension.

Hammer’s cistron rang.  A call was being routed to his cell. He stepped outside of the warehouse to take the call. “Agent Hammer.”

“...look, Agent...uh, Hammer, don't put me on hold and don't transfer me to another department...” said a feminine voice. 

“Who is this?” asked Hammer. 

“Star.  Star Pardee. Look, I know something about the attack on your vehicle.  My boyfriend was behind it and he found out that I was planning to talk to the Feds.  I'm at the Black Dragon Restaurant in Toronto, can you pick me up?"

“We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

Hammer hung up just in time before Jim-Bean, barely within earshot, shouted.  “Oh no, I am NOT going on another SPIDER transport!”


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 3 – Enter the Dragon*

Toronto's Chinatown district was south of their hotel, bounded roughly by the thoroughfares of Dundas, Spadina, Queen, and College. Markets, restaurants, curio shops, newsstands, and other places of business dotted the streets, decorating the area with colorful signs--mostly in Chinese. Those of Chinese descent thronged the streets: live fish swam about in window-side tanks; orange- and red-necked barbecued duck and pork hung weirdly in restaurant and market windows: produce stands overflowed with fresh vegetables and fragrant fruits.

The newish Black Dragon Restaurant & Lounge was located in the heart of Chinatown, on Dundas Street. The large establishment featured Tcho-Tcho cuisine, previously unfamiliar to gourmets in the area and something of a hit with those who took dining seriously.

The restaurant exterior was painted a flamboyant gold and red: the green and black inferior was decorated with dragon statues, lanterns, Tcho-Tcho throwing spears, oddly wriggling octopus-like creatures, and so on. Whether the agents arrive for dinner, they ended up waiting in the lounge.

“Tcho-tchos,” said Jim-Bean with a sigh.  “You know what we’re going to have to do, don’t you?”

Archive took the bait.  “What?”

“Burn it down,” said Jim-Bean. 

The Black Dragon restaurant had a gloomy interior, which revealed itself to be less than savory.  Pool tables and upper-middle lowlife lurked in submarine depths of smoky haze. Dim table candles illuminated the bar like lighthouses in a fog. In the background, a God’s Lost Children song wailed from the jukebox.

The lounge featured the widely-advertised Window of the Verdant Sylph, a circular glass window reminiscent of a porthole. It was two feet in diameter. Through it could be seen a nude young blonde woman swimming or lolling underwater, regularly rising partly out of the window to breathe. The window was to the left of the bar, against the back wall, high enough above that everyone can see. 

The porthole was actually a circular lens, reducing the woman's apparent size to about eighteen inches in length. Given that reduction and the tank's calculated backlighting, the swimmer's intrinsic modesty or immodesty remained a point of contention among lounge regulars. 

Hammer noticed during a particularly close pass to the window that a dark patch could be seen on the woman’s right buttock identical to the tattoo which he saw earlier on the biker women.

“That’s our girl,” said Hammer. 

“Bartender!” shouted Jim-Bean. 

The bartender came over.   He had filed teeth that glinted malevolently. “Yes-uh?”

“We’d like to talk to that woman,” said Jim-Bean, pointing at the porthole.  He slipped the bartender two hundred dollars.

"She mosetuh swim a time, yeh—p’raps gentles drinkuh? P’raps gentles ituh in din-rom?” 

Their table ready, the agents ate an excellent meal, dishes mainly vegetarian or pork-based. Many ingredients were unfamiliar. Archive’s dish was delicious in particular, an odd sauce over green vegetables. 

Star had a break every 40 minutes.  She left for her dressing room and the tcho-tcho waiter informed them of her availability. Jim-Bean stood up.

“Coming?”

“I don’t want them to think…” Hammer looked around nervously. “You know, that all of us at once…”

Jim-Bean laughed. “You’re so modest.  Fine, stay out here.  Me and Archive will go in ‘all at once.’” He smirked.

Archive followed Jim-Bean to Star’s room. By the time they arrived she had put on a robe. 

When they entered Star’s tiny, dingy, windowless room—not much more than a light fixture, a clothes tree, a day bed, and a stack of magazines – her face went pale.  Her hands shook a little as she lit a cigarette.  “You got my message?”

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean.  “So you said you have information to share with us?”

Star wandered around, substituting eye contact for mental content. She did too many drugs to be very interested in abstract thought. “It’s not safe here. I can tell you who hired me for the job, but you need to get me out of here first.”

There was a gunshot outside. 

Jim-Bean snatched Star’s cigarette from her and took a drag.  “That’s our cue. Let’s go.”

“Do you have a plan?” asked Star, her voice rising hysterically.

“Not really,” said Archive. “It’s pretty much the same plan he uses everywhere.”

“What’s that?” asked Star.

Jim-Bean pulled a block of C-4 out of his duffel bag. “Blow it all up.”


----------



## talien

*The Evil Stars: Part 4 – Billy’s Club*

A tall, muscular man entered with a pig-like squint to his eyes.  He's dressed in the traditional riding leathers of a biker, complete with Satan's Sadists vest. He was huge and muscular, with python-like arms, a bald head covered by a do-rag, and bristling with hostility. In one arm was a fire ax, and a shotgun was in the other. The entire bar went silent when he entered. 

“Billy,” said Hammer.  He drew his pistols, unnoticed.

“Uh, excuse me suh,” said the owner, a small, shifty-looking tcho-tcho.  “No weapons allowed he—“

Billy put the shotgun to the tcho-tcho’s head and pulled the trigger. 

The tcho-tcho’s head exploded.  People shouted, scrambling for the exits.  

Hammer kicked over the table. 

“You!” snarled Billy, pointing with his axe.  “Where is she?”

“Put your weapons down!” shouted Hammer.  “This is your only warning!”

Billy reloaded the shotgun with one hand. 

Hammer let loose, firing.  One of the bullets punctured Billy’s shoulder.  He didn’t seem to notice.

A shotgun blast splintered the table in front of Hammer.

Hammer ducked back behind the table. 

The blade of an axe head jutted out right near Hammer’s face.  He stumbled backwards.

With a roar, Billy flipped the table effortlessly away.  Hammer came up with both pistols cocked…

And Billy froze.   Across the room, Archive had just finished a chant that culminated in pointing at Billy.

Billy was stuck in mid-strike, shotgun aimed at Hammer’s head, axe lifted high.  Hammer recognized Archive’s accomplishment with a nod of his head and set about tying Billy up.

When he was done, he dragged Billy out the door.  Jim-Bean, Archive, and Star met them at the car. 

“We’d better go,”: said Jim-Bean.  Billy was hog tied, arms and legs tied together, and blindfolded. He helped Hammer drop Billy into the trunk of their rental car.

“Since when are you so helpful?” asked Hammer suspiciously. 

“No reason.”  Jim-Bean slammed the trunk.  “Can’t a guy be helpful?”

“What did you do,” warned Hammer.

“Nothing, let’s go before this guy wakes up. There’s a green box near here…”

Hammer threw the car in gear.  As he pulled away, the Black Dragon Restaurant exploded.

Hammer shot Jim-Bean a glare, who smiled sheepishly back at him.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 5 – Billy Smash!*

Bekleys Auto Repair appeared to be just another small shop on Toronto’s south side. With its crumbling facade and dirty windows, few people gave the store more than a passing glance.  Inside, the repair shop looked even worse, with its peeling wallpaper, creaking floorboards and layers of dust thick enough for mice to ski on. 

Many of the people in the neighborhood wondered how Tom and Rose Bekley could support themselves with the meager few customers who wandered in every few weeks. Naturally, the police checked by occasionally to make sure the Bekleys weren’t selling drugs, or fencing stolen goods. But everything was legal and quite innocuous. The auto parts worked even if they were highly overpriced. There just weren’t any customers.

However, Tom and Rose secretly worked for Majestic-12. Green Box #14 was a standard example of the storage facilities maintained by the Majestic-12 janitorial staff. 

Jim-Bean and Hammer dragged Billy into the room between them.  A nervous Star entered accompanied by Archive. 

Hammer nodded at Tom.  Tom nodded back and flicked a supposedly “broken” light switch behind the counter. It opened a reader for a Majestic-12 cistron in the bathroom.

Hammer held up his cistron to the reader.  The wall slid back to reveal a hidden passage that led to a small elevator. They clambered into it. 

The elevator descended one hundred and forty feet down into the sub-sub-basement. The center floor of the warehouse had a small elevator capable of moving a six-foot square box. Below were three work areas. 

They dragged Billy to the labs.  The small testing and processing lab was common to Green Box facilities. A workshop filled the remaining space. It was stocked with raw materials and electronic replacement parts. At the end of the room were three ten-foot by ten-foot specialty rooms with double airtight doors. They trussed Billy up, upside down, hanging from a hook in the holding tank.  Hammer replaced Billy’s plastic handcuffs with steel-alloy manacles.  When they were sure he was secure, they closed and locked the massive door. 

Archive scribed something in chalk on the doorway.

“What’s that?” asked Jim-Bean.

“A ward,” said Archive.  “Just in case.”

“That door is made of steel alloy. If that doesn’t keep him in there, nothing will,” said Hammer.

They brought Star to the barracks.  After letting her clean herself up, she sat down in the kitchen. 

Hammer listened to her story while Jim-Bean and Archive raided the armory. 

“We were hired for the job by Howard Finley,” said Star, taking a drag on a new cigarette. “Finley arranged for us to leave the country for awhile when we were done.”

“So you were paid to steal the creature from us?”

Star nodded. “He paid us a total of $40,000, cash. Not bad for a couple of hours’ work. That doesn’t include the one-way airline tickets to get us out of Samson for awhile.”

“Tell us about your boyfriend in there,” said Hammer.

"I was dating Billy.  He's the leader of Satan's Sadists.  I don't know what I was thinking..." Star sighed. "But that's when things got weird.  Brianne Lochnar, the lead singer of God’s Lost Children, hired Billy's gang as security.  We traveled from place to place, and for a little while everything was good.  But then the monoliths started."

“Monoliths?” asked Hammer. 
"Lochnar goes on these meditations between sets.  But it's more than a meditation.  She visits ancient burial mounds.  Sometimes there’s monoliths already there.  Other times, she hires concrete trucks and everything to build them. She even hires artisans to chisel words into them, I don’t know what they say. Then she sacrifices...things.  I never saw the rituals until the last time, and that's when I wanted out.”

“What kind of things?’ asked Hammer.

“She sacrificed…” Star shuddered.  "Kittens. She slit the poor things’ throats.  The sound was horrible!  Horrible!" Star shook her head.  "I freaked out.  Billy slapped me then.  I'm convinced Lochnar would have killed me right then and there if it wasn't for Billy, but I heard them whispering and I knew it was time to run.  So I fled, and Billy's been chasing me ever since--"

The whole place shuddered just as Jim-Bean and Archive entered the room, loaded with explosives.

“What was that?” asked Jim-Bean.

There was the sound of sparks and a muffled explosion. 

“Billy,” said Archive grimly.  “He just set off the ward.”

Hammer checked his pistols.  “I’ll take care of it.”

Star’s eyes widened.  “He got out of that room?  The steel alloy room?”

Jim-Bean shrugged as Hammer left to investigate.  “Hammer’s taking care of it,” he said confidently.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 6 – Hasta la Vista*

There was the sound of wrenching metal.  

“Hammer?” asked Jim-Bean.  “Come back.”

Archive and Jim-Bean exchanged a worried glance.

“What?” asked Star.  “What?!”

“Hammer’s not answering his comm.” Jim-Bean loaded a pistol.  “Stay close to me.”

Archive drew his Glock and followed a worried Star out the door to the main chamber. 

The double doors had been torn off their hinges with incredible force.  The proof of impact was evident in Hammer, who lay underneath one of the doors, unconscious. Another door across the way had been struck so hard that it was nearly folded in half.

“The armory,” said Archive.  “He’s going to get his weapons.”

“Maybe.  I don’t plan to stick around to find out. Grab Hammer.”

Archive dragged Hammer out from underneath the door and onto the elevator in the center of the room, onto the elevator platform. Jim-Bean and Star joined him.  He punched the red button labeled UP.

Jim-Bean rifled through his bag.  

“What are you doing?” asked Star.

“Leaving a parting gift,” said Jim-Bean.  He pulled out a few blocks of C4, with detonators attached.  “Courtesy of the armory Billy is raiding.”

Just before the elevated platform cleared the ceiling of the entrance, Jim-Bean rolled the C4 through the opening.  

“This is a concrete facility,” said Jim-Bean.  “A blast inside this thing will cook everything in it.”

They exited through the bathroom. 

Tom Bekley stood at the register.  “Got trouble boys?”

“Big trouble,” said Jim-Bean.  “You’d better clear out, something big and pissed off just tore through our holding cell.”

Old Tom reached underneath the register and pulled out a shotgun.  “You boys go on ahead.  Me and Rose will buy you some time.”

“Hey, I appreciate the gesture old man but…” Jim-Bean caught sight of the old woman, who had pulled a huge revolver from behind a can of beans on the shelf.  She spun the chamber expertly to check that it was loaded. “Never mind.  Good luck.”

Tom cocked the rifle.  “Go! Git now!”

They piled Hammer into the car and took off. The radio was turned to a hard rock station and a God’s Lost Children song blared from the speakers.

“Can you see my body
Can you see it grow
Do you see it throbbing
Won't you watch it glow”

“Shut that $#!+ off!” snarled Jim-Bean.

Star turned the radio off.

Archive put his hands on Hammer’s forehead and whispered a phrase.  His eyes fluttered open.

“What happened?”

“You got hit by a door,” said Jim-Bean.  “Courtesy of Billy.”

“What IS Billy?” Hammer asked Star accusingly.

“I don’t…I don’t know!” whimpered Star.  “We were into the occult, all of us, and I think he took some kind of oath…”

“An oath?” asked Archive, his interest piqued.  “What kind of oath?”

“It was…unspeakable.”

“Uh oh,” said Jim-Bean, peering in the driver’s side mirror.

“What now?” asked Hammer.

“I think Billy’s catching up to us.”

Archive turned around.  “On what?”

Billy was tucked, his newly acquired Harley Davidson motorcycle gunning the engine as it closed the distance between them. 

“You know,” said Jim-Bean, “I’m beginning to think having an automotive shop over the vault wasn’t such a good idea after all.”


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 7 – The Thing from the Video*

“I know how to take care of biker gangs,” said Archive.  He whispered something and concentrated.

Billy’s bike suddenly sparked, flames licking from the sides of the engine.  He lost control, swerving the bike too quickly.  It flipped sideways, hurtling Billy to the ground. 

He hit the pavement hard, tumbling, rolling, sliding with a chattering screech as flesh stripped away. He hit the guardrail, bounced up, tumbled along the top and then pitched out into space. Billy smashed to the pavement in the middle lane and lay there, face-down.  Still.

“Got hi—“ was all Hammer got out.  Jim-Bean wasn’t paying attention to the road.  He swerved, striking the guardrail as the two lanes suddenly diverged.

The car screeched, one wheel wobbling. Jim-Bean struggled to regain control of the vehicle. 

“Stupid rental piece of CRAP,” he snarled. The car began to slow down, the transmission wrecked. 

“Guys…” said Star.  “I think Billy’s…I think he’s getting up.”

Billy slowly rolled over and sat up. He was a mass of blood, clothing and skin in tatters. Headlights flared behind him and an air horn blared. 

A double-trailer Kenworth gasoline tanker smashed him down and under with a crash. Billy rolled, clattering, and the mass blurred above him.  He ricocheted between the pavement and the speeding undercarriage until a stray bounce flung him up into the rear suspension. The stunned driver hit the brakes.  The air brakes howled. 

“Is he dead?” asked Star.  “He’s got to be dead…”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Jim-Bean.  “I’ve seen a lot of crazy s*&t in my day…”

The body of the driver was tossed out of the side of the tanker, rolling. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Hammer.

Billy was in the driver’s seat.  The truck bellowed, down-shifting on the curving grade. The tanker smashed cars in the street, tossing them over the side like beer cans.

Jim-Bean pulled out another block of C4 and kissed it.  “If I time this just right...” He tossed it out the car window.

The block of C4 swung in an impossible arc, buoyed by Jim-Bean’s telekinesis.  Billy looked up as it sailed past… 

It landed on top of the gas tank.  

The rear trailer exploded. An unbelievable fireball erupted skyward. Then the forward trailer exploded and an ocean of flame rolled forward, blasting past them. 

The shockwave from the explosion nearly flipped their car over.  It spun around a few times and came to a stop in front of a Best Buy. 

“Come on,” said Archive.  “We need to get into that Best Buy.”

“Why?” asked Jim-Bean.  

In the center of the inferno Billy struggled violently. His flesh fried and sizzled.  He tore loose from the twisted wreckage and collapsed to the ground.  He sank into a charred mass, finally still.

“That’s it?” asked Star.  “That’s it?”

Archive shook his head.  “We need to get to some audio equipment.  Now.”

“Audio equipment?” asked Hammer. "For what?"

“The band’s song.  Hammer, do you remember how we defeated that statue of Tsathoggua?”

“You mean by playing the music backwards?”

“Yeah,” said Archive.  “That was a God’s Lost Children song.  Maybe that will work…”

Billy staggered out of the blaze behind them. The last flakes of flesh were falling from him like burning leaves.  He was larger now, but that wasn’t the worst part.  There was no face, just a peeled back skull and something like a huge set of dentures in the middle. Industrial limbs extruded from its shoulders, tipped with whirling claws. Elements of the truck’s chassis were incorporated into its shoulder and one of its arms. 

It was the thing from the video.

“Oh my God!” shouted Star hysterically.  “He won’t stop!  He’ll never stop!”

Jim-Bean, Hammer, and Archive dragged her screaming into the Best Buy.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 8 – Between a Place and a Hard Rock*

Jim-Bean grabbed one of the blue polo-shirted employees fleeing from the store as the THING that was Billy strode towards them, fanged maw chattering madly. The employee’s badge read: HI THERE, I’M BOBBY!

“You, Bobby!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “You know how to work a computer?”

Bobby swallowed.  “Uh…yes sir?”

Jim-Bean waved his badge at the teenager.  “I’m a federal agent and I need your help, right now!”

The word “now” was drowned out by the smash of Billy striding right through the glass doors, its spiked fists easily shattering the glass. 

“Go to the back office,” commanded Jim-Bean.  He shoved Star after Bobby.  “Both of you.”

Hammer and Archive engaged the thing as Bobby ran to the back office.  Jim-Bean jogged over to the music aisle and flipped through the “G” section of the CDs.

After a few seconds and more screams from the fleeing patrons, Jim-Bean found the most recent God’s Lost Children album.  He ran over to the back office.

Jim-Bean handed the CD to Bobby. “I need you to play this backwards over the audio system.”

“W-what?” stuttered Bobby, who was torn between staring at the faceless thing swinging clumsily at Hammer and the pistol dangling from Jim-Bean’s shoulder holster.  “That’s not simple.”

Jim-Bean drew his pistol.  “Then you’d better get working on it now, huh?”

There was a shout and Hammer was slammed backwards, hurtling through a pile of display boxes.  He didn’t get back up.

“Archive!” shouted Jim-Bean.  “Bring him over to the stereo systems!”

Archive nodded, firing his Glock from behind a huge television set.  Billy sniffed the air, tracking him.

“And just so you two don’t move…” Jim-Bean drew a pair of handcuffs and snapped it around Star and Bobby’s arms. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” shrieked Star, snapping out of her terror.  Bobby typed ferociously, sweat beading his brow. 

“Looks like I’m up." Ignoring her, Jim-Bean cleared the counter. 

Archive went sailing in a bloody arc, his blood spattering as the Bobby-Thing ripped a strip of flesh from his arm.  He skidded in a bloody smear on the floor near the entrance.

Jim-Bean fired several shots into it.  The bullets penetrated and blood spurted from the wounds, but Billy didn’t seem to care.  

One of God’s Lost Children’s songs wailed over the speakers.  

“Reverse it!” shouted Jim-Bean.

There was a pause, and then the song switched to an unintelligible warped rendition that strangely sounded like chanting. 

The effect was instantaneous.  Billy’s skin and flesh bubbled and festered into pustulant blobs

The Billy-Thing barreled down on Jim-Bean like an enraged rhinoceros.  Jim-Bean held his ground…

It ran right past him.  Jim-Bean kept firing as it passed, plugging it full of bullets.  His Glock clicked.

Jim-Bean swore and reloaded.  

The Billy-Thing smashed right through the counter and stood, heaving with barely contained rage, over the paralyzed Star and Bobby.  It lifted up one arm…

Jim-Bean emptied his Glock into its back.  It didn’t even notice. 

The spiked fist came down, bursting Bobby’s upper torso like a wet melon.  Star screamed and scrambled away, Bobby’s arm still attached to her by the handcuff.

Jim-Bean reloaded.  The thing ignored him. It was after Star.

Star ran past him, screaming.  Billy was in fast pursuit behind her.

Jim-Bean leaped up and over Billy with ease, using his telekinesis in the same way Valiant had.  He landed on a display case full of Playstation 3 games. 

Still the music played.  The Billy-Thing roared, even as its skin popped and bubbled like a poodle in a microwave.  It picked up a television between its spiked fists and hurled it at Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean hopped to a huge speaker a few feet away, just in time.  The display he was standing on exploded in a shower of broken screen and exposed wires.

He reached into his satchel and fished out a block of C4. The quick-time detonators he had retrieved from the Green Box were about to prove their worth.

The Billy-Thing bellowed in frustration and pounded towards Jim-Bean.  He threw one of the sticky blocks at it, telekinetically guiding it right into the thing's gnashing maw.  

The explosion was spectacular, spewing what was left of Billy's head over electronics.  Even then the body merely staggered, taking two more shuddering steps forward.  Then, slowly, after one, two steps, it fell backward, collapsing first to its knees and then to the ground.

And still the weird, warping music of God's Lost Children played backwards, set in an endless loop by the late Bobby.  Jim-Bean kicked off the speaker, causing it to topple onto Billy's slowly pooling mass of flesh.  It further spattered what was left of the biker.

Star screamed.

Oh right.  The girl. Jim-Bean sighed.  

"That tattoo!" shouted Star, pointing at the yellow triskelion on Billy's naked thigh, just visible beyond the edge of the speaker. "I HAVE THAT TATTOO!"

It was clear that she was present when Billy made the Unspeakable Oath. It was also clear what would happen next.

"Come here, Star," said Jim-Bean, facing away from her as he loaded his Glock.  "I need to show you something."

"I made the same oath!" wailed Star. "I made the same oath!"

"I know," said Jim-Bean.  Star was hysterical. She wouldn't go down easily.  Jim-Bean whirled with his pistol out--

A single shot rang out.  Star’s dropped the small snub-nosed pistol in her hand, still smoking from the fatal gunshot she delivered to her forehead.  She slumped over in a pool of blood and brains.

Jim-Bean lowered his pistol and shook his head.  

By the time the ambulance and police arrived, there was nothing left of Billy but an odd stain on the floor of the Best Buy.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 9 – Hard Court Press*

Five hours in the hospital and a bumpy SPIDER flight later, Archive and Hammer limped in behind Jim-Bean to the Hughes Auditorium in Jacksonville. 

A security guard directed them to the administration office. Seated behind the desk was a burly, florid redhead.  He wore neat and expensive slacks, shirt, and shoes, and an ultra-expensive Italian leather jacket, but somehow the clothes were wrong on him – jeans, t-shirt, and a can of beer seemed more appropriate. A title card on his desk labeled him as Barry Watson.

“Look,” Barry said without looking up from what he was doing, “I really don’t have time for—“

“We’re journalists,” said Jim-Bean.

“Yeah, sure.” Barry didn’t look up.  “You don’t look like journalists. We don’t need more reporters from GNN…”

Jim-Bean slammed both palms down on Barry’s desk.  “Yeah,” he said forcefully, “GNN.”

Barry finally looked up.  When he met Jim-Bean’s gaze, his aggravated expression changed to complacence. He pressed a button on his phone. 

“Pete?”

“Yes sir?”

“There are three reporters here. Give ‘em a press pack.”

“But sir, the band is playing right now.”

Barry looked uncertainly at Jim-Bean, as if for approval. Jim-Bean nodded encouragingly. 

“Right now.”

“Right away sir.”

A moment later, Peter arrived with their press packs. The packs included three special backstage passes. Each pass was a printed, adhesive-backed, silk patch worn on one’s coat where security could see it. The press pack was a glossy, lithographed folder. It contained 8 x 10 photos of the band along with short, uninformative bios of each.  Numerous quotes were sprinkled throughout the promotional material, especially from Billboard, Rolling Stone, and Guitar Player magazines. 

They walked out of the office and past the security guard to the back stage of the auditorium. 

“Look at the tour dates,” said Archive, pointing at the map of the tour in the press pack.

“What?” asked Hammer.

“They form an upside-down V,” said Archive.  The list of dates for a tour plotted a “V” stretching from Samson up to Minneapolis and down to Miami in the south.

“That means something?” asked Jim-Bean.

“It must,” said Archive. “They must be using the concerts as a sort of ritual.”

The present meditation was the second to last scheduled, the eighth of the tour.   A blurb gushed that “Brianne’s meditations are famous.  With her cycle friends, she heads for the open road and the freedom from cares that intoxicating speed and danger provide. “It helps me get my head on straight,” commented Brianne.

Hammer stopped short.  “Wait, I just thought of something.”

He looked up from the press pack.  Jim-Bean was already gone.

“What?” asked Archive.

“What did Barry mean by MORE GNN reporters?”


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 10 – Who You Are in the Dark*

“I’d really love to see how this place works. It’d be great if I get beneath the stage…”

Jim-Bean stared intently at a roadie named Tom.  Tom shook his head.  “I dunno man, press isn’t supposed to be down there.”

“Oh come on,” said Jim-Bean, a little more forcefully.  “It’d mean a lot to me.  I’ll put you in my article.”

Tom shrugged.  “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone, right?  Just a quick look around and then you’re back in the green room.”

“Sure, sure,” said Jim-Bean.

They both put on noise-canceling microphones and headsets, the kind helicopter pilots used, that were linked by a comm. With the band playing above them it was nearly impossible to hear otherwise. 

Tom opened up a trapdoor that led beneath the stage and climbed down a ladder.   Jim-Bean followed behind him, duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?” asked Tom, flicking on a flashlight. It revealed a wooden series of angled beams and scattered debris, including endless cables and discarded metal bars. 

“Oh, you know, camera equipment,” said Jim-Bean. He looked around.  “So this is beneath the stage?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why you wanted to come down here so badly, there’s really not that much to see—“

Tom spun, blood flying from his face as Jim-Bean smashed his head in with one of the bars. He struck him so hard that his headset went flying.

“Sorry, Tom,” said Jim-Bean, standing over the unconscious man.  “But you’re going to have sacrifice yourself for the greater good.”

He set to work fastening explosives beneath the stage.  The crowd roared above him in response to the band’s latest set.

Jim-Bean was just about finished when he caught sight of someone skulking in the shadows. He finished setting the last explosive and then moved towards the figure.

Jim-Bean let out an audible sigh.  “Juarez, come out of there.”

The impeccably dressed and styled latina reporter slowly slipped out of her hiding place, wearing Tom’s headset.  “How did you know it was me?”

Jim-Bean smirked.  “Never mind that.” He was trying to remain calm.  In the darkness, the spreading pool of Tom’s blood was slowly creeping its way along the dirt floor towards one of Nina’s heels. “You trying to get a scoop on the band?”

“Yes,” said Nina. “After the riots at the last concert, GNN is going to do an exclusive on the band to hear their side of the story.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” said Jim-Bean.  “Why don’t we talk upstairs—“

“What are you doing down here?” she asked. "And where did you get that headset?  I found a spare one down here…"

Nina shuffled her feet, and one high heel was dangerously close to Tom’s lifeless hand, invisible in the darkness of the eaves. 

“Reconnaissance mission.  I’ll give you a special scoop, but it’s not safe down here.”

Nina snorted.  “Not so fast,” she said.  “I know what you’re up to.”

Jim-Bean froze.  “Up to?”

“That’s right.  Last time you set me up for an exclusive and never showed up.  I’m not letting you out of my sight this time.” The sparkling white grin Juarez flashed him indicated her interest was not entirely professional.

Jim-Bean laughed it off.  “Right, right. Follow me.”

He clambered up the ladder and Nina followed a little too close behind, leaving the blinking explosives and Tom’s corpse.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 11 – The Interview*

Jim-Bean escorted Nina to the Green Room.

“Agents Hammer and Archive!” she exclaimed with false enthusiasm. “What a pleasant surprise!”

Hammer hopped up from the couch.  Archive stayed where he was. A bird's eye view of the God's Lost Children performance blared on the television.

“Agent Jim-Bean was just telling me…” Nina turned to look over her shoulder but Jim-Bean was gone.  “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.  I wanted to ask you some questions.”

Hammer sat down again and Ninja joined him on the couch.  “Yes, you’re all quite mysterious for government agents.  The Freedom of Information Act doesn’t have much on you.”

“That’s on purpose,” said Hammer.  “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I could ask you the same question,” said Nina.  “Or other questions – like, did you ever catch that serial killer, Agent Archive?”

Archive blinked.  “What?”

“You know, Elijah Jackson?” When Archive didn’t respond, she continued.  “I spoke to Ms. Dawson and she mentioned that she shot him six times…”

“David Charles killed him,” said Archive.

“Really,” said Nina, flipping through a notebook.  “According to my notes you told Detective Gallagher that it was, and I quote, ‘a demon hopping from body to body’.”

“Then you also know that Gallagher threw me out of the police station when I shared that theory,” said Archive.  

Nina changed tactics.  She turned to Hammer. “Your grandmother’s very nice.”

Hammer’s expression went from guarded amusement to icy rage.  “You spoke with my grandmother?”

“I took her out to lunch.  She’s really a classy lady.  She speaks very highly of you.”

Hammer stood up.  “Stay away from her.”

“Oh I will,” said Nina with a smirk.  “We’ve already chatted quite a bit. GNN has a lot more resources than you might think, Mr. Grange.”

“This interview is over,” snarled Hammer.  Archive got up and followed him out of the Green Room.

Nina made a circle with her thumb and forefinger. “Be seeing you.”

They stepped out into the hallway.  Satan’s Sadist guards were everywhere, glowering at them or drinking in one of the dressing rooms.

“We’ve got to find Jim-Bean,” said Hammer.  “I don’t know what he’s up to but—“

There was an odd sound from the crowd on the many monitors that dotted the hallway outside the Green Room.  Smoke steamed out of the front of the stage.  

“I think I know,” said Archive.

The strange sound was people in the crowd choking.  Tear gas sent them scrambling away from the stage.  People in the crowd further back didn’t seem to notice; it was hard to distinguish a biological attack from the frenzy of death metal fans.  For all they knew, it was part of the act.

“He’s clearing the auditorium,” said Hammer.  “That means…DOWN!”

Hammer and Archive hit the floor as an explosion rocked the stage.  The television registered flashes of light, screams, and an impenetrable wall of dirt and debris kicked up by the explosion.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Part 12 – The Show Must Go On*

“Okay, everybody out!” shouted a burly-looking biker. 

Nina Juarez was strong-armed out by a weasely-looking thug, who shoved her roughly out of the Green Room.  Then they came for Archive and Hammer.

Archive put up both hands and whispered something. Smoke billowed up around them, filling the hallway.

“Fire!” shouted one of the bikers. 

The security detail, holding onto its morale by a thread, broke at the news of the fire spreading from the stage.  Of course, there was no fire, only Archive’s invocations.

Hammer ducked out of sight and ran towards the Lighting & Sound room door. It was locked.

Hammer pounded on it.  “Jimmy, open it!”

A second later Jim-Bean unlocked the door.  “How did you know I was in here?”

“Because it’s where I would have gone.  Did you just kill everyone in the theater?”

Jim-Bean frowned.  “No, that’s why I released the tear gas first.”  On the monitors, the stage was a burning conflagration.  Some of the crowd in the far back was still cheering, unaware that the entire band had been massacred.

“You just murdered three people in cold blood.”

“Four. And they were about to finish the chant,” said Jim-Bean.  “And consecrate the mounds…”

“We don’t even know what Lochnar's ritual does! You caused a panic—people are going to hurt, even die, as a result of your actions.”

Jim-Bean shushed him.  “Hear that?”

The cameras were still rolling.  The screen showed movement in the burning remains of the stage. Rising out of the wreckage, Brianne Lochnar stepped out of the debris, unharmed. 

“Son of a bitch!” swore Hammer.

“I KNEW she was a sorcerer!” shouted Jim-Bean.  

Brianne pulled forth from the wreckage a broken guitar.  A severed wire trailed from it like a broken tail.  She began to strum a chord…

“What’s she doing?” asked Hammer.

Brianne sang.  Despite having a broken guitar, despite no working sound equipment, despite the death of her two band mates, the audio came through loud and clear, complete with guitar riff.  The crowd stopped its panicked escape and turned as one to listen.

“Violet flows from the wound in your chest
Black is the hole in which you rest”

Hammer and Jim-Bean screamed, clutching their ears.  The sound pierced their skulls. 

“The song!” shouted Jim-Bean, trying to focus through the pain.  “Play it…backwards!”

“Your heart of gold was ripped in two
Soaked in the sickness that is you.”

Hammer nodded and hooked up his cistron to the sound system, wincing as his headache pounded in time with the music.

“Grey is the box that holds my head
Yellow's the wind when everyone's dead”

The reverse song they had used against Billy in the Best Buy shrieked over what was left of the intercom and sound system.  Brianne staggered from the audio counterassault. She strummed imaginary strings harder, and the guitar riff became a breathtaking wail. 

“Red is the blood dried on the rope
While green is your last hope.”

Jim-Bean flipped the gains on all of the audio equipment to the maximum.

On the monitors, Brianne’s flesh began to sizzle and pop. 

“Color me green!” she shouted, her head swelling, one eye larger than the other. Her warped lips blurted out “Green is the color of my god!” and then she burst like a popped balloon.

The crowd cheered, screaming into hysterics.  What they took to be an assault had transformed into the best damn pyrotechnics rock show the world had ever seen.


----------



## talien

*Evil Stars: Conclusion*

Hammer, Archive, and Jim-Bean were already in their rental car, far away from the chaos that was Hughes Auditorium. For once, Archive was driving.

“This is Hammer, call in a STREETSWEEPER team at my coordinates…”

Jim-Bean tapped him on the shoulder. “Look.”  He held up his cistron.

“This is Nina Juarez and I’m live at Hughes Auditorium in Jacksonville, Georgia. God’s Lost Children has played their last song.  It appears that Brianne Lochnar, in an attempt to one-up herself from the previous violent concerts, rigged the stage with tear gas to incite the crowd to riot.  As you can see behind me, the stage caught fire.  There are unconfirmed reports of Brianne playing right up until the stage collapsed, but we’ll have to get a look at the tapes…”

Jim-Bean grinned and tapped a compact disc on the dash of the car.  

Hammer turned back to his cistron.  “Belay that order.  STREETSWEEPER canceled.  Repeat, STREETSWEEPER canceled.”  He frowned over at Jim-Bean.  “We got lucky.”

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “I make my own luck.  Where to next?”

“Star mentioned those mounds.  I want to find out what really happened there.”

Archive threw the car in gear. “Creepy mounds it is!”  

“And now,” mumbled the DJ on the radio, “in honor of the recent debacle at the Hughes Auditorium, we play a hidden track by God’s Lost Children.  It’s on the end of Six Gun Gorgon Dynamo.  And here it is:”

_“Nor do I particularly care.
Nor do I particularly care.
I don't know a thing about it, 
Nobody told me all about it
Nor do I particularly care.

Nor do I particularly care.
Nor do I particularly care.
Didn't read about it, 
Didn't see it on the news.
Nor do I particularly care.”_

“Turn that $#!+ off,” muttered Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 42: Future/Perfect - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of “Future/Perfect” Part Two by Dennis Detwiller and “Where A God Shall Tread” from At Your Door. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia* 
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

I enjoy the Future Perfect series by Dennis Detwiller, especially because he released them for free under the patronage project.  I already had a mysterious mound leftover from The Evil Stars, so this gave me an opportunity to explore the Georgia Guidestones in Elberton further.  These Guidestones are real and the circumstances surrounding their creation just as mysterious.  

What Future Perfect lacks is a way to interact with the shapeshifting serial killer on the loose.  Fortunately, Where a God Shall Tread has a similar villain committing murders (in the most idiotic fashion).  The modus operandi of killing victims and gnawing their bones clean makes more sense here and provides a narrative to hang the plot off of; otherwise, the agents wander around town waiting for the serial killer they don’t know about to show up.

Of course, the scenario hints that, when push comes to shove, the bad guy decides to wake up his brethren and go on the offensive against the one place most fortified against them.  This provided a suitably creepy and tragic finale. 

*Defining Moment:* Hammer, on the phone with the sergeant, discovers an impostor standing in front of him. 

Relevant Media

*Future Perfect:* Source of the Part Two scenario. 
*The Georgia Guidestones:* Told you they were real! 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635648?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635648]At Your Door[/ame]:* Source of Where a God Shall Tread scenario. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001037WSE?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001037WSE]Let Sleeping Gods Lie[/ame]:*   By Darkest Hillside of the Thickets.


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Prologue*



> _Like the girl that we met at the serpent mound
> Like the thing that we saw in the ultrasound
> Like the path through the woods that the natives shun
> Like the hair on the mole of the chosen one_​
> --_The Chosen One_ by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets​



Elberton was a sleepy little town in Elbert County, Georgia. It was home to Southeastern Power – the major employer in the town, and several smaller manufacturing plants. The economic dips that came and went since the Great Depression had somehow passed Elberton by, and people liked it that way. 

The 5,000 people who called Elberton home loved it; its small town flavor had not been marred by the modern bustle of city life. Life went on there much in the same way as it had for the last seven decades. It was also home to the Georgia Guidestones. 

The Georgia Guidestones were a huge granite monument in Elbert County, Georgia.  The Guidestones draws tourists, and adds a lot of local flavor.  The Georgia Guidestones were located on a hilltop in Elbert County, Georgia, approximately 9 miles north of the center of Elberton. Located at the highest point in Elbert County, the mound, as it was called, had its own history. 

But that’s not all Elberton laid claim to. Over the decades it produced some exceptional people in the shadow of that mound. Over the decades it’s produced some exceptional people in the shadow of that mound. It’s most famous son, Arthur Hunt, the town drunk turned eccentric genius, who forged an empire on consumer electronics was born there, and a statue dedicated to him sat in the middle of town.

Jim-Bean looked up at the statue.  “Doesn’t look like much.”

Hunt’s statue was a twelve-foot bronze edifice on top of a hollow cement pylon in the center of town. It sat at the heart of the Malcolm Elberton Park, and faced west.

“He’s smiling about something,” said Hammer.

The Hunt statue had its hand outstretched. With an uncharacteristic smile on its face, Hunt’s eyes pointed towards…

Archive spun about, took a few steps, looked at the sun, then down at his cistron.  “Yep, he’s pointing towards the mound.”

“The one Star saw Lochnar and friends sacrifice kittens on,” said Hammer. "Let's go."


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 1 – Guide to the Guidestones*

The route headed west, then turned north on Highway 77, towards Elbert County. Small signs beside the highway indicated the turnoff for the Guidestones, which was identified by a street sign as "Guidestones Rd."

The dirt road bounced through bend after bend of cool brush lands. A recent rainfall made the going slippery. 

As the car rounded another thicket, a locked wooden gate blocked the road. A wooden house was nearby. No one was visible inside, though smoke rose from the chimney of the small wooden house. There was swamp about a hundred yards to the left and right of the house, flanked by palmetto and even prickly-pear cactus on sandy hummocks. The road continued beyond the gate, disappearing into trees several hundred yards beyond. A sign read “Double 7 Farms.”

A black man in overalls came out of the house and waved at the car.  “Hello!” he called.  “What you fellas want?”

"You the owner of this farm?" asked Hammer.

"I am," said the older man.  "Name's Wayne.  Wayne Mullenix.  And you are?"

"Agent Hammer," he flashed his badge. "We're here to visit the Georgia Guidestones."

"'Course, 'course!" He wiped his forehead with his hat.  "One day some lawyers appeared and offered me $1,500 for five acres of ground,” said Wayne.  “They said that someone wanted to put up a marker commemorating his great-grandfather, who died hereabouts more than a hundred years ago.  So I said: How big? And the answer: Pretty big, only you can plow around it.  Well that sounded fine to me, so I worked ‘em up to $5,000.  Yep, $5,000 dollars! Cash money!” Wayne nearly jumped for joy.  “Only now that I see the bunch what came out to do the deed, I think there’s something funny about the deal.”

"How so?" asked Hammer.

"Oh, you know.  Kids partying at the mounds.  And then there's the crazies trying to dig up the mound…"

"Who?" asked Hammer. 

"Well there's Arthur Hunt, but I reckon you know him well enough already.  Then there's Doug Yale, the Georgia River Killer.  Folk don't like to talk about him much around here. Back in '99 Yale was caught vandalizing the Guidestones.  Still there, I think. Yale went from vandalizing to eatin' people, leavin' nuttin' but bones.  Sheriff Falstaff finally caught him, then they both disappeared from custody back in 2000. Yale was part of that crazy cult…"

Jim-Bean rubbed his forehead.  "A cult?"

"Yeah.  Yale was part of them New Star Crusade folks.  Tried to keep them off the property.  Took it all the way to the state, but that Ignis fella spent nearly three million on legal fees.  Went right up to the Georgia Court of Appeals.  And wouldn't ya know it, the state sided with him on some hogwash about freedom of religion!  They still worship here on the solstice, which is tonight. I reckon the fact that you boys are here changes things, eh?"

Hammer frowned.  "About that.  We'd like to keep our presence quiet for the moment, due to the…issues you mentioned."

Wayne's benevolent expression turned serious.  "Oh, I gotcha.  Sure, sure.  Well, lookit me blabberin' on when you folks got important business.  Let me open the gate for ya."

He unlatched the gate and swung it open.


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 2 – Set in Stone*

Five massive slabs of polished granite rose out of the earth in a star pattern. The rocks were each sixteen feet tall, with four of them weighing more than twenty tons apiece. Together they supported a 25,000-pound capstone. Approaching the edifice, it was hard not to think immediately of England's Stonehenge or possibly the ominous monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

The only clues to its origin were on a nearby plaque on the ground—which gave the dimensions and explained a series of intricate notches and holes that corresponded to the movements of the sun and stars—and the "guides" themselves, directives carved into the rocks. These instructions appeared in eight languages ranging from English to Swahili and reflected a peculiar New Age ideology. Two stood out in particular, "maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature" and "be not a cancer on the earth—leave room for nature."

The stones had been splattered with polyurethane and spray-painted with graffiti. Yale's handiwork included slogans like "Death to the new world order." 

"So?" asked Hammer.

"So…what?" Jim-Bean asked back.

"The mound.  Can you sense anything?"

"Oh, right." Jim-Bean concentrated.  With a gasp, he fell to his knees.

Hammer ran over to him.  "What happened?"

"There's…something inside them.  Multiple things.  Hungry things."

"Hungry how?"

"Hard to…explain." Jim-Bean shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.  "Hungry for energy." 

Archive frowned.  "That would explain the amount of activity around the Guidestones. This psychic vortex is drawing them to it."

Jim-Bean got to his feet.  "Now what?"

Hammer pointed at the bottom center of one of the tablets.  "This looks like a good place to start."

It read: "Additional information available at Elberton Granite Museum & Exhibit, College Avenue, Elberton, Georgia."


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 3 – A Little History*

The Elberton Granite Museum & Exhibit sat in the center of town – a nine room, two story stone structure, fronted by a small park with a statue of Hunt in its center beckoning to the west.

The museum's industrial building was home to a collection of quarry equipment, funky sculptures, examples of etched gravestones, and an older woman at the desk. The placard introduced her as Mary Jarrard.

"Hello gentlemen," she chirped, clearly pleased to have some company.  "Interested in a tour?"

"That'd be great," said Jim-Bean with a smile. 

Pleased to have some company, Mary fired up the educational video that the agents watched while strolling the exhibits. 

"It all began with Arthur Hunt. Hunt was a local legend in Elberton," a deep, pleasant voice narrated. "He was the “success-story” of the town, almost the inversion of Douglas Yale, the Georgia River Killer. "

"Hunt rose from poverty and a life of debauchery in Elberton to forge an electronics empire that has stood the test of time – surviving even after his unexpected death in 1952. But at first, no one in town thought much of him. In fact, he was considered a local ne’er do well – someone more prone to theft, violence and lying than any productive endeavor."

Photos flashed on the screen. Each showed Hunt in various states of intoxication; including one during the celebration of the end of the Great War where Hunt climbed a light pole with his pants down.

"On May 3, 1922, Hunt was discovered at the Elberton Mound, drunk, carrying a pickaxe and shouting drunkenly about Shawnee gold. Hunt was incarcerated, but it was known in town he still visited the mound." 

"Yep," whispered Archive.  "Psychic vortex."

"For nearly a year Hunt rarely appeared in town. That all changed on April 9, 1923. Hunt returned to town and settled into the newly finished Elberton Public Library, and began to read for eight hours straight, reading books on nearly every subject. He remained mute, refusing to engage with onlookers. His pace increased until he was reading each page with a glance of only a second or two. He repeated this process for three weeks."

"By week three, Hunt began speaking with the locals, and it was if his entire personality had changed. His voice was quiet – monotone – without any humor in it. His English was precise and ordered. His interactions were brief, and to the point. Hunt ordered a list of 200+ items from the local five and dime, including drafting tools, a table, various metals, torches and workbenches, as well as various radios sets. He paid in gold; which was odd, but not totally unheard of."

More photos flashed, showing Hunt in Elberton, Georgia after 1923. In all of them, his expression was identical; a look of bored detachment. His eyes were passive and strange. He was well kept and clean, though his posture is odd. When standing, he seemed to stoop his head forward in a way that was unnatural for a young man.

"Hunt hired a local man named Allan Mestemacher to run errands for him in town, and Mestemacher became the local conduit for Hunt gossip. The man was working ten hours a day on drawings of complex electrical devices, and building bizarre electronic contraptions. This continued for several years, until it was assumed it would continue this way indefinitely, then, as suddenly as he had first arrived at the library, Hunt arrived in town again, filing papers to incorporate “Hunt Electrodynamics”.

"Hunt’s biggest hit, the Hunt Mark I Resistor, debuted on August 5, 1930, and rocketed the one-man company into the stratosphere. When Hunt realized he could make far more money producing the Resistor, he opened a local Hunt Electrodynamics plant. Soon, the plant was the largest employer in town."

"Speaking through Mestemacher, Hunt ordered the construction of the Guidestones atop the Elberton Mound. The structure he had in mind would serve as a compass, calendar, and clock. It would also need to be engraved with a set of guides written in eight of the world's major languages. And it had to be capable of withstanding the most catastrophic events, so that the shattered remnants of humanity would be able to use those guides to reestablish a better civilization than the one that was about to destroy itself."

"Construction of the Guidestones got under way later that summer. With the purchase of the land, the Guidestones' future was set. Hunt said good-bye to Mestemacher at the company office, adding, "You'll never see me again." Hunt then turned and walked out the door—without so much as a handshake." 

"The Guidestones were completed on March 22, 1980. Its engraved edicts inspired some, distressed others. Within a few months, the New Star Crusade cult adopted the Guidestones as their home away from home, making weekend pilgrimages to Elberton to stage various pagan rites and at least one warlock-witch marriage ceremony. No humans were sacrificed on the altar of the stones, but there were rumors that several kittens were beheaded."

"Visitors kept coming but eventually the media lost interest. Curiosity flared again briefly in 1993, when Brianne Lochnar of God's Lost Children contributed a track called 'Georgia Stone' to a tribute album for avant-garde composer John Cage, with Brianne chanting the 10th and final guide nearly verbatim: 'Be not a cancer on Earth—leave room for nature—leave room for nature.'"

"It was later discovered that Hunt had been constructing a town in Death Valley, California – one of the most inhospitable places on Earth. Announcements were made that the Elberton plant would remain in operation, but Hunt would leave for California. By 1940, Hunt was living in Hellbend, California permanently. With Hunt’s mysterious death in the Hellbend explosion of 1952, the Hunt Museum was constructed in Elberton to celebrate its most famous, and successful son."

More pictures flashed of Hunt Electrodynamics promotional shots, showing an impassive Hunt standing before various constructions around the U.S., including a facility in Hellbend at its opening. 

"Notice anything unusual about that photo?" asked Jim-Bean.

The last photo, taken three days before the Hellbend explosion in August 1952, showed Hunt to be smirking. 

"That's not all that's weird," said Archive.  "I don't think he aged a single day in thirty years."

"We need to stake out the Guidestones," said Hammer. He turned to Archive and Jim-Bean. "Go back to Mullinex's place and set up a surveillance point.  I'm going to buy some supplies."

"Supplies for what?" asked Archive.

"We're going to visit this New Star Crusade."


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 4 – Seeing Stars*

Archive looked up from the scope of a mounted sniper rifle.  "I see lights," he said.  "A few carloads of people." The rifle was trained on the monument from the Mullinex farmhouse, which they had graciously lent the agents for their use.  They left out the part about the sniper rifle.

"That's got to be the New Star Crusade," said Jim-Bean.  "The Solstice was coming up, right?  This must be their ritual."

Archive returned to looking at the scope.  "Yeah.  We've got them covered if they try anything stupid, but I recommend we observe…"

Jim-Bean didn't respond.

"Jimmy?"

Archive looked up.  Jim-Bean was gone.

Archive swore and looked back in the scope.

Sure enough, Jim-Bean was jogging his way through the swamp towards the cultists, who had filtered out of their cars and were beginning a ritual.

Archive sighed.  He wasn't trained to use a sniper rifle like Hammer and Jim-Bean.  Jim-Bean would be in real trouble if the cult turned on him…

To his surprise, the cult, after a moment of surprise, seemed to accept Jim-Bean.  He chanted along with them, and they performed a dance and what looked like a consecration ritual. If what Jim-Bean said was true, the cult instinctively understood that something malefic was lurking in the Mound – and worse, that their efforts were only feeding it, not warding it off.

The group gathered around Jim-Bean.  Archive began to sweat.  He put his finger on the trigger…

Jim-Bean held up one thumb, meant only for Archive to see, though the cultists seemed to interpret his gesture as one of endorsement.  Then he got in the car and drove off with them.

Archive sighed and picked up his cistron.  "Hammer, I've got something to report…"


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 5 – The Wrong Guy*

Hammer was on his way out of the Elberton general store, when his attention swung to a sudden movement a hundred feel down a dark alley. A dim light glowed weakly from beyond a dumpster, then extinguished as a car door slammed, and then a dark figure dashed away down the alley. Behind the figure, a car horn began to blow unceasingly.

Hammer threw his bags in the trunk of the rental car and approached the blaring auto. It was an idling Elberton taxicab with the body of its driver, horribly mutilated, rammed against the steering wheel. The man's throat was slashed open, his vocal cords exposed. His ribs were broken and bent back. Most of his internal organs lay in a steaming heap beneath the steering wheel. 

Hammer backed away.  The police would be there soon enough, and this wasn't his business – not yet, anyway. 

He got in his car and drove off, circling the area as police vehicles shrieked onto the scene.  His cistron buzzed with an alert.

"…police are looking for an African-American man of medium height and build, wearing an overcoat, who fled the scene."

Hammer swore and turned the car around.  He pulled up a moment later in front of the Elberton police station.

As he walked his way up the steps to the main office, there were collective gasps. 

Officers fumbled for their pistols.  "Get down on the ground! Now!"

Hammer slowly sank to his knees and put his hands behind his head. "I am a government agent.  My badge is in my front pocket.  I'm going to reach for it slowly…"

"Face down! NOW!"

Hammer sighed and complied.

Officers swarmed him, roughly cuffing him.  One of the cops frisked him and discovered his badge.  

"Run the numbers," said Hammer.  "I'm Agent Grange of the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency."

"We will," said a burly cop whose name tag identified him as Sergeant Moreno.  "But until then, we have a few question for you."

Hammer shrugged.  "When my ID checks out, you'll be working for me."


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 6 – The Feds Take Over*

Moreno came sheepishly into the jail cell where Hammer had been held prisoner.  He handed him his Glock, cistron, badge, and wallet back.

"Sorry about that," said Moreno.

Hammer shrugged.  "You were just doing your job.  Happens all the time." They walked to debriefing room.  "What do we have so far?"

Moreno pulled out a file filled with pictures and autopsies.  He laid it out on the table. 

"The homicide detail has been significantly increased," said Moreno. "We think we've established a pattern over the years of killings since 2000: the first victim was Nathaniel Moore, a laborer for the Elberton's water department. On the day of the murder, Moore was working on a portion of leaking sewer at the Elberton Granite Museum & Exhibit."

"I'm familiar with it," said Hammer. 

"Year ago, Moore called from the museum to his supervisor, indicated that the repairs were not totally complete but that he was leaving for the day. That was last Moore was heard from."

"The second victim was Brian Lombardo, a high school student. Lombardo's mother stated that Brian left home to attend a swim meet. He never arrived."

"The third victim was Russell Simons, a student at Athens Technical College. He was last seen five days before his body was discovered." 

"The most recent victim you saw for yourself: Ken Stewart, driver for the Elberton Cab Company. Stewart called in a pick-up on King Street in midtown—that was the last anyone heard from him until you found him."

"Were the victims disemboweled like Stewart?"

Moreno nodded, pulling out three pictures. "All of the victims were savagely slashed numerous times with a sharp object. Kidneys and hearts of Moore, Simons, and Stewart were missing.  None of them were robbed."

"Any signs of blood or struggle?"

"No," said Moreno. "In the first three murders, the bodies had been moved after death. Each body was neatly concealed behind a dumpster, in an alley, or in the sewer. Traces of blood were found only on and immediately around the bodies. My money's on The New Star Crusade."

Hammer arched an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

"You Feds must have a file on Douglas Yale. The murders fit his MO."

"Yeah."

"Then you know they churn out crazies. Back before Yale, trespassing by townies was a common thing on the New Star Crusade farm, and Danen Ignis, the cult leader, claimed we refused to act with 'necessary speed and clarity' to resolve such situations. Ignis taped his phone calls to our department and recorded our arrival times. He then filed a personal suit against the county and cost us another eight hundred thousand dollars in damages. We've been monitoring the farm since then, but can't do much else without probable cause." Moreno grinned.  "I'd say this counts."

"So you've got an APB out for Yale?"

Moreno shook his head.  "It can't be him."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead.  We kept it quiet, but we found Yale's bones back in October 2001. Bet that ain't in your file, huh?"

Hammer scratched his head. "Why hasn't there been more news around these murders?"

Moreno's grin vanished.  "Lawyers. Back when the Yale incident happened in 2001, the cult’s lawyer in Jacksonville, Richard A. Goldfarb, sent a strongly worded letter warning us against making a public connection between Yale and the Cult. The chief is so scared of another lawsuit, he doesn't even want the press to know about it. We were hoping they were animal attacks, what with Yale dead. But now…"

"We sit tight," said Hammer.  

"But we could get a judge—"

Hammer shot him a glare.  "I said we SIT TIGHT.  I've got a man on the inside.  In the mean time, I'd like to chat with the dispatcher."


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 7 – When You Wish Upon a Star*

The New Star Crusade farm sat on twenty-five acres of land to the west of Elberton, Georgia. The property backed up on the Elberton Mound site; and a well-worn path ran from the ramshackle buildings of the farm to the Mound site. The buildings of the farm were once sane and ordered; but they had long since degenerated. 

A small weather-beaten port-a-potty converted to use as a tollbooth oversaw the entrance from the main road. Someone was always here, watching those coming and going. 

They passed a barn and farmhouse, a pond in between, pulling up to a grainery. Ignis and his followers marched Jim-Bean to the grainery and shoved aside loose hay to reveal a trap door. They all filed down the steps.

The polished wooden staircase led down to a large gymnasium-like room. The floor was covered by athletic foam mats, except for the center that was cut out to display an inset marble floor with an Elder Sign lightly etch in it.  Various symbols decorated the walls. Candelabras and oil sconces lined the walls even though the place was wired for indirect lighting. A large locked metal cabinet that sometimes served as an altar is at the far end of the room.  

Ignis reached inside and pulled out various tools of magic: a sword, a wand, a crystal orb. The other cultists filed into a doorway under the stairs into a laundry room, with a huge supply of plush towels and linen robes.  Wicker hampers received their day clothes as they all changed, Jim-Bean included, into their robes. 

Ignis stood at the front of the room and the cultists all assembled, Jim-Bean at the center facing their fearless leader.

"We are gathered here, brothers and sisters, to welcome a new member into our family.  This man, Jim Baxter, will become one of us today.  Let us profess our faith…"

The other cultists joined in, eerily in sync as one voice chanting their mantra.  "We are a revival of the Adena that worshiped at the Elberton Mound in ancient times.  We pray and make offerings at the mound to keep the evil white-faced people at bay."

Ignis explained that these people, who feared the sun, worshiped Maneto (“The Snake”) and after the hunting in the area soured, the Adena made war on them and forced them from the mounds. When the Adena made war on the strange people, their last shaman “drew down a star” and smashed the earth with it in revenge, killing himself, a Shawnee chief and his wives. At the point of impact, the Shawnee built the Elberton Mound to prevent their spirit from escaping and haunting the Shawnee.

"We await a new star to descend and take us from the Earth to another, more pure, world. We are prepared for conflict with those who attempt to stop us. We will be ready. Repeat after me: I believe you, Danen Ignis, as the reincarnation of the one who constructed the mounds a millennia ago."

Jim-Bean repeated it, a little uneasy.

"By accepting you, my savior, I am imbued with the spirit of the people who helped build the mound."

Jim-Bean repeated it.

"I believe that through worship at the mounds we will call down others' and these others will take us to a new world."

Jim-Bean repeated it.  

"Congratulations," said Ignis.  "You are now one of us."

The other cultists applauded and hugged Jim-Bean. 

Ignis raised his voice over the crowd.  "Do you have a gun permit?"

Jim-Bean started in surprise.  "What?"

"Every member of the New Star Crusade is issued a gun permit.  You must also take a state-run gun safety course. For the coming war."

"Oh, right."  Jim-Bean nodded.  "I have a gun permit." He looked around.  "Do I get to carry one?"

Ignis shook his head. "The guns will be needed in the future. The time will be evident when they shall be issued to the followers." 

"Right," said Jim-Bean.  "Of course."

The cult filtered out as quickly as they came.  Jim-Bean excused himself and visited the bathroom.

He reached into his robe pocket and fished out his cistron – it took some fancy sleight of hand to ensure nobody saw the transition from his normal clothes to the robe.  He texted Hammer:

NSC = CRAZY BUT NOT DANGEROUS

After a second he added:

NOT YET.


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 8 – Mister Cab Driver*

The Elberton Cab Company was a taxi service located in the downtown area of Elberton. A few questions uncovered that Al Wu was the dispatcher when Ken Stewart was murdered. 

Of average height and in his mid-thirties, Wu was a fast-talking Asian man. 

"Mister Wu?" asked Hammer.  "I'm Agent Grange.  This is Sergeant Moreno."

"Yeah?" asked Wu, sizing them up.

"We're here to ask you a few questions about the recent death of Ken Stewart?"

Wu's eyes flicked to Moreno.  "I already spoke to the police."

Hammer gave Moreno a look.  "Why don't you go get a cup of coffee." It wasn't phrased as a question.

Moreno shrugged.  "Fine, whatever." He walked off.

Hammer turned back to Wu.  "Sorry about that.  We're all very tense because of these murders.  Do you mind if I chat with you for a second?"

Wu relaxed a bit.  "They told me I was a witness and had to keep quiet," he muttered. "But talking to you should be okay, being a Fed and all. Come into my office."

Hammer and Wu sat at a beat-up card table. 

Wu lit his forty-third Camel cigarette of the day. “Yesterday was hot, but so muggy that business was slow. I hadn't heard from Stewart in an hour, since the driver had stopped for dinner. Stewart reported that he had been flagged down on King Street. He said his passenger was going downtown. 'You won't believe who I just picked up,' Steward said, hinting that it was someone that was missing for a long time.” 

"But he didn't say who?"

Wu shook his head. “I couldn't guess either. I rattled off a half-dozen names when Stewart mentioned ‘Dep-’ and then his radio went silent."

"Dep?  Is that a name?"

Wu shrugged. "My guess was he was going to say Deputy somebody. And there’s only one Deputy around these parts who went missing years ago, and that’s Deputy Arthur Falstaf.”

"Falstaf," said Hammer, thinking.  "That was the sheriff's deputy who picked up Douglas Yale, right?"

"Yeah.  Falstaf led the investigation to find the Georgia River Killer – shot him five times in 99 and he still escaped.  Falstaf finally caught up with him in 2000 and emptied his revolver into Yale and the guy STILL survived.  Then when he was in lock-up, Yale and Falstaf disappeared. Of course, I don’t know that Falstaf actually was in the cab," Wu added quickly, "but the pickup was not far from the where he disappeared. I never told the police this, ‘cause, well, I got no facts. I just have this idea," he shrugged. "We'll probably never know."

Hammer frowned.  "I intend to find out. Thank you for your time."

He shook Wu's hand and left.

Moreno joined him on the way out to the car.  "So?"

"Wu said that Stewart might have picked up a deputy."

"Deputy…You mean Falstaf?"

"I didn't say that," said Hammer, irritated at having to work with a cop.

"I knew it!" snarled Moreno.  "The cult must have really done a number on him.  Probably got Falstaf turned around so much he didn't know which way was up.  Next thing you know he's helping Yale escape—"

Hammer stopped walking.  "Now hold on.  I didn't say that it was Falstaf for sure.  We don't have any evidence."

"We could get evidence!" exclaimed Moreno.  "I guarantee you we could get a search warrant! The courts have been itching to let us have a crack at that cult…"

Hammer stared Moreno down.  "Do you remember Waco?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I suggest you do as your told and leave the investigation to me."  He stomped off to his rental car, leaving the police sergeant to stew in the street behind him.


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 9 – Raid!*

Hammer put his recently purchased camping and surveillance equipment to good use.  They had managed to set up a camouflaged bivouac near the pond.  It was a perfect spot for surveillance of the farmhouse. It was perfect…

Except for the mosquitoes.

Archive slapped his neck.  "These mosquitoes are driving me crazy," he whispered. At night, the bugs were even worse than during the day. Concealed as they were so close to the farm, they had to go without electrical lights. 

Hammer lowered his night optics.  "We'll be here for just another day or so. What have you discovered so far?"

"During the day only lone individuals are wander the grounds," said Archive. "At night, groups of followers walk back and forth between the main house and barn. Guards walk the perimeter at all times of the day and night."

"Armed?"

Archive shook his head.  "Nope, but they do carry a flare gun. My guess is they fire that off as a warning."

"Good." Hammer handed the night optics back to Archive. " Jim-Bean's not convinced that the cult has anything to do with these murders and I'm starting to believe—"

There was a splash of light, like lightning, in the distance.  Jim-Bean and Archive looked up.

It was the flickering incandescence of a flare.  

"Oh crap," said Archive.

The farm immediately mobilized.  Guards ran to and fro frantically.  Rifles and pistols were handed out. 

"Do you see anything?" asked Hammer.

Archive peered through the binoculars.  "I don't…wait a minute.  Yes, there!"  He handed the nightvision binoculars back to Hammer.

"Cops. Son of a BITCH," snarled Hammer.  Six police officers stepped out of the corn field.  One of them dragged something heavy behind him. 

Hammer tapped some keys on his cistron.  "Get me Sergeant Moreno!" he practically shouted into the phone.

A second later Moreno answered. 

"What the hell are you doing? I thought I told you no raids!"

"Calm down.  What are you talking about?"

"The raid! I'm stationed at the Star Crusade farm and there are police crawling all over the place…"

"I didn't order anything!" Moreno shouted a few questions and received a response back.  "Nobody here did. All my men are here."

Hammer's mouth fell open as the lead officer stepped into view of the cult's floodlights.  It was Moreno.

Hammer dropped the phone and unslung the semiautomatic rifle over his shoulder.


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Part 10 – Snakes in the Grass*

Jim-Bean ran to and fro, trying to calm the cultists down.

"Everyone, everyone, this isn't necessary!  We don't know what they want!  Everyone calm down!"

Ignis agreed with him.  "We must not fire first!" he shouted repeatedly.  "I will speak with them!  Be calm!"

The jittery cultists, who were unaccustomed to armed conflict despite their training, took their positions.  The six officers stood calmly in the clearing in front of the farmhouse.

Ignis checked his pistol and made sure it was loaded.  Then he approached with six similarly armed men.  Jim-Bean watched from a distance.

"Hello!" Ignis squinted in the glare of the spotlights.  "Sergeant Moreno, is that you?  What brings you to our farm?"

Moreno said nothing.  He just slowly turned his head to stare directly at Ignis. Then he lifted the bulk in one hand and dropped it.  

It was the guard at the gate.

"What…" Ignis swallowed, horrified.  "What did you do to him?"

Moreno was stone-faced.  As one, all six of the police officers pointed at the six cultists. 

Ignis' arm was up, his pistol drawn.

"Wait!" shouted Jim-Bean, "don't shoot!"

But the envoy of six cultists had all drawn their pistols.  They pointed it at their own foreheads.

In perfect synchronization, they fired at once, blowing a hole in their skulls.  Six bodies slumped to the ground, dead.

All hell broke loose. The cultists fired on the officers.  The officers seemed to yawn, ejecting a snake head that tore loose from the confines of the flabby, false skins they wore. And it was then that Jim-Bean finally saw what was sleeping in the Mound.

Without a disguise in place, they were squat pale creatures, approximately five feet tall. They stood upright like men, but with long, muscular arms tipped by crude hands with basic prehensile thumbs. Their skin was the texture of a tire, shot through with white splotches, but otherwise it was a bright red. Their faces had two huge vulpine eyes and a slit for a nose.

"Shoot!" shouted Jim-Bean, running back to the farmhouse.  "Keep shooting!"

Bullets didn't seem to slow them down.  One serpent person launched itself at a cultist right behind Jim-Bean, engulfing his head with a snap of its unhinged jaw.  More cultists went down as the snake-people tore into them.

Archive chanted something on the comm. "They're immune to my magic!" was his frustrated response a moment later.

"Just shoot them!" shouted Hammer, running into the clearing.  He unleashed a fusillade of bullets into one of the serpent men, blowing its head off. Ichor spewed everywhere. "They bleed!"

Some of the cultists panicked and ran into the house or out into the field.  

"Keep firing!" said Jim-Bean.  The serpent people were taking them out one by one, but if they stood together…

One of the serpents burst into flames.  Archive shouted in triumph.

"Guess they're not that immune to magic either," said Hammer.  "Drive them…"

His voice trailed off.  The false Moreno was swaying, its eyes glowing, staring at Hammer.  Slowly, he lowered his own rifle and moved it to under his chin.

"Hammer!" shouted Archive.  "Snap out of it!"

The serpent Moreno slithered closer, just within striking distance.  Hammer stood perfectly still.  It reared back its head…

And then Hammer thrust the barrel of the rifle into its open maw and fired.  Snake brains blasted out of the back of the enormous maw.  

The remaining serpents were dead, riddled with bullets.  Police cars flashed in the distance.


----------



## talien

*Future/Perfect: Conclusion*

"Jimmy…" began Hammer.  But Jim-Bean already knew what to do.

"Set them on fire!" ordered Jim-Bean.  

The cultists set up a huge bonfire and tossed the oddly fluid, red-scaled bodies into the flames. Of the nearly seventy cultists that were engaged in the conflict, only twenty or so remained.

"There's still the cultist bodies," said Hammer. 

Jim-Bean nodded.  "Set it all on fire!"

The real Moreno and his men arrived, but by then the evidence was already burning.  Fire trucks roared in the distance. 

"What exactly happened here?" asked Moreno angrily. 

"Civil war in the cult," said Jim-Bean.  "Two different sides got into a conflict, it spread, then a fire started." 

Moreno bit his lip, frustrated. "That's very convenient. You know what I think?"

Hammer looked at him.  "I didn't ask."

"Yeah?  Well I'm gonna tell you.  I think that this was a lot more like Waco then you let on."

Hammer smirked.  "You have no idea."

"No, I don't," said Moreno.  "And it's probably better if it stays that way.  Does this mean the killings will stop?"

Hammer nodded.  "Definitely.  You were right, Sergeant Moreno.  It was the cult all along.  Ignis and the people responsible are dead.  The cult took care of its own."

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Moreno sighed.  "If I look through those bones…"

"We'll be sure to share the evidence with you once my men go over it," said Hammer authoritatively.  The thrum of helicopters in the darkness echoed across the farmland. 

Moreno turned to the assembled rag-tag band of cult survivors.  "I don't suppose we're going to get much out of you folks either, huh?" 

They looked at him sullenly.

"Didn't think so.  Can I at least speak to your leader?  Your second in command, or third, or whoever passes for authority around here?"

As one, the cultists pointed. At Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean smiled sheepishly.  "I have some experience with cults…"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 43: Operation Bravo - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of “Future/Perfect” Part One by Dennis Detwiller and “Team Bravo: The First Assignment” by Eric Cagle. You can read more about Delta Green at [ ADDR.com: Account On - Hold ]. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

There's a certain theme running through these two scenarios that made them go together perfectly. Like the other Future/Perfect scenarios, there's plenty of information on investigation but not on actual confrontation. 

Because Archive's player wasn't playing, that really raised the stakes.  As George put it, "if one of us goes down it's all over."  That heightened the tension and also made the critters that much more deadly – Archive's presence ensures fast healing. Without it, a conflict that goes against the agents is deadly indeed. 

This scenario ended up focusing more on the sheriff and deputy who led the investigation. Fortunately, Jim-Bean and Hammer make a good buddy team, so there was plenty of opportunity for role-playing with the locals.  

I was surprised by what freaked out the players.  Who thought mysterious clicking noises would be so scary?

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean uses his psychic powers to find out who the culprit is…and gets an earful of very disturbing sounds. 

Relevant Media

*Future Perfect:* Source of the Part Two scenario. 
*Team Bravo: The First Assignment:* Source of the second part of this story hour.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0013CPOTG?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0013CPOTG]Jurassic Park[/ame]:* by Weird Al.


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Prologue*



> _I recall the time they found those fossilized mosquitoes
> And before long, they were cloning DNA
> Now I'm being chased by some irate velociraptors
> Well, believe me... this has been one lousy day​_
> --_Jurassic Park_ by Weird Al​



"What happened to Archive?" asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer shrugged.  "Something about a medical check-up.  Majestic's still cagey about him being in the field after the incident in Central Park."

"Yeah," Jim-Bean shook his head.  "The incident.  I haven't been to a check-up recently, wonder why they're not worried about me."

Hammer smirked.  "That's because you're under my supervision."

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  "Oh yeah, right. So we're in this buttcrack of a town because…"

"This is the place where Arthur Hunt's experiment blew up.  If there's a legacy of the snake people we discovered in Elberton, it starts here, with the Hunt Electronics plant in Hellbend," said Hammer. "And two people were recently murdered here."

"In Hellbend? Doesn't that reduce the population by ten percent?"

Hammer nodded. "Nearly.  It's all on your cistron: The first murder occurred on March 5, on the outskirts of the town. Clifford Potter, a 53 year-old white male, was found mutilated less than four hundred yards from the remains of the ruins of the old Hunt Electrodynamics plant. The county coroner from Independence, Abner White could not readily identify just how exactly he had died."

"Aliens," muttered Jim-Bean.  

"You see aliens behind everything."

"It's hard not to when I'm part…something."

"No one doubts foul play of some sort — Potter's body was torn to pieces — but the sheriff's office couldn't come up with a motive. A nearby Bobcat light construction vehicle was tentatively identified as the murder weapon, but few can understand how such an event occurred. Potter had rented it at his own expense and was digging around on the abandoned lot at the ruins of the Hunt plant for some unknown reason. He was known as a local treasure-hunter and was considered just a little bit crazy. Local investigation petered out after just a week."

"Great.  Hick cops."

"The second victim, Lucille Mayer, a 36 year-old white female, was reported missing in Hellbend on the night of April 24, and was discovered by State Police over the border in Nevada fourteen days later.  The case was officially placed under Federal jurisdiction with the Mayer murder and reassigned to CIFA. We're going to see the sheriff's office right now." Hammer pulled the car over. 

The small “Death Valley Office" of the Inyo County Sheriff was located at Hwy 190, Death Valley, California 9232. It was maintained by a two-man on-and-off crew. 

"Looks like a glorified shack to me," said Jim-Bean.

They got out of the car and knocked on the shack door.

A tall, middle-aged man with brown hair and blue eyes answered the door.  Hammer flashed his badge.  "I'm Agent Grange, this is Agent Baxter, we're with the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.  We've been assigned to the Mayer investigation."

"The Feds, right.  Come on in."

The two men worked out of a tiny office perched on the side of Highway 190 with little more than a two-line phone, a ham radio set and a sloth-like internet connection. They sat down at a cramped table. 

"I'm Alfred Mann, Sheriff in these parts." He nodded towards a younger man, who leaned against a wall on the far corner of the room.  There was only enough room at the table for three chairs so it was just as well. "That's Lucas Androzy, my deputy. Can I offer you boys a coke?" Mann jabbed a finger at the dusty Coke machine jammed next to the desk.

"I'm good, thanks," said Hammer.  He didn't even bother to ask Jim-Bean, who had changed his dietary habits to a carefully mixed shake to keep his weight down.  He still wasn't excreting normally due to his particularly unique metabolism.

Mann had some files on the table.  "Lucas saw a gathering of buzzards, that's how he found the body in the first place.  Tell 'em, Lucas."

Androzy frowned and stepped out of the shadows a bit so his features were illuminated by the shafts of sunlight spearing through the partially drawn shades.  "There wasn't much left by the time I got there.  Had to identify her by her teeth."

Mann nodded, flipping open a folder to a coroner's report. "There was serious blunt trauma and portions of her skeleton were gone."

"Gone?" asked Jim-Bean.

Mann nodded. "Missing. Nevada FBI was called in, and the Las Vegas coroner placed cause of death as violent blunt and cutting trauma—"

"In other words," interjected Hammer. "Murder."

Mann flipped open another folder. "The physical evidence — what of there, there is — matches the marks found on Potter’s body."

"So we've got one killer who tears people up and carts off the pieces?" asked Hammer.  "You sure this isn't some kind of animal?"

"Maybe it is, maybe it ain't," said Mann.  "I don't know."  He wiped his forehead in the heat.  "To be honest, Agent uh…Grange, we're a bit of our depth here. We could use your help."

Hammer nodded.  "That's why we're here.  We'd like to investigate the supposed murder weapon."

Androzy leaned forward. "Supposed?  What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax," said Jim-Bean.  "We're just saying that we want to build on your team's forensics work."  Jim-Bean managed to say "team" without laughing, but just barely.

That seemed to mollify Androzy somewhat. 

"Lucas, why don't you take these boys on over to the Gas 'n Sip?  The Bobcat's still there, right?"

"Yeah, sure," said Androzy slowly.  "Sure, I can do that. I can drive you…"

"We'll take our own vehicle, thanks," said Hammer, rising.  

Androzy was about to say more when Jim-Bean interjected. "We've got special forensics equipment in there.  I can show you when we get to the crime scene."

Androzy nodded, taken aback by the offer but clearly excited about it.

"Give me a call if you need anything," Mann said to their backs.  "We're here to help."


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 1 – Gas n' Sip*

The remnants of a formerly vibrant company town were still to be found surrounding the core of what Hellbend had become. Derelict buildings, long abandoned and overrun by weeds and witch grass, dotted the roads leading up to town – Hunt Electrodynamics' legacy. 

The town once supported an entire workforce of nearly 4,000 people – and they left their dwellings behind. Most had fallen into near-complete ruin; windows long ago shattered, paint peeled off, decks collapsed, foundations shifted. Some, however, were still lived in and some were even meticulously maintained. 

Most of the eighty-two residents of Hellbend lived near the center of town or within a few blocks of Main and State streets. Others however lived a bit off the beaten path – further out in the desert. The only business worth mentioning was the Gas n’ Sip – the local gas station/video store/ supermarket/post office on the corner of Main and State. Nearly every piece of mail came or went through the Gas n’ Sip and nearly everyone who stopped in Hellbend did so for one of two things – gas or directions.

The Gas n’ Sip was a two-story rickety looking building with a gable roof that sat on the corner of Main and State streets, dead-center in Hellbend. It was adorned with aging Coke signs, ancient ads for Brylcreem and other less memorable products long since washed out by the relentless sun. There were two old gas pump placed dead center on a simple concrete block out front.

"Jarvis?" asked Androzy, striding ahead of the agents.  "Some men here to see you. This is Agents Grange and Baxter."

Jarvis Greene, the current proprietor, lounged in a weather-beaten rattan chair in the shade of the roof. He was a young, sunburned hippy. 

"Hey guys." Greene stood up. "You must be here about the murders."

"That's right," said Hammer.  "What do you know about them?"

Greene sat back down. "I knew Clifford Potter—" began Greene.

"He discovered Potter's body at the ruins of the Hunt Electrodynamics plant outside of Hellbend," interjected Androzy.

Greene nodded. "I rented Potter the Bobcat Lifter for the afternoon. When Potter didn't return that evening with the equipment, I took my Jeep out to the site and found him. That's when I called the sheriff."

"Did you see much of Potter prior to his death?" asked Hammer.

Greene nodded again. "Yeah.  He took to interviewing my grandfather, Montgomery Greene, about his experience in the Hunt Electrodynamics Plant. A few times, Potter taped his interview with Monty, and asked specific questions about Hunt and the plant, though what they were, I can’t recall."

"You said you rented the Bobcat to Potter.  Is it still here?"

"Sure is," said Greene. "It's 'round back.  Want to see it?"

"Please," said Hammer.

Hammer grabbed his forensics kit from the car and Greene led them to the shade of a garage port.  They smelled the Bobcat before they saw it.

"Only one in town," said Greene.  The small, one-man, propane-powered vehicle was designed for light digging, lifting and plowing.  "We rent it out for small local jobs."

"And Potter rented it for…?" asked Hammer. 

"Once to dig his root cellar and the second time to poke around the old Hunt Plant." 

"We returned it two days after Potter’s murder," said Androzy, a little defensively.

Jim-Bean circled the Bobcat.  "This is good work, good work."

"Did you clean it?" asked Hammer.

Greene nodded.  "I tried, but it's…well, you can smell it."

"Mind if we take a look at it?"

"Be my guest." Greene seemed interested in very little.  He wandered back to his seat at the front of the station.

"So Cletus…"

"Lucas," corrected Androzy.

"Yeah, right. You think we could cordon off this area?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Oh sure.  You think someone might uh…contaminate the crime scene?"

"We can't be too careful," said Jim-Bean.  He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.  "You know how it is, what with snooping locals and all." 

Androzy nodded.  "Sure, sure.  I'll check with Jarvis to see if he has anything we can use." He jogged off after Greene.

Hammer just shook his head.  "You're too much."

"Everything he knows about forensics he probably learned from CSI," said Jim-Bean with a smirk.  "How bad is it?"

Hammer got up from his crouch.  "The sheriff's department royally screwed the pooch on this one.  But I can tell you one thing: this isn't the murder weapon."

"What, you don't think Potter stood still while this thing trundled along at…"

"Five miles per hour."

"…Five miles per hour and let it slowly tear him in half?"

"It's possible, if he was tied up or something.  But see this?" Hammer pointed at a splash of red liquid on the side of the vehicle.  "The blood's not on the digging blade.  Potter would have had to be struck by the vehicle on the side. The only truly dangerous portion of the vehicle is the blade."  The blade was untouched.

"What's that smell, anyway?"

Hammer used a sampling tool to scrape off some of the effluvia on the side of the vehicle.  He plugged the little wand into his cistron. "That's what I thought."

"What?"

"There are several distinct layers to the stuff on the Bobcat. As if something applied several layers of biological material on the vehicle. There's ammonia in it." 

Jim-Bean peered at Hammer.  "Are you saying someone—or something—pissed on this Bobcat?"

"I don't know.  Why don't you investigate this yourself."

"Hey, I'm not the expert…"

Hammer emphasized his point.  "I mean YOUR way of investigating it."

"Oh, right."   Jim-Bean sat in the driver's seat and, relaxing and closing his eyes, concentrated.  He tried to block out the stink of the Bobcat and the relentless California heat.

The vision hit him hard.  It wasn't visual at all. There was screeching, a screeching like an animal he had never heard of before.  And there was more than one.

Jim-Bean flinched as the sound was right in his ear.  He stumbled out of the driver's seat with a yelp.

Hammer came up from underneath the Bobcat.  "What happened?'

"I don't know…I..."

"Did you see something?"

"Heard something," said Jim-Bean.  "Heard multiple somethings. Big and pissed off things, but it's hard to explain what they sounded like.  If I couldn't see them I don't think Potter did either.  They caught him by surprise."

"Not those dogs again…"

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Seriously?  You're going to question me about how this works?  I was right about those dogs, remember?"

Hammer held up a single, odd, feather-like scale. "If you're right, then I'm guessing this belongs to one of them."


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 2 – Clifford Potter's Home*

Androzy led them to Potter's home next. Clifford Potter lived on the extremities of Hellbend near to what was commonly referred to as the “bluff” – a small rise in the land to the northwest of town; approximately a mile from Hellbend. He was the only resident of the area for nearly a quarter of a mile in any direction. 

"Potter bought the house in Hellbend in late 1993 at a fire sale price and has lived in the town ever since," said Androzy, all business.  Jim-Bean's constant stroking had pumped the deputy up considerably. "He had no friends to speak of, but was known to help out others as needed. He drank, but not overly so, and seemed content with maintaining his house and hiking around the ruined areas of Hellbend recovering pieces of valuable scrap metal to sell in nearby Independence or Beatty Junction."

"When did he start poking around the Hunt Electrodynamics plant?"

"Late 2003," said Androzy, walking to Potter's home. "He began digging up large portions of brass, bronze and copper piping from the site to make some extra money. He was often seen driving off to the ruins of the plant in his old Ford truck with an acetylene torch and other gear in the back. Word around town is that Potter thought the ruins of the plant were a proverbial gold mine."

"Mind if we look inside?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Oh sure, sure."  Androzy took down the tacked notice declaring the house a crime scene and warned trespassers not to enter.  That and a flimsy lock was all that kept the curious out.  Androzy fumbled for a key and unlocked the door.

Potter's small dwelling was a one-story, gable-roofed house painted a sickly, lime green. It had a hand-dug root cellar separated from the main building that dropped approximately twelve feet into the ground, and a small four-foot tall attic. 

Potter’s kitchen seemed to be the hub of his life. The rest of the house was military clean—sparse almost— while only the kitchen seemed “lived in”. A sign over the stove read “You don’t have to be crazy to live here, but it helps”. On the table lay gloves, two books, a notepad, a map, a boom-box and a series of tapes.

Hammer snapped on his plastic gloves.  "Don't touch anything."

"Sure," said Jim-Bean, ignoring him. 

The two beaten books on the table were titled Radioactivity and Geology: An Account of the Influence of Radioactive Energy on Terrestrial History and Radioactivity and Its Measurement. 

"Interesting." Hammer sifted through the tapes. 

The cassette tapes were strewn about the kitchen table of Potter’s house, next to an ancient, nearly inoperable boom-box. Each had a chicken-scratch label marking them as “Monty Int.” followed by a number. There were tapes in total and none of them were dated. 

"Did you play these?" asked Jim-Bean.

Androzy nodded. "Each contains the rambling recollections of Montgomery Greene. I listened to a few of them.  Why?"

"Nothing," said Jim-Bean, "just wanted to see if you picked up on something we might miss."

Androzy nodded again, missing the bizarre logic of Jim-Bean's statement. 

"We're going to play these, if you don't mind," said Hammer.

"Sure, sure."

Hammer picked up the notepad. It was battered and water-logged. In it Clifford potter took hundreds of notes – but few were clearly legible. Besides the poor penmanship, it was obvious Potter had no need to label pages – instead, he seemed to be writing about something he knew very well. Most of the notes appear to be measurements of distance like (6’23”). 

"Six foot, twenty three inches…" mused Hammer aloud.

"That's on the map here too," said Jim-Bean. 

This hand-drawn map was something obviously fashioned with great care by Clifford Potter. It shows what appeared to be several passages from a bird's eye view along with careful measurements of distance and angles. It was not labeled. 

"Look at this." Hammer flipped to the last page of Potter's notebook. 

It was a simple, hand-drawing of what looked like an odd pool with sockets in the border surrounding it. Wavy lines were drawn in the center of the pool.

"I think it's time we checked out the root cellar," said Jim-Bean. "Jimbo, you think you could do me a favor?"

"It's Lucas."

"Lucas, right."

"What's up?"

"Can you get my forensics kit?  It's in the trunk. You did some good work here but I want to take a closer look…"

"Sure."

Jim-Bean threw him his keys.

"Be right back," said Androzy.

"Did you just give that idiot the keys to our car?"

"Who said those were the car keys?" said Jim-Bean with a grin.  "Now let's go check out the root cellar."


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 3 – The Thing in the Cellar*

The root cellar was a recent construction; something dug in the last two years. It was a small ten foot by twelve foot room about twelve feet down in the ground, accessible through hand-made storm cellar doors and a series of slate steps. It appeared as if a great amount of effort went into constructing it. 

Hammer flicked on his head lamp.  Jim-Bean switched on a flashlight.  They played the beams over the dirt floor. 

It was completely empty except for a single long-toothed rake propped against a shored-up wall.  

"Only one person has been down in the soft dirt of the cellar." Hammer pointed out footprints in the dirt. 

"So?" asked Jim-Bean.

"I don't think Androzy ever stepped foot down here."

"Whoever those footprints belong to, he was really interested in raking the floor." The few footprints disrupted an otherwise perfect sea of carefully raked dirt; like a strange subterranean Zen garden.

Hammer pulled out a small utility tool from his pocket.  "Start digging."

"What? Why?"

"You don't rake a root cellar unless you're covering something up," said Hammer. 

In moments, Hammer's efforts with the tool were rewarded as he connected with a solid object in the dirt.

Hammer dug out around the hole with his gloved hands. Catching the edge of something plastic, he tugged on it and pulled a large zip-locked bag from the ground.  

"What is it?" asked Jim-Bean.

It was a nearly three-inch cube.  Hammer held it up to their flashlights. "I think this is solid gold."

Jim-Bean whistled.  "That's got to be worth thousands of dollars."

Hammer rotated the bag in his hand.  "It's machined into a precise, odd cube with curved corners, a slight curve on the inner faces and a strange icon carved into each face."  The icons on the side of the cube were each different—they were rectilinear, mathematical-like symbols. 

Jim-Bean took a step towards Hammer to take a closer look when his boot clinked something.

Jim-Bean looked down.  A hint of glass in the dirt sparkled back in the flashlight beam.

Hammer dug down and tugged out a huge glass jar filled with a thick, clear liquid. He held it up to the light.

Inside was a huge insect, a dragonfly that measured approximately twenty nine inches from tip to tail. Its wings were crushed and it had obviously suffered severe trauma. It was curled in its death position in the liquid; rolled up like a spiral. 

"Whoa," said Jim-Bean.  "That thing is huge. I didn't know they can grow that big."

"I don't think they can," said Hammer. "Let's get it back to the lab for analysis."

"Agent Baxter?" called Androzy from the top of the steps. "I tried all of the keys and none of 'em worked."

"Oh crap!" said Jim-Bean, feigning surprise.  "I threw you the wrong keys!  I'll be right up.  Looks like we'll need some trash bags too."

"For what?" asked Androzy, peering into the darkness.

"Dirt samples," Jim-Bean and Hammer said simultaneously.


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 4 – The Ruins of Hunt*

Located approximately two miles from the center of Hellbend, California on the ruins of a formerly beautiful asphalt road, a sea of destroyed concrete was all that remained of Hunt Electrodynamics Plant #004. A partially ruined chain link fence surrounded it five hundred yards out from the ruins on all sides. 

It was hardly a deterrent. Large gaps existed every fifty feet or so.  All that remained were concrete slabs split into no larger than three-foot chunks, an occasional metal strut curled by some huge force, random, destroyed business devices from the 1950s. 

Hammer walked the perimeter.  "Looks to me like the place was destroyed more by an implosion.  See how the buildings lean inwards to a center point?"

Walking the site of the plant revealed little. There were no apparent entrances below; no tunnels, holes or stairs down. The site appeared barren. 

The point where Clifford Potter was digging with the Bobcat was easily found.  The twenty by thirty-foot bald spot was meticulously cleared of rubble, and covered in Bobcat tracks, various footprints and the random detritus of humanity.

"From the looks of it, the Bobcat blade broke the ground maybe once or twice," said Hammer. The hole it created dipped down only a foot or two, revealing nothing. The site was suspiciously clear of anything else. 

"You said Potter was digging up metal pipes?" Jim-Bean asked Androzy.

"Yeah."

"Where?" asked Jim-Bean.  "There are no metal pipes—no metal at all except steel—on the surface."

"Maybe he stripped the site?"

Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged a glance.  "We're going to need heavy equipment," said Jim-Bean. "Can you rent the Bobcat for us?"

"What?" asked Androzy. "What in the hell do you want that thing for?"

"To dig," said Hammer.  "Potter was looking for something."

Androzy just stared at them. "You're serious."

"Very much so," said Hammer.  

"Do you know what it's going to take to get that thing out here again?  We'll have to drive it over on something…"

"It's only a few miles out," said Jim-Bean helpfully. 

Androzy swore and got Mann on his shoulder CB.  "Al? Al?  Yeah it's Lucas.  The Feds want the Bobcat again.  No, not for forensics…" he stalked off towards his car, swearing, "…to DIG!  Yeah, I know, I told them!"

"That'll keep him busy," said Jim-Bean.  "Now, what I really wanted to tell you. Take a look at this."  He tapped a few keys on the cistron. Then he blew a kiss skywards.

On the cistrons, a satellite in the sky zoomed in so close that Hammer could make out that Jim-Bean was winking when he blew the kiss.

The view spiraled upwards, indicating the perimeter of the old plant.  A map grid appeared over it, with various branches beneath them.

"What's that?" asked Hammer.

"That's Potter's map.  From the looks of it, there are underground tunnels that run through here.  They've got to come out somewhere…"

"Great," said Hammer, "now we just need to find the entrance."

The cistrons beeped as SINNER zeroed in on a probable entrance. 

"You know the only reason you get away with this stuff is because SINNER identifies herself as female."

"I know," said Jim-Bean with a grin.

"She used to portray herself as prepubescent but I've noticed her voice has gotten…huskier."

Jim-Bean smirked.  "Agent Hammer, surely you aren't implying that I'm causing a supercomputer to reach puberty prematurely?"

The entrance was located about a mile to the northwest of the ruins, where the land dropped two dozen or more feet. A culvert connected to the subterranean structures of the Hunt Plant. 

The culvert was a twelve foot diameter concrete tube that protruded from the hill and disappeared into the depths of the ground that led back to the site. The culvert was awash with a spray of greenery—small plants with a single red flower on them that grew in dribs and drabs on a delta like stream of water which poured out into a fan, disappearing into the parched earth about five yards out. The area smelled rich and damp. 

Jim-Bean took a picture of the tiny red flowers, none bigger than a quarter inch. There was a preponderance of bugs flying around the plants. The plants were littered with tiny, spore-covered corpses of hundreds of bugs. 

A thousand possible matches flickered through SINNER's database. The response, "No existing matches," blinked urgently on screen.

"SINNER's stumped.  Wherever these plants come from, it's not of this earth."

"I'm more concerned about that," said Hammer.  He took pictures of a large heel print. It was only the ball of the creature's heel. SINNER analyzed the print: it weighed between 1,200 and 1,300 pounds.

"Jesus.  So we've got a big print and a weird flower. Now what?"

"Now," Hammer checked the ammunition on his Glocks, "we go inside the creepy tunnel."


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 5 – Down the Rabbit Hole*

The concrete culvert, which led into the earth heading towards the Hunt plant, was quite large, capable of allowing a human to stand upright comfortably. 

That's when they heard the odd noise. 

It was not easily describable—it sounded somewhat like an echoey clicking. The mechanical clicking rose and fell over time. 

A slow rush of water about two inches deep lapped at their heels.  The culvert's walls were covered in a deep green moss up to about hip height. The water seemed to go in cycles—rising slightly in speed and depth every few minutes.

"I don't like that sound," said Jim-Bean.

They ventured further into the culvert. Eventually, the source of the ghostly, echoing clicking became clear. 

The contraption, connected by a series of thick wires to Sears Die-Hard battery, sat in the cave propped up on an overturned orange crate. The device seems to be the old innards of a radio rewired to some other purpose.  Two other discarded Die- Hard batteries were dumped to the side of the tunnel. 

The machine spat out tiny clicks through a single, hand-wired speaker. The clicks increased or decreased with time; sputtering away in a sudden onslaught of noise, then just as suddenly fading to a barely audible click. 

"Geiger counter," said Hammer. "That explains the books in Potter's home."

The culvert wound its way beneath what was once the Hunt Plant. The main tunnel led off into darkness. The water was knee deep, making movement both slow and noisy. In the distance, a low rush of water could be heard. After a hundred yards, the tunnel began to turn every fifty yards. 

"I don't like this," said Hammer, both pistols held up over his head, "you know I don't—"

"Swim, I know, I know," said Jim-Bean.  "But hopefully this current gets less as we get closer to the end of this, wherever it is.  I don't have any SCUBA equipment in my duffel bag."

Hammer didn't respond.  Jim-Bean looked back over his shoulder, playing the head lamp back and forth over the brakish water.  "Hammer?"

He caught a glimpse of a red-green saurian-like head just above the surface.  The light struck it full in the eye and the pupil shrunk.

"Oh crap," said Jim-Bean as something hungry and fast lurched out of the water towards him.


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 6 – On the Menu*

Jim-Bean awoke to shooting pain in his foot.  He was floating, half-dragged through the current towards…somewhere.  He couldn't make out what it was, but he got the distinct impression of feathers…which didn't make any sense, because he had definitely seen a scaly head.

Focus.  Jim-Bean was alive.  Hammer wasn't with him.  This thing was dragging him back to it lair, no doubt to eat him.  He had to come up with a plan.

But there was no beating these things in a fair fight.  Not in a water-logged tunnel, not when he was barely clinging to life, surviving only because his protomatter-infused body never quit mending his wounds.  He would have to come up with something else than mere violence.

It was time to test the limits of his powers.  Valiant's crystal had unleashed powers within him he never dreamed of.  He had been meditating, practicing some of the techniques he learned at Enolsis.  He was about to put them to the test.

Evidence of the culvert was long gone.  What little he could make out with his head beam showed a jagged, uneven ceiling. He was instead surrounded by dirt and rocks.  

That's all he needed.  He tried to focus.

But it was hard.  The damn thing bit down on his foot every few seconds as it adjusted its grip on him.  Jim-Bean's protomatter body was capable of some amazing things, but he doubted he could reattach a severed foot.  He bit his lip to keep from crying out.  

Focus…

The tunnel trembled around him.  The teeth momentarily loosened their grip, and that was just what Jim-Bean needed.  He concentrated harder, and the muddy rock fell just ahead of where his foot was.

There was an inhuman screech, the same sound Jim-Bean heard in his vision on the Bobcat.  Water thrashed as muddy earth sluiced off from the ceiling and slammed into the thing again and again.  

There was a barking call. Jim-Bean swore silently.  The thing wasn't dead, not by a long shot.

Worse, another call, further down the culvert, barked back.  There were two of them.  Great.

The water changed direction.  He down another tunnel, away from the noises.  Splashing down that way told Jim-Bean that they were tracking him.

Jim-Bean knew that running wouldn't work.  In the mean time, his protomatter would do what it did best.  

He just hoped Hammer made it out alive.


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 7 – One Lousy Day*

Hammer had no idea that the sudden drop in the culvert saved his life.  When Hammer sputtered back to the surface, Jim-Bean was gone.

He spun around, Glocks out, hoping they would still work despite being soaked.  "Jim-Bean?  Jimmy?"

There was an odd barking screech, almost like that of an angry seagull, only louder and angrier.  It echoed to Hammer's right.  Then to his left.

When Hammer caught sight of a red-green head he didn't hesitate to fire. There was a screech, and something thrashed in the water.  Then he was alone again in the inky blackness.

Hammer made his way over to the side of the culvert. If he could just get his back to the wall…

Teeth snapped down on his leg, hard.  Hammer cried out in pain and unleashed his Glocks into the water, heedless of the fact that he might well shoot himself in the thigh.  

Whatever it was let go. He must have hit it.  

Hammer half-dragged himself up to the edge of the culvert.  It was shallower there.  

Where the hell was Jim-Bean?  

There was a series of splashes further down the tunnel.  Something was hurtling towards him, faster than a human, its bird-like legs pumping, teeth and claws extended.  Hammer had just enough time to bring his Glocks up as the thing slammed into him.

Its rear claws struggled for purchase, trying to tear his exposed abdomen.  It effortlessly ripped Hammer's belt in two.

Jaws snapped at his throat.  In a desperate ploy to keep the thing off of him, Hammer gave up trying to shoot it and just offered it his forearm.  It would render his arm useless, but Hammer had to keep the thing off of him long enough to get a shot.

It worked.  The jaws snapped around his arm and shook side to side, claws tearing at his shoulders and face.  Hammer shoved himself forward and they both twisted into the water.

In the inky blackness, the thing didn't have the advantage.  More importantly, he knew exactly where its head was.  Hammer's head beam flashed on one of the cat-like pupils, wild with bloodlust.

Hammer put his Glock to the thing's eye and pulled the trigger.

There was a burst gore and the jaws clenched reflexively once more, hard enough to make Hammer scream.  He nearly choked to death right there, under the water.  But with his last ounce of strength, he managed to hurl himself back onto a shallower part of the culvert. And there he floated.

The current eventually floated him back out towards the entrance.  Hammer felt a mixture of relief and guilt as the sunlight of the opening came into view.  Whatever had attacked Hammer had most certainly eaten Jim-Bean.

Androzy greeted him at the entrance.  "Been lookin' for you all day! I got the Bobcat…what the hell happened to you?"

"Hospital," wheezed Hammer, limping towards Androzy.  "I need to make a call."


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Part 8 – The Gate*

The tunnel finally opened into a larger cement room awash with water and odd plants. At the far end was a twelve-foot diameter stone archway with slots on the left hand side of the large portal; it was tilted forward at a slight angle, pinned in place by debris. The stone was odd—it was a deep black soapstone-like substance with an almost metallic quality. These slots looked like they would fit a cube, like the cube the agents had found in Potter's basement. The top slot was empty. 

Jim-Bean slowly got to his feet, the predators behind him momentarily forgotten.

It was fascinating. Though almost the entire archway was clear of debris, as well as the topmost cube slot; much of the gate was obscured by rubble.  The gate perfectly matched with the drawing in the last page of Clifford Potter’s notebook.  

The archway was filled with a deep gray mist, much like steam, which did not seem to drift far from the door.  There was something odd about the way the smoke drifted; it occasionally seemed to twirl, twist and congeal into tiny storm-like collections of clouds; and it never drifted far from the stone doorway before evaporating. 

Every few minutes, a stream of clear, warm water poured from inside the gate. The stream continued down the tunnel where it exits out of the concrete culvert. The strong smell of a verdant jungle filled the tunnel. 

A stack of equipment was scattered around the small cleared out area surrounding the gate. It was sitting on top of a pile of rubble, well out of the way of the stream of water. 

Jim-Bean quickly rifled through it. It consisted of an army bag filled with various pieces of electronic equipment.  

Jim-Bean unshouldered his duffel bag.  There was enough C-4 to do some damage.  But he had bigger problems.

Behind him, the Hellbend killers entered the cave entrance, snapping and snarling at each other as they established dominance for who would eat Jim-Bean first. 

At first glance, they looked like an enormous flightless red-green colored birds the size of pick-up trucks. They had small forearms sprinkled with orange-green feather-like extrusions, and the same faux feathers on their backs. They were quite obviously predators—heads filled with two-inch long serrated teeth, and face broken by one blunt horn. Their small forward arms were tipped with five-inch hook-like claws. 

They were also most definitely not lizards. These were dinosaurs.

The predators crept into the cavern, hissing, heads darting to track his every move.

"Velociraptors," whispered Jim-Bean.  "Great."  He set the charges on the C-4 to a few seconds.  Then he tossed a brick of them into the air, using his telekinesis to control them just right.

One of the raptors snapped at the blinking brick, just as Jim-Bean hoped. With a telekinetic shove, he slammed it down the beast's throat.

The raptor squealed, clawing at its throat.  The second raptor, excited by the motion, reared back with its jaw open wide and its claws raised for a charge…

Jim-Bean staggered backwards.  His gun was useless.  He was hoping the explosion from the C-4 would have taken care of them both.

It leaped through the air, both pairs of claws extended, maw gleaming with shark's teeth. Jim-Bean pointed at the satchel of equipment.

The heavy equipment smashed into the thing and hurled it towards the gate. It fell within feet of the smoke, but the tendrils curled around it and sucked it through.

A second later the other raptor, still clawing at its throat, exploded in a gout of blood and bone. 

Jim-Bean slumped to the ground, exhausted.


----------



## talien

*Operation Bravo: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean met Hammer at the hospital. Hammer. He was laid up in bed, doped up on painkillers. 

"Did you get them?" asked Hammer.  His forearm was heavily bandaged.  The dinosaurs had near snapped his forearm in two.

"Good to see you're alive, Jim-Bean," began Jim-Bean sarcastically. "I thought you were dead.  Sorry I had to leave you behind with the scary Jurassic Park rejects…"

"Very funny," croaked Hammer.  

"You're seriously messed up yourself," said Jim-Bean.

"Radiation…poisoning," said Hammer. 

"Oh yeah, I noticed that.  But I got over it."

Hammer continued his question. "So?"

"The dinosaurs are now definitely extinct.  As for the gate, I called in a STREETSWEEPER team.  Gave Larry the gold cube.  They're going in now."

He showed Hammer his cistron. 

They had a fish-eye view from a Larry's helmet cam.  "This is Bravo Team Leader, we're inside. Corpses have been removed. We are attempting to shut down the gate."

Other agents, all dressed in NBC suits and breathing masks, carefully approached the gate. 

Only Larry's hands were visible.  He turned the gold cube to the face with icons of a snake, an odd axe-head, and an arrow-head pointing down.  Then he placed it in the square-shaped hole on the gate.

The room shuddered.

"...effect…" shouted a garbled voice over the comm. "…attempting…evacuate!"

Men shouted, running as fast as they could in the bulky suits.  The tunnel began to shift as the room shuddered in an odd mix of an earthquake and random time-lapse photography. The STREETSWEEPER team was subjected to bizarre relativistic effects—some moved extremely fast, others stuttered, and some were frozen in time, not moving at all. 

A second later the line went dead.

"What happened?" Jim-Bean shouted into the cistron.  "Is the gate closed?"

"Roger that," came Larry's weary voice. "We lost a few, but it's closed."

"Awfully nice of you boys to go in there and deal with that for us," said Jim-Bean sweetly.

"Don't laugh.  Orders just came down.  I almost feel bad for you."

"Oh?"

"This is evidence that Hunt Electronics has access to temporal gate technology. You two get to take them down."

Hammer, eyes closed, sighed. "Great."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 44: Where a God Shall Tread - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of “Future/Perfect” Part Three by Dennis Detwiller and “Where a God Shall Tread” from At Your Door. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

When you're running straight-up survival horror, smaller numbers are easier to manage.  Dealing with the aforementioned dinosaur attack was perfectly suited for two agents alone in the dark.  A Mission Impossible-style infiltration of a heavily guard base, on the other hand, could use as many agents as we can stuff around the table. But we only had two.

To my surprise, the agents ended up ranging beyond the scope of the scenario.  The players know when scenarios are "open" and "closed" – this was definitely an open scenario, so they ranged far and wide. I brought them back in with the logical conclusion to their actions, which shocked them and put a timetable on penetrating the base.

The base itself turned out to be fairly anticlimactic.  After all, if the alarms haven't sounded, things tend to go pretty smoothly.  Fortunately, I had a very big series of wrinkles in store for the agents.  The question was whether or not they would play along.  To my surprise, they did. 

*Defining Moment:* Tracking beacons hidden in gold nuggets suddenly scatter…40,000 feet up.

Relevant Media

*Future Perfect:* Source of the Part Three scenario. 
*At Your Door:* source of Ssruthaa, Rhan-Tegoth, and the events that go down at Hunt Electronics. 

*Still Alive:* by Jonathan Coulton. I've just been looking for an excuse to play this song.


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Prologue*



> _Aperture Science
> We do what we must
> Because we can.
> For the good of all of us.
> Except the ones who are dead._​
> --_Still Alive_ by Jonathan Coulton​



Hammer and Jim-Bean had been circling Hunt Electronics' Duxbury headquarters for over a week with no luck.  The place was built like a fortress, but then a gold mine of information fell into their laps. Literally.

On a gray Monday morning a young 22-year-old employee of Hunt Electronics was detained and questioned by TSA officials at La Guardia Airport in New York City. He was pulled aside in a random search, and quickly drew the suspicion of his interrogators with his evasive answers and nervousness.

"So who's this?" Jim-Bean craned his neck to inspect the nervous young man sitting in the interrogation room.

"Jonathan Emery," said Hammer. "Ready?"

"Good cop or bad cop?" 

"Let's switch it up," said Hammer.  "I'll be good cop for once."

"Do you even know how?"

Hammer paused to remark "very funny" before opening the door to the interrogation room.  

Hammer sat down across from Emery.  Jim-Bean didn't. 

Hammer flipped through a folder he brought with him.  "So…Jonathan, right?  Can I call you Jon?"

Emery swallowed hard.  "Sure."

"You were on your way to Switzerland with a package."

"Engineering equipment," said Emery.

"Yeah, right.  What kind of equipment?"

"Specialty testing devices for a subcontractor in Berne."

"Don't lie to us!" snarled Jim-Bean.  "We checked. There IS no subcontractor in Berne.  You made arrangements for a car to pick you up at the airport."

Emery was taken aback.  His eyes darted back and forth between Hammer and Jim-Bean. 

"We found hidden compartments filled with roughly melted gold ingots," said Hammer.

"Nearly one million dollars worth," added Jim-bean.  "So Emery, tell us again what you were doing with that much gold?"

"I don't know!"

"Have you made these trips before?"

"Yes…twice a year for the last two years."

Hammer changed tactics.  "Tell us about Duxbury."

"What?" Emery blinked.  "I work for the New York office. I don't know…the equipment came from Duxbury."

"So you're just the messenger, huh?" asked Jim-Bean. "You took the money without looking inside?"

Emery nodded. "Each time I travelled to Switzerland, I received a cash pay-out of $5,000. It was…I guess in retrospect it was a little exorbitant."

Hammer nodded sympathetically.  "That made you uncomfortable, huh?  Money like that can be hard to ignore. But you didn't know where to go or who to tell. Surely there were warning signs."

Emery nodded.  "By my third trip I was fairly certain I was doing something…do I get protection or something if I confess?"

Jim-Bean loomed over him.  "You are in deep trouble, kid.  Hunt Electronics is in even deeper trouble.  You realize if word of this gets out, that you screwed up, they'll kill you, right?"

Emery went pale.  The thought hadn't occurred to him.

"We're authorized to put you in the witness protection program if you give us a full confession," said Hammer sympathetically.  "It's the only way you're going to survive this."

Emery slumped in his chair.  "Okay, okay. The main give away that something was wrong, besides the pay-out, were the rules — don’t open the cases for any reason, always check the luggage as “specialty equipment”, never let the luggage out of your sight once on the ground, and the final rule — bring the luggage by specialty van to Credit Suisse Bank in Berne."

"What happens at Credit Suisse?" asked Jim-Bean. 

"Once at Credit Suisse, the luggage is taken away by attendants, overlooked the whole time by white gloved men with side arms. I get my cash and sent on my way. I thought what was inside the equipment was money or drugs…not gold!" 

"When is your shipment due?" asked Hammer.

Emery looked at his watch.  "Well I missed my plane…it's been two hours. "

"We could still make it," Jim-Bean said to Hammer. 

"Why?" They didn't answer right away.  Emery's voice rose.  "You don't seriously expect me to…"

"Oh you're going to make the delivery," said Jim-Bean.  

"What? How?"

"You leave that to us," said Hammer.  "We'll take care of the rest."

"You just won't remember any of it," said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 1 – Belling the Cat*

Emery sat up in a blind panic.

"Oh Jesus…" he looked around.  

He was dressed in only his underwear, in a bed. In a hotel room. The room smelled of sweat, cigarette smoke, and booze.  The sheets were roiled around him.  

There was a note on the dresser.  A lipstick kiss and "call me" with a phone number he didn't recognize.  It was not an American phone number.

Where the hell was he?  Think Emery, think!  You were on your way to Berne and then…and then…nothing.  It was like hitting his head against a mental wall.

Emery's heart pounded as he realized what must have happened.  He had been ambushed.  Maybe some hooker had gotten him drunk.  But most importantly, what happened to the equipment…

Emery tore open the bathroom door.  Nothing. 

It was all fading away.  His excursions to Europe.  His suspicious bonuses.  His job at Hunt Electronics.  It was all over.  If he was lucky, he would lose his job.  If he wasn't…he didn't want to think about it.

Emery pulled open the folding closet.  He was so relieved by what he found there that he sank to his knees.

The cases were there.  He tried to lift one…it was heavy.  Emery checked the seals.  Unopened.  The hooker who swindled him wasn't smart enough or interested enough to look inside. Emery didn't even know what was inside. In fact, he was paid to not find out.

Emery's emotions careened from utter despair to hopeful salvation.  He had a chance!  He could make this right!

He fumbled through the nightstand drawer.  "Please tell me she didn't take my…YES!" He pulled out his cell phone triumphantly.  It even had one bar left.  Just enough, he hoped, to make the most important phone call of his life.

He dialed the number.  "Yes.  Mr. Brown please."

The operator connected him.  "Hello?" replied a sleepy, masculine voice.

"Mr. Brown?  I'm sorry to call you like this but I'm in…" his voice cracked.  "I think I'm in trouble."

"Emery?  Is that you?"

"Yes sir." It all came out in a torrent. "I just woke up in this hotel and I don't know where I am--"

"Easy, easy, Emery.  First, answer me this: do you still have the equipment?"

"Yes!" Emery nearly wept.  "Yes! Yes, it's all here!"

"Good, that's very good Emery.  We'll figure out where you are."

"I want to make this right, Mr. Brown.  I really do.  I don't know what happened—"

"That's what we're going to find out, Emery.  Try to relax.  We're going to fix this, but we can only fix this if you calm down, okay?"

"Y-yes sir."

There was a pause.  "Okay, it looks like you're calling from Moscow."

"I'm in Moscow?" Emery opened the shades and looked out the window.  "How the hell did I get in Moscow?"

"Focus, Emery, focus! Do you still have your wallet?"

Emery's clothes were folded across a chair.  He patted his pants down.  "Yes!"

"Okay, good.  I'm increasing the limit on your credit card.  You are to transport the equipment to the following airport immediately. We'll send a car."

"Am I flying back to Berne?"

There was an almost imperceptible pause.  "Yes. But you have to go right now." Emery's phone beeped. "I just sent you the address to your phone…"

Emery tugged on his pants.  "Thank you sir!  I won't let you down.  I just want to apologize, I don't know what—"

"The best way you can make up for this is to get to that airport immediately," said Brown. "I'll talk to you again when you're on the plane."

"Yes, sir." 

Emery stumbled into the rest of his clothes.  He stank something awful, but there was no time to worry about such things.  His job depended on his efficiency.

A bored bellhop arrived.  Emery realized he didn't have any local currency to tip him with.  Maybe he could fake his way through it…

With as much business-like aplomb as a disheveled, hung over young American in Russia could muster, he gestured at the equipment.  The bellhop nodded and attempted to lift one – then swore when he realized how heavy it was.  He started moving slower.

Emery paced.  He didn't know how to tell the bellhop to move faster in Russian.  He was afraid to leave the room or take his eyes off the bellhop.  If he broke the seals, it would be just as bad as if Emery had lost the equipment.

Emery rifled through the rest of the room while he waited…and came up with a pair of scented panties under his pillow.  It must have been some night!  So why didn't he remember it?

The bellhop finally finished grunting his way through the equipment.  Emery dashed off down the hall ahead of him and waited impatiently at the elevator.

Things were moving too slowly.  Mr. Brown's directive seemed very urgent, and he was a calm man. Emery felt like his fate balanced on a knife's edge.

Eventually, they made it to the lobby.  Emery slammed his credit card down. A similarly bored clerk took it.  She came back considerably more energetic; Emery guessed HE was starting to flex its monetary might.

Two taxis were waiting for him by the time the transaction was complete.  Finally! 

Emery got in.  The driver drove like his life depended on it.  They pulled up to a private airport bay, right up to the plane itself.  The taxi driver started to unload the luggage, but the pilot took it from him instead.  With a few brisk words in Russian, the taxi driver dumped the remaining cargo on a cart even as the pilot put it on the plane.

"Hey!  Be careful with that!" shouted Emery.  "That's sensitive equipment!"

The pilot smirked at him but kept on manhandling the containers.  "Get in," he said without a hint of a Russian accent.

Emery clambered onto the plane.  The pilot followed soon after and gunned the engine.  Emery got the impression they were skipping some airport protocols.  

The plane took off.  Emery reclined.  Thank God, he'd made things right.  Just one more thing to do. He reached for his phone…

Strangely, before Emery could pick up, it rang.  "Hello?"

"Emery, are you on the plane?" asked Brown. 

"Yes sir," said Emery, grinning from ear to ear.  "The equipment's on board. We did it."

"We sure did," said Brown.  He sounded a little sad.  "Good job."


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 2 – Hairball*

"Go, go, go!" shouted Hammer to the pilot.

Jim-Bean and Hammer were already on a plane to Berne.  They planned to have eyes on the ground before he got there.  They were both exhausted – SPIDER transit outside the U.S. was considerably less luxurious than within America.  And given that SPIDER transit was awful to begin with, it meant they were nauseous and exhausted from the endless turbulence required to cross the Atlantic Ocean in record time.

There was no way Emery could pull off wearing a wire. He was too jumpy, too nervous, and simply too clueless to act as their mole.  The only way to do it right was to stick to Emery's original plan and maintain his ignorance. 

The COCKTAIL worked well.  Emery's memory was completely wiped.  He didn't remember where he was.  In fact, the Majestic boys were a little concerned he might remember nothing at all, given the sudden decision to dope Emery up.  But it worked like a charm.

Everything was bugged.  The phone, the gold nuggets, even Emery himself.  They injected at tracker in his bloodstream. 

"All trackers are functioning," said the pilot.  They were already in the air before Emery had arrived at the airport.  The staff was paid well to delay Emery as much as possible, but it seemed Hunt Electronics paid even better.  

No matter, they were still one step ahead of HE.  "We need to know his destination," said Hammer.  "Wherever he lands, we need eyes on Emery as soon as he steps out of the plane."

"Copy that," replied the Majestic agent on the comm. 

They watched the tracking devices on a monitor in the jet.  They beepered a comforting staccato with every mile Emery's plane covered.

"Do you think this is going to work?"

"Why shouldn't it?" asked Hammer.  "HE is still going to get its shipment."

Jim-Bean looked uncomfortable.  "I don't know, it's just that…"

"Don't tell me you've chosen this moment to develop a conscience."

Jim-Bean laughed.  "That's not what I mean.  I'm just not sure Emery's the type to blow his money on booze and hookers."

"He's greedy," said Hammer.  "Greedy people just get worse over time."

"Maybe," said Jim-Bean.  "I guess it tells us a lot about the character of a man, huh?  They'll probably kill him when he gets there."

"That's why we have to get there first.  We'll be ready to take them out. HE just cares about the equipment," said Hammer. "Once they get that back, he's as good as—"

The monitor beeped urgently.  

The tracking devices were scattering.  They beeped once, twice, radiating outwards from the plane in a circle, thousands of miles above ground.  Then they disappeared entirely.

Hammer and Jim-Bean stared at the screen, dumbfounded.

"We lost them sir!" shouted the pilot over his shoulder. "We're getting reports of a plane exploding in the approximate area where Emery's jet was last sighted."

Jim-Bean rubbed his forehead.  "They killed the pilot too.  Whatever HE's hiding, it's important enough for them to kill everyone and cover their tracks."

Hammer sighed.  "Damn it.  This means they know."

"And if they know…"

"Then the clock's ticking before they close up shop completely.  We're going to have to execute our backup plan."

The plane banked hard.  They were heading back to the Atlantic route. 

Jim-Bean stretched. "Wake me when we're back in the States."


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 3 – The Week Link*

Walter Weeks, a ten-year member of the Duxbury community, opened the door to his modest home. He lived on the outskirts of Duxbury in a small cottage with an adjoining farmhouse.

More importantly, Weeks was a nondescript white male. When he opened the door, a black man was pointing a gun at him.

Weeks dropped his keys.  "Take whatever you want!  I won't call the police, I promise!"

Hammer frowned.  "Why is it every time someone sees a black man with a gun that they think he's trying to rob them?'

"You're not robbing me?" asked Weeks hopefully.

"Actually, we are," said a voice behind him.  Cold metal poked him in the back.  "Sit down, Walter, we need to chat."

Walter sat down on a kitchen stool.  Another man with sandy brown hair and eyes with a hint of blue in them sat down across from him.  "Walter, we need to know some things."  He casually waved a gun in Walter's direction.  "You're going to help us right?"

"What do you want?" asked Walter.

"Answers," said Jim-Bean. "I need to know about you.  What do you do at Hunt Electronics?"

"I'm…I'm a chemist."

"And what chemistry do you do at HE?"

"I…I work on chemical samples, looking for valuable substances like gold, silver and platinum."

"What kind of chemical samples?" snarled Hammer, edging closer.  "We don't have a lot of time here…"

Weeks flinched.  "Don't hurt me!  I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's hard to focus…" He broke down into a body-wracking sobs.  "P-please don't k-kill me…"

"Oh for crying out loud…" Jim-Bean turned towards Hammer.  "Why don't you go search his bedroom?"

Hammer glared at him, but he did as Jim-Bean suggested.

"Easy, easy."  Jim-Bean holstered his pistol and patted Weeks on the back. "You okay?  You want something to drink?"

He went over the fridge, poured a glass of water, and filled it with some ice.  Hammer and Jim-Bean had the opportunity to make themselves at home while they waited for Weeks to return.

Weeks sipped it, composing himself somewhat.

"So, where were we? Oh right.  Chemical samples.  Where are these chemical samples coming from?"

"The Away Team.  They located three rich veins of gold and silver, and have successfully played out one of them. It's codenamed AUBURN.  You're not really burglars, are you?"

"Focus," said Jim-Bean. "AUBURN huh?  Where is this vein?"

Weeks sniffed.  "Offsite."

"And where's Offsite?"

"When, you mean.  When's Offsite."

"Walter, you've got to be a little more specific."  Jim-Bean was careful not to make any threatening moves less Weeks collapse again. 

"Millions of years ago," said Weeks.  "We're not entirely sure exactly when.  Offsite is still two to three years from completion, but the capture of Jonathan Emery at La Guardia airport collapsed the timeline. Now all manner of equipment and material are being shoveled through the gate at a breakneck pace from Duxbury; everything is coming back in greater quantities than ever before. More people, more equipment, more food, supplies and tools."

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Wait, wait, wait.  So HE is going backwards in time to mine for gold?"

"Yes, using the gate technology we got from the serpent people—"

Jim-Bean's eyes widened.  "Oh great.  The serpent people huh?"

"Yes, they want their technology back.  In fact, one of them tried to sneak into the facility. Ssruthaa, it calls itself, but its been pretending it was Reverend Lully for months.  I've seen it twice with my own eyes. The serpent people can assume perfect human form. They've infiltrated human society. "

"How long as has this been going on?"

"The gate? Since sometime in the 1980s. A permanent base has been constructed at some point in the past, and millions of dollars and dozens of personnel have been sent back to populate it."

"Fanatics," muttered Jim-Bean.  "And so you all are getting ready to do what, exactly?  Move out of this time and into the past?"

Weeks nodded.  "The aliens have already taken over everything.  The only way you can tell is by looking at their shadow."

A cat meowed from the bedroom.  "Don't let him hurt Fluffy!"

"Don't worry, he likes cats." Jim-Bean examined Weeks carefully, like a bug under a microscope.  "I'll need your ID badge."

Weeks dug it out of his pocket.  "Why are you looking at me like that?'

"Like what?"

"Like you're…observing me."

"Don't worry about it.  We're going to leave you with some nice men who will take care of you. One more thing though, any hobbies or interests you'd like to share with me? Anything you tell your coworkers about?"

"I-I like to restore vintage cars," said Weeks. "I buy and restore 1950s and 1960s roadsters for resale, been doing it for awhile."

"That's great," said Jim-Bean.  He patted Weeks on the shoulder.  "You did good.  You'll get through this fine."

Hammer came back into the room.  He picked at his teeth with a toothpick.

"Where's Fluffy?" asked Weeks, panic-stricken.

"Didn't he tell you?" Hammer said ominously.  "I like cats."

Weeks broke down into another blubbering fit.


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 4 – Through the Wire*

The Duxbury plant was a nearly three-acre section of land located outside of the town proper. Two deep twenty-foot security fences topped with razor wire surrounded it. Every fifth fence-pole was topped by a swiveling security camera monitored twenty-four-hours a day by Hunt Electronics guards, known as Brownshirts. 

There was one main gate that was “air locked” — separated into its own section by a series of fences — overlooked by two cement buildings with bulletproof glass that looked surprisingly like bunkers. Only delivery trucks entered the gate. 

Jim-Bean, dressed as one of the drivers, drove through the gate.  They had intercepted a service truck in record time while he was at a red light; so quickly, in fact, that the whole thing had taken just under two minutes.  Although the plant's security was amazing, its reach was only as effective as its perimeter. 

Jim-Bean was guided by several of the Brownshirts into a docking bay. He backed the truck in with some trepidation, stopping frequently – he wasn't accustomed to driving big rigs. As Weeks had indicated, the place was buzzing and there was an air of urgency. His hesitation just made him seem like a nervous and overworked employee under the gun. The Brownshirts seemed to take it all in stride.  

He just hoped they wouldn't look inside the Box.

The Box was a hastily constructed chamber, large enough to fit a human being, but not large enough to be comfortable.  Hammer was crunched up in a hunched position, along with their weapons and an oxygen tank.  Most importantly, it was designed to foil any scanners.  There was actually a false exterior around the box that provided a faux scan.  So long as nobody opened the box, it would pass muster.   That was a big "if."

There was also the fact that, eventually, Hammer had to get out of the box before he ran out of air.  And it was practically impossible for him to do it on his own. 

Once he backed the truck in, Jim-Bean was escorted by a Brownshirt out of his vehicle and into the security building.  He swore inwardly as he saw several workers pick up the pallet that had Hammer on it.  He hadn't expected the box would be out of his sight so quickly, but everyone was moving fast.

Jim-Bean joined a line of employees entering the plant, one-by-one, who were subjected to a flash of extreme ultraviolet light.  They were all lined up against a bright white wall. A security camera was oddly focused not on the entrants but slightly above and behind them.  Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder as the bulb flashed.

Sure enough, their shadows were cast in sharp relief on the wall.  Weeks' information was sound – HE was literally jumping at shadows.  Jim-Bean relaxed a little bit knowing he hadn't yet been led into a trap.

A Brownshirt handed Jim-Bean a badge. He walked out the other side. Signs everywhere read “ONE BEEP, ONE PERSON” indicating that when passing through doors, each person must wait their turn and swipe their security card individually. 

Past the main gate, the interior area of the compound was all carefully maintained. It looked like any other corporate site in the world, except perhaps a bit cleaner than usual. Smooth, asphalt roads meandered all over, connecting all buildings to one another. Signage clearly pointed the way to each building at each intersection. 

The two main central buildings in the compound were identical: large industrial buildings built of corrugated steel, concrete, frosted gray windows, steel scaffolding and piping. The building Jim-Bean was specifically interested had a large industrial incinerator jutting from the west side. The chimney from the incinerator spewed spewing a thick, black smoke.

Jim-Bean had Weeks' card secreted on his person, a disguise kit divided across his shirt and pants, and nothing else.  No weapons, no comm., nothing.  He was going in cold. 

Jim-Bean walked quickly over to the warehouse elevator where he last saw Hammer's crate.  "What happened to my shipment?" he asked.

The floor manager, sweat on his brow, shook his head.  "The usual crap.  They're really hustling.  I've been pulling double shifts trying to get this all done."

"I really need to pee," said Jim-Bean.

"Yeah, I know.  We all need to go—"

"No seriously, I'm going to make a mess on the floor."  Jim-Bean hopped back and forth from one leg to another.  "I've been holding it because I was working all these shifts and I wanted to bring the shipment in on time before…" he trailed off.  Jim-Bean found it prudent to let other people fill in the blanks.

"Before they shut Offsite down, I know.  All right, go, but don't tell anybody I let you.  They're cracking down hard on us."

Jim-Bean jogged to the men's room.  By unfolding and turning the overalls he wore inside out, he was suddenly wearing a reasonable facsimile of a lab coat.  It wasn't perfect – there were zippers on the inside if anyone inspected it closely – but it would do until he could steal another one.  Fortunately for Jim-Bean, they had found a driver with similar hair color to Weeks'.  Jim-Bean had already dyed his hair brown to match.  Their eye color, also brown, made that part easy – he was already wearing contact lenses.

He donned Week's glasses.  They were the real thing.  A prosthetic nose provided a slight hook that was similar to Weeks. He looked just enough like his picture that he could get by.  But he was sure it would fail if anyone who knew Weeks personally looked him squarely in the eye.

Jim-Bean took a deep breath and strode out of the men's room.  Dressed as he was, he looked like any one of the scientists inspecting the cargo.  He made his way over to the main building and couldn't help but suppress a chuckle.  HE was so worried about identifying alien shadows that they had underestimated basic social engineering…

"Hey Weeks!" shouted a passing scientist in a similar lab coat.  "You get it finished yet?"

Jim-Bean kept walking, but he tilted his head in the same way he'd seen Weeks' do in his interview when he was puzzled by a question.  "The 57 Chevy?  Just about, still trying to find bulbs for the tailfins."

The other man laughed and nodded.  "That's one expensive hobby man, you owe me a drive when you're done!"

Jim-Bean waved him off.  Weeks didn't let anybody touch his cars. "Very funny. If this goes well you'll never see it again."

And with that, one agent walked through the front door of Hunt Electronics' fortress while a second agent counted the minutes of his oxygen tank.


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 5 – Have You Seen My Red Stapler?*

Jim-Bean entered the facility and made a beeline straight for the warehouse.  There were no less than three checkpoints, each requiring him to be scanned. He waited impatiently as each airlock closed and another opened, following a long line of similarly dressed people.  

Jim-Bean finally made into the warehouse from within the building, entering from the far side.  Hopefully he wouldn't bump into the same foreman…

The room that surrounded the elevators was large, about the size of a school gym, but had a low ceiling. Stored materials took much of the room up. A constant contingent of three Brownshirts waited, monitoring traffic. 

"I need to track a package," he asked the nearest employee. 

"Number please?" asked the polite woman with a blond ponytail. She had a portable scanner with her. 

Jim-Bean recited the number stamped on the side of Hammer's box.

The administrator tapped a few keys.  "Oh.  Yes, that's on the freight elevator.  According to tracking it's on Level Two."

"Great, thanks!" 

Jim-Bean moved as quickly as he could without attracting too much attention.  He was on a large warehouse-like level that was sparsely manned. He had to go back out into the corridor and take the personnel elevator down to Level Two. 

He huffed and puffed his way into the storage room on Level Two. 

Various methane powered front-loaders moved large boxes to storage bays, some stacked as high as twenty feet. 

The equipment was more and bigger versions of everything discovered above, as well as crate upon crate.  Jim-Bean got a look at some of the labels: M-16A2 assault rifles, anti-tank weaponry, plastic explosives, dynamite, a generator the size of a VW bug, high-tech radio equipment, a 23" telescope disassembled into pieces, an entire military grade field hospital broken down into twelve crates, and more. But there was no sign of Hammer's crate. 

"I'm looking for this crate."  He was handed the sheet of paper to another clerk.

"Oh, yeah.  Did they send you down here?"

"I was told it was on Level Two."

The clerk checked the electronic manifest.  "I thought I told Julie to stop doing that!" The clerk rolled his eyes.  "There's a tracker in the elevator, and it stops at every floor, but that doesn't mean the doors' open.  Somebody is in a hell of a rush I guess, because your crate went to straight to Level Three."

"Are you sure there where it's going to end up?"

The clerk shrugged.  "Same problem.  Could end at Level Three, could go right down to Level Six.  If you hustle you can probably find out…"

Jim-Bean swore and made his way back to the elevator.  He punched in Level Five. 

"The Girl from Ipanema" played over the elevator music. 

Finally, the door opened.  Jim-Bean scanned his badge again.  This time he passed through formidable steel doors that looked they were built to withstand a nuclear blast.

Jim-Bean telepathically reached out to Hammer.  He had been practicing the link for awhile just in case they had a situation where comms were impossible. "Still alive?"

"Yes.  Where the hell are you?"

"Navigating the halls of corporate bureaucracy. Sit tight, I'm on my way."

He passed by a series of transparent holding cells. The first contained hundreds of boxed, treated and pinned insect samples, including monstrous creatures nearly two feet long. Each was marked plainly with an identifying number and another marking: "~110 MYA", "~220 MYA", "Unknown". 

The next cell contained a dead and dissected dinosaur about three feet tall, splayed on a table with all major organs exposed. It was quite obviously in full working order not too long before. Jim-Bean recognized it as a smaller version of the raptors they had encountered in Hellbend.  If they needed proof that HE had access to time gate technology that was it.

He hurried on. The next cell contained a large, humanoid creature covered in gray white hair; dead but untouched. It was approximately seven feet tall, and showed characteristics of humanity and the Great Apes. The tag on its toe read "Unknown Primate, ~1.1 MYA". 

Another cell contained a large sinuous shape curled into an oversized body bag. It was unfrozen, but stank of chemicals. 

It was the last cell that gave him pause.  It contained a bulbous, ten-foot tall shaggy crab/spider sealed in a large transparent specimen case. It had an almost globular torso, with six long, sinuous limbs terminating in crab-like claws.  From the upper end a subsidiary globe bulged forward bubble-like; its triangle of three staring, fishy eyes, its foot-long and evidently flexible proboscis, and a distended lateral system analogous to gills, suggested that it is a head.  Most of the body was covered what first appeared to be fur.

Jim-Bean shuddered.  The thing didn't feel right.   He kept on walking towards the freight elevators…

“Free me!”

Jim-Bean pulled up short.  He looked around.  No one had said anything.  All the techs were busy passing in the hallway or focusing on their instruments in other rooms. 

Jim-Bean reached out with his mind to Hammer.  "Was that you?"

"What?"

"Did you just ask me to free you?"

"I've been asking you to free me for the past ten minutes."

This time Jim-Bean felt the cold intruder in his mind. “I will create a dissstraction…Rhan-Tegoth needsss but to be woken!”

"That was DEFINITELY not you."

Then Jim-Bean saw the source.  Straight ahead, inside a vault, was a Plexiglas enclosure. And there, splayed out in an "X" position due to specially designed restraints, was a serpent person. The creature was obviously ill, and was kept alive by invasive medical means.

"Let me go, and I will share with you the power that It will bring me. Iä! Iä! Great is Rhan-Tegoth! Let me go!"

"What is it?" asked Hammer through the telepathic link.

"I think I found Weeks' alien."


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 6 – The Thing in the Cell*

"Let me go! It is starving down there beyond that cell door, and if It dies the Old Ones can never come back. Hei! Hei! Let me go!"

The thing was telepathically screaming at him.  Its head was facing his direction but its snake-like features were otherwise inscrutable. A Brownshirt stood guard with another scientist checked Ssruthaa's vitals.

"Let who go?" Jim-Bean

"Wza-y'ei! Wza-y'ei! Y'kaa haa ho-ii, Rhan-Tegoth-Cthulhu fthagn-Ei! Ei! Ei! Ei!-Rhan-Teogth. Rhan-Tegoth, Rhan-Tegoth!"

"I get it," Jim-Bean beamed back.  "But you don't have to keep ranting about Goths…"

"No, fool!  Rhan-Tegoth!  You do not trussst me? And yet you trussst the ssshoggoth."

Jim-Bean made his way to the doorway, but there was no way he was going to get inside without some serious firepower.  

"Oh, you didn’t know, did you?" continued Ssruthaa. "Ssstupid human. Lasssiter is a ssshoggoth in human form. Now quickly, releassse me from my bondsss! Even now Rhan-Tegoth awakesss!”

Jim-Bean recognized the name.  Lassiter was the CEO of Hunt Electronics.  But he wasn't entirely sure what a shoggoth was.

"Listen, fool! Listen hard! It has heard me, and is coming. Can't you hear It splashing out of Its tank down there at the end of the hallway? It is amphibious, you know--you saw the gills. It came to the earth from lead-gray Yuggoth, where the cities are under the warm deep sea. It can't stand up in there--too tall--has to sit down or crouch."

There was a splashing, padding or shuffling, as of great wet paws on a solid surface. A noisome animal stench poured into Jim-Bean's nostrils. Sudden baying followed sniffing and snorting. A trumpeting noise assailed his ears. 

Jim-Bean whirled, his hand going for his pistol.  The pistol he didn't bring with him. It was safely secured in the crate along with Hammer and the rest of their equipment.

Something fumbled with the latch of the heavy cell door, patting, pawing, pushing. There was a thudding on the stout metal, which grew louder and louder. The stench was horrible.

The Brownshirt in Ssruthaa's room looked up and so did the scientist.  They were looking past Jim-Bean.

Heads popped out of offices to peer down the hallway.  Three Brownshirts, calling the disturbance in on their shoulder walkie-talkies, approached the doorway warily.

The assault on the door from the inside became a malign, determined pounding like the strokes of a battering ram. There was an ominous shrieking--a tearing--a welling fetor--a falling cell door—and a black paw ending in a crab-like claw reached around the corner of the cell.

 “The portal below isss your only hope of essscape, and only I know how to control it. You cannot go back the way you came. To do ssso isss to face death.”

One of the Brownshirts screamed and ran the other way.  Two of them opened fire. 

Unfurling like a giant spider, a bulbous, ten-foot tall shaggy crab-like creature stepped out into the hallway. It was the thing that Jim-Bean passed before.  He thought it was dead. Apparently so did Hunt Electronics.

The thing crouched and sprung on one of the Brownshirts, pinning him with its arms.  The long hairs that Jim-Bean took to be fur were actually a dense growth of dark, slender tentacles, each tipped with a mouth.  Dozens of them clamped onto the man's face.  He shrieked as two sunk into his eyeballs and scooped them out.

More Brownshirts came running.  Scientists fled down the hall.  Time and space seem to warp around Rhan-Tegoth like a rock creating a series of concentric waves in a pond.  Belatedly, red alarm lights and buzzers begin to wink and sound. 

Jim-Bean pounded on the door.  "For God's sake let me in!"

The scientist opened it first and then ran past him down an intersecting hallway.  The Brownshirt swore and dragged Jim-Bean in with him.

"Stay behind me!" he shouted, pistol out. "And stay away from that thing!"

Ssruthaa watched Jim-Bean with unblinking eyes.  "Untie me," it said telepathically.

Jim-Bean took a step closer.

"Hey!" The Brownshirt swung his pistol around.  "I said get away from that thing!"

Jim-Bean put his hands up.  "Easy, I was just checking its restraints."

There were muted screams outside and the retort of automated gunfire, muffled by the thick door and Plexiglas window. 

"You're not authorized to do that.  I wouldn't even be in here if it wasn't because we're clearing for Offsite. I shouldn't have even let you in here."  The Brownshirt positioned himself between Jim-Bean and the door.  "I think you should leave."

"Did you see that thing out there?" shouted Jim-Bean. "It's coming this way!"

Sure enough, Rhan-Tegoth was making its way down the corridor, bisecting Brownshirts with its huge claws and dragging its gruesome bulk along the corridor as it went. 

The guard's gaze, trained on Jim-Bean, flicked away for a second to focus on the thing.  Seeing it approach, he took a step back…

Ssruthaa's head extended over two feet outwards from its restraints, clasping over the Brownshirt's head.  The Brownshirt screamed inside the cavernous mouth. It was cut off by a horrible gurgle as he was decapitated.  

The round shape of the head passed into Ssruthaa's gullet.  "Jussst what I needed."

The restraints unclasped themselves.  "Come.  We must leave here."

"Where are we going?"

"To the gate, where elssse?"


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 7 – On the Menu*

Ssruthaa transformed right before Jim-Bean's eyes into the Brownshirt he consumed.  Jim-Bean picked up the guard's pistol.  Ssruthaa passed by several weapons on the floor, left by Brownshirts who fled in utter terror. 

"Don't you want a gun?" asked Jim-Bean.

Ssruthaa sneered at him with his human features. "I am far more formidable without your mortal weapons," he said without a hint of his lisp. 

They left the corridor with Rhan-Tegoth behind.  People ran madly past them, heedless of the disguised intruders, who looked like nothing more than a scientist and a Brownshirt. 

They reached the first security desk. Behind the desk was a woman, valiantly struggling to pull herself up from the floor.  She was horribly emaciated, her clothing and pantyhose hanging in bags from her near-skeletal frame, her feet little more than bone and tendon.  Her sallow gray skin had blackened in places and gone pulpy in other spots.

“Be…beware!” she croaked.

The woman grasped the edge of the counter and tried to pull herself up, only to have her hands pull loose from her wrists with vile squishes and plops, and flop independently on to the floor.

“Be—“ she teetered there for a moment, desperately trying for control, then sighed almost sweetly, fell backward, and collapsed. Her hands still quivered and twitched on the tile floor.  “Be…be-ware!”

Dying, she rapidly decomposed into stinking dust, ash, and bones.

"What the hell is going on?" asked Jim-Bean. 

"The presence of a Great Old One can have unforeseen side effects," said Ssruthaa out loud in human form.  "Combined with Mother's Milk, it is warping this reality."

As if to prove his point, they encountered a female researcher on the floor in the hallway, twitching and rolling.  She had torn away most of her clothes, revealing a body covered with dozens of random eyes.  All the eyes were human, complete with lashes but not eyebrows, staring and panic-stricken; they were windows forcing her into dozens of random, conflicting universes.  Mist rose from her body, signaling the beginning of quick decomposition.

Suddenly, a man burst through the double doors to their right, wheezing and gasping.  He wore not a stitch.  His skin had peeled loose from his body in big, hanging flaps, revealing glistening red wet muscles and yellow globs of fat beneath.  He threw his head back and bellowed, spreading his arms wide--all eight of them--like a giant spider made of red meat.  Eyes bulging, he charged.

Ssruthaa stood his ground. When the man was almost upon him, his right hand and arm blurred forward at incredible speed, explosively smashing the madman's skull.  Bone chips, skin, and brains splattered the area; the target—his face almost obliterated from the impact—bounced back, staggered, and collapsed, dead before hitting the ground. Acrid fumes rose from him as he too began to quickly decompose. 

"I'm starting to see your point about not needing weapons," said Jim-Bean. "Now if you don't mind we need to make a slight detour…"

"Where?" asked Ssruthaa.

"I have to pick up someone else."  Jim-Bean navigated his way to the freight elevator.  

"How many people are you releasing in this place?" asked Ssruthaa indignantly.


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Part 8 – The Gate*

A fully armed Hammer followed Ssruthaa and Jim-Bean down to the Level Six. Little attention was paid to them. It was a busy level. People ran down the hallways, many in odd jumpsuits, combat boots, gloves and helmets. 

The final level underground was a maze of pressure locks, airlocks, huge, reinforced steel and carbon bulkheads and more. Colored lines meandered on the ground and on the walls, leading particular groups through the maze of rooms. 

As Ssruthaa led them towards the gate, moving through various rings of airlocks, the air pressure, humidity and temperature seems to shift. Near the center, humidity was nearly eighty percent, and the temperature was approximately ninety-eight degrees. 

"I don't like this," Hammer said to Jim-Bean through the telepathic link. "How do we know we can trust—"

"You have no other choice," Ssruthaa interrupted their mental conversation.  

Hammer's eyes widened but he said nothing else, inwardly or outwardly.

Finally, they gained access to the Gate room, an enormous room the size of a concert hall, filled with equipment, personnel and the Duxbury gate. 

It was immediately recognizable — it was identical in every way to the Hellbend gate. 

The gate was a thirteen-foot wide by thirteen-foot high tall stone archway with slots on the left hand side of the large portal. The stone was odd—it was a deep black soapstone-like substance with an almost metallic quality, unidentifiable by modern science. The slots each fit a 2.718” gold cube. The archway was filled with a deep gray mist; much like steam, which did not seem to drift far from the door. There was something odd about the way the smoke drifted; it occasionally seemed to twirl, twist and congeal into tiny storm-like collections of clouds; and it never drifted far from the stone doorway before evaporating.

Next to the gate was a small, odd, wheel shaped device covered in Aklo writing. It was obviously an alien device retrofitted to a human constructed machine that operated the gate. Huge, thick power cables ran from the device up into the ceiling of the Gate room. 

Ssruthaa disconnected the cables with his bare hands.  "Fools," he snarled.  "You have no idea the power you trifle with."

Several Brownshirts whirled.  "Hey, get away from there!"

There was another trumpet behind them.  Rhan-Tegoth was coming.

"Did that thing…take the freight elevator down here?" asked Jim-Bean to nobody in particular.

The Brownshirt opened fire on the Rhan-Tegoth in the hallway.  From their position they weren't yet able to see the Great Old One, but they could feel its heavy steps through the floor plates. 

"Rhan-Tegoth knows of the Gate," said Ssruthaa, concentrating.  "Now be quiet while I calibrate it…"

He closed his eyes and the gate whirled to life.  The same strange mist filled the opening.  "Go now!"

"You first," said Hammer.

Ssruthaa opened his eyes and shrugged.  Then he dove through the gate, disappearing into the enveloping mist.

"We can't let that thing through," said Hammer.

"I know," said Jim-Bean.  "And I don't know what's on the other side of that gate."

Hammer frowned.  The screams and gunfire were getting closer.  "One way to find out."  He took the satchel from Jim-Bean and pointed at the gate. Jim-Bean nodded and dove through.

Hammer set the charges on the entire satchel of C4.  He tossed it near the edge of the gate.

One scientist had the presence of mind to tear away from Rhan-Tegoth's approach and see what was going on with the gate.  "What the hell are you doing?"

"Putting Hunt Electronics out of business."  Hammer dove through the gate just a second before the charge went off.


----------



## talien

*God Shall Tread: Conclusion*

Jim-Bean awoke in a rubble field, under a red sky. Ssruthaa and Hammer were present and unharmed, though their clothing and hair appeared scorched, and they were lying amidst random debris from the gate.  

The surrounding landscape was utterly desolate.  The dark plain of cooled lava stretched to the horizon in every direction.

"Maybe I should have asked this question earlier," said Jim-Bean, dusting himself off as he rose to his feet.  "But where did the gate lead us?"

"Millions of years in the past," said Ssruthaa.  "Long before your race learned to crawl."

"Great," said Hammer, glaring at Ssruthaa.  "And what are we supposed to do now?"

Ssruthaa shook his head violently, then his whole body shivered.  The human form melted away, replaced by a distinctly serpentine shape. He pointed one long finger at a giant structure in the distance, silhouetted against the reddish sky. It was a strange and alien building, twisting like some behemoth serpent up into the sky almost two hundred feet. 

Though the great structure appeared clearly, it was quite a long way away.  It could take the better half of a day to reach the alien edifice.

"Ssstart walking," said Ssruthaa.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 45: Time and the Serpent - Introduction*

This story hour is from “Time and the Serpent” from Traid Entertainment's Dwellers in Shadow. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers! 

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
Playing old-school Cthulhu adventures (they're definitely not scenarios) is enlightening.  They're basically Dungeons & Dragons with guns. Time and the Serpent is an old-school adventure that involves time travel, dinosaurs, zombies, and serpent people.  

I wasn't happy with the outline for Future/Perfect Part Four.  It took the scenario arc in a completely different direction and provided a take on time travel that didn't match with what we've already established in the campaign. Time and the Serpent went in the opposite direction and turned the conclusion into time traveling pulp insanity, which is just fine with me. 

Like the scenario before it, if the players aren't morons, a lot of combat will be avoided.  The agents at this point know when to run when faced with something huge and pissed off. So unfortunately, that means they let the plot sweep them along.  They're in unknown territory being led by a cannibalistic serpent man sorcerer, so their options are a bit limited.

The other thing that I wrestled with was when to pause the game.  The final battle is tough and I wasn't comfortable having just two agents face off against many serpent people.  So I used the gate jumping interludes as an excuse to pause until the next session when we hopefully have more players.  

*Defining Moment:* Two words. Zombie. Allosaurus.

Relevant Media

*Dwellers in Shadow:* Source of Time and the Serpent. 
*Clocks:* by Coldplay.
*Resident Evil Commercial:* Explains the post-apocalyptic future.


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Prologue*



> _Confusion never stops
> Closing walls and ticking clocks
> Gonna come back and take you home
> I could not stop that you now know​_
> --_Clocks_ by Coldplay​



After trudging across the blasted landscape for hours, they reached a standing stone nearly five feet in height with strange markings on it.

"What is that?" asked Hammer.

"It isss a warning," said Ssuthraa.

"Warning against what?" 

Jim-Bean cocked his head. "Did you hear that?"

Hammer and Ssuthraa stopped.  "What?" asked Ssuthraa.  "What do you hear?"

"Voices…" said Jim-Bean, swiveling his head to pinpoint the sound.  He was on utterly barren and flat terrain; there was no way he couldn't see the source.  The voices were coming closer…

"…it sssound like?" said Ssuthraa urgently, interrupting Jim-Bean's concentration.  The serpent person shook him.  "Ssspeak, fool!"

"Hey," shouted Hammer, pointing his pistols at the serpent man.  "Step away from him."

"Chanting," said Jim-Bean.  "It sounds like chanting." The words came unbidden from his lips: 

"Ce'haiee ep-ngh fl'hur G'harne fhtagn,
Ce'haiie fhtagn ngh Shudde-M'ell.
Hai G'harne orr'e ep fl'hur,
Shudde-M'ell ican'icanicas fl'hur orr'e G'harne."

"Sha'ddu-Ka arrives," said Ssuthraa calmly, "show proper obeisance."

"Who?" asked Hammer.

"What?" shouted Jim-Bean over the chanting which had reached a fever pitch.

Suddenly without any sort of warning, there came a low rumble from deep in the ground.  The agents were pitched backward, off balance. Then they saw it.

At a distance of no more than fifteen feet, the face of the dirt burst outward in a shower of stones and earth--and then--a THING came after them.

It was octopoid, all flowing tentacles and a pulpy gray-black, elongated sack of a body, rubbery, exuding a vilely stinking whitish slime.  It was eyeless and headless, with no distinguishing features at all other than reaching, groping tentacles.  

The thing was almost upon them.  Jim-Bean felt somehow rooted to the spot--fixed immobile, as if his feet were stuck in mental molasses, a fly in the ointment of the group-mind--hearing the dreadful droning chant, his eyes wide open and popping, his mouth slack, his hair standing straight up on his head. 

Hammer shoved him hard.  "Run!"

Ssuthraa was already ahead of them, but the thing seemed to have no interested in him.  They sprinted in the direction of the tower.  Tentacles snapped out, clawing, reaching for them.  Hammer rolled to the side as one of the tentacles whipped through the air where his head had been.

When they were out of range, Jim-Bean stopped and turned around.  The only evidence of the thing's passage was a cloud of dirt where it had burrowed back into the earth.

Hammer advanced on Ssuthraa.  "Proper obeisance, huh?  You could have given us more warning!"

"You are ssstrangersss here," said Ssuthraa, non-plussed.  "And inferior at that.  

"I'll show you inferior," threatened Hammer.  "I noticed you were running first."

But Jim-Bean stood between them, staring at the place where Sha'ddu-Ka attacked.

"What?" asked Hammer, irritated. 

"I think that thing was…talking to me," said Jim-Bean, panting. "The voices chanted something.  It's fading now."

"What did it say?" asked Hammer, 

"We'll meet again."


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 1 – The Thing from the Gate*

The citadel was constructed of pure obsidian and it reached two hundred feet into the reddish sky.  It twisted like a gigantic serpent, looking as if it grew up from the dark plane.  It was an ominous sight. 

The only opening was at the base, approximately twenty feet high and ten feet across.  The interior was shrouded in shadows.

Inside, the fortress was a vast complex of tunnels, passages, and rooms.  The passages inside perpetually twisted and turned in seemingly random directions.  All were completely cylindrical, like giant tubes.

"Did those worm things build this?"

Ssuthraa snorted.  "The Chthoniansss? No, they have no need of sssuch ssstructuresss.  They make their homesss deep within the Earth."

Ssuthraa led them through the tunnels.  

"Where are we going?" asked Hammer.  

"If you wisssh to leave here you will do asss I sssay."

"That's not an answer," muttered Hammer, but he continued to follow the serpent man for lack of any other options.

They entered a room that was approximately fifty feet in diameter, its ceiling nearly twenty feet high.  The walls, like the majority of the fortress’ architecture, were made from obsidian. 

Filling the room was a stunning amount of machinery. It was strange, alien equipment; tubes, spheres, and philes containing liquids of every color of the spectrum filled the chamber.  The tubes ran from the walls to organ-like structures suspended in mid-air, ten feet above the lab’s floor.  These structures seemed almost bio-mechanical, giving the lab a surreal similarity to the interior of the human body, with wires and transparent tubes the veins, pumping insane liquids from organ to organ. There was a pungent, oppressive odor present.

Jim-Bean gagged.  He rifled through his satchel and tossed Hammer a gas mask while donning his own. 

Ssuthraa walked straight to the far end of the room, to a pile of stone tables. They were two feet by two feet, carved into a strange type of rock, turquoise in shade. 

"He seems to know this place pretty well," said Hammer.  "I don't like this."

"He probably comes from here," replied Jim-Bean.

Ssuthraa led them back out and into the tunnels without a word.  They followed him to a great door, circular in shape and ten feet in diameter.  It was covered with the now familiar pictograms they had seen elsewhere.

Ssuthraa effortlessly rolled the door away.  Despite its great size, the door was curiously lightweight. 

They entered a huge domed chamber.  Nearly one hundred feet high, the chamber was made of the same obsidian.  Covering the dome were hieroglyphics, the same style as before, only much larger.  A fifty-foot high statue stood in the exact center of the room.  The half-human/half-snake creature was hideous to behold and appears to be carved from a turquoise material.

Ssuthraa made what might have been a genuflection before the statue.

"That thing's not going to come to life, is it?" asked Jim-Bean nervously. 

Ssuthraa chuckled.  "This isss Yig.  It isss by hisss good gracesss that you live at all."

They continued on through more tunnels until they reached a huge circular room. 

It was composed of the same obsidian, nearly one hundred feet wide.  The ceiling of the room was a great shaft, and the red primeval sky could be seen two hundred feet above the floor.  Starting at approximately fifty feet up, other passages opened up into the shaft.

The openings in the shaft above occasionally vomited forth noxious smoke that drifted up through the shaft and out into the sky.  Some of the gas was a glowing green, some a putrid orange. On the floor of the chamber was more of the ancient hieroglyphs. 

There were two archways at the opposite end of the chamber. These portals were approximately thirty feet high and twenty feet wide and were covered with runes that emanate a bluish glow.  Each had a slot filled with a gold cube. 

The archways were filled with a deep gray mist; much like steam, which did not seem to drift far from the door. There was something odd about the way the smoke drifted; it occasionally seemed to twirl, twist and congeal into tiny storm-like collections of clouds; and it never drifted far from the stone doorway before evaporating.

"Temporal gates," said Jim-Bean.  "Like the other ones at Hellbend and Duxbury."

Ssuthraa cocked his head, reading the symbols.

"What, you having problems reading signs?" asked Hammer belligerently. 

Ssuthraa pointed at the symbols on one of the gateways. "I am not familiar with thessse gatesss. 

The symbols over one gate looked oddly like a series of giant lizards in various poses—foraging, sleeping—and near the top, eating each other.  The other symbols appeared to be that of a city. 

Hammer peered at the symbols. "I don't like the look of those symbols."  He turned around, his back to the archway.  "If we're going to go through another gate, we may want to go into the city—"

Jim-Bean looked up and behind Hammer in horror.

Hammer didn't have to turn around, because the fetid breath of a meat eater was accompanied by a trumpeting roar.  The shuddering footsteps of the thing shook the structure of the tower. 

Hammer needed no urging.  He ran straight for the other gate.  There was the snap of razor sharp jaws behind him and another blast of wind, this time from the thing just missing him as it lunged. 

Without hesitation, he dove through the portal…


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 2 – The Wasteland*

Hammer stepped out into a nightmare.

It was a destroyed city.  Clouds swirled and thundered above.  Sunlight barely filtered through, bathing the place in perpetual twilight. Wind tore at him, filled with debris.  Hammer choked and ran over to the rusted hulk of a long-since abandoned car, covering his mouth.

Ssuthraa appeared, followed by Jim-Bean.  

"Did it follow—" Hammer didn't get to finish because the allosaurus roared through the gate right behind them.

Jim-Bean kept running straight down the street.  

"Loop back around!" shouted Hammer.  His pistols were out, but they weren't going to help him much.

Jim-Bean ducked into a crumbling building.  The allosaurus smashed its snout into the doorway, partially collapsing the façade of the building on it.  Roaring in pain, it took a few steps back.  Then it lowered its head and slammed into the building again.

Jim-Bean barely made it up the steps, dust and debris falling all around him.  The building's structure had already been weakened by whatever apocalypse had befallen the distant future.  

The allosaurus, frustrated, stomped off to pursue a moaning noise in the distance.

Jim-Bean looked around. He was in what once was an office building.  Peeling posters, broken chairs, and shattered desks abounded.  There was curiously no paper anywhere, and a complete lack of monitors of any kind.

Was this the future?  Jim-Bean wasn't sure.  He didn't think it was an alien world; the seats looked human enough.

Walking into the conference room, he found a few desiccated bodies, sitting in chairs and slumped over a large table. It looked like they were having an important meeting. Whatever happened had killed people instantly. 

Jim-Bean found a keypad with an odd arrangement of letters at the far end of the room.  He tapped a few keys.

A hologram sprung up.  An older woman's head appeared, looking wan. A husky female voice narrated.

"Imagine a world where you can reverse the effects of age, stress, and sun.  From the leading name in biotechnology comes REGENERATE, another breakthrough from Amalgamated Bio Carb."

A cylinder filled with sparkling blue liquid rotated in the space above Jim-Bean's head. 

"REGENERATE's revolutionary Sapphire formula actually brings dead cells back to life." The woman in the hologram caressed her own face and her wrinkles disappeared. "Now your youthful beauty can last forever.  Always consult your doctor before starting treatment.  Some side-effects may occur..."

Jim-Bean turned to go.  And found himself facing twelve blue-tinged corpses sitting upright at the conference table, all staring intently at him.  

He leaped on the table and pounded across its surface, clearing grasping claws and gnashing teeth. 

Jim-Bean slammed the door, but the narrative continued.  "REGENERATE is a registered trademark of Amalgamated Bio Carb.  Our business is life itself."


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 3 – Everybody Do the Dinosaur*

Jim-Bean pounded out into the street, several shambling corpses moaning behind him.  The allosaurus, sniffing at a pile of garbage, looked up. 

"Jim-Bean!" shouted Hammer in the direction of the gate.  "This way!"

Jim-Bean plunged towards the sound of Hammer's voice.  The allosaurus roared a challenge and set off after him.

The moaning, which had shifted from a soft background noise that could be easily mistaken for the wind, had become an awful chorus.  It was the zombies.

Jim-Bean caught a glimpse of just how many blue-tinged corpses had been animated as he ran through an intersection.  Hundreds, if not thousands, were all attracted to the sound of the allosaurus' bellowing.  And some of them weren't shambling but running full-tilt, as easily fast as Jim-Bean himself.

He kept running.  The crowd of corpses converged behind him, right in the allosaurus' path.

Momentarily distracted by the onset of new if somewhat rancid meat, the allosaurus scooped up a pile of zombies and, tossing them into the air like popcorn, swallowed several whole.  Arms and legs that didn't fit into its maw were severed and plopped to the ground.

But more zombies were coming.  They clawed at its legs as it strode among them, flattening dozens.  It finally had to stop its headlong charge as many jumped onto its back, clawing and gnashing.  Unbalanced by the irritating things, the allosaurus collided with a building.  The building groaned and teetered forward.

"What about Ssuthraa?" shouted Jim-Bean as he neared the still active gate.

He couldn't hear the response but it was clear that Hammer didn't care much for the serpent man.  He plunged into the gate just before Jim-Bean did.


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 4 – The Mole*

It started out as just a mole.

One little fleshy, oddly colored mole on Archive's hip.  Nothing unusual.  

Then it got bigger.  The color changed. It shifted from a normal-looking mole to a weird, fleshy protrusion.  A skin tab.  Still, nothing that strange about it.

It bothered Archive.  Dressing became an awkward, arduous exercise to avoid irritating the sensitive skin tab.  And it continued to grow.

Archive went to a dermatologist and paid to have it removed.  It was a quick outpatient surgery, the dermatologist told him.  And he was right, it was quick.

The next day it was back.

The second time Archive went to the dermatologist, Majestic-12 agents were waiting for him.  He was obviously under surveillance.

They didn't explain who they were or what they were doing there, but he assumed Sprague sent them.  They took him somewhere, a warehouse, and laid him down on a table.  It was for the best, they said.  

Archive knew this had to do with the explosion.  With Yog-Sothoth.  The experience had changed him.  He just didn't know how…until the mole showed up.

The surgery this time was going to be painful, because the little wiry growth had become more akin to a tentacle.  Sometimes, it wiggled or curled. He had flashbacks to his OUTLOOK stress test, when they cut off his legs, but he was too sedated to care…

When he awoke, Archive was tied to a wooden kitchen chair in a dilapidated house. No one else was present. Surrounding him was what appeared to be thousands of feet of cords — cable lines, high voltage lines, cat five cables — all intertwined and woven through the chair, to the chair, and connected to various hand-made boxed filled with humming, spitting and arcing electrical equipment. He was stripped of weapons and equipment and bound to the chair with a copious amount of plastic zip-ties. 

Archive struggled to get free. A low hum filled the air. 

Finally, the old light bulb above the stove exploded in a huge shower of blue white sparks, and a huge, high-pitched whining, like an enormous generator filled the air. The noise drowned out all other sounds. 

Blue, white and red lightning bolts leaped from the boxes, arcing and hitting items in the room. They found an item, struck it once, and then peppered the target with growing numbers of hits until it vanished in an eruption of blue white light, leaving a scorch mark on the floor where it once stood. 

Archive struggled harder. "Hey!" he shouted.  "HELP!"

When all large metal items in the room have been disintegrated, the lightning began striking Archive.  He screamed.

BZZT!

Archive screamed again. 

BZZT!

Archive's vision was consumed in a blue white flash. 

He awoke in a strange obsidian room. Though his clothing and hair was scorched, he was otherwise unharmed.  He lay amidst random lightning-kissed ruined kitchen appliances. 

The wooden chair Archive was secured in was lighter, as if it were sapped of all water. He easily broke out of the chair.  It collapsed into chunks of brittle wood and ash. 

His equipment and clothing lay carefully folded on the ground.  Archive got dressed. 

That's when Hammer and Jim-Bean skidded to a halt as they entered to the room.  

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Long story," said Archive.

"Did you see a serpent man come through here?" asked Hammer.

"Uh, no.  Why?" 

"Long story," said Hammer. "Let's go."

As the other two moved away, Archive checked his hip.  The weird tentacle was gone. 

He smiled to himself and followed after them.


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 5 – The Throne Room*

The throne room was nearly one hundred feet long and carved from obsidian.  Every five feet a pillar rose from the floor to the ceiling, twenty feet above the chamber’s floor.  The pillars resembled huge malformed bones, twisting in their contorted support of the roof. A group of figures were visible at the far end of the hall; gathered around a device of some sort, but it was impossible to make out anything clearly from such a distance.  The only illumination was derived from the machine and its weird lights casting bizarre shadows along the walls of the hall.

As the agents crept closer, a low chanting was audible.  It was a strange and alien chorus; the combined voices resonated in a very harmonious way.  The chanting became louder and louder.

Eventually they agents got close enough to clearly see the figures and the machine.  

The figures were six serpent people.  They were dressed alike, garbed in a smooth, flexible armor covered with runes.  The runes were closely related to the runes discovered throughout the fortress. They stood atop a dias enclosed with a low wall.

The eighth figure wasn't a serpent person but none other than Arthur Hunt, dressed in flowing red robes, likewise covered with the familiar runes.  He stood closest to the machine, hands stretched out in front of him.  All of the serpent people seem to be in a sort of trance as they chant ever louder, unaware of the intruders. 

"I knew he was a snake man," muttered Jim-Bean.

The ceremony was directed at the machine in the middle of their circle. The central cube was black and the connected tubes pumped alien liquids into it. It was covered with runes that glowed. Most importantly, it hovered in midair, about five feet from the ground.  

The chanting grew louder and the glyphs glowed brighter.  The unholy machine began to hum.

Hammer made a hand signal indicating Jim-Bean should loop around left, while Hammer would loop around right.  Archive was told to stay where he was. 

Creeping along the low wall, Hammer aimed for Arthur Hunt's head.  If he was lucky, he could take Hunt out in one shot.

He was just about to squeeze the trigger when a reptilian head got in his way.

Hammer was about to fire anyway when he recognized the head.  It was Ssuthraa. 

The serpent person reared up behind Hunt with a wicked-looking knife and plunged it into the back of his neck, neatly severing his spinal cord instantly.  Hunt crumpled.

Hammer lowered his pistol, confused.

Ssuthraa stood over the corpse, arms and sinuous neck outstretched in ecstatic glory.  "Now I am the Prime!"

Before they could react, a pulse of energy blasted outwards from the floating cube, wracking reality itself.  The very air seemed to shudder and then became very, very still.


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 6 – The Prime*

Dust fell from the ceiling.  Ssuthraa was still standing.  Some of the other serpent people slowly got to their feet; others were unconscious from the impact.  Archive and Jim-Bean were unharmed.

"I'm afraid your usssefulnesss isss at an end," hissed Ssuthraa quietly to Hammer.  Then he turned to the other serpent men.  "Look! The intrudersss inssserted an impossstor into our midssst!" He pointed at the corpse of Hunt, which was morphing back into a serpent person. "Kill them!"

Hammer didn't waste any time.  He emptied both clips, downing two of the serpent people.

More got to their feet, lunging at Jim-Bean.  He went under in a pile of flailing claws and fangs…

Then he burst outwards, flying up into the air.  Serpent people were tossed to the side.  

Jim-Bean, floating twenty feet in the air, brought his arms together.  Rubble from the ceiling cracked away and smashed near Ssuthraa.  He tumbled out of the way, but the serpent person next to him was crushed.

Archive was chanting too.  Whether he was helping his fellow agents or harming the serpents was unclear.

"Guys!" shouted Jim-Bean, looking up. "I think I can hear fire engines!"

Hammer was backpedaling, firing as he went.  "That means…"

"We relocated to the present!" shouted Jim-Bean.

"A CITY in the PRESENT!" Hammer shouted back.  He fired and another serpent went down.

Jim-Bean pointed at the ceiling and more rubble cracked away, crushing another serpent person.  Blue sky was visible through the cracks.  The sound of emergency vehicles was clearly audible to all. In fact, the fire truck Jim-Bean heard sounded very close.

A second later the front end of a fire truck cracked through the rubble.  Jim-Bean shifted out of the way as it tore past him, plunging the fifty foot distance to the floor below.  It smashed into two serpent people.

Rubble slid down through the opening, creating a ramp upwards.  Serpent people ran for the opening, transforming into their human guises, led by Ssuthraa.

Hammer turned and fired, but he was out of bullets. "If they get into the city…"

Archive lined up a shot with his magical Glock.  "I've got him!"

He fired a single shot.  Ssuthra's head bucked and he fell face first.  That left two other serpent people. 

"NOW I AM THE PRIME!" shouted Archive, eyes blazing.

The fire truck teetered, balanced with its front end smashed into the ground. Jim-Bean concentrated, palms outwards toward the truck.

The looming shadow engulfed the last two serpent people as they ran.  Then the rear end of the fire truck smashed them flat.

"Is that all of them?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean, floating in the air at his vantage point, looked around. "Yeah, think so."

"Did you feel that?" asked Archive, who was further back in the room.

"What?" asked Hammer.  "What now?"

There was a thud that reverberated throughout the floor of the cavernous room.

"What was that?" asked Archive.

Hammer felt it too.  "It can't be."

Boom.  

The sound echoed.  Something heavy.  Something moving.

"It went down in that other portal…" began Jim-Bean.  "It can't be still alive."

Boom. Boom.  

It was coming closer.

"What?" asked Archive, panicking.  He peered into the gloom.  "What the hell is that?"

Boom. BOOM. BOOM!  

The booming became a cacophony of something pounding its way into a charge.

Archive turned, shaking, holding up his Elder Sign.

"I think," Hammer finished reloading his pistols, "something followed us through the portal."


----------



## talien

*Time and the Serpent: Part 7 – Zombiesaurus*

"What followed you through the portal?" shouted Archive as the pounding became deafening.  

The shuddering footsteps were so powerful that debris flaked from the crumbling ceiling.

"This dinosaur followed us…" said Hammer, aiming for the far side of the hall.  

"But we thought the zombies killed it."

"Zombies?!" shouted Archive.  But that was all he got out as a towering allosaurus roared into the room.  A shaft of sunlight from above illuminated a flash of teeth and claws.  Its skin was a mottled blue and it was covered in tiny red spots.

The undead allosaurus bore down on Archive. 

"If it's dead, I think I can…" Archive was shaking as he held up the Elder Sign.  "By the…" he struggled to find his voice.

The allosaurus, seeing a puny foe openly defying it, pounded into a charge, head low.   It closed the gap between them within seconds.

"BY THE POWER OF THE ELDER SIGN I REPEL YOU!" screamed Archive.

The allosaurus veered off, circling in the huge hallway, roaring in frustration.

It got close enough that Archive was able to determine that the red spots weren't spots at all. They were tears and bites in its flesh. 

The allosaurus roared and took a few steps forward, then one backward. 

"I can't…" Archive was sweating, his arm quivering. "I can't hold it off for long…"

Jim-Bean called on his cistron.  "This is Agent Jim-Bean."

"This is Sprague. Where the hell have you boys been?"

"What?"

"We thought you were dead.  You've been gone for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Jim-Bean shook his head.  "No time to explain. Trace my coordinates.  Preternatural threat in urban area.  PURGATORY at my coordinates.  Repeat: PURGATORY AT MY COORDINATES."

"They'll never get here in time, Jimmy," said Hammer, a note of finality in his voice.

Jim-Bean floated up to the ceiling, stopping just short of the lip of the collapsed structure.  He crawled over the edge as if he had climbed the distance.

And found himself in the middle of a crowded intersection.  Samson police, firemen, and bystanders crowded around the opening where the fire engine had fallen through.

"Everyone back!" shouted Jim-Bean, flashing his back.  "We have a gas leak.  This place is going to blow!  Evacuate the area, RIGHT NOW!"

Cops sprang into action.  

Jim-Bean ran over to the SWAT team van.  "You!" he shouted at the commander.  "What explosives have you got?"

"Just det cord, why?"

"I need it.  All of it."

The SWAT team hustled to hand over the det cord.  Jim-Bean grabbed it and, with most of the area evacuated, dispensed with the illusion that he was a normal human being.  He just dropped over the edge into the looming darkness below.

Archive was faltering.  "Guys…"

"Hold on just a little longer!" Jim-Bean launched himself from column to column between the allosaurus and Archive, strapping det cord to the base of each.  

The allosaurus reared back, and lowering its head for a charge into an invisible barrier, pounded forward.

Jim-Bean jumped out of the way just as it charged past towards Archive. He fell to his knees from the psychic force of such a huge beast defeating his ward.

Hammer jumped in front of Archive at the last moment, unleashing both Glocks.  There was a flash of its huge, ragged maw opening wide and then Hammer was gone.

The pillars exploded then.  Rubble further collapsed from the opening as Archive stumbled backwards.  A huge chunk smashed into the allosaurus' head. 

More debris fell in quick succession, burying the dinosaur in a hail of rocks.

"Hammer…" said Jim-Bean.

Archive slowly got to his feet.  "It's not over."

The debris pile shifted.  With another roar, the allosaurus pounded out of the rubble.

"Cthugha fm'latgh uh'e wfaqa!" shouted Archive, Elder Sign outstretched. 

The eye at the center of the pentagram of the Elder Sign opened wide and a beam of blazing fury struck the allosaurus full in the face.  It was mere yards from Archive.

It shuddered forward.  The allosaurus' head melted, eyes streaming away in tiny liquid pools.  And still it came.

"Cthugha fm'latgh uh'e wfaqa!"

The flesh peeled off the head, leaving a grinning white allosaurus skull.  And still it came.

"CTHUGHA FM'LATGH UH'E WFAQA!"

The head finally came unmoored from the spine.  It blasted off the allosaurus' neck. The huge body collapsed a few feet from Archive.

A second later a circular hail of gunfire burst through the stomach of the dead allosaurus.  Hammer stepped out, covered in undigested zombie flesh.

"Did we get it?" he asked, panting.

"Yeah," said Archive, exhausted. "We got it."

Hammer fumbled for his cistron.  He couldn't find it in the stomach contents.  "Jim-Bean!  Did you call off PURGATORY? "

The thundering roar of jets boomed overhead.

"Oh $#!+" swore Jim-Bean.  "No."

"Call it off!" shouted Hammer.  "NOW!"

Jim-Bean flipped open his cistron.

"This is Agent Jim-Bean.  Target neutralized.  Repeat: TARGET NEUTRALIZED.  PURGATORY cancelled!"

The roar of the jets faded. To Samson citizens, it was the Air Force defending American airspace in case the gas leak was a terrorist attack. None but the agents knew that the entire city could have been obliterated in that moment. 

Hammer fell back against the corpse of the allosaurus, exhausted.


----------



## talien

*Time and Serpent:   Conclusion*

Cleaned up and reinstated as active agents in Blacknet's database, the agents rested at a nearby safehouse in Samson, California.

"So all this time Ssuthraa was trying to kill himself?" asked Archive.

Jim-Bean nodded.  "He was talking about becoming the Prime. I think he was trying to do something over; whatever happened when he was in the guise of Hunt didn't work, so he got access to time travel technology, went backwards in time, and started over."

"Time travel makes my head hurt." Hammer left out the part that at some point, he gained access to time travel and attempted to warn himself.

"Yeah, speaking of which, you said something about how you were the Prime," said Jim-Bean suspiciously.

Archive shrugged.  "Heat of the moment, I guess." He too left out the feeling of triumph he felt when he killed Ssuthraa. It felt so right.  As if he were the guardian of time and space…

Jim-Bean looked down at his cistron.  "Oh great."

Archive checked his cistron.  "What now?"

"Looks like your girlfriend screwed up," muttered Hammer.  "That thing we delivered to her escaped."

Jim-Bean rubbed his forehead.  "She's not my girlfriend." 

The message indicated that the thing's containment cylinder was eaten through by powerful acid, as was a single window pane to the outside.  The thing, aided by a sudden spurt in growth or capability, escaped and disappeared without a trace in the metropolis of Samson.

Archive pulled up a recent newspaper clipping. "The homeless population noticeably declined soon after."

"So Sprague wants us to find it?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Oh, we know where it is," said Hammer, scanning his cistern.  "He wants us to track down Harold Gall's car and see if we can find anything that will help us defeat it. Brute force isn't going to work."

"Why not?" asked Archive.  

"Because that thing wiped out a thirty-man team," he said grimly.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 46: A Night on Owlshead Mountain - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of the scenario from “A Night on Owlshead Mountain” from Arc Dream's Delta Green: Eyes Only by Dennis Detwiller, At Your Door, and The Killing Jar by Bruce Cordell. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia* 
Owlshead Mountain gives the impression that Dennis was tired of "cowboy" agents planning to blow up monsters with huge amounts of explosives.  In this scenario, the agents are up against a two-fold threat, one of them being the near indestructible Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath. The creature's immunity to firearms is distinctly different from past incarnations of Dark Young, due to tweaks in the Call of Cthulhu rules.  This makes a Dark Young more than just a summoned goon, but a TPK.

Having already introduced the Dark Young in an earlier scenario and with my opportunity to play with time (which I love to do), two weeks later there's a fully-grown Dark Young stomping around the woods of Samson, California. Like Future/Perfect Dennis isn't big on narrative and prefers to let give Keepers the ingredients and then let them figure it out. I prefer a bit more structure, which is why I used a scene from At Your Door and The Killing Jar. 

*Defining Moment:* You think a Dark Young is bad? Wait til you meet a Young Dark Young...

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635648?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635648]At Your Door[/ame]:* source of the serum blob. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1887797297?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1887797297]Delta Green: Eyes Only[/ame]:* Source of Night on Owlshead Mountain. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/078691615X?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=078691615X]The Killing Jar[/ame]:* Source of much of this scenario.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0011UY1F8?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0011UY1F8]Six-Gun Gorgon Dynamo[/ame]:* by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Prologue*



> _She's one of the Million Favored Ones
> She's the Black Goat with a Thousand Young
> She's the six-gun Gorgon dynamo
> She's primed up and all Geronimo_​
> --_Six-Gun Gorgon Dynamo_ by Darkest of the Hillside Thickets​



"The Weston Logging Consortium and the Samson Valley Ski Company had taken an interest in Owlshead Mountain, logging old growth under state contract for years. There were plans to employ them in the removal of virgin timber from the upper slopes of Owlshead Mountain on a portion of territory they purchased from the state for an exorbitant sum. 

On June 4, James Bartlett and Drew Frost, two surveyors in the employ of MacArthur Surveying of Samson, California, set off to mark regions on the northwest upper slope of Owlshead Mountain.  When they did not return by 5 a.m. the following morning, the local police were alerted. A search by two-hundred men began on June 5 and last until the 8th, when it was called off. 

On June 12, a search party led by Majestic Agent Irving set off hoping to locate the men.  Near the crest of the mountain, Cell I was confronted by some sort of alien creature. Of the thirty-man team who went up the mountain, only seventeen came back alive. Irving, the leader of Cell I, several Majestic friendlies, and local searchers perished on the mountain during an intense firefight."

Sprague downloaded the case file into the agents' cistrons.  “The thing wandering the mountain was described by the surviving agents as tripedal, with various maws and mouths set around it like knots in a tree-trunk. Its grey and green body is topped by a series of long, thin, prehensile tentacles that it uses as grasping limbs.  It is nearly silent and very swift in the woods, and is difficult to spot when it holds still in the tree line.  We believe it’s drawn to sound and motion, as those that frozen on the mountain were spared during the attack.”

Pictures appeared on their cistrons of some of the bodies recovered from the incident, and several grainy black-and-white photos of huge cloven footprints found in the mud surrounding them. The photographs of the bodies were horrific. The bite marks on them resembled those left by a shark attack.

“We had a plaster cast made of on the of the hoof marks of the beast,” said Sprague. “It’s three feet long by two and a half feet wide."

"The thing we dropped off at Zymvotek did that?" asked Hammer. 

"Looks like our escaped baby is all grown up," said Jim-Bean.

"I want you to look over Harold Gall's car again.  Warner's team is obsessed with tracking the thing down, but I think your time will be better served investigating. Get to it, I don't want Warner to beat us on this."

Their cistrons winked out.

Jim-Bean blinked.  "Did Sprague just compliment us?"


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 1 – The Thing in the Car*

Gall's empty car was first noticed by a Herb Hike of 6060 Fulton Avenue, Samson, who happened to observe Gall's wallet lying open on the front seat. Hike, a visiting researcher at UC-Samson, called police because he feared the locked vehicle would be broken into and the wallet stolen. The responding officers took more than casual notice of the vehicle because the viewpoint where it was discovered was little more than fifty yards from a high sea cliff. Several suicides each year took place there, and the officers knew that people driven to suicide frequently left behind wallet or purse as a memorial or marker.

The vehicle, a late-model BMW, was newly scraped and battered in amazing fashion. Because of the extensive body damage, the reporting officer suggested that the driver may have been drunkenly despondent when he reached the sea, and there climbed over the rail and fell to his death among the rocks and pounding surf a hundred feet below.

Hammer flashed his badge at Lester, the owner of Hurricane Towing. 

Lester squinted at it.  "Feds huh?  Well, come on through." He pressed a button and the gate buzzed open. "Don't know why you boys want to look at it again though."

"We may have missed something," Hammer said nonchalantly.

In the background, a Rottweiler barked incessantly.  "Cujo!  Cujo, cut out that racket!" He turned back, apologetic, to address the agents.  "He ain't normally like that."

Cujo paced.  Lester hooked his chain up before the dog could come closer.

As Jim-Bean passed, the dog made a running leap at him, only to be snapped backwards by the chain.  Coughing and gagging, the Rottweiler retreated. 

"It's okay," said Jim-Bean.  "Happens all the time."

"Good guard dogs are hard to find. Cujo's my third dog in a few months.  They keep runnin' off." said Lester.  "The car's over here. Still drivable. The steering column is broken.  Has about a quarter tank of gas."

"Great, thanks," said Hammer.  "We'll take it from here."

"Sure thing," said Lester, relieved that he wouldn't have to stand around while the agents investigated Gall's car. "Cujo!" Cujo had begun barking again. "Cujo, calm down! Dumb dog's gonna choke himself to death…"

Archive peered at the vehicle.  "You think you're really going to find something?"

"I'd like you two to take a look at it," said Hammer while he wormed his way into the back seat with a flashlight.

Archive whispered some arcane phrases. "Nothing magical about it."

"And before you ask, no auras either," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer reached under the seat and tugged.  After a moment he was rewarded with a small plastic container.

"Figures.  Warner's boys are sloppy."

Hammer held it up in the fading sunlight.  There were patches of a strange residue, perhaps dried mucus or gel, staining the plastic container.  

"Whatever was in this, it's long gone—" was all Hammer got out before the thing that was in the container burst out from the back seat.

It was shaped something like a sea-urchin, with soft, flexible tendrils. Its color was a translucent white tinged with blue, much like skimmed milk. Hammer didn't make out any other details because it leaped onto his face.

The tentacles lacerated his face, probing, shoving, violating his ears and nose and throat.  It wanted in.

Hammer let out a grunt and managed to shove one hand between the jelly-like thing and his face.  He tore it off, flinging it away.

The thing bounded off the trunk of the car and launched itself as Jim-Bean.  Jim-Bean got one hand up just in time.  The thing wrapped its tentacles around his face.

"I'll try…" he gasped "…to put it…in my baghhkh!" the last was drowned out as the thing started prying his mouth open.

Jim-Bean stumbled over to his satchel and shoved his head in it, both hands now busy keeping the thing from sliding down his throat.  Concealed from view, Archive and Hammer couldn't see if Jim-Bean was losing the fight.

His movements took on an unnatural, herky-jerky quality.  

"That's it," said Hammer. He took his best guess and fired into the satchel.

There was another moan and this time Jim-Bean's body bucked violently.  The thing was making its way inside him.

Jim-Bean stopped moving, his head still concealed by the bag like some torture victim.  Archive rolled him over and tore open his shirt.

His mouth was a bloody, bruised mess, but there was no sign of the creature. Blood oozed from a bullet wound through Jim-Beam's cheek. 

"It's inside him!" shouted Archive.

He took out a piece of chalk and began drawing on Jim-Bean's chest.

"What are you doing?" asked Hammer, feeling helpless.  He kept his pistols at the ready.

"Exorcising it. Get ready on my count."

Jim-Bean's neck pulsed with an unnatural bulge. 

"One…"

Archive finished drawing the pentagram on his chest.

The bulge was making its way down to Jim-Bean's ribcage.

"Two…" 

Archive drew a burning eye in the center of the pentagram.

"If it gets into his guts…" said Hammer. 

Archive shook his head, but whether it was in disagreement with Hammer's assessment or an attempt to maintain his concentration was unclear. 

"THREE!"

Archive pressed the Elder Sign amulet he wore around his neck into the circular eye he drew on Jim-Bean's chest.  Jim-Bean's body bucked as he heaved a gasp.  With another convulsion, he vomited the thing upwards.

Tracking it through the air, Hammer unleashed both of his silenced Glocks. It exploded in a spray of white ichor.

Jim-Bean sat up, blinking.  A moment later he threw up what was left in his stomach.

"I am never…eating seafood…again…" he gasped.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 2 – The Dastardly Dr. Kline*

"What was that thing?" asked Jim-Bean. Hammer had bruises around his ears, nose and mouth from the jellyfish-like beast's attack. Jim-Bean, his protoplasm body's healing factor working overtime, showed no signs of violence. 

Archive shrugged.  "Not sure.  Some kind of parasite, is my guess.  Definitely an immature form."

"A baby, you mean," said Hammer.

"Something like that.  More like a tadpole.  My guess is it started out very small indeed, which is why the forensics team missed it."

"But it had a few weeks to grow bigger," said Jim-Bean.  "Feeding on rats…"

"And dogs," added Hammer. 

"It's possible that thing was related to the package you dropped off at Zymvotek," said Archive.

"If that's true, then it will keep growing. We need a lead on Harold Gall.  Divers haven't found anything," said Hammer. "Sprague's had an APB out for awhile with the Samson cops…"

Hammer's cistron chirped. He answered it. "Hello?"

“Hello? Yeah, this is Deputy Fitzgerald.  Listen, I saw your bulletin and I just wanted to contact you.  I thought the body was taken care of, but after I saw the APB I'm not so sure."

"Slow down Fitzgerald," said Hammer.  "What are you talking about?"

"Harold Gall's body.  I was on the scene when the body was retrieved by ambulance.  I was too late to stop a police report from being filed.  They even called in the CDC because of the questionable condition of the body.  The CDC agent identified it as pneumonia, but I’m not so sure.”

"CDC agent, huh?  Did he identify himself?"

"He didn't give a name, now that I think about it."

"Can you remember anything else?"

"Yeah, the body was strangely bloated, discolored, and leaking a smelly, jelly-like fluid—easily the oddest corpse I’ve ever seen.  It was transferred to the Samson Forensics Lab into the care of a Dr. Kline. The reason I'm calling you is because Kline asked me to set up a meeting between CIFA and him at 9:30 p.m. tonight at the rear door next to the loading dock. “

Hammer checked his watch.  "That's not long from now.  We'll be there."  He hung up and threw the truck into gear.

"So?" asked Jim-Bean.

"One of our friendlies stepped forward.  They think they have Harold Gall's corpse."

A half hour later, Hammer pulled up to the Samson Forensics Lab. 

The two-story building presents an average-looking exterior, although the first floor had only a single window. Only a single row of fluorescent lights illuminated the main entrance.  

The door was unlocked and there was no guard at the entrance.

The agents made their way around the side of the building to the loading dock. The light to Kline's office was on.

Hammer pushed open the door. 

Boxes of all sizes were neatly stacked along the south wall and large metal cabinets lined the shorter north wall. The west wall held metal shelving upon which two-liter camber jugs were stacked in neat lines.  Large metal drums stood upright in the room’s center, two deep in a row running east-west.  The smell of organic solvents was thick in spite of the constant thrum of heavy-duty ventilation fans mounted in ceiling ducts.

Dr. Kline was in his late fifties with handsome, well-groomed silvery hair and beard. He wore a lab coat over a shirt and slacks.  

"Doctor Kline?" asked Hammer.

"Yes.  You're Sprague's CIFA agents?" 

"Yes," said Hammer. 

Kline nodded. "We’ll talk after I show you something, something incredible. This way.” Kline motioned for the agents to follow him.

When Kline was halfway down the hallway, a door into the hallway opened and a large man in a blue janitor’s uniform emerged, pushing a garbage cart. He called out in a vaguely grotesque mumble, “Dr. Kline, hold the elevator please.”

Hammer spun.  "Who's that?"

"Oh that's just Melvin, the janitor," said Kline, voice rising.

As they reached an intersection in the hallway, Melvin grabbed up rusty gardening shears secreted in his cart and viciously attacked Hammer.  Simultaneously, Kline pulled out a syringe filled with anesthetic and plunged it into Jim-Bean's neck. A sniper down the other hallway fired at them from a doorway.

Hammer danced back, Glock at the ready.  He winged Melvin with a shot, spinning the janitor to the ground in an arc of blood.  

Jim-Bean, the syringe still sticking out of his throat, turned and fired his own Glock into Kline's forehead, spattering his brains against the wall.  

Archive returned fire at the sniper.  A few gunshots later and the hallway fell silent.

"Amateurs," sneered Hammer.  "Are any of them still alive?"

Archive tested Melvin's pulse.  "Barely."

"Got another guy down here," called Jim-Bean from the hallway.  

"Good, patch them up." Hammer snapped on a pair of plastic gloves.  "It's time we had a chat."


----------



## talien

*Owslhead Mountain: Part 3 – Interrogation*

Melvin Harms blinked awake. He was strapped down with plastic sheeting to a gurney. 

"Who do you work for?" asked Hammer, shining a spotlight into Melvin's face. 

Melvin looked around, gasping.  "What?  I don't…"

"We know you were working for the doctor.  He sent you to kill us.  Why?"

"I…I take care of people for Dr. Kline.  He harvests body parts.  Sells them on the black market."  Melvin sniffed.  "That's all I know, I swear!"

Hammer pressed the business end of his silenced Glock hard into Melvin's forehead.  "You're not telling me everything."

"Give me a second, all right!  Let me think!" Melvin gasped.  Hammer removed the pressure of the Glock but kept it pointed at him.

"Start talking."

"There was something weird about the body you came to investigate.  I don't know what it was but Dr. Kline was nervous.  Said it could make us both a fortune.  We just were told to get rid of anybody asking questions. When word got out that you were looking for Harold Gall, he thought we could take care of it…"

"And?"

"And--and there's computer files.  He has files on the body.  I don't know where, he calls it Specimen X."

"Good." Hammer rolled the gurney away.  Jim-Bean loomed out of the darkness over him.

"It's nothing personal," said Jim-Bean, shaking his head.  "You're just working for the wrong side."

"Wait!" shouted Melvin.  "I told you what you wanted to know—"

Jim-Bean shoved a rubber glove in Melvin's mouth. 

Hammer pointed to Archive.  "Wake up the other one."

Archive waved smelling salts under the other agent.

The enemy agent shuddered awake.  Realizing the gravity of his situation, the agent pursed his lips.

Archive rolled the prone agent's gurney over to the spotlight.

"Now you, you're not like Melvin here," said Hammer.  "You're not some hired thug who got in way over his head.  You're a pro, am I right?"

The man didn't even look at Melvin, whose muffled screams were audible in the dark.

"I thought so.  This is what we know about you: your name is Jim Williams.  You work for Dawn Biozyme.  So now we want to know who your superiors are and what you know about Harold Gall."

"F*&k you," he said.

Hammer sighed.  "I'm not surprised.  You don't think we're serious.  Jim-Bean?  Show Mr. Williams that we're serious."

Jim-Bean fired his pistol at point-blank range into Melvin's forehead.

"Jesus!" shouted Archive, flinching.  "We didn't agree to do that!"

Williams looked suitably startled, as much by the cold-blooded murder as by Archive's authentic reaction. "All my interactions are with Mr. Smithy.  By email."

"And the email is?"

"Devermis@yahoo.com. That's it."

"That's it," said Williams.  He looked away.

"Jim-Bean, clean this mess up.  Archive, come with me, I need you to comb through Dr. Kline's files."

The gurney wheeled off into the darkness, led by Jim-Bean.

Archive looked over his shoulder. "But what about Williams?"

A muzzle flash in the darkness answered his question.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 4 – The Anterior Sample*

Jim-Bean caught up with the other two agents as they left Kline's office.

"So?"

"A mysterious Mr. Smithy paid Kline to get rid of Gall's body and delete all forensic records of it," said Hammer, making his way purposefully down the hallway where Williams had fired at them.

"Only he didn't," added Archive. "He kept it, looking to sell it on the black market.  Something about the body transforming into a jellyfish-like substance through TPA."

"What's TPA?" asked Jim-Bean.

"We don't know," said Hammer.  "But Locker 23 should explain a lot.  It's Gall's locker."

They made their way upstairs to the second floor. 

Steel metal lockers lined the walls of the chamber and a double row of lockers formed an island in the room’s center.  The lockers were numbered.

Hammer jimmied the lock on Locker 23 and fished out its contents. 

Locker 23 contained a glossy flier, a filthy lab coat, a muddy and torn composition book, and a handkerchief with the initials “H.G.” on it.

Archive took a look at the composition book.  "There's a few words here: 'this record is the truth' and 'Thomas Waban confirms Cornstalk connection.  The talisman is my only hope' on the inside leaf.   The first page of the composition book is torn out."

"So we need to find Waban," said Hammer.  "That just leaves one thing."

"There's another thing?" asked Jim-Bean.

"The body," said Hammer.  "Kline was holding onto it.  We need to clean up his mess."

"Can't we just call in a STREETSWEEPER team?" asked Jim-Bean.

"We could," said Hammer, checking the bullets in his Glock.  "But if Gall's body is anything like what we found in his car, it could easily escape."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," muttered Jim-Beam as he followed Hammer and Archive down the steps to the basement. 

The basement was a wide, damp space enclosed by unfinished cement.  A few bare bulbs provided inadequate light.  Besides fuse boxes, wiring, plumbing, and the bare ductwork associated with most basements, several dozen empty metallic drums cluttered the side walls. A very large incinerator/heater squatted against the center of the east wall, vintage early 1900s.  

"Archive, see if you can't get that incinerator fired up," said Hammer.  "Jim-Bean, you're with me.  Let's search the barrels."

They spread out. Archive fired up the incinerator.  It made a horrendous noise, crackling with all the fury of hell itself.  The flames created a decidedly infernal cast to the room. 

"Hey," Jim-Bean pointed at lightly chalked initials on one of the barrels.  "There's letters written on this one.  H.G."

"That's got to be it," said Hammer.  He turned from the barrel he was inspecting.  

"There's a padlock here."  Jim-Bean lifted it with the barrel of his pistol.  "But it looks like the lid's been bent open from the insAAAAH!"

Hammer was treated to the horrific sight of Harold Gall's head clinging to the back of Jim-Bean's neck. 

The disembodied head was completely transparent and hairless, though “head” was too generous a term. Six slender, translucent tentacles sprouted from the head in a radially symmetrical pattern, though the vacant expression on the original translucent shape remained horribly distinct.

Jim-Bean spun, clawing at the thing on his neck.  

"I can't get a clear shot!" shouted Hammer.

The thing launched itself off of Jim-Bean and landed on the stairwell.  It skittered up the steps. Archive ran after it.

Jim-Bean and Hammer joined him a few seconds later.  

"Did you see where it went?" asked Jim-Bean, panting.

"Yeah," said Archive.  He pointed at the slimy trail that led down the hallway and slipped under a door.  "There."

The sign read: BODY BANK.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 5 – Making a Withdrawal*

Jim-Bean used Dr. Kline's keys to open the body bank door.  

"It's a good thing Kline dismissed everyone for his pathetic booby trap," said Hammer, "or we'd have bigger problems right now."

The chilly chamber was walled on all sides by banks of metallic fifty-centimeter-by-fifty-centimeter metal drawers, three drawers high.  Several height-adjustable metal carts stood in the chamber’s center.

Jim-Bean tried to point his pistol everywhere at once.  "So which one is it?"

"Hard to tell," said Archive quietly.  "Last time we saw the thing in action it was burrowing into you.  If it wasn't for the fact that you're not really…"

"Human?" asked Jim-Bean wryly.

"…I was going to say made of terrestrial flesh. My point is we don't know if it can reanimate a corpse or needs a living host."

"It can reanimate a corpse," said Hammer, looking past Jim-Bean.

"How do you know?" asked Archive.

On the far side of the room, a body was sitting up, cloaked in a blue sheet.

The agents retreated. Jim-Bean locked the door.

"Those things move fast," said Hammer.

Jim-Bean tore off down the corridor.

"He must be really freaked out," said Archive.  "Not that I blame him…"

Seconds later Jim-Bean returned pushing a cart full of embalming chemicals. 

Jim-Bean rolled the cart to the door and unlocked it.  "There's only one way to deal with these things."

"We'll be at the far end of the hall," said Hammer.  

Jim-Bean placed a block of C4 on the canister and rolled it into the room.  Then he locked the door again.

WHAM!

The thing hurled itself against the door with incredible force. 

WHAM!

Jim-Bean turned and ran down to the far end of the hallway to join Hammer and Archive.

WHAM!

Safely behind a door, Jim-Bean pressed the detonator.

The explosion tore off the door to the body bank. 

Jim-Bean flipped on his cistron.  "Sprague, this is Jim-Bean.  I'm calling in a STREETSWEEPER team at my coordinates."

A flaming corpse burst into the hallway, slamming into the far wall.  It turned and charged down the hall towards them. 

Jim-Bean's jaw fell open. "You've got to be kidding me."

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive opened up on the corpse.  It jerked as bullets ripped through it, but the flaming corpse kept coming. 

"If it gets outside…" started Hammer.

The human inferno had just reached them when Archive body-blocked it, slamming the corpse through a nearby doorway. It fell to the ground.

Hammer followed up with three bullets to the thing's melted face. It finally stopped moving.

Archive kept rolling, putting the flames out that had leaped from the dead body to his clothing.

Jim-Bean peeked his head into the room.  "Should I call off the STREETSWEEPER team?"

Hammer gestured at the carnage around him.  "I'm pretty sure we still need them."


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 6 – Old Thomas*

Old Thomas Waban was a full-blooded Pennacook Indian who grew up in and around the Townsend area.  Nearing eighty, he still managed for himself, living in a shack in the divot between Clastonbury and Owlshead Mountain.  

Thomas' shack was a three-room lodge that existed in the wooded depression.  The path was too small for motor vehicles, forcing the agents to park by the roadside.  

The path wound through the sweet-smelling forest of spruce, pine, and cedar trees for three-hundred yards before opening up into a small clearing.  It was located next to a small freshwater stream in a beautiful grassy clearing rich in wildflowers.  

The old American Indian was, perhaps surprisingly, splitting wood with an axe. 

Hammer stepped out into the clearing, raising his badge.  "Are You Thomas Waban?"

Thomas wiped his brow with a handkerchief in his pocket.  "Yes.  And you are with the government?"

"You could say that," said Jim-Bean with a smirk.

"Come inside."

Inside the shack was a mishmash of early twentieth-century junk and Pennacook craftwork, a ceremonial staff standing right next to an old Esso gas pump covered in vines.  His furniture was functional if a bit uncomfortable, and there was no beds evident anywhere in the house.

He sat at a beaten up old table and gestured at the empty stools. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Hammer, Jim-Bean, and Archive sat down with him. 

"Did you know Harold Gall?"

“Yes. He contacted me awhile back, asking all sorts of questions about my specialty. Harold never told me where he came from or why he was so desperate to learn what I know."

"Did you know anything about his employer?"

Waban shook his head. “I don’t know where Harold worked. A couple of times he said that people were after him, but never explained who they were.  We made an appointment to head out to the burial mound under cover of night, but he never showed up and I haven’t heard from him since.  That’s strange, because he said something about the talisman being his only hope, whatever that means."

"Wait a minute," said Archive.  "Burial mound?"

Waban spared Archive a smile. “You may not know it, but these mountains are famous in certain circles for Mothman sightings.  I’m one of those folks who know Mothmen really appeared here.  I’ve got proof.  Somehow, Harold found out about me and my theory about Mothmen and Chief Cornstalk, who died two hundred years ago.  That’s what he wanted to know about."

"The Mothmen?" asked Jim-Bean, his curiosity piqued. "Tell us about them."

"My grandfather told me the tribe’s stories of the Winged Ones, creatures who predated the world and who came down in the beginning of time from the constellation of the Great Bear.  He claimed that these creatures mined the hills in the region for some special material, but I did not believe the tales at the time.  Until my seventeenth year."

"Then you saw them," said Hammer quietly. 

"Yes. Sixty-two years ago, I stumbled upon two of the Winged Ones in the darkened woods.  The Winged Ones looks like glowing crabs the size of a deer.  According to my grandfather, they can fly and even pass through objects, and they can imitate human speech in any language."

"What did they do when they saw you?" asked Archive. 

"For three days the Winged Ones assaulted my shack, pelting it with stones and beckoning him with their inhuman voices.  Finally, they killed my dog."

"Funny," said Jim-Bean.  "We call them alien dogs."

"So you are familiar with them." said Waban.  He looked sad. "I don't know why they did it. They left the dog's carcass on my front porch, as a warning I suppose. I swore off alcohol forever after that."

"Have you had contact with them since?"

Waban shook his head. "That was the last I saw of them.  See, the Pennacook lived hereabouts before white settles pushed them out.  Their last leader, Chief Cornstalk, was murdered by disgruntled soldiers, but with his dying breath Cornstalk pronounced a curse on the area, which summoned the Mothmen.  Anyway, my own research indicates that this “curse” wasn’t so much a request for vengeance as an appeal for help.  Using an ancient talisman, Chief Cornstalk called on the Mothmen, and they bound one of the soldiers to defend the burial mound to this day."

"And Gall was interested in Cornstalk?" asked Hammer.

"Specifically, his talisman," said Waban. "My research indicates that Chief Cornstalk was a powerful shaman whose lore descended from the peoples who first settled this part of North America over fifteen thousand years ago.  Apparently, he possessed some sort of talisman that gave him the ability to call forth specific creatures from the spirit world into the world of flesh. By all accounts, this is the talisman Cornstalk used to call the Mothmen.  The talisman is buried with the chief."

"What did he want with the mound?"

“Gall was obsessed with the Mothman.  He thought they could save him somehow, and that the talisman would help him call them.  He said it was they were the 'only ones that could cure him.' I told Harold Gall the location of the burial mound because he seemed so desperate."

"Gall's dead," said Jim-Bean matter of factly.  

"That's too bad." Waban expressed the same sadness he expressed over his dog, perhaps a little less. 

"Can you take us to the mound?" asked Hammer.

Waban nodded. "Chief Cornstalk’s mound is located near the TNT area north of town, but this isn’t information you’ll find in any history book. I’ve been to the mound, and I know how to get in."

"Great." Hammer got up.  "Mind if we go now?  We're in a bit of a rush…"

Waban shrugged and rose.  "You are fortunate.  The timing is just right. If we hurry, we should be able to enter the mound." 

Before they could respond, Hammer got a buzz on his cistron.  He looked down. "It's Sprague."

Hammer, aware of Waban's prying ears, kept it off speaker phone. "Uh huh.  Uh huh.  Yeah.  Nope, got it." He hung up.

"What was that all about?" asked Archive.

"Warner's put a new team on this mission.  A BLACK FLAG team."

"What's a BLACK FLAG team?" asked Archive. 

"You don't want to know," said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 7 – Introducing BLACK FLAG*

Sprague's download of the BLACK FLAG team's profiles told the agents all they needed to know.



> AGENT BREMMER: Team Leader, U.S. Army Captain, Ret. Joseph Bremmer was a veteran of Vietnam.  In his picture, he wore fatigues and old beaten boots.  He leaned on a huge machinegun. With his frosted white hair and lined face, Bremmer looked the part of a grizzled old soldier.
> 
> AGENT WALACH: Demolitions Expert, U.S. Army 1st Lieutenant, Ret. Oliver Walach was a small, conservative-looking man.  His picture showed a long, dark cigarette dangling from his lips, the glowing ember at its tip just barely visible. A bandolier of grenades was slung across his chest.
> 
> AGENT PRESTON: Heavy Weapons Specialist, U.S. Marine Corps Private, Ret. A dangerous-looking man with a bitter glare beneath his cap, Luke Preston held a huge rocket launcher, balanced over one shoulder.
> 
> AGENT HULL: Tracker, Big Game Hunter. Arthur Hull was an Australian with the trademark hat, buckskin coat, and huge knife. He was responsible for creating a database on cryptozoology.




All of this flashed across their cistrons to the tune of the A-Team. 

"Stop that," muttered Hammer.

Jim-Bean stopped whistling the tune.  "Sorry, couldn't help it.  These guys are real bad asses, huh?"

"They think they are, anyway," said Hammer. He pulled up to the burial mound. 

The burial mound was located past the edge of the TNT area, one hundred meters into the forested Owlshead Wildlife Preserve.  The area was partially hidden by overgrown trees.  

The agents got out and followed Waban. 

“During World War II the TNT area was used by a handful of companies to manufacture explosives contracted by the government," explained Waban. "Facilities, power plants, ponds, and nearly one hundred igloos were constructed in the area.  The igloos were used to store explosives and were covered with dirt, so they couldn’t be seen from the air.  Most of the igloos are still there today.  Funny thing is, a covered igloo looks a lot like Chief Cornstalk’s burial mound---coincidence is odd that way.”

Just as Waban described, the gradual swell of this mound was difficult to discern as anything other than a natural hillock on the edge of the forest.  Even if noticed among the surrounding tree growth, the mound was easily mistaken for another earth-covered igloo of the nearby TNT area. The lone hillock was thick with blue-bells and thorny scrub.

"I don't see how we can get in there…" began Hammer. 

Waban pulled out a sheet of paper upon which was drawn a shaded circle, surrounded by seven additional concentric circles. Above the circles, a few stars were scattered. 

"Where did you get that?" asked Jim-Bean.

"It came to me in a vision," said Waban.  The symbol somehow allows entry into Chief Cornstalk’s mound. 

Archive peered over Waban's shoulder.  "The shaded circle symbolizes the mound itself, while the seven surrounding concentric circles indicate that a visitor must completely circle the mound seven times. The stars indicate that the mound can only be entered at night. "

"Good thing it's night then," said Hammer. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Waban, uncertain.

"Think of how much of a find this will be for your people!" exclaimed Jim-Bean, suddenly very animated.  "This is an amazing opportunity for you to reclaim your heritage."

"But the Winged Ones…"

"Don't worry about them, we know how to deal with them."

Waban sighed.  After preparing himself for a moment, he began to circle the mound, chanting as he went. 

The seventh time he circled the mound, an orifice morphed open on the far side.  

"It worked!" said Waban in disbelief.

Jim-Bean leaned over to whisper to Archive.  "Why couldn't you do that?"

Archive frowned.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 8 – The Mound*

The opening exuded the strong odor of new-turned earth.  The orifice was only about three feet wide by five feet tall.  Loose earth made up the floor, walls, and even ceiling, though countless tiny rootlets were visible in the dirt.  The low ceiling and narrow tunnel made single file the only option.

Hammer entered, with Archive soon after.  Waban stood uncertainly outside.

Jim-Bean paused at the entrance.  "You're not coming?"

"I shouldn't.  I'm an old man."

Jim-Bean chuckled.  "Oh come on.  Your knowledge will be critical."

"Why do you care so much?" asked Waban, suspicious.

Jim-Bean's gaze was momentarily distant.  "You remind me of an old friend."

Waban stepped inside.  Jim-Bean followed him.

The tunnel opened up to either side and rose above, creating a rough earthen chamber some ten feet on a side and eight feet high at the center.  A large granite boulder squatted near the south wall. Faint flecks of paint on the stone recalled an ambiguous design from ages past.

Hammer shined his flashlight on the stone.  "Do you recognize those?"

Waban nodded. "Yes.  The random designs painted on the stone are similar to ancient rock paintings discovered elsewhere. They convey the visionary experience that shamans have while in a trance."

"Look there," said Archive. 

There was one ominous humanoid figure discernable amongst the other crude drawings.  It had wings and no obvious head. 

"I'm no mystic, but I can’t help but notice the painted arrow down the side of the rock," said Jim-Bean.  "Something underneath there?"

"It's possible," said Waban.  "But I'm not sure we should…"

"Ah come on," said Jim-Bean. "We're going to need another man to help lift it."

The agents all huddled around the stone and strained to lift it.  When Waban saw they were struggling, he joined in.

They rolled the rock away. 

Glowing red eyes swayed like a cobra beneath the stone. 

Archive held out his Elder Sign.  "In the name of the Elder Gods, I repel you!"

The red eyes blink closed and disappeared in the shadow of the rock.

"What was that?" asked Hammer.

"A guardian." Waban reached down to pick up what they thought was a snake.  It was just a length of knotted cords and beads. 

In the hollow beneath the rock were three loose eagle feathers, a small bag with crystals and other stones, a small rattle carved with a human face, and a small tube of hollow bone.  

"These items once belonged in the repertoire of an ancient Indian shaman," said Archive.  "You should have them."  He handed them Waban.

Waban looked glumly down at the items in his hands.  "I am not so sure he agreed."


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Part 9 – Cooter*

The tunnel opened into another subterranean chamber.  Four eight-foot tall, three-foot wide concavities were visible in the walls, two on either side.  Though shrouded in darkness, the concavities appeared to contain skeletal humanoid forms.

Just then their cistrons and flashlights went out.

A second later the cavern was lit by an eerie green glow.  "Glow sticks," Archive said triumphantly.  "I bring them with me everywhere."

"Brilliant!" said Jim-Bean. 

Three bodies resided in the wall, one to a concavity.  The bodies were strangely preserved, though their uniforms were nothing more than rotting remnants.  Two of the bodies wear pistols.  

Archive bent down to inspect a flat stone in the floor.  "I think this tells their story."

The stone contained the remnants of a crude scene depicted with stick figures.  Four figures stood over the fallen form of a chief in full regalia, and the figure of a smaller individual.  

"These are the three former soldiers immediately responsible for slaying Chief Cornstalk over two hundred years ago," said Waban. "Shawnee warriors avenged their chief’s death by killing and interring the murderers here with the chief they slew."

Hammer's brow furrowed.  "There's a glow up ahead."

A cool blue radiance leaked from several fist-sized hollows in the chamber’s walls ahead.  Though dim, the light was strong enough to reveal a pit in the chamber’s foreground.  Within the pit, skeletal fragments suggested the form of two bodies, one adult and one child. Both forms were dressed in the remnants of rotting ceremonial dress.  Beyond the pit, dry grass was piled in an irregular circle four feet in diameter and two feet high.

"This is Chief Cornstalk's tomb." Waban leaned down on his knees to peer into the pit. "His son is interred here too."

Time had rendered both sets of remains into so many skeletal fragments posed in the hard soil. A small, ornately painted drum lay near the hand of the smaller form, while a strange wooden mask lay upon the fragments suggesting the head of the other. 

"The talisman!" said Archive, pointing at the mask.

"Kawkiutl," said Waban. 

Hammer inspected the grass beyond the pit. "That's odd."

"What isn't odd around here?" asked Jim-Bean.

"The grass is only a week or so old." Hammer picked something up.  "This is Harold Gall's photo ID—"

With an awful shriek, a naked, crazed man lunged out of the grass with a woodsman's ax.

"The soldier!" gasped Waban, stumbling backwards. "The curse is real!"

Hammer danced backwards as the axe blade whistled within inches of his face.   

The madman's hair was a mat of knotted red strands and his body was covered in an odd thick skin. A makeshift bandolier dangled from his chest.

Hammer fired several bullets into him, backing up as he did so, but the maniac kept coming, axe raised.

"I've got him," said Jim-Bean.  He stretched out one hand.

The madman struggled, lifted up in the air.  He reached for an ancient pistol from his bandoleer and fired. The bullet went wide.

The former soldier was telekinetically dragged over the pit.  

Archive chanted and held up the Elder Sign.  A blazing beam struck the madman from the opened eye on Archive's amulet.  For the first time the madman screamed.

Hammer unleashed both pistols into the dangling figure at point blank range.  The screams turned into a wail as the man's features began to melt.

Jim-Bean telekinetically dumped him into the pit. Then, pointing at the ceiling, he collapsed tons of rock on top of him.

Jim-Bean wiggled one pinky in his ear.  "Finally, some peace and quiet."

"We have done a terrible thing here," whispered Waban.


----------



## talien

*Owlshead Mountain: Conclusion*

The agents stepped out of the mound. As soon as Hammer left the mound entrance, his cistron crackled.

 "—forget it, leave them! Wherever they are they must have cleared the area—Wait! Sprague’s team is still down there!”

Hammer looked around.  He could make out two agents standing at the base of a quietly whirring matte black Bell Helicopter 206B JetRanger III. Another sat in the center of the helicopter manning a heavy machinegun, while a fourth was in the pilot seat. 

"This is Agent Hammer, who the hell—"

“This is Agent Bremmer to team leader! Get the hell out of there!”

"Oh great," said Jim-Bean.  "It's the BLACK FLAG team to the rescue."

Agent Walach waved them towards the helicopter. “The thing seems drawn to that mound you came out of, so we’re using it as a lure!  This place is set to blow a minute after it trips the motion sensors along the perimeter…”

Suddenly a series of high pitch tweets lit up on Walach's cistron.  "Ah $#!T."

Walach gurgled up blood as a tentacle burst through his torso. He wheezed, staring down in disbelief at the waving tentacle jutting from the center of his chest.  Behind him, the hillock beneath the helicopter unfurled, tentacles lashing around the landing gear. 

It was a horrifying, pitch-black monstrosity, seemingly made of ropey tentacles. It stood as tall as a tree, perhaps twenty feet tall, on a pair of stumpy, hooved legs. A mass of tentacles protruded from its trunk where a head would normally be, and puckered maws, dripping green goo, cover its flanks. It roughly resembled a tree in silhouette — the trunks being the short legs and the tops of the trees represented by the ropey, branching bodies. The whole mass of the thing smelled like an open grave. 

“Run…” gasped Walach, “look out…for mines!”

The agents didn't wait.  Hammer and Archive took off in one direction, Jim-Bean in another.

"This is the curse," said Waban wearily.  "Leave me here."

"Oh no you don't!" shouted Jim-Bean.  "I got you into this, I'm getting you out.  Grab onto me."

"What?"

"I said hold on!"

Agent Hull opened up with his M16, spraying a burst into the tentacle thing, but it doesn’t seem to notice.  The tentacle withdrew from Walach’s torso, leaving him twitching on the ground.  Three other tentacles grabbed hold of the helicopter.

Jim-Bean grabbed hold of Waban.  He had never done this before.  It would take all of his concentration…

Agent Bremmer opened up on the thing with the heavy machinegun at point-blank range.  The quiet whine of the helicopter’s motor was drowned out by the scream of the heavy machinegun, bullets tearing into the rubbery beast to no avail. 

A sudden beeping flicked on the cistrons.  It was a countdown. 

"Thirty seconds!" Hammer shouted over his shoulder to Archive.

“Go!” Hull shouted to Jim-Bean, tearing a grenade from his belt.  “I’ll hold it off!”

Hull’s grenade slipped hopelessly from his hand as the helicopter was yanked upward, propelled by the tentacles. Hull looked up, slack-jawed, as the shadow of the hurtling chopper consumed him.  

A second later, it smashed into the ground with a terrific explosion.

Hammer dove as a mine tweeted its activation, rolling to one side without stopping.  He kept running, Archive struggling to keep pace.

"Wait!"  Hammer stopped, putting one hand out in front of Archive as a series of blinking lights glared back at them from beneath the undergrowth.  "This way!"

The tentacle thing stomped behind them, charging forward past the burning wreckage of the helicopter.

"Now!" Hammer dove over a hillock and Archive did likewise. 

There was a synchronized, final BEEP! and then the det cord linking the C4 throughout the area triggered, exploding the terrain around in a terrific hailstorm of fire and rock.  It ignited the nearby forest, setting off a blazing inferno. 

The tentacle thing flailed, stomping straight into the heart of the conflagration.  

What Hammer at first thought was debris shot out of the billowing cloud of smoke and flames.  A few seconds later, soot-covered Jim-Bean and a bewildered Waban landed next to Hammer and Archive.

"That was some explosion!" Jim-Bean exclaimed sheepishly.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 47: Dawn Biozyme - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of the scenario from “A Night on Owlshead Mountain” from Arc Dream's Delta Green: Eyes Only by Dennis Detwiller, At Your Door, and The Killing Jar by Bruce Cordell. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

Joe L. couldn't play, so we were back to the buddy cop genre wherein one misstep could kill off our heroes.  What starts out as a simple raid on a laboratory quickly spirals into chaos as the spawn of the "Source" prove to be much more resourceful and dangerous than the agents thought. 

As always, the players surprised me. I didn't have a plan as to how things would play out, including the appearance of an Outer God. I kept my bag of tricks ready and at the appropriate stress points, introduced them.  This kept the agents on their toes throughout the entire scenario. It helped that I had disgusting-looking miniatures and some cool sound effects. Specifically, a country music radio station plays in the background throughout the entire Dawn Biozyme facility, so I streamed country western music. 

Early in the scenario, a disgusting opportunity presented itself that was almost as good as the "what's in the box" freak-out from a few sessions back.  It was completely inspired and off the cuff, and an important lesson in scaring players by torturing non-player characters in front of them. 

*Defining Moment:* Sometimes the threat you face isn't the monster trying to eat you.  It's the monster you can't kill off fast enough. 

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635648?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635648]At Your Door[/ame]:* source of the serum blob. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1887797297?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1887797297]Delta Green: Eyes Only[/ame]:* Source of Night on Owlshead Mountain. 
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/078691615X?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=078691615X]The Killing Jar[/ame]:* Source of much of this scenario.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001NSWJ16?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001NSWJ16]Weird Science[/ame]:* by Oingo Boingo.


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Prologue*



> _Not what teacher said to do
> Making dreams come true
> Living tissue, warm flesh
> _​
> --_Weird Science_ by Oingo Boingo​



"That's all Sprague said?" asked Jim-Bean, looking bored as he sipped the special protein drink formulated especially for his hyperactive metabolism. He flavored it occasionally with different powders to try to improve the taste, but it never helped. 

Hammer nodded.  "Take down Dawn Biozyme."  He tapped some keys.  "The pharmaceutical company's not hard to find. They even have a public web site." 

Dawn Biozyme was established in 1985 by Matthew Lewis, a graduate of the Harvard Business School and eldest son of a family long connected to Washington politics. One share was worth $23 the day Hammer looked it up, with two million shares outstanding.  Dawn Biozyme was worth about $46 million.

"Looks like Walter Morrow's suicide really screwed up Tiger Transit's plans," said Hammer.

"Who?"

"Walter Morrow.  Morrow killed himself because he was trapped by a Hound of Tindalos, remember?  Tiger Transit was trying to get him to fork over his shares, but instead they transitioned to his ex-wife, Michelle.  Tiger Transit owns twenty percent. Michelle owns twenty five percent and she's not selling."

"Who owns the rest?" asked Jim-Bean.

"MegaCosmos."

Jim-Bean sipped his drink.  "Now that name rings a bell."

"MegaCosmos bailed Dawn Biozyme and Lewis out in 1994. The web site describes them as one of the world’s largest research-based pharmaceutical and health care products companies.  It's supposedly a leader in the discovery, development, manufacturing and marketing of prescription drugs and over-the-counter medications. It is also a global leader in vaccines, biotechnology, agricultural products, and animal health care."

"Great," said Jim-Bean.  "They're everywhere."

"No joke," said Hammer.  "They make Centrix, Lundicyx, and Robitussix.  Hell, I took Advix a few weeks ago for my bruised ribs."

"So how do you want to take them down?" asked Jim-Bean.  "Should we call in the stealth jets with x-ray killer lasers?"

Hammer shook his head.  "I've got something a lot more dangerous in mind."  

"What's that?"

Hammer flipped open his cistron. "Lawyers."


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 1 – Dawn Biozyme Pharmaceuticals*

Located on a five-acre plot on the northeast outskirts of Samson, Dawn Biozyme occupied a large new mirror-windowed building and warehouses at the end of a short dead-end street.  

Three black SUVs rumbled past a twelve-foot high brick wall that surrounded the facility.  

Hammer pointed behind the dark glass of the lead SUV.  "See that? Heavy security for a simple lab."

Inconspicuous beneath the ivy toping was an additional two feet of projecting barbed wire, supporting arms, and various passive sensors to deter and detect intruders.  

The SUVs rumbled on. The back of the facility opened on two acres of short, dry grass, not yet fully developed.  On the other side were equally well-protected offices and facilities of other companies. 

The main building was three stories high; the isolated production facility was one story topped by a maze of ventilators, scrubbers, alarms, and gaseous containment devices. The two warehouses were externally identical concrete structures, both three stories tall, both with narrow fixed windows near the roof. 

Hammer, Jim-Bean, three lawyers and three accountants stepped of the vehicles.  The lawyers and accountants were all identically dressed in gray suits and blue ties.  The six office drones were more terrifying than the two agents. 

Hammer smirked at the sign taped to the front door. 



> Due to the recent tragedy, Dawn Biozyme Pharmaceuticals has temporarily closed its doors to the public.  The company is confident the investigation will clear Dawn Biozyme Pharmaceuticals from any connection with the actions of its former employee. At that time, normal business hours will ensue.



They entered the spacious reception area through wide glass doors. Two receptionists manned a large curving desk situated at the center of the room. At an inconspicuous desk near the only entrance to the rest of the building sat a security guard. Before the reception desk were couches, low tables, and magazines.

"Hello gentlemen," said a young, clean-cut man who smiled a little too much.  He approached Hammer with hand extended.  "I'm Brad Geary, and I'll be your guide during your review—"

"Who's in charge here?" asked Hammer, pushing past him to the entrance proper.

"Uh, I'm your liaison," said Geary.  "Agent…?"

Jim-Bean patted Geary on the back.  "That's Agent Hammer.  I'm Agent Jim-Bean.  These guys…" he turned to encompass them with a sweep of his arm.  "Well it doesn't matter who they are, just what they do."

Geary nodded, focused on Hammer, who brushed past the security guards.  "Uh, Agent Hammer, you need a visitor badge!"  He rushed after Hammer, saying over his shoulder to Jim-Bean.  "Please be sure to sign in!"

"Don't worry I'll sign him in," said Jim-Bean cheerfully.

A few moments later Geary caught up with Hammer and handed him a visitor badge.  Hammer took it but didn't put it on.

"I don't think Dawn Biozyme fully appreciates the gravity of this situation," snapped Hammer. "This isn't a tour, Geary.  This is a federal investigation of a potential biohazard.  Do you know who I am?"

"Agent…Hammer?" asked Geary, eyes wide. 

"I'm an agent of the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.  CIFA, to you.  We don't get involved unless an organization is suspected of assisting terrorists.  If we find any evidence, ANY EVIDENCE, that your labs have been involved in the distribution of biohazards to terrorists we will hit you with so many injunctions, Dawn Biozyme won't be able to sneeze without incurring a fine."

Geary swallowed.  "I'm sure you'll be…uh, very impressed with our operations, sir.  I'd like to take you on a tour of our interior labs to show that there is no basis for your claims."

"I'll be the judge of that.  Where are your files?"

Geary pointed at a bank of offices.  "In there."

Hammer pointed. The accountants and lawyers trailing behind veered off and began chatting with the staff who were waiting for them there. Jim-Bean caught up with Hammer.  

"I want to speak to Lewis," Hammer reiterated.  "Now."

Geary fidgeted nervously and then picked up a nearby phone.  After a tense conversation, he hung up.  "Mr. Lewis will see you now. Follow me please."
 Matthew Lewis, founder and president of Dawn Biozyme, was in his forties. Every inch the corporate shark, Lewis was a handsome man with an open, honest face and a healthy complexion. He had blue eyes and blonde hair, beginning to silver at the edges. He was dressed in an expensive suit and wore a top-of-the-line chronometer

"What can I do for you?" asked Lewis, rising from behind his desk. 

"Don't bother to get up," said Hammer, standing in the doorway.  "We want to know where Howard Gall's lab is."

Lewis blinked. "Of course, of course.  Our business is helping people, Agent Hammer.  We don't support terrorists."

Hammer spun.  "I expect full cooperation."

"Certainly.  Mr. Geary, please give the agents the full tour, and be sure to show them Gall's lab."

"Yes sir!" said Geary. "If you'll follow me gentlemen…"

In the next two hours the agents saw everything from the labs to the employee cafeteria. Demonstrations included an electron microscope, incubator/shakers, high performance liquid chromatographers, banks of tissue culture dishes, ovens, desiccators, refrigerators, autoclaves, spectrophotometers, and high-speed protein sequencers. They met dozens of employees. They passed by hundreds of bio-hazard signs.

Chromatography's Dr. Spencer demonstrated the company's research computer, linked both to the UC-Samson library and to the research library of MegaCosmos, one of Dawn Biozyme's largest investors. 

“The amount of information we have at our fingertips is simply incredible," the scientist crooned.

Dr. Lois Keating, an eminent microbiologist, after failing to successfully communicate the complexities of correctly inserting DNA fragments into double-stranded vectors, beamed proudly over her chocolate fragrance pansies. 

"We're searching for ways to insert disease-resistant genes in a common winter wheat strain," she said.

Finally, they met Dr. Howard Finley, director of research and development.  In his fifties, Finley was tall, thin, balding and wore glasses. 

"Hello gentlemen," he said to the agents.  "Mister Geary, I believe that concludes the end of the tour, does it not?"

Geary nodded.

"I'll take it from here, thank you." He dismissed Geary with a smile. 

"Is this Gall's chair?" asked Jim-Bean.

Finley nodded.

Jim-Bean plopped himself down in the chair.  He put one hand on the phone and sat there for a second, concentrating.

Finley peered at him.  "Is everything all right?"

Jim-Bean shook his head at Hammer.

Hammer turned to Finley.  "Can we speak with you in your office?"

Finley smiled.  "Certainly.  Is something wrong?"

Hammer didn't answer.  They marched the short distance to Finley's office.  

Finley’s spacious office had a wall behind his desk that was bloated with framed degrees and certificates.  

Hammer nodded in the direction of the dark globe that hung in one corner of the room.  "Security's really tight here, huh?"

"What is this about?" asked Finley, moving toward the seat at his desk.

Jim-Bean looked over at Hammer.  "Too bad you've got a cough, Hammer. We could really use some Robitussix."

Hammer blinked at Jim-Bean.  "What?"

Jim-Bean put one hand around Finley, pointing at one of the degrees on the wall.  "Miskatonic University, huh? Do you know Dr. Joseph Bread?"

"I do," said Finley.  "He's in the Archaeology department…"

Jim-Bean leaned over and whispered, out of sight of the camera.  "We know that's not Gall's office.  Now you either cooperate or we lock you up.  Guys like you don't last long in prison."

Finley froze.  "They'll kill me if I talk," he hissed.

Hammer plopped himself down in Finley's chair and opened a folder on the table, concealing his mouth from the camera.  "We can offer you protection."

"You either cooperate with us now," said Jim-Bean, pointing at another degree as if they were having an amiable conversation about Finley's education, "or we hang you out to dry and Dawn Biozyme kills you anyway. I don't think you have a lot of choices here."

Finley sighed.  "There are cameras everywhere.  If I go with you they'll notice…"

"Slip me your badge. Then take a long dump in the bathroom," said Jim-Bean.  "That'll buy you some time."

"It's in my pocket.  Take it."

Jim-Bean slipped one hand into Finley's lab coat and fished out the badge.  

"Where's Gall's office, anyway?" asked Hammer.

"Down below," said Finley. "It's a restricted area."

"His office is restricted?" asked Hammer.  

Finley shook his head.  "The entire level."


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 2 – Compromised Environment*

Sparse night lights provided just enough light to see by, but little more—a few seemed to be out, while others flickered intermittently.  All the visible doors were wholly or slightly ajar.  

The wavering light revealed clean tile floors and antiseptically bare walls, although strange designs—hard to make out in the darkness—painted the floor and walls at random. The PA system was routed into the local country radio station, WTHQ 101.7. Unfortunately, the PA system was tinny and hollow and the country music eerily played in the darkened rooms and halls.

Hammer pointed at the door closest to the stairwell.  It was slightly ajar. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean took up positions on either side of the door, pistols out. Covering all angles, they pushed their way in.

Ventilation hoods competed with lab benches for wall and floor space.  Every flat surface was covered with bottles filled with myriad chemicals, petri plates, slides, notebooks, and equipment ranging from easy-to-recognize microscopes to rotoevaporators, gel electrophoresis plates, and chromatography columns.  

After confirming the room was empty, Hammer took a look at the microscope.  "Take a look."

Jim-Bean examined the microscope.  The slide showed two cells. They appeared to be much different from each other. They were joined at the ends but were completing the process of breaking off from each other.

"What in the world kind of cell structure is that?" asked Hammer. 

"That's the point," said Jim-Bean, shaking his head.  "I'm not sure it is any kind of cell structure. Biologically speaking."

There was a muffled thump from a door on the other side of the lab. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean took up positions next to the closed door.  Hammer kicked it open.

It was another lab. Glassware lay broken here and there, a ventilation hood was dented and sticky with some sort of slime, machines mysteriously continued to run, though no operator stood nearby.

Two feet stuck out beneath an upright freezer.  One of the feet twitched.

"Hey, you," shouted Hammer.  "Come out of there."

Someone grunted beneath the freezer.  "I'm a little…stuck."

Hammer grabbed the man by the ankles and yanked him out while Jim-Bean kept his gun trained on him.

It was a nebbish-looking scientist.  He settled his glasses back on his nose.  His badge read "Turne."

"Thanks," he said, rising to his feet.

"Who are you?" asked Hammer.

"Robert Turne." He looked around, blinking.  "What happened?"

"We were going to ask you the same question," said Jim-Bean. "Why haven't you evacuated this floor like everyone else?"

"Evacuated?" Robert blinked.  "I…I don't know.  Last thing I remember I was working with Bill and Cliff…"

"Did you leave the machinery on?" asked Hammer urgently. "And the slide under the microscope?"

"What?" Robert took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.  "That was probably Bill.  He's always leaving stuff on."

"Why don't you have a seat," said Jim-Bean.  It wasn't a request.  He shoved Robert into a chair.

"What's going on?" Robert quickly became alarmed. "Is this some sort of raid?"

"We're with the security team. This is just a precaution," said Hammer as he zip-tied Robert's wrists to the metal chair.

"Wait…what?  Have I done something wrong?"

"Not yet," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer pulled up a chair opposite Robert.  "Now listen to me very carefully, Robert.  We were just doing a final sweep of this level. We're shutting down the lab because the government is on to us. But something must have gone wrong, because you're still here."

Robert slowly nodded.  "Yeah, I remember.  I remember that I was supposed to clean up…" he coughed.

"Are you all right?"

Robert coughed again.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

Before he could speak again, Jim-Bean said softly but tersely.  "Hammer.  His nose."

A thin trickle of blood dripped out of Robert's left nostril.

"Oh geeze, that happens when I get stressed.  I'm sorry."

Hammer forced a smile.  "No problem."  He grabbed a cloth from one of the lab tables and wiped Robert's nose with it.  "Now you were saying?"

"We got the word to sanitize the place. Bill was moving fast.  I told him to…" he coughed again.

"Were you working with any infectious agents?" asked Hammer, taking a step back.  "You don't look so good."

Robert blinked, looking around as if he was seeing the room for the first time.  "Oh no."

"What?" asked Jim-Bean.

"I remember now.  Yes, the cnidocytes.  Oh God…"

"What?  What about them?" 

"We were experimenting with Mother's Milk." Robert started talking very quickly. "We used the yrmmrh crystals taken from the xenoforms. The tertiary cnidocytes can infect you…"

"What xenoforms?" asked Jim-Bean tersely.

"Oh God, I don't want to die…" Robert coughed.  He started wheezing and this time blood burst in a stream from his right nostril. 

Robert looked down and moaned.  Something red and wet wiggled on Robert's lap in the pool of blood.  

"Jesus," whispered Hammer.

"Kill me!" wailed Robert.  "Kill me, PLEASE!"

Hammer took a deep breath.  "Robert, I—"

"KILL ME NOW!" he wailed. 

Hammer put his pistol to Robert's head and fired.

The scientist's head bucked and his body convulsed.  

Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged a sorrowful glance.  They'd killed men before.  But this was an innocent.  He was…

Robert gasped, his head snapping back upright.  A tentacle waved from the bullet hole in his head.  "It's not working!" he croaked.

"Christ!" Hammer lifted his pistol and fired another bullet into the man's head.

He jerked.  A tentacle coiled out of the wound, waving bits of blood and brain inches from Robert's head as if raising a flag of defeat.

"It's not WOHHHRRKINHHH," gagged Robert, eyes rolling, head lolling.

Jim-Bean and Hammer pointed their pistols at Robert and fired, the silencers on the muzzles flashing a staccato beat.  

Finally, Robert was still. His head looked like bloody spaghetti mixed with hamburger meat.  

Jim-Bean stifled a gag.  There were no clever quips from either of them.  They knew what the cnidocyte could do once it got inside a dead body.  Now they knew what it could do to the living.

Disgusted by the senseless violence, they stepped out into the hall.


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 3 – Getting Ahead*

Hammer and Jim-Bean caught sight of a figure ducking around a corner.

"Stop!" shouted Hammer.

They sped around the corner to see a technician in a lab coat fleeing down the length of the corridor.

"I said stop!" commanded Hammer again, jogging after the technician.

Coming to the end of the hallway, the man stopped running.

Jim-Bean and Hammer both had him covered with their pistols. "Put your hands on your head."

The figure did as he was told.

"Get down on the ground."

He slowly lowered himself to the ground, face down. His nametag was partially visible: WILLIAM.

Hammer zip-tied his wrists together.  "Who are you and why were you running…"

He stopped talking as the man's head exploded. Bits of brain and an eyeball burst in a red spray as what looked like a bloody jellyfish lunged for Hammer's face.

Hammer got one hand up just in time.  It was another cnidocyte.  He knew what would happen if it got inside him.  

The agent staggered backwards, torn between dropping his pistol to use both hands on it and keeping the weapon ready so that he could kill it as soon he had a clear shot.  One tentacle wrapped around his throat.  It made an awful sucking noise as the brain-like jelly probed his nostrils.

With a roar, Hammer tore it off his head, lacerating his face and neck.  The pain was immense. 

Jim-Bean and Hammer fired at the thing as it fell, but the bullets just punched right through it.  It rebounded off the floor, a wall, and then lunged at Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean was ready.  He dropped his pistol and caught it in mid-air with both hands.  Its tentacles wrapped around his arm. "I got it!" he shouted.  "Open the door!"

Hammer kicked open a nearby door labeled: café.  

"Microwave!" shouted Jim-Bean.  He struggled mightily with the cnidocyte, which was attempting to drag itself up his arm. 

Hammer opened the microwave. 

With a roar, Jim-Bean hurled the thing inside.  Hammer slammed it shut and pressed SENSOR REHEAT.

The thing squealed as the microwave hummed to life.  It smashed itself against the glass door, tentacles twitching obscenely.

Smoke billowed up from the microwave.  A second later there was a loud pop and the door burst open.

Jim-Bean and Hammer sat down, exhausted, on two cafeteria chairs.  "Well…that's one way to kill them."


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 4 – Wolf at the Door*

There was a commotion at the far end of the hall.   Jim-Bean peeked out around the corner. 

"Another one.  He's running hard this way."

Hammer drew a bead on him, then lowered his pistol. "What's that behind him?"

A dark, clanking shape loped behind the scientist.  The scientist's features were concealed in the shadows of the hallway.  As he passed through the flickering lamplight from above, red stains were visible on his lab coat.  

A second later something huge and hairy flashed through the shaft of light after him.

He never made it.  The thing landed on the scientist's back, smashing him to the ground with one paw.  There was an odd whirring sound as its shining jaws, visible even in silhouette, clamped down on the struggle skull of its prey.

"What the hell is THAT?" asked Jim-Bean.

The bear-sized canine-like form ripped upwards, tearing the head from the scientist's neck.  Tentacles dangled from the head, tendrils leftover from the cnidocyte's infestation.

With a crunch, the head was pulped in the jaws of the monstrosity.  It looked up at the agents at the other end of the hall, eyes flashing red.

A second later an alarm began to sound. 

"I don't think it's with the cnidocytes," said Hammer.  He took aim with both pistols. 

Jim-Bean aimed his pistol at the thing as it broke into a run. "But does it know WE'RE not cnidocytes?" 

The agents answered their own question with repeated gunfire. Fur broke off in clumps and bullets ricocheted as the thing rushing towards them. 

Hammer backed up towards another door, but Jim-Bean wasn't as fast.  The monstrous hound lunged.

Jim-Bean got lucky.  He twisted out of the way, still firing his pistol, but the full bulk of the thing smashed him forward and further down the corridor, knocking him unconscious.  Even his protomatter body couldn't withstand the full force of several hundred pounds of charging muscle and teeth.

Before the thing could scramble to its feet, Hammer dragged Jim-Bean through the door and slammed it shut.

He was in a guard post. Ten metal lockers, a shower, and related facilities were peripheral to the room, which also contained four bunk beds, a large meeting table, and several large plastic chests.  An adjoining brig behind a reinforced door contained a small window and feeding station.

Hammer dragged Jim-Bean into the brig.

The door to the guard post shrieked as it was rent by the jaws of the beast.  Shaking its head, the door was ripped off its hinges and flung it into the hallway.

The slim form of the wolf-like monster plunged through the doorway just as Hammer closed the brig door.  The hound slammed into it a second later, huge jaws gnashing at Hammer. 

The brig was tiny and the wolf's head was huge, much larger than any normal animal.  It smashed its head through the feeding slot, threatening to tear the door apart.

Jim-Bean was momentarily safe, lying unconscious on the floor and out of harm's way.  The wolf could only extend forward, which made things uncomfortable for Hammer.  

Hammer backed up as the jaws snapped at his face, inches away.

Up close, it was clear the thing was neither hound nor bear.  It was some kind of cybernetic organism.  Where bullets and cnidocytes had attacked it, clumps of bloody flesh had fallen away to reveal a rippling metal structure beneath.  Its face had suffered the brunt of the attacks, leaving a metallic, angular head that was all jaws.  Two cameras for eyes whirred to focus on Hammer.  Branded on its gleaming metallic forehead were the words: K-10 STEPPENWOLF.

Hammer was stuck.  He couldn't move to get a shot at the thing's head, but it couldn't reach him. 

The cybernetic hound made a decision.  It dug into the floor with steel claws and yanked backwards. Rivets popped up as the reinforced brig door gave way. 

Hammer's guns were up as it withdrew.  He fired two bullets into the thing's camera eyes.  Blinded, the hound flailed around momentarily, the reinforced door jutting from around its neck like a dog fresh from the vet.  Then whirring servos shut down and the body went limp.

Jim-Bean, his protomatter healing factor kicking in, bolted upright, coming face to face with the deactivated beast.  "AAAAAAH!"

"It's dead," said Hammer, exhausted. 

"How can you tell?" asked Jim-Bean, peering curiously at the bear-sized head, now drooping downwards as if chastised by its owner. 

"I don't plan to find out."  Hammer edged his way around the inanimate bear-hound.  

Jim-Bean shook his head as he followed Hammer's circuitous path.  "This place is nuts."


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 5 – Red Dots*

Hammer edged out into the hall, his ears assaulted by a cacophony of alarms and the soft country rock of WTHQ 101.7.  Two bodies littered the hallway, both missing their heads. 

Jim-Bean noticed a red dot on the wall.  It was joined by another.  And another. "Uh…"

"Down!" shouted Hammer.

Short bursts of automatic fire peppered the wall above their heads.  

The agents ducked through a door that opened into an adjoining hallway.  Hammer closed the door halfway. Jim-Bean knelt down on one knee and rifled through his satchel.

"That must be security," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer returned fire through the opening.  "What are you doing?"

"Leaving a little present for our new friends." He attached blocks of C-4 around the door. "I'll set this off when they come through."

"Great." Hammer looked over his shoulder at the dark corridor.  "No way to go but deeper in."  He ran down to the only door at the end of the hallway, kicked it open, and then ducked inside.

Jim-Bean waited.  He could hear the comms of the security team crackling.  They were converging on his location from two different angles.

Somebody yelped in surprise.  There was a brief shriek, followed by the squealing of what sounded like a mewling cat.  A very large cat.

Jim-Bean peeked around the open doorway. 

The security team, dressed in black and armed with nightvision goggles and laser sights on their automatic weapons, began firing in a hallway off to the side.  

A pulpy tentacle the girth of a tree and the color of dead man's flesh whipped out from the side hallway and engulfed one of the men by his head.  His machinegun sprayed wildly into the floor as he was sucked out of sight.

The security team, what was left of them, started running towards Jim-Bean.  He retreated back to the door Hammer went through and waited.

"Secondary cnidocytes are loose!" screamed one of them as he skidded to a halt inside the door. He slammed it just shut behind him, gasping into his comm.  "I repeat, secondary cnidocytes are loose in level two—"

Then he noticed the blinking detonators and C-4 plastered around the door.  "Uh oh."

Jim-Bean closed the door behind him as the explosion went off.  He almost felt bad for them.


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 6 – Cnidocyte Containment*

Hammer slipped past two steel doors.  The prominent magnetic card reader and the “airlock” between the exterior and interior chambers demonstrated the scientists’ desire to secure the interior chamber.  However, both doors stood wide open.

Inside, stainless steel plates lined the large room.  Six-foot tall metal and glass containment vessels lined the walls, while at least twice as many three-foot tall vessels marched in long rows down the center.  The vessels all resembled incubators for premature newborns, except for their varying size. 

Flashing lights lined the bases of many of the vessels, apparently displaying interior temperature, humidity, and more obscure data.  The glass fronts of many vessels were fogged by humidity, but despite the translucency, it seemed that some of the largest containers may contain people. About half of the vessels, both large and small, were smashed open, dark, and empty.  The floor near these vessels was slick with clear, gelatin-like smears.

Hammer tapped on the glass of one of the nearest small vessel. It jerked suddenly from the struggles of a tertiary cnidocyte trying to get out. Tentacles probed the glass looking for a way to get at Hammer.

Besides the incubator vessels, a small countertop in the room’s center held several sealed liquid nitrogen vats. Each vat was labeled “PRIMARY SOURCE.”

Hammer rolled the vat to the doorway. Jim-Bean nearly tripped over it.

"What's that?"

"Liquid nitrogen," said Hammer. "Thought we could use it."

Jim-Bean stuck a few blocks of C-4 to it.  "Maybe to stop those tentacle things."

"The tertiary cnidocytes?"

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Bigger.  And angrier."

"That'd be the secondary cnidocytes."  Hammer gazed ruefully on the larger smashed containers. "What about the security team?"

More explosions echoed from further down the hallway.  "What security team?" asked Jim-Bean with a straight face.

Glass smashed behind them. The familiar squeaking whine joined the roar of the klaxons and WTHQ.  

Jim-Bean and Hammer left the large vat where it was. The secondary cnidocyte in the hall reached the vat just as the one in the containment chamber exited.  The agents got a good look at them and wished they hadn't.

Their skin was the color of a submerged corpse. Three clawed legs stumped along in an awkward gait, supporting a headless torso.  At its center was a wet anus/mouth, which puckered obscenely and was the source of the mewling. Tentacles fanned out behind it, containing a boiling mass of what might have been red worms but were probably intestines. 

Jim-Bean pressed the remote detonator.

The vat exploded, tossing the things backward and filling the air with white mist.  The mewling turned to shrieking, but only for a moment.  Then it became a different sound all together.

"Are they…cooing?" asked Hammer.

The hallway was covered with a white phlegm-like substance.  The secondary cnidocytes used their tentacles to grab great globs of it and shove it into their red orifices at the center of their bodies. 

"What was in that vat?" asked Jim-Bean.

"I don't know," said Hammer.  "But whatever it is…I think they're eating it."


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 7 – "Power Plant"*

The agents kicked open iron doors stenciled with the words “Power Plant.” 

Inside, an ominous cylindrical metal device was mounted on iron clamps in the center of the chamber.  The vaguely bullet-shaped apparatus sprouted a jumble of wires that snake into a hole in the floor.

Hammer looked at it curiously.  "Weird.  It's not running."

Jim-Bean frowned.  "That's because it's not a power plant."  He pointed to a curious-looking chamber at the center.  "This is a firebomb."

"Is it armed?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Not yet."

They backed out of the room and entered another across the hall. 

Comfortable chairs were gathered around a central island on which several personal computers are situated, quietly displaying innocuous screensavers. One wall held a wide window of glass allowing a view of another large chamber beyond. A bank of television monitors covered another wall. 

Jim-Bean tapped some of the keys.  "Password protected."

"I wish Guppy was here," muttered Hammer.

Jim-Bean sat at one of the workstations and cracked his knuckles.  "Who needs Guppy when we can just have the owners tell us?"  

He concentrated…

Dr. Finley tapped some keys and moved the mouse to click on a folder labeled PROJECT MOTHMAN. It was uploaded from a shared server titled MAINFRAME.

Jim-Bean took note as he typed the password.  "Alhazred."  He also noticed that on the table was an emergency shutdown procedure with the word spelled backwards to initiate the firebomb.

Back in the present, Jim-Bean tapped the password.  

The television monitors turned on.

"What did you just do?" asked Hammer.

"I don't…I'm not sure," said Jim-Bean, turning to face the monitors.  

There was a soft mechanical clicking coming from the server room next door. A low whine began. The fluorescent fixtures in the other room turned on.

The cameras showed a large, empty room--the center of which was overlain by a tarpaulin—encircled at the edges of the room by a locked chain-link fence.  In the center of the chamber, embedded in the concrete, was a large flat obsidian block, barely higher than the surrounding floor, irregular and featureless. Spaced around the chamber at about the fifteen-foot level were four circular steel plates about a foot in diameter each.

As the pitch of the generator heightened, the lights dimmed slightly, their hue pinkening. The air thickened. 

"I don't like this…" said Jim-Bean.

"Can you stop it?"

Jim-Bean tapped a few keys.  The tinny rasp of WTHQ finally shut off. Jim-Bean smiled at Hammer.

Hammer sighed at Jim-Bean.

"I know the password to blow the place up, if that's what you're asking."

The chain-hung light fixtures in the large room swung toward the center of the cylindrical chamber, straining against their light chains to illuminate the center of the floor. Intense vibrations rattled shelves and loose objects: a great cloud of darkness seeps into the large chamber on the camera.

WHAM!  The door they had come through shuddered.  It was met by familiar squealing.

"I think the babies want their momma."

Hammer set his jaw.  "Engage the self-destruct mechanism.  Now."

WHAM! The door on the opposite side of the room nearly splintered from the impact.  Bleach-white tentacles squeezed through the cracks. 

Hammer blasted the window with both pistols. 

"What'd you do that for?" shouted Jim-Bean over the roar of the vibrations. 

"Giving the babies a clear path!"  He opened the door to the server room.  "Get inside!"

They closed the door and hid in the cool darkness of the server room.  

Judging from the crunches and cracks they heard, the secondary cnidocytes had battered the doors down seconds later.  Their mewling was unbearable. 

The server room wasn't dark for long. EM displays—ball lightning, electrostatic charges, strangely-colored auras--nickered and eddied across the room. There were no surges in the electrical supply, but strange odors and howling noises assailed the agents. 

"Are they gone yet?" asked Jim-Bean.

"I can't tell!" shouted Hammer, straining to listen.  "I'm not sure if they're in the main chamber."

Jim-Bean put his fingers to his forehead.  "I'll take a look."

"No wait!" was all Hammer got out before Jim-Bean got a front row seat to a mind-blasting display.


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Part 8 – The Summoning of Shub-Niggurath*

Jim-Bean was witness to the source of all miscreation and abomination. 

For at the center of the room was a gray mass that quobbed and quivered, and swelled perpetually; and from it, in manifold fission, were spawned the anatomies that crept away on every side through the chamber. The shivering little blobs known as tertiary cnidocytes formed spontaneously from the goo while larger, pulpy white forms crawled across the heaving mother-thing's mass, searching for sustenance.

And madly, insanely, a beast with no such discernible anatomy possessed teats, and the mewling white wormy beasts set their puckered mouths upon them and sucked. 

Mechanical hoses snaked forth from hidden chambers and probed the seething mass.  Finding a teat, they began pumping the white, stringy fluid that dripped from them, filling a set of ten-gallon carboys at the far end of the chamber. 

The thing occasionally faded slightly, in coordination with changes in the pitch of the field generator. 

Jim-Bean recoiled, back, back, back into his own insignificant body.  Back with the knowledge that in some way, he was part of this thing and she him, that this perversity way his mother, was everyone's mother, and that the benefits of her milk pumped through his veins.  

Back in his own mind, Jim-Bean found himself screaming.  His nose leaked blood.  Jim-Bean curled up into a ball and tried to contain his form lest it melt away and crawl down into the chamber to sup at the All-Mother's teats and slurp from her…

BLAM!  Pain slashed through Jim-Bean's thoughts, dragging his disembodied spirit back into his skull, hard.  Blood leaked from a bullet hole in his forearm.

Jim-Bean wiped the blood from his nose.  "What the hell?"

"I had to snap you out of it!" Hammer shrugged. "We've got to get out of here!"

A humming resonance assaulted their ears. A virulent orange light began to leak in everywhere in the building, almost like a seeping, glowing liquid. Smoke curled from machinery. The machinery that contained the seeping monstrosity began to fail.

Hammer yanked a hard drive out of one of the servers.  "This should help.  Let's go."

As they fled through the server room, a countdown clicked on the computer screens.  They had just five minutes to go.

They ran down the hall back the way they came, jumping over corpses and the spattered remains of cnidocytes.  All the remaining living cnidocytes had crawled their way to their mother's welcoming bosom.

Hammer reached a stairwell labeled EXIT.  He tried the door. It was locked.

He fired his pistol into the lock mechanism and tried again.  Nothing.

"Damn it! This place is locked down tight."

Behind them, there was the sound of steel girders snapping.  Parts of the roof were collapsing as the thing burst free of its confines.

"Stand back," said Jim-Bean.  He wiped his nose again – the nosebleed hadn't stopped – and tried to marshal his mental energy for one last push.

With a roar he shoved his palms forward at the door.  The door blasted open from his telekinetic shove, tearing upwards as if it had been sucked through the air by a tornado.

Upstairs, a fire alarm rang.  Hammer and Jim-Bean fled the building, flanked by accounts, lawyers, and Dawn Biozyme staff. 

A safe distance away, they turned to watch.

A portion of the outer warehouse wall collapsed, crumpled to a heap of concrete and corrugated steel by an incidental blow from the Outer God. Tentacles and hooves and mouths and worse surged upward out of the wall just as the firebomb went off.  The explosions tore across Dawn Biozyme with ruthless efficiency, each explosive rigged to blow a critical foundation.  As the flames and smoke billowed outwards, tentacles probed hungrily for purchase…

And then it all sucked in upon itself.  The flames, the smoke, and the Thing – gone in an instant.  The suction was so strong that it ruffled the hair of onlookers.

Jim-Bean wiped more blood from his nose.  The nosebleed had finally stopped.

"Next time," chastised Hammer, "never, EVER use your powers around an Outer God."


----------



## talien

*Dawn Biozyme: Conclusion*

"Mission accomplished," Hammer reported to Sprague.  "We have taken down Dawn Biozyme."

"I heard," said Sprague over the cistron.  "Using the files we found on the hard drive, we initiated a full-blown federal investigation."

"Great—" began Hammer.

"But one of MegaCosmo's board members, 58-year-old David Melton, was found dead of his own hand. His suicide note confessed guilt in the funding and covert manipulation of Dawn Biozyme, and records accompanying the note contained information implicating Melton and Matthew Lewis in a plot to fleece millions from Dawn Biozyme, Tiger Transit, and MegaCosmos. The state of California is prosecuting Lewis now."

"So we didn't eff up, huh?" said Jim-Bean, fishing for a compliment.

"If you define not f*&king up as letting the head researcher go in a witness protection program deal that you had no authority to implement, yes, you did a great job," snarled Sprague.  "But first things first.  I'm sending you information on the Finley's experimental farm he was using to grow Fumo Loco, the predecessor to Coca Loco. Find out what you can, remove the evidence, and make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Finley's still out there; we've had his mansion cased for days but he hasn't returned. If he's at the farm, bring him in."

"Can't we just use the JERICHO jets to just scour the place clean…?" began Jim-Bean, but Sprague had already cut him off.

"Guess that's a no," said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 48: Landscrapes - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of the scenario from “A Night on Owlshead Mountain” from Arc Dream's Delta Green: Eyes Only by Dennis Detwiller, At Your Door, and The Killing Jar by Bruce Cordell for the Dark*Matter campaign. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)

At Your Door gets a lot of flak for being goofy, but Landscrapes is singled out as being superior.  The irony is that the agents, upon arriving at the farm at night, refused to enter because "that's when all the bad things happen."  Of course, that wasn't the case at all.

I combined this scenario with the Tiger Transit's background, which provided a perfect backdrop for "showing, not telling" the dark history of Dawn Biozyme and Fumo Loco.  The last part of this scenario is from The Killing Jar, which takes place in a series of winding cavern passages and ultimately a Mothman base.

Both the Landscrapes and Killing Jar scenarios provide a great setting for conflict but little guidance on how to create narrative tension.  In the case of Landscrapes, I created a scene, triggering the intoxicating scent of Fumo Loco with the Gelid-Creature's attack. The Killing Jar, on the other hand, had a series of dangerous environments without an accompanying stress point like an attack.  So Agent Balance and friends showed up at the worst time.

Still, the Fumo Loco incident played out more effectively than the underground scene. And the ending?  The ending worked out far better than I could have hoped.  

*Defining Moment:* Brain Jar + Elder Sign = a showdown the agents will never forget. 

Relevant Media

*At Your Door:* source of the serum blob. 
*Delta Green: Eyes Only:* Source of Night on Owlshead Mountain. 
*The Killing Jar:* Source of much of this scenario.
*Feed Me (Git It):* From the Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Prologue*



> _If you want a rationale
> It isn't very hard to see
> Stop and think it over, pal
> The guy sure looks like plant food to me._​
> --_Feed Me_ by Lee Wilkof​



It was a hundred and thirty miles to the hamlet of Delilah, a devolutionary journey from freeway to highway to road, from city to suburb to crossroad. The town was small and ugly, in a plain and boring way. 

When they arrived, a convenience store, a service station, a post office and a tavern were open. An assortment of pickups and old autos were parked in front of the drinking establishment, where locals came to down a few at the end of the day. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean opened the door to the tavern. 

Inside, older men and women sipped their drinks and listened to Elvis croon in crackling tones from the dusty jukebox: the dead man's songs brought back memories of when they were younger and the world was bigger.

"We're looking for a room," said Hammer.

The bartender/hosteller looked them up and down.

"Two rooms," said Jim-Bean forcefully.

With a nod and a smile, the bartender rang them up.  A credit card was exchanged for a key.

"Been a bad year all round really," muttered one of the locals, sipping his beer at the bar. "There's the sudden drought, and there was that bad frost in the Spring; some farmers might be seeing their last summer. There's no predicting the weather these days. And then there's the whole thing with Tagget."

Jim-Bean pivoted on his heel.  "What about Tagget?"

The man peered quizzically at Jim-Bean.  "Pardon?"

"Sorry," Jim-Bean flashed him a smile, then addressed the bartender.  "His next drink's on me."

The older, weathered man returned the smile. "Frank Tagget's boy, Steven, still isn't back after running away. That makes seven times he's pulled the stunt now."

"So he disappears a lot?" asked Hammer, his curiosity piqued. 

"Frank isn't too worried, even though it's been a few months: he reckons Steve'll be back when he’s broke and hungry. You'd think a lad of sixteen would know better. He took Greg Yardleigh's dog with him. Greg reckons Frank owes him a dog."

Jim-Bean and Hammer exchanged glances.  "That's one dog and a kid missing."  Hammer frowned. 

"All the more reason not to visit the creepy farm at night," muttered Jim-Bean. 

"You mean the Finley farm?"

"Yes, that one."

"The best for miles around. Man knew his soils."

"I bet," said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 1 – Barking up the Wrong Tree*

The route to the farm was much easier to follow by day. The pavement turned to gravel in parts, and the road took the agents far from other farms.

Further down the road was the turnoff to the Finley farm, recognizable by a galvanized mailbox with RR#3, 237 painted on it. A graveled road led to the farm, sprawled across a narrow valley.

A long driveway led up to a gate and the farmyard. In the distant fields a solitary scarecrow stood sentinel. Around the yard were a farmhouse, barn, woodpile, equipment shed, chicken coop, garage, and a few small sheds. Out to the left of the yard was a greenhouse and attached to a wooden frame building, the laboratory. A fence surrounded the farm buildings and yard; to the outside of the perimeter fence was a fifteen-foot-wide band of scorched earth. Through a second gate a track led uphill from the farm to the forest which crowned the ridge beyond.

The agents stopped the car at the band of earth.  Hammer got out to inspect it.

Next to the trees on the outskirts of the fields was a five-yards-broad band of earth that had been laid bare, burned, and flattened. 

Hammer stuck one finger and the dirt and tasted it.  "Lyme…some other defoliants.  This patch of earth was chemically stripped."

"Finley trying to keep the woods out?" asked Jim-Bean, looking around at the scraggly oaks and junipers that led up to soaring sugar pines.

"Or keep something in."  Hammer checked that both pistols were loaded. "Look at the gate."

The gate was off its hinges, lying by the side of the road, broken and bent. Glass twinkled around it in the dust. 

"Someone rammed right through it on his way out," said Hammer. 

The agents made their way into the yard. Wild swerve marks across the ground showed the starting point of the automobile's flight.  

The buildings were shut and silent, darkened windows mute to what was seen through them. The yard contained a chicken coop, barn, equipment shed, and farmhouse.  Other buildings facing onto the yard included an empty garage.

"You see that?" Jim-Bean pointed. There was an unusual shade of red in a fallow field uphill from the farm. 

As the agents walked toward the forest, they came to the crimson splash, a tiny plant, bright-red like Fall maple, no more than a little shoot; it was growing out of the rib-cage of a decaying field mouse. 

Hammer kneeled down to inspect the plant.  "It has no roots in the earth; looks like flesh and innards are its sole nutrients."

That was just the start of it.

Hammer stood up to look around.  They were on a lip of ground that sloped down a short way before rising again. 

There were similar splashes of red everywhere. Some were shoots, some bushes, some were saplings, and there were even a couple of small blood-red trees where the swale deepened into a draw.

Each and every red plant sprung from the remains of an animal—mice, birds, rats, chickens, roosters, foxes, rabbits and pigs.

"Creepy." Jim-Bean held his cistron up and took a picture.  SINNER flashed through all possible matches and found one: it was the strain of bizarre plant they had seen in Hellbend. "We've seen this before."

"But what's it doing out here?" asked Hammer.

"Maybe it walked," said Jim-Bean.

"Or it was transplanted.  I don't recall it growing out of corpses."

Jim-Bean nodded.  "Yeah, that's new.  A Dawn Biozyme improvement?"

Hammer started walking towards the farmhouse.  "Let's hope that's the only improvement."


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 2 – The Greenhouse*

The farmhouse was unlocked. Inside, all seemed orderly. There were two bedrooms (one unfurnished), kitchen, living room, bathroom, and a utility room with big concrete tubs. Here and there items and utensils were knocked over, or left on a bench. Other than the odd moss that grew in the sinks, over old food and between the sheets of the bed, there wasn't much to see. Finley had obviously not returned to the farm in months. 

The agents headed back outside. 

Out in the fields stood a relatively new building, about five years old--a greenhouse. Through the glass walls could be seen a riot of vegetation. Adjoining the greenhouse was a newish wooden frame extension, the lab. 

Hammer tried the door.  "Locked."  He smashed the glass door with his elbow and reached in to unlock the door.

The insides sprang out as a mass of billowing greenery--the first impression was of something bursting out. However, the fronds simply bounced and waved, and it was apparent that they outgrew the walls.

Tobacco plants grew where they had no business growing.  They towered at twelve feet in height, with stalks as thick as four inches and veins bulging like a bodybuilder. The nicotine in the air among the vibrant plants was palpable. There was a tantalizing flavor that was extremely aromatic. 

What the smell was, Hammer could quite pin down.  

Hammer stood in the open doorway, taking in the scent, as the tobacco plants known as Fumo Loco waved in a wind that wasn't there. 

Deep within the dense foliage, something rustled.

"Hammer?" asked Jim-Bean.  "What's up?"

Hammer didn't move. At times he thought the smell of Fumo Loco tasted like flowers or some kind of fruit.  Or even the scent of a lover.  

Whatever was in the brush was moving fast now, charging towards them with purpose.

Jim-Bean shoved Hammer out of the way just as a red dog lurched out of the foliage, teeth snapping inches from Hammer's face.

Jim-Bean fired several bullets into the hound.  But then he realized it was no hound.

It was covered in the same red plants that were growing out of the corpses of so many other animals. Its eyes were replaced by red shoots that undulated of their own accord.  Tendrils of the plant were wrapped around the joints of the dead dog, like a creeper vine gone mad.  When the bullets from Jim-Bean's Glock punched through it, they just kicked up more curious red spores.

The hound moved unnaturally, like a poor animatronic attraction at a theme park. It reared back on its hind legs for another attack at Hammer.  He stood still, dazed, seemingly unaware of the hound's pending assault.

Jim-Bean reached out one hand just as the plant-dog lunged. It hung, telekinetically caught it in mid-air.  

The hound struggled a foot from Hammer. Hammer didn't react.

"What the hell are you, huh?" asked Jim-Bean, turning it this way and that with his open hand.

Red goo dripped down its legs into the weeds below. It looked as if the plant-dog had peed itself.  But that wasn't possible, was it?

The creepers binding the corpse together turned gray in seconds.  The head of the dog fell off, plopping to the ground.

Jim-Bean released his telekinetic grip on the thing.  

The rest of the body collapsed in a puff of red spores as it hit the ground. All that was visible was a glittering dog tag, "IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO GREG YARDLEIGH."

Hammer blinked, coughing.  "What…?" He looked down.  "What the hell is that?"

"A very bad dog," said Jim-Bean. "That red plant does more than just eat dead bodies, it animates them.  What happened to you there?"

Hammer frowned. "I had a…a vision, I think. There's something beyond the plants in that greenhouse.  A hole.  It goes very deep.  I heard a buzzing…"

Jim-Bean nodded.  "The alien dogs.  Or Mothmen.  Whatever they are, they're trying to tell us something.  We need to go in there."

Hammer rubbed his forehead, trying to clear the cobwebs.  "Right."  He looked around, checking his surroundings a second time.  "I know I was out of it for a little while but…wasn't there a scarecrow over there?"

Jim-Bean didn't even bother to check.  He knew why it was missing.  

"Work shed," Jim-Bean telepathically beamed to Hammer without moving his lips.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 3 – "Work Shed"*

The equipment shed was cluttered and dirty, filled with agricultural tools and implements. A gasoline-powered electrical generator supplied emergency power to the house.

"Weed killer," said Jim-Bean, pointing at one of the many containers in the work shed. 

A humanoid form silhouetted the entryway to the shed. But it was not a human being – not anymore. What was once the corpse of a youth was now a mess of living red creepers that sprouted from his rotting body, his guts, his mouth, and his eyes. 

Jim-Bean fired a spray of bullets into the dead kid's plant-inhabited corpse.  It reached upwards, tendrils stretching and gripping, and then it was gone.

"What the hell was that?" asked Hammer.

"Steven Tagget, I'm guessing," said Jim-Bean. "I don't think we're going to find Finley here."

The roof thunked as the Tagget-thing clambered around on the shed.

Hammer pointed both pistols at the ceiling.  

"No, Hammer, wait—" 

Hammer sprayed the ceiling with gunfire.

The thin shed roof, already straining under the weight of a body, collapsed.  Hammer and Jim-Bean fell backwards under the debris.

The Tagget-thing rose up out of the wreckage, its expressionless red visage awful in the beam of sunlight from above.  It turned and grabbed two sickles off a nearby rack.

Hammer rolled to his feet outside of the shed.  "It can use tools?"

Jim-Bean, trapped on the other side with Tagget blocking the doorway, danced backwards as two sickle swipes narrowly missed his face.  

Spotting an opening, Jim-Bean shoved his Glock up against the things torso and emptied the chamber.

The Tagget-thing stumbled backwards a few feet, the barrage powerful enough to blow a hole in its ribcage. Jerking itself forward again on numb legs, it relentlessly advanced on Jim-Bean.

The Tagget-thing's head exploded in a cloud of red spores.  It fell face forward in front of Jim-Bean.  Behind it, several yards away, Hammer lowered his rifle. 

"Did you see that?" shouted Jim-Bean.

"What?" 

"Goo.  Red goo."  Jim-Bean craned his neck to look, spotted the fast-moving blob and pointed.  "There! It's coming your way."

Hammer lowered his rifle and drew his pistols. By the time Hammer's weapons were at the ready, a mound of dirt and twitching grass burrowed a path right between his legs and blazed a trail into a copse of trees behind him.

He spun at the sound of cracking wood, prepared to dodge aside should a tree fall on him. But then the sun was blotted out by the shadow of something huge.

Hammer looked up in awe.  "You've got to be kidding me."


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 4 – Beating Around the Bush*

Hammer ran towards the shed.

"The thing is animating plants!" shouted Hammer.

"What?" Jim-Bean shouted back, reloading his pistol. 

Hammer didn't bother to explain.  He reholstered his pistols and cocked the rifle slung over his shoulder without losing his stride.

Behind him, an oak tree stumped along relentlessly. 

"Is that…?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Yes!" Hammer spun, took aim, and fired.

A burst of wood splintered out of the trunk.  Some leaves fell.  But it was about as effective as shooting a tree might be – which is to say, not effective all.

"I need a can of gasoline!"

Jim-Bean handed Hammer the gasoline can, dumbfounded.

Then Hammer was off again as a mighty tree limb smashed in front of the shed.  He ducked under one of its branches and ran in the opposite direction.

Jim-Bean couldn't tell how the thing saw, but he knew it had changed targets to focus on him.  

Two limbs drew back to swat at the shed.

Jim-Bean had a tactic he used in only the direst of situations.  He connected all the blocks of C4 to detonators by a wireless link to his cistron. They were normally snugly hidden in his satchel. But in times like this, with a two-story oak attacking the building he was in, bullets clearly wouldn't do.  

So he threw it.

The bag caught in the tree's limbs.  It paused in its attack, perhaps to observe the satchel, perhaps in surprise at the seemingly ineffective attack.

Jim-Bean stumbled backwards over debris to the back of the shed.  Then he pressed the detonator.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 5 – Forest for the Trees*

The explosion was so powerful that it knocked Hammer down, yards away, and blew out all the glass in the greenhouse. 

The tree burst into flames, stopping in its tracks.  What was left of the work shed disintegrated in a flaming pile of wreckage.

"Jimmy?" Hammer shouted into his cistron.  "Jim?"  

No response.

Hammer caught sight of a streaking red line moving along the ground.  He sprayed wildly with his Glock, missing it.

It darted back into the copse of trees.  And another oak, this one larger than the first, painfully tore up its roots.

Hammer, jaw set, knew what he had to do.

"Come on!" shouted Hammer, setting the gas can next to him.  "Come on you son of a bitch!"

The tree awkwardly, slowly, stumped towards him.  It would have been comical under different circumstances.

Hammer backed up, rifle at the ready.  The tree strode within yards of the gas can.  

"Come on," whispered Hammer.  "Just a little closer…"

The tree stopped.  It waved one huge limb, curling branches around it in the chastising gesture of a human finger, as if to say, "Nah ah ah!"

Hammer swore.  It was smarter than he thought.

Dropping his rifle, he changed tactics.  He charged towards the gas can.

The tree was slow to react.  Hammer's new tactic was unexpected.  

It swung towards him in a mighty arc.  Leaves slapped Hammer's head and back, but it was a glancing blow.

Gathering the gas can up in one hand, Hammer threw it up into the tree's limbs.

The tree was torn between trying to disentangle itself from the gas can and swinging at Hammer.  It took a swipe at him instead.

Too late, Hammer was already out of range.  Hammer drew both of his pistols.  He was better shot with his Glocks in any case.

The tree loomed over him.  Hammer took careful aim with one of the Glocks and fired.

The shot was a million to one.  Igniting a gas can with a bullet was no easy task.  Hammer had to hit it just right – strike the metal, the gas, and at the same create a spark.  

He hit it just right. The gas can exploded, engulfing the tree in flames. 

The tree immediately froze, burning.  Hammer watched, squinting, for any signs of movement along the ground.

The red glob darted out from the burning roots.  Hammer was ready.

He fired a single shot.  That was all it took.  But it was a perfectly aimed shot.

The red glob, propelling itself along the ground at high speed towards the copse of trees, exploded in a pile of spattered ichor. 

Hammer lowered his pistol with a sigh of relief.

His cistron crackled.  Hammer looked over at the pile that was once the work shed. Some of the wreckage shifted as a bloody hand clawed its way out.

",,,explosion was bigger than I expected," grunted Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 6 – The Laboratory*

Past the Fumo Loco were workbenches and shelves, covered with plants—except that they had grown far out of their own pots, reaching down to the floor and rooting in the earth there, mingling with each other in unholy biological matrimony. Looking closer, the actual species were weird—crossbreeds, bulbs of unnatural shape and flowers of unholy hue. 

The lab had obviously not been used for some time. All tools were removed, although some glass containers filled with seeds and samples remained. There was a door on the far side of the room.

Jim-Bean tilted his head.  "Do you hear that?"

"No," said Hammer, trying to keep his eyes on every plant at once.  "What are you hearing?"

"Singing." Jim-Bean leaned down to a patch of pink flowers.  "Yep, singing."

"The flowers are singing to you?" asked Hammer, skeptical.

"Need I remind you that we were just attacked by a tree?"

Hammer ignored him. "What's that?" He pointed at something on the floor beneath a large, broad leaf. 

Jim-Bean bent down to inspect Hammer's find.  Among the plants was a leather-bound book. Wiry vines had grown around and into the book, and the cover was spoiled. Pulling out a utility knife from his belt, Jim-Bean cut the vines loose. 

The book was riddled with six-inch long caterpillars, bloated yellow-green monsters. 

"Yaaah!" shouted Jim-Bean.  He shook the loathsome insects off of him. 

"What is it?" asked Hammer.

"A book.  Totally ruined. "Jim-Bean pulled out a sliver of paper that was unchewed, on which a few typeset words could be discerned.  "Something about keeping the 'thing' in.  Looks like that red blob is related to the other blobs and tentacles and crap we've been dealing with."  

Hammer tried the door. 

The large space beyond the door was mostly open. Metallic nets hung on a wall immediately above several large lockers.  A long bench was cluttered with bits of rock, small bones, and broken arrowheads.  A loading dock was built into the rear wall, in which the metallic sliding doors of an elevator were visible.  Arrowheads, fragments of clay pottery, and bones lay on the countertop, along with several small brushes, a microscope, and microscopy supplies.  

"Looks like they were doing more in here than just farming," said Hammer.

Jim-Bean rifled through the lockers.  They contained spelunking equipment, including ten full sets of helmets and helmet lights, kneepads, long pants and over-the-ankle boots (with deeply treaded soles), gloves, harnesses and associated climbing gear (including nylon rope, a plethora of carabiners, and friction plates) and wet suits. 

"This could come in handy." Hammer reached into the very back and bottom of one of the lockers and pulled out a box of dynamite.

On the other end of the room was an elevator, its doors open.  

"May as well put on the wet suits," said Jim-Bean.  

"That's a—" 

Jim-Bean put up one hand before Hammer could say anything.  "I know, I know, you don't swim, but—"

Hammer was already shrugging on one of the wetsuits. "I was going to say it's a good idea. If we're going down deep, it could get very cold and wet down there."

Jim-Bean dressed in a wet suit as well.  They both stepped into the elevator. 

It contained just two buttons.  One button was labeled “Surface” the other labeled “Pellucidar.” 

Hammer pressed "Pellucidar" and the elevator shaft plunged four hundred and fifty feet into the earth below.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 7 – Under Owlshead Mountain*

When the agents stepped out of the elevator, they entered a cavern containing five small wooden stands cluttered with camp gear and arrowheads.  Small crickets chirped in the corners. 

Jim-Bean inspected the camp gear.  It included a Coleman stove and twenty cans of soup.

"Somebody likes Campbell's Steak 'n Potato Soup," he said. 

The stands contained several small arrowheads collected from the cave.

The agents switched their visor lights on and threaded their way through the northern tunnel. 

It narrowed amongst flowstone, stalagmites, and columns.  There were a few cigarette butts on the floor, accompanying spiders and gnats. 

They continued on, passed white to gold flowerlike structures that seemed to ooze and curl from the wall, ceiling, and floor much like icing from a cake decorator’s nozzle. There were also thin-walled naturally formed hollow tubes about an inch in diameter.  They splashed through pools of water, where eyeless crayfish and springfish wiggled about in its depths.

Finally, they came to a wall of matte-black substance that blocked the northeast tunnel.  Two six-foot tall mushrooms flanked the fifteen-foot wide wall.

"Whoa," said Jim-Bean, eyeing the mushrooms.  "Those are some BIG mushrooms."

The mushrooms had bright red caps with sickly yellow spots and a pale milky stalk of a body. They had an eye-like pattern on the stalks with the same sickly yellow color that adorned the cap.

Hammer played his visor light over the wall.  "I saw this wall in my vision. It doesn't look like stone to me."

"In your vision, you heard buzzing?"

"Yeah," replied Hammer

"Then the shaman mask might help." Jim-Bean dug it out.  "Good thing I left it in the trunk."

"Good thing it wasn't in your satchel," muttered Hammer.

While he was rifling through his satchel to pull out the mask, Jim-Bean's elbow brushed the curious black wall.  That was all it took. 

The mushrooms unfurled, two stubby arms separating seamlessly out from the main stalk.  Legs separated at the base.

"Yaaah!" shouted Jim-Bean, stumbling backwards. 

Hammer was ready.  He pumped several bullets right between the eyes of the nearest mushroom. 

The bullets tore through it, shearing the top-heavy cap right off of it.  Arms flailed as the headless thing collapsed, spewing green spores in the air.

Jim-Bean choked, gasping and wheezing as he struggled for air.  The spores coated his mouth and tongue.  He stumbled out of the passage and back the way they had come, puking as he went.

Hammer took careful aim at the second animate mushroom and fired. The difficulty of the shot was compounded by the explosion of spores; he didn't want to hit the main body lest he too be overcome.  Instead, he aimed for the arms and legs.

But the mushroom was undeterred.  It stumped after him, heedless of the gunshot wounds to its limbs. 

Hammer froze as his heel felt the sudden loss of purchase.  He glanced over his shoulder to see a wide, dark pit beneath him.

The mushroom reached for him.

Hammer grabbed hold of it and spun, shoving off of it with a kick.  Hammer was no small man, but the huge mushroom had to weigh several hundred pounds.

It windmilled at the edge of the pit.  Hammer fired both Glocks at its base for good measure.

The mushroom fell, fell, fell into the darkness, disappearing without a sound.  A puff of green spores sprouted up once it hit bottom a full second later. 

Hammer called into his comm. "Jim-Bean?  Come back."

A fit of coughing answered him.  "Yeah, I'm here."

"Good, get back to that wall and see what you can do.  I'm going to…"

He trailed off as several laser sights appeared on his chest.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 8 – Balance of Power*

Jim-Bean was once again at the wall, wearing the bizarre mask.  He looked like some kind of alien insect hybrid, not unlike the alien dogs, or Mothmen, they had met in the past.  Humming filled the air.

Hammer dashed back into the chamber.

"What'z up?" asked Jim-Bean.  With the mask on his speech was garbled.

Gunfire answered Jim-Bean's question. Hammer returned fire. "Work on getting that wall opened!"

The enemy agents were all dressed in black body armor with laser sights on their pistols and nightvision goggles.  Hammer suspected they were yet another clean-up crew, sent by Dawn Biozyme to keep them from discovering whatever secrets lay beyond the wall.

There was a flash and a WOOSH as a bullet arced around one of the stalactites at Hammer, narrowly missing his head.

"What the hell waz that?" asked Jim-Bean, reflexively ducking from the small explosion.

"I don't know."  Hammer shut his visor lamp off and snapped a glow stick.  He kept it out of sight, but close enough that he could still see right a few feet around him.

In the green radiance of the glow stick, the masked Jim-Bean looked even more bizarre.  He kept probing the wall, and as he did so the mask resonated.  It was almost as if it were trying to find the right pitch to harmonize with the wall's vibrations…

The comms of the pursuing clean-up team were magnified in the tunnels.  "This is Agent Balance.  Targets sighted.  All teams converge on my point."

Another gyrojet bullet shrieked around the corner, punching through a stalactite. 

Hammer fired blindly in the darkness. "Jimmy, if you're going to do something, do it now!"

Jim-Bean was about to say something when the mask found the perfect pitch.  The humming reverberated throughout the cavern.

The wall faded away like mist. Jim-Bean suddenly had an awful feeling.

"Hold on!"

Hammer grabbed hold of a stalagmite just as a violent rush of wind screamed from the orifice. 

Shrieks echoed further down the corridor as the enemy agents were blasted backwards, hurled into the pit. 

Pressing his advantage, Hammer found the prone Agent Balance and put a bullet in his head before the man could get up.  The other agents had fallen into the pit or fled.

He came back to Jim-Bean, staring in wonder at the opening before them. "It's massive."

The cave wind was created by temperature differences between the outer and inner passageways, causing a chimney effect.  The incredible blast of wind indicated that the area sealed off behind the barrier was unbelievably huge—perhaps several thousand miles of cave passages.

"Welcome to Pellucidar," said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 9 – PELLUCIDAR*

The cavern opened up above and below and to each side.  Hundreds of the tiny, fire-like lights provided dim illumination.  The light revealed a dome at least ninety feet above, and a canyon below it running approximately three-hundred feet to the northwest, before a bend hid the rest of its extent from view.  The sound of a river gurgled up from the canyon floor below at least two hundred and fifty feet away.  The opposite side of the canyon was the source of the light, as it twinkled in sparkling profusion from the windows of a majestic cliff dwelling. 

The place was large enough to have its own atmosphere.  It smelled odd, and strange clicking and buzzing sounds reached their ears. 

"What is this place?" asked Hammer.

"I don't think it'z on Earth," responded Jim-Bean. 

Up ahead was a pentagon-shaped building made of similar black obsidian.  A pentagon-shaped door lensed open before Jim-Bean as he approached.

Inside, the floor was smooth, black obsidian rock.  Strange fungus growths were everywhere. They moved to the next room through another pentagon door. 

It opened to a similarly sized room emitting loud buzzing and clicking noises like a swarm of wasps. Inside were tiny, winged lobsters, clambering around eating spores from massive toadstools and other fungal growths that filled the chamber, while little black worm larva crawled everywhere else. An organic, transparent membrane stopped the creatures from escaping.  

"That iz their young," said Jim-Bean matter-of-factly.

"You're starting to creep me out with that mask," said Hammer.

Metal shelves on the walls held various cylinders, some occupied, others empty. Strange appendages that looked like speakers were also on the shelves.   One cylinder had recently been opened and left unfinished. 

"We already know what's in those."  Hammer swallowed hard.  He'd seen a man's brain sucked out through his face.  That image would stay with him for the rest of his life. He refused to look inside.

They moved on to the next room. It contained strange alien tables created in human shape.  Next to the beds were translucent egg shaped vessels with pipes pumping liquid into them from valves in the ceiling.  Inside each vessel were human organs and body parts such as lungs, hearts, eyes, leg muscles and intestines, kept alive and functioning by the strange fluids.

"I remember thiz place," said Jim-Bean, his voice evincing a hint of nostalgia.

"That's not…yours, is it?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean didn't answer.  Maybe he didn't want to know.  He walked to the next room. 

It was bare except for the back wall covered in strange runes.

The runes on the wall glowed.  A large, pinkish, fungoid, crustacean-like entity stepped out of it. 

It was the size of a man with a convoluted ellipsoid composed of pyramided, fleshy rings and covered in antennae where a head would normally be. Its crustacean-like body bore numerous sets of paired appendages. It also possessed a pair of membranous bat-like wings. Alien dog.  Mi-Go.  Mothman.  Whatever it was, Jim-bean stood before it unafraid.

It spoke in an artificial, clipped and emotionless voice. “What iz your purpoze/intention here?”

"We came to ztop the experimentz of Dr. Finley," replied Jim-Bean. 

“How long/duration/time haz elapzed/pazzed zzince you entered the firzt/primary chamber?”

"Not more than a few minutes," replied Hammer.

The Mothman ignored him.

Jim-Bean responded with a high-pitched buzz.  The Mothman seemed to understand.

Another creature, this one smaller than the first, stepped out of the black portal bearing two objects.  It deposited a brain case and an eight-pound metal star before them.  The grey-green five-pointed star was sculpted with a closed eye in the center.  

The first Mothman pointed to the case. “A mind in a four-fold loop model, projecting conzciouznezz into zix planez pazt the terminuz.  The mind iz a link and can focuz abztract energiez into a point. It iz a box for a focuz.”

One claw tapped on the cylinder.  It began to pulse slowly at first.  The Mothman turned, holding the cylinder, and the pulsing increased with a rhythmic beeping. 

"So that's a brain case," said Hammer.  "I'm not sure what that has to do with-- 

The Mothman's claw pointed at the star.  “A point in a zeventeen-dimenzional focuz which diztributez energy equally at five pointz in four dimenzionz.  It iz a device to move power from a focuz towardz elzewhere.  It iz not a ztar.”

"The Elder Sign." Hammer sighed. He wished Archive was with them.  

The second Mothman tapped the wall and the glowing portal pulsed.  It pointed with one claw. 

Jim-Bean seemed to understand. Heedless of the danger, he stepped through.

Not wanting to be left alone with the alien crustaceans, Hammer followed him.


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Part 10 – The Forests See All*

The portal emptied into an overgrown clearing.  At the center was an old, creaky log cabin, a collapsed outbuilding, and a well.  

Jim-Bean's mask was gone.  He looked around, blinking in the setting sun.

"I recognize this," said Hammer.  "This was Waban's place."

The sound of many flies buzzing through the air caused Hammer to unholster his Glocks.  Jim-Bean held the braincase in one hand and the Elder Sign in the other.  

Pointing the braincase towards to Waban's house, it began to pulse. 

Jim-Bean led the way, climbing the rough steps up to Waban’s house. There were a large number of flies around the screen door, accompanied by a revolting stench. 

The screen door was black with flies crawling over the torn mesh. Hammer kicked it open.

A scene of grisly proportions greeted them.  

"Jesus," whispered Hammer. 

The floor, ceiling, and every wall in the room were covered in blood and viscera.  Jellied internal organs stuck to walls; ropey intestines dangled from the ceiling, suspended from glistening strands of gooey mucous; dried blood lay thick on the floor and had left hand-width paths down the walls.  Everywhere, bits and pieces of human organs could be seen, gummed to walls and furniture.  And over it all buzzed millions of fat flies, their plump white young wriggling out of the rotting organs. 

Lying in the center of the mess was a lumpy, brownish pile, covered in split, blackened blisters.  

Hammer inspected it.  A human face, fingers, an elbow—enough to identify the corpse.

"It's Waban," he said mournfully. 

"Oh no." Jim-Bean had promised to keep the old Indian safe.  He struggled to keep from vomiting. 

Waban had been reduced to a spongy sack of wrinkled flesh, his bones jutting randomly beneath his skin.

Hammer dispassionately inspected the corpse. Waban’s jaw was broken in at least two places, and a jagged rupture was on what was once the man’s back.  

"From the condition of the scene and the body, Waban's organs were squeezed out, at the same time, and with a tremendous amount of force. But this is odd…"

Jim-Bean looked away.  "What?"

"His brain is missing."

Jim-Bean looked at the pulsing braincase.  "Oh God…" He dropped it. It clattered to the ground, pulsing softly, its pace quicker now.

An eerie silence blanketed the surrounding forest.  Birds and insects were still.  Even the wind seemed to wait.  
Then a moist smell, like freshly turned earth, became noticeable.

"Waban's brain case…it's not a detector," shouted Jim-Bean, stabbing a finger at the case. "It's a LURE!"


----------



## talien

*Landscrapes: Conclusion*

Suddenly, a great cracking noise shattered the silence, followed by a terrifying vision: separating itself from the surrounding evergreens, a tentacle beast bore down on them, tendrils waving, pus-dripping mouths champing.  The hideous offspring of Shub-Niggurath screeched and howled. It was the creature that had escaped from Dawn Biozyme, that had killed off the Black Flag team.  And now it was coming for Hammer.

Hammer ran.  He plunged straight through the open doorway and, leaping over the wreckage, hit the ground running. Behind him, the thing smashed through the cabin, heedless of the obstacle in its path.  Jim-Bean never made it out.

Hammer kept running.  He could out run it, he was sure, if it weren't for the damn trees.  He just had to find some flat ground.  

But there was none.  The trees were everywhere.  

Hammer looked over his shoulder.  The thing was right on his heels, tentacles waving towards him, probing, tearing trees out of its path or just smashing right through them with its cloven hooves.

Stars exploded as Hammer ran headlong into a trunk.  He fell backwards, bouncing off of the solid oak, stunned.

Tentacles snaked towards him, hungry mouths sucking in anticipation.

Hammer caught sight of the box of dynamite. He'd dropped it as he ran, and now it was partially underneath the tentacle-thing's feet.  He took aim and fired.

There was a massive explosion as dynamite blew chunks of tree, some whistling past Hammer's ear. 

The champing noises turned to squeals of rage.  Even at point-blank range, a full case of dynamite exploding had no effect.  In fact, the thing's bulk had protected Hammer from the brunt of the blast. 

Then a bright green beam sparkled from a figure atop the wreckage of Waban's home.

"Shoot it!" Jim-Bean held aloft the metal Elder Sign in one hand.  "I can't keep this up forever!"

It had taken what little psychic reserves Jim-Bean had left to heal his wounds.  He was left a bloody, broken mess when the cabin collapsed.  Jim-Bean had to pick and choose what parts of his body to heal, and that meant two legs and one arm. Inch-long splinters still stuck out of his left arm.  Several ribs were broken.  It would have to do.

The monstrosity roared as the green ray penetrated it bumpy mass, encompassing the thing in a glittering radiance.  Hammer rose to his feet and squeezed off a shot.

The bullet punched through and out the other side of the thing, spurting brown ichor.  Mouths screamed.  Tentacles waved in frustration, torn between ripping Hammer apart and pursuing Jim-Bean's offending beam.

Making its decision, it roared a charge towards Jim-Bean.

"Oh crap!"  Jim-Bean dove off the wreckage, backpedalling as best as he could through the forest. Instinctively, he knew that the only way they could hurt the thing was when it was within view of the Elder Sign's blazing gaze.

As he focused on the Elder Sign, the metal eye at the center opened a bit more, the beam a little wider.  But it was still not enough.

Hammer pumped more bullets into it.  Some of them just thunked into the billowing mass to no effect.

If Jim-Bean was going to stop this thing, the Elder Sign's eye would have to bring its full gaze to bear on the thing.  But that meant siphoning all of his psychic energy.  If the thing caught him, Jim-Bean would never recover from his wounds.

But he was going to die either way.  Jim-Bean stopped running and, using even his broken arm, brought both hands together to focus on the Elder Sign.

The monstrosity was so close that the ground rumbled.  The stench of earth and wood was overpowering.  

Energy flowed out of Jim-Bean.  It felt as if a straw was sucking his veins through his skin.  He pumped everything he had into the Elder Sign until his vision swam with green spots.

The tentacle thing came up short.  It was sparkling brightly now, fully enveloped by the green beam that hummed from the Elder Sign's eye. 

Hammer released two bursts from his Glocks, peppering the beast's legs.  One blew out at the knee, and it lost its balance. It was enough to slow it down.

Hammer reloaded. 

Tentacles whipped at Hammer as the beast flailed blindly away at him.  He rolled and came up firing again, this time blowing a tentacle clean off.

More screams.  The tentacle-thing struggled to its feet.

Hammer reloaded again, dancing back as a tentacle snapped near his face.  But it was smarter than Hammer had given it credit for.

Another tentacle snaked through the ground, blasting upwards out of the dirt, just as it had surprised the BLACK FLAG team.  It snapped around Hammer's ankle and lifted him up in the air.

A nearby tentacle would probed forward, preparing to rip him in twain, but Hammer fired another burst and blew it in half. 

The thing dangled him over its mouths.  Sucking maws welcomed him, devoid of teeth but terrible in their infant-like need to slurp him whole.

He reloaded as the horrible orifice rushed at his head…

Jim-Bean watched the scene play out in horror.  It was difficult to see what was happening with the green radiance.  He was starting to lose consciousness.  

When it was done with Hammer it would feast on him.  For all he knew, it didn’t really need to eat, slurping on him for an eternity.

With a shuddering roar, the thing exploded in a spray of brown ichor as Hammer's two pistols tore through its defenses, shooting through one mouth and out another.  The gunfire ripped it and two.  

The damage done, the thing's tentacles curled in on itself like a dying insect, pathetic in its mewling agony.  Ichor puddled out of mouths and tentacles twitched their last.  Hammer rolled over and over, thrown, covered in the brown substance that was the tree-thing's blood.

Then the screaming stopped too.

The eye on the Elder Sign rasped shut.  Jim-Bean fell to his knees.  The metal Sign fell from his numb hands.

"Did we get it?" asked Jim-Bean weakly.

Hammer limped over to him.  He put one ichor-covered hand on Jim-Bean's shoulder.  

"Yeah," he said, gasping.  "We got it."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 49: No Pain, No Gain - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of the scenario from At Your Door, "No Pain, No Gain," by Barbara Manui, Chris Adams, and L.N. Isinwyll, Dinner With Susan by Kelvin Green, and Goddess by Dr. Michael C. LaBossiere. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
Up to this point, we've established that Dawn Biozyme has been dabbling with "Mother's Milk," that it comes from Shub-Niggurath, and that several of the spawn of said Great Old One have gotten loose.  The team barely, just barely, defeated a fully grown Dark Young.  Now it's time to up the stakes.

It all starts with Noelle Rand's disappearance, a photographer for Full Wilderness' Ecotopian magazine. 

That connection is Cynthia Dexter, and she will be one of the many casualties as the agents run and gun their way through this scenario.  But first, we start with the Mother of Pus, replacing the flabby monstrosity in Dinner with Susan.  She's more disgusting than difficult, and it set the tone for just how gruesome the worshippers of Shub-Niggurath can get.  This scenario was flesh-crawlingly gross, especially when Archive gets infected…

Next is a series of ambushes between cultists of Cynthia Dexter's Sisterhood of New Potential. We also get to see Fiona Lin-Wei back in action. 

Finally is the scenario we've all been dreading: No Pain, No gain.  The one with the horny giantess, talking dog, "Jennikins" and a railroad ambush.  I played it straight – I used d20 rules for an explosion and cave-in and gave the agents a decent chance to escape. But they didn't.

So you know what happens next. In my defense, the only thing I changed was Willie. I changed him from Clifford the Big Red Dog to Rover from the Prisoner. This whole scenario turned very, very strange, but at no point did the players feel it was comical or out of sync with the rest of the conspiracy narrative.  In fact, much to my surprise, they enjoyed it very much.

*Defining Moment:* "Guess who's eating for eight?"

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0933635648?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0933635648]At Your Door[/ame]:* source of the serum blob. 
*Dinner With Susan:* an excellent free scenario by Kelvin Green.  This encompasses Fiona's interview and the thing in the pool.
*Goddess:* Another great free scenario by Dr. Michael C. LaBossiere. This includes the ambush in the warehouse and the battle in the park.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001O3SLEE?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001O3SLEE]Y.M.C.A.[/ame]:* by the Village People. It'll make sense when you read the story hour, trust me.


----------



## talien

*No Pain No Gain: Prologue*



> _Young man, I was once in your shoes.
> I said, I was down and out with the blues.
> I felt no man cared if I were alive.
> I felt the whole world was so jive...​_
> --_YMCA_ by Village People​




A news feed flashed across the agents' cistrons. Nina Juarez appeared in a smart-looking suit and skirt with a serious expression that conveyed the grave importance of her subject.

"This is Nina Juarez with a special report.  Tonight, we're investigating Dawn Biozyme. You may recall that Dawn Biozyme, a subsidiary of MegaCosmos, is currently under investigation by the government on a variety of federal and state charges. After the charges were filed, one of MegaCosmos' board members, 58-year-old David Melton, was found dead of his own hand. His suicide note confessed guilt in the funding and covert manipulation of Dawn Biozyme, and records accompanying the note contained information implicating Melton and CEO Matthew Lewis in a plot to fleece millions from Dawn Biozyme, Tiger Transit, and MegaCosmos. The state of California is prosecuting Lewis now. We caught up with Lewis at his luxurious townhouse."

Lewis, looking haggard and worried, shoved a palm at the camera.  "No comment!"

The screen returned to Juarez. "There's more to this story than just corruption. Dawn Biozyme was established in the late 1980s to market new strains of genetically engineered agricultural products. Its founder, majority stockholder and CEO Matthew Lewis, is a graduate of the Harvard Business School and eldest son of a family long connected to Washington politics. By 1994 Dawn Biozyme was in dour financial straits. That's when GNN learned that Lewis met Cynthia Dexter."

A picture of a woman in her forties appeared to the left of Juarez's talking head. She wore her brown hair long with a natural cut that showed off the hair's thickness without looking like it was the product of an expensive salon. Her face was long, her lips full, and her piercing eyes a dark green, fading to brown. It looked like a glamour shot. 

"Our sources have learned that Cynthia Dexter was a "Big Sister" for a new age self-actualization and self-realization group called the Sisterhood of New Potential. As a Big Sister, it was her job to recruit new members into the group and help guide them on their journey of development and liberation as they learn to unlock hidden strengths and full potential." 

"GNN has discovered that the Sisterhood of New Potential actually has its roots in the True Love Study Group, founded in 1965. They operated as a commune on a large forested plot on the heart of California's northern Sierra Mountains. In 1977, three of the Group's leaders—Joshua Freese, Chester Marsh, and Richard Waugh—were indicted for first-degree murder. They were all judged not guilty by reason of insanity. Freese is still in a mental institution, Marsh was released but later convinced for rape, and Waugh died under mysterious circumstances.  After these incidents the Group disbanded…until recently. Fourteen members of the former Group formed the Sisterhood of New Potential in 1989. The Sisterhood relocated the commune to a Wilderness Retreat Center, the whereabouts of which are currently unknown."

"Did the illegal operations funded by MegaCosmos take root in the cult activities of Dexter and Lewis? What precisely was going on in the basements of Dawn Biozyme's labs? When we return, we take a look at possible theories…"

Hammer's feed was interrupted by a call.  He picked it up.

A woman's voice answered. "Agent Hammer?"

Hammer blinked . He recognized her voice. "Fiona?"

"Listen, I just saw the news report about the Sisterhood of New Potential.  Are you working on that case?"

"Yes, why?"

"I think I have some information you'll want to hear about.  Can you visit me at the Ecotopian offices?"

"We'll be right over."


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 1 – The Ecotopian, Again*

SAMSON, CA -- Agents Archive, Hammer, and Jim-Bean sat at the desks of the Ecotopian.  The staff eyed them warily, but the hostile atmosphere of the office had changed since they last visited.  

The office was staffed mostly by young people working phones, but there were also people writing reports and analyzing soil and water samples. There were posters up everywhere announcing the Festival of the Earth that was happening next weekend. 

"Noelle Rand was our photographer. She quit the Ecotopian's staff and Full Wilderness completely a few weeks ago," said Fiona in her Scottish accent, incongruent with her Asian appearance.  She was half-Chinese.  "That's when I got the email."

She handed a print out of the email to Hammer. He scanned its contents. "So she left to join a women's environmental group…"

"The Sisterhood of New Potential," said Fiona.  "Which is why I called you.  She was suffering odd lapses in her memory and strange attacks of extreme fear.  She disappeared shortly after I received that email."

"Why us?" asked Jim-Bean curiously.  "I didn't think you were particularly fond of…our operation."

Fiona frowned.  "The Sisterhood of New Potential has been recruiting several women from here," she said.  "I had a fight with Cynthia Dexter about it."

"You spoke with her face to face?" asked Archive, curiosity piqued.

Fiona nodded. "She's either a religious nut, a scam artist, or both.  She was always talking about her great goddess."

"We'll check it out," said Hammer.  "And maybe afterwards I can brief you over dinner."

Fiona cocked her head, eyeing Hammer.  "Maybe.  Let's see what you find first." She handed Hammer an address.  "This is Noelle's address.  The police haven't paid much attention to the case, but I bet you can find out more."

"We have our methods," said Hammer cryptically.  He tucked the note into a pocket and turned to go, 

"Agent Hammer?"

Hammer spun on his heel, a little too quickly.  "Yes?" he asked hopefully.

She pointed a finger at the printed email, still in Hammer's hand. "Don't forget to recycle that printout," she said with a sly smile.

Hammer stuffed it in a recycling bin.

As they walked out of the offices, Jim-Bean sidled up to Hammer.  "You really think you have a chance with her?"

"I don't know."  Hammer stalked towards their rental car, all business. 

"You know, in my visions of you and her…the things I've seen…" Jim-Bean said carefully, "there's no guarantee that they come true."

"We have proof." Hammer jabbed a thumb in Archive's direction, who wore the tattooed, dried skin from a future Fiona as a ward against beings from beyond. 

"We also had a dollar bill with Hitler on it," said Archive. "So we already changed the future."

"Maybe I'd just like to talk with someone besides you two," said Hammer tersely.  

Jim-Bean patted Hammer on the back.  "Don't feel so bad.  I haven't taken a dump in months – I'm a veritable chick magnet."

Just before they entered the rental car, the earth move beneath them--only a small earthquake, but the jolt was stiff enough locally. There was a low rumbling vibration that approached and passed, and all was normal once again. There wasn't a crack formed or window broken.

"I hate California," muttered Hammer.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 2 – The End of Rand*

Hammer jimmied the lock to Rand's apartment.  The agents spread out, carefully surveying each room. A few minutes later, they joined Archive in Rand's office.

"What have you got?" asked Hammer.

"There's a poster of a woman named Jennifer Armbruster in her bedroom," said Jim-Bean.  "Not a bad looking chick, for a bodybuilder. I also found this."  He showed Hammer a jar. "That residue look familiar?"

Hammer nodded.  "Oh yes, how could I forget?  Tertiary cnidocytes."

"Or at least Mother's Milk.  I also found this notebook. Has mostly shopping lists and household notes.  Rand was a bodybuilder too; there are weightlifting sets in there. But take a look at the weird chant."  

Archive took the notebook from Jim-bean and scanned it.  "This is an endurance chant." 

A piece of paper slipped out from between the pages.  Hammer picked it up.  "And a map of some sort." He flashed his cistron at the map, uploading and correlating it instantly with Blacknet.  A few seconds later the location came up. 

"YMCA?  From the looks of the satellite image we have on file the place is abandoned."

"That might explain these."  Hammer held up photographs of a derelict city building.  A photograph of a street sign identified the area as Hobb's End. "A number of photographs were developed, but destroyed through scratching and burning, so it is impossible to make out the subject."

Archive turned back to look at Rand's computer.  "We may have more luck on her Mac." He tapped a few keys. "Lots more photographs, but no copies of the missing pictures."

Jim-Bean pointed at the screen. "The sequence of filenames is incomplete. Some pictures have been deleted."

Archive sighed.  "I wish Guppy was here."

Hammer plugged his cistron into the Mac.  "Who needs Guppy?  SINNER? Take a look."

A few minutes later an image was uploaded to their cistrons.  It showed something large and pale resting in a wrecked indoor area. The pale object had an organic shape, but was heavily blurred; no amount of image processing could clarify it. The rest of the picture, background and foreground, was quite clear.

"That's the supernatural at work," said Archive seriously.  "You're not going to get a clearer photo than that."

"Well we know where to go next," said Hammer. 

"Don't tell me," said Jim-Bean, rubbing his forehead.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 3 – It's Fun to Stay at the Y.M.C.A.*

The YMCA was still a very handsome design. Despite its condition, the building was stately and bombastic, invoking a more proud and positive time. There was a chain fence surrounding the plot, and the building itself was heavily boarded. 

Towards the back, accessible through a small gate in the fence, was a small square building. Lights were visible inside. Heavy weed growth ran from the building right up to the fence.

Hammer peeked in.  The cottage had a bedsit-type layout with a kitchen/living room and a separate bathroom/bedroom. It was very clean and tidy, in stark contrast to the surrounding area. "Someone's here, but not in the cottage," he whispered. "So stay alert."

They all drew their pistols as they made their way to the larger building.  

Large growths of weeds and fungus were everywhere inside. There were normal varieties, but were prodigiously healthy.

"First, a little preparation for whatever didn't show up in that photograph," said Archive.  He scrawled the Elder Sign on their pistols with his chalk. 

"Every YMCA has to have a pool," said Hammer. He led the way into the main room. 

It was a wreck. Fallen masonry made footing precarious, the walls were filthy and cracked, and broken skylights let the elements in. The whole place reeked of feces and the hot coppery scent of blood. 

The main pool was a filthy brownish green, with a thick oily sheen upon the surface. In one corner of the pool sat a bloated, humanoid figure about the size of a car. Atop a pale flabby body was a flat round face with tiny black pinprick eyes and a wide mouth full of needle-like teeth. A brown tentacle-like tongue occasionally flicked from between the teeth, leaving a glistening trail. If the creature had lower limbs, they could not be seen past its vast, distended belly. 

"What.  The Hell.  Is That," said Hammer calmly.

"Just another tentacled beast stewing in a pool of blood and feces," said Jim-Bean wryly.

Bleats and squeaks echoed around them.  Crawling their way out of doorways from the perimeter of the pool room crawled awful, barely humanoid figures. 

The creatures had round hairless heads, devoid of features aside from a short black beak. The body was unnaturally round, with an asymmetrical bone structure evident beneath the bluish-white skin and patchy grey fur. They had four limbs, irregularly spaced along the torso; two were goat-like legs with lumpy hooves, while one was a scaly tentacle, and the final, most horrifying of all, was an emaciated human arm. They sealed off all routes of escape, fire axes in their clutches.

The little beasts lurched at them, squealing and gibbering.  Hammer took aim and blew the head off one, adding red and gray spatter to the brown and green filth that covered everything.

The monstrosity in the pool bellowed as Jim-Bean mowed down another one. 

MY CHILDREN! Shrieked a voice in Hammer's mind.  YOU WILL TAKE THEIR PLACE AND SERVE ME! COME!

Hammer felt a mental tug, as if a fishing line had lodged itself in his medulla. 

"Stay close!" shouted Archive, chanting.  

The pressure was suddenly lifted from their minds.

More of the goat-squid things exploded.  Heedless of their casualties, they surged forward, attempting to drag them into the pool.

"Mother!" someone cried in anguish behind them.  "I'm coming!"

A gaunt man in overalls charged forward, claw hammer in hand. 

Jim-Bean reached out an open palm and caught the man in mid-charge with his telekinesis.  "You must be the caretaker."

"Don't hurt Mother!" he shrieked.

Jim-Bean made an overhand throwing motion towards the pool. "Why don't you give mommy a hug?"

The caretaker flew headlong into the murky depths, disappearing into the muck above the flailing tentacles with barely a splash.

"What the…" asked Hammer.  "He went right through her?"

Jim-Bean eyed Hammer curiously, squeezing off another shot at the goat-squids.  "She's cloaking herself.  I can fix that."  He concentrated…

And Hammer saw the thing for what it really was. The pool erupted in a storm of reaching, grasping tentacles.  

Hammer backpedalled, firing as he went. Jim-Bean rolled to the side. But the water had sloshed everywhere.  Archive slipped and fell.

Hammer and Jim-Bean grabbed Archive by his feet just as one tentacle wrapped around his arm. A tug of war ensued.  

"Pull me back!" Archive yelped in pain as the gray slime covered his forearm. 

Jim-Bean let go of Archive just in time to duck the swipe of a hatchet.  The caretaker had slipped back out of the pool and run around to the other side.

Jim-Bean telekinetically captured the Caretaker a second time, slamming him backwards into one wall. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Hammer was losing the fight. Jim-Bean turned back just in time to grab hold of Archive's pant leg.  They hurled backwards as Archive slipped free of the tentacled thing's grip.

"Are you okay?" asked Hammer.

Archive took a few shuddering gasps, prone.  "My arm."  He sat up, holding the forearm raked by the tentacle.  "My arm…it's…" The skin where the tentacle had encircled him had turned the color of the water, a greenish brown. Archive lifted his fingers and sticky strands of his flesh tore off, emulsified by the slime.  Blood seeped from the fresh wounds.

"Ahhh!" screamed Archive.

The tentacles withdrew into the pool, concealing the thing completely. 

Hammer stalked over to the caretaker.  

Jim-Bean had already tied cuffs on his wrists. Hammer slapped him awake.  He pointed at Archive, who was cradling his arm in agony.  "What did that thing do to him?"

"Mother calls her children," he said, eyes rolling madly.  "He will be one of hers soon."

"We've got to kill that thing fast," said Hammer.  "Jimmy?"

Jim-Bean took a detonator out of his satchel.  "Momma gets the whole package."  He threw it into the pool and pressed the detonator.

Water, blood, and feces exploded everywhere. The pool was emptied out, the thing writhing at the bottom. The tentacles connected to a primeval fish, twenty feet in length from its bulbous head to its crescent-shaped tail.  Three slit-shaped eyes protected by bony ridges were set on atop the other in the front of its head, which remained just beneath the surface as it attacked.  It had a pink belly, with four pulsating blue-black orifices that lined the bottom of its body and secreted gray slime. 

Hammer pumped bullets it into until it stopped screaming. Then he tossed several thermite charges into the far corners of the room.  They left the caretaker to his fate, who started screaming at the top of his lungs.  

Then they left. 

"The time is coming!" bellowed the caretaker, clawing his way towards the liquefying corpse at the bottom of the empty pool.  "The Mother shall reclaim the Earth! Samson will be ground--"

Then thermite explosions tore the words from his throat.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 4 – Finding Fiona*

They rushed Archive to a special facility arranged by Majestic-12. 

He was stored in a hyperbaric chamber filled with a chemical solution that slowed the progress of the creeping slime.  Archive, wearing an oxygen mask, had placed himself into a healing trance.  He sat cross-legged like some new age monk as the technology swirled about him to keep him alive. It was a testament to Archive's altered physiology that the slime conversion hadn't completely consumed him.

Jim-Bean and Hammer looked on glumly. Archive had been in the trance for twenty four hours. 

Jim-Bean's cistron beeped.

"The STREETSWEEPER team is finished," he read aloud.  "They found a body in the rubble that they think might be Noelle Rand." Jim-Bean left out the part where Sprague bitched them out for destroying the place before the STREETSWEEPER team arrived, but it was probably for the best.

"They think?  They're not sure?" asked Hammer. 

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "They're having difficulty determining the gender."

Hammer frowned.  He was having second thoughts about blowing the place up as well.  "Because of the blast?"

"Because there's chromosomal damage.  The DNA matches up but the gender is all wrong.  It's almost as if she was a hermaphrodite."

Hammer blinked.  "Was she?"

"I don't think so.  There's no medical records indicating such.  She always identified herself as female."

"But she was a bodybuilder," said Hammer.

A light went off in Jim-Bean's head.  "Who needs steroids when you can use Mother's Milk?"

"Who knows what injecting that stuff would do to you?" asked Hammer.  

"Speaking of genetic material, the caretaker, that thing in the water, and those little beasts were all related."

Hammer shuddered. "I didn't need to know that."

It was Hammer's turn for his cistron to beep.  The caller was identified as Fiona. He picked it up.

Fiona was on the other end of the line, sobbing. "The bitch is going to call Her in the park during the concert!” she screamed.

"Fiona?  What's going on?  Where are you?"

Fiona started singing and shouting. “I'm evil, I'm evil, like my parents said I would be. I know something horrible, something you need to know. Meet me at this warehouse address… "  She hung up.

Hammer frowned at his cistron as an address came through.  "Something's very wrong with Fiona."

"If I know Fiona, she went after Dexter herself." Jim-Bean sighed.  "If that even was Fiona. You realize of course that this is a trap."

Hammer ignored him.  "Check Archive out. I'll meet you out front." He stomped out of the room.

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "He's really falling hard for her."


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 5 – Of Course It’s a Trap*

The address led to an abandoned warehouse. Lights were on inside.

Archive, his arm bandaged, was mostly functional.  "So…why are we here again?"

They all wore night vision goggles.  

"We're ambushing the people who ambushed Fiona," said Hammer.  With workman-like efficiency, he placed a small charge next to electrical wiring that led to the warehouse. He handed the detonator to Archive. "Ready?"

Jim-Bean shouldered a submachinegun with a grenade launcher attachment. He slapped his goggles over his eyes.  "Ready!"

Archive etched the Elder Sign with chalk on Jim-Bean and Hammer's guns.  Then he reluctantly lowered his goggles.  "Ready."

Hammer made his way over to the side door of the warehouse.  "Jimmy, you've got the count."

Jim-Bean, a pistol in one hand, used his other to count down.  He counted off silently with his fingers: Three. Two. One.

Archive pressed the detonator on the charge.  It blew, frying the electrical circuits to the warehouse.

At the same, Hammer kicked open the door, both Glocks at the ready.

The warehouse was filled with all sorts of boxes and containers, making it difficult to see.  Then they heard a familiar squealing.

"Secondary cnidocytes," swore Jim-Bean.  "Lots of them."

Stumping along on their three hoofed legs were four pale-white adolescent forms of Shub-Niggurath, the secondary cnidocytes. Unlike the much larger one that they had defeated at terrible cost, these were merely the size of cows.  A mass of tentacles protruded from their trunks where a head would normally be, and a large, red puckering organ, dripping goo, took up most of its front. The whole mass of the things smelled like an open grave. 

Cultists ducked in and out of the boxes, their monocular nightvision optics showing up as bright points of red light. Hammer's plan to disable the lights was part of the cultists' plan all along.

"Go for the high ground!" shouted Jim-Bean, pointing at the steps leading up to an office that overlooked the warehouse.

Hammer sprayed the boxes as crates were blasted aside in the cnidocytes' furious charge.  He was awarded with shrieks of agony – Archive's magic evened the odds.

Tentacles groped towards them as they made their way up the steps.  Jim-Bean took aim with his grenade launcher at the writhing white tentacled forms below.  "You're outgunned! Give up! CLEAR!"

Hammer and Archive looked away as the grenade flashed, blasting ichor and splinters of broken crates in every direction.  Some cultists, unprepared for the flash, were blinded by the sudden burst of light.

Hammer and Archive peppered the room with gunfire.  The cultists had lost their primary advantage of darkness to an equally prepared team.  With Archive's magic countering the invulnerability of the cnidocytes, the untrained cultists were no match for the agents.

The remaining cultists turned and fled.  Hammer took careful aim and shot one of them in the leg.  She fell to the ground just short of the door, wailing and clutching her calf.

Hammer opened the door to let some light in.  The agents removed their nightvision goggles. 

Jim-Bean ducked his head out of the office.  "You'll never guess who I found up here."

Fiona, her hair a mess and red marks across her mouth from a gag, stalked down the steps. Her clothing was torn in several places, baring one shoulder.

"Fiona!" said Hammer with relief.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Fiona rubbed her wrists. "They tried to feed me to those walking vaginas with tentacles," she sneered.  "But they couldn't touch me."

"How did you end up here?" asked Archive.

"I was investigating a tip," said Fiona.  "I thought I had a good lead, but…"

Hammer shook his head.  "Leave the spy stuff to us.  Like interrogations." He snapped on a pair of black gloves and turned to face the prone cultist. 

He pulled up a crate and dragged the cultist onto it.  "Start talking."

The cultist, an attractive blonde with piercings in her nose, sneered at him.  "F$%k you."

Hammer sighed.  "So we're going to do this the hard way, hmm?"

"The Goddess is coming!" shrieked the cultist.  "She of the Forest with a Thousand Daughters will soon consume us all and we will suckle from her—"

The cultist's head exploded before she could finish the sentence.  Behind her, Fiona held one of the cultist's pistols.

"Jesus, Fiona!  Now we don't know what their plans are!"

Fiona spat.  "I overheard them talking.  They're going to sacrifice four people at the Festival of the Earth tonight."

Hammer glanced over at Fiona's bare shoulder. "Is that…a tattoo?"

"Yeah," said Fiona.  "The Elder Sign."  

"That explains why the cnidocytes couldn't harm her," said Archive.

Fiona addressed Archive.  "If I hadn't seen that amulet you wear in action I would never have thought of it. I think it saved my life."

Hammer secretly suppressed a smile.

Fiona took him aside.  "About that dinner…"

"Yes?"

"Looks like you'll be busy tonight, huh?"

Hammer was crestfallen.  "Yeah."

Fiona pushed back a few strands of her hair out of her face.  "Too bad," she said softly.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 6 – The Festival*

The festival was a three-day event that began Friday night and ended on Sunday. It featured live music from a variety of bands, food, crafts, speeches, and all sorts of other stuff. The festival was largely confined to the open areas of the park. 

On Saturday night a popular pro-environment band held a concert which thousands attended. While everyone else was heading to the show, Cynthia Dexter and her cultists headed for the woods to prepare the sacrifice.

“Ishniggarah!” Dexter slashed precisely at one of the sacrifice's wrists. 

The agents crept up to a clearing in the woods. It was a dark and dank part of the forest that felt quite eerie. The area was devoid of animals. In the center of the clearing was a stone that seemed to have been worked at a bit, giving it a roughly cubic shape. 

“The Black Mouth!” Dexter used her knife to slice a second sacrifice. She was only inflicting flesh wounds.  The real murders would come at the end of the ritual.

All around the altar, nine cultists dressed in dark robes and hoods chanted in unison.  Four of the cnidocytes were there, lurking in the darkness, squealing and wailing along with the chanting. Splayed out on the altar were four naked men, all unconscious. 

At the center was Dexter, wielding a knife.  She looked different. She had dyed her hair blonde and wore blue contact lenses. 

“The Black Tongue!” Dexter struck the third sacrifice with a ritual flourish. Blood from all three sacrifices splashed out over the altar.

Archive, Hammer, and Jim-Bean took positions on platforms in nearby trees.  The speed of the ritual caught them by surprise – Dexter had moved up her timetable knowing that the ambush would only delay the agents for so long.

Dexter plunged the knife down at the throat of the last sacrifice.

“The Black—"

"Now!" hissed Hammer into the comm.

Several things happened at once.  Hammer, taking aim with his sniper rifle, shot the knife right out of Dexter's hand.  Her scream of rage and surprise was immediately muted by a whispered chant from Archive. 

An eerie silence fell over the cultists and their squealing cnidocytes.

Whirling around furiously to spot her attacker, Dexter pointed and the cnidocytes spread out like dogs on the hunt.

"They're looking for us," commanded Hammer. "Keep firing while we have the advantage!"

There was a familiar FOONT sound as Jim-Bean launched a grenade.  Enchanted by Archive's Elder Sign sigil, the grenade tore through one of the cnidocytes and two of the nearby cultists.

But he gave himself away.  As gunfire from Archive and Hammer pounded the cultists, Jim-Bean was violently yanked downwards out of his perch by a deathly white tentacle.  The cnidocyte squealed excitedly as it dragged him out of the tree.

Jim-Bean yelled and blindly fired his submachinegun into the thing at point blank range, but that didn't stop it from jerking him spastically closer.

His foot entered the moist red orifice.  Jim-bean wished he still had the metallic Elder Sign given to them by the Mothmen, but the thing had disintegrated into a poisonous gas soon afterwards, killing the two Redlight scientists examining it.

Hammer's gunfire tore through the thing. Jim-Bean was thrown like a toddler tossing a doll.  

He landed hard.   Rolling to his feet, Jim-Bean reached out at the nearby tree with his telekinesis and yanked.  It fell over, pinning the squealing cnidocyte. 

Their cover blown, the cultists fanned out to flank the agents.  

Archive chanted and a fiery beam through another cnidocyte, bisecting it in half.  

Although utterly silent, Dexter strode towards Hammer's tree with purpose.  Hammer hopped down and tumbled to his feet, guns at the ready.

A fleshy tentacle filled with wet mouths extended to sword-like dimensions in Dexter's hand.  She took a swipe with the bizarre blade at Hammer, who danced backwards.

A second cnidocyte roared towards Jim-Bean, pinning him against a tree.  The sucker-like mouth slurped at him.

Jim-Bean shoved his grenade launcher into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The cnidocyte convulsed, tentacles slapping at its mouth.  Jim-Bean whirled around to the other side of the tree and covered his ears.

The explosion rocked the forest, sending burning bits of cnidocyte everywhere.

Hammer fired, Elder Sign-infused bullets puncturing Dexter's magical defenses.  Her mouth moving in silent rage, Dexter slumped to her knees.  

"The High Priestess…" she gasped, able to speak once more, "Will birth…a new generation…" She fell forward, dead.

Hammer flicked on his cistron.  "This is Hammer.  We stopped the sacrifice.  We're moving on the Wilderness Retreat Center now."

Jim-Bean limped over to the massacre.  Any surviving cultists had fled.  "You mean this isn't over?"

"Oh no, not yet."  A jet black helicopter landed behind him with a STREETSWEEPER team armed with flamethrowers. .  "Not until we take down their headquarters."


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 7 – The Wilderness Retreat Center*

The Sheriff's Department of Squamish County received a phone call from a Charles Cartwright, a man living alone in the mountains. Exploring a canyon between the Altar Stone and his cabin, Cartwright came across Noelle Rand's crushed vehicle in a ravine a hundred feet below a dusty Forest Service road. Cartwright supplied the unburnt vehicle's make, model, license number--readily identifying it as belonging to Noelle Rand. He found no body, no blood, and no sign of the missing woman other than her wallet, an overnight bag, and printout of a strange book in Latin, all articles which he packed out from the wreck and took to his cabin.

It was Renuncion where the agents were headed. Leaving Loam, the road entered low, hummocky foothills covered with dry grass. Small scrub oak trees sheltered in draws and ravines, but the hills were mostly bare of brush and trees. After a while, the canyons deepened, the hills sharpened, and boulders and rocky bluffs emerged along the highway.

Renuncion was located seven miles away from Loam and fifteen miles away from Samson to the southeast.  The roads between the smaller towns in the area were re rutted and packed dirt affairs, the only exception being the better-kept “highway” to Samson.  

"Why don't we just JERICHO jet the hell out of the place?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Too risky," said Hammer.  "This is a populated area near Samson's airspace.  We're not sure that this is their headquarters yet."

By the time the agents reached the little town of Renuncion, they ascended into open pine forest. The air was s hazy with Samson's smog, blown far east. The day was hot and dry.

Renuncion barely qualified as even a village.  There were about four dozen homes, most of which were strung along the town’s main street.  The houses were exactly what one would expect to see in a tiny American town: small, unspectacular structures that under some circumstances might seem “cozy.”  Here the townspeople carried out their daily affairs almost furtively.  Suspicious eyes peeked out at strangers from behind curtained windows.  Children played quietly, seldom laughing, shying away from those they didn't know.  Dogs, cats, and other animals also avoided contact with outsiders and residents alike.  

Hammer brought up a satellite image of the town.  "We think this is their headquarters.  The book has mention of an address, and that's it."

Set upon a ridge miles from the next house, the property backed up on a national forest. Localized volcanic activity about four thousand years ago left a jumble of black and red surface outcrops in the area. The Wilderness Retreat Center was the last of a handful along the dusty gravel road: the road ended abruptly at a locked Forest Service gate and cattle guard.

"So can't we just send a STREETSWEEPER team in…" began Jim-Bean.

Hammer shook his head.  "We scanned the area.  No heat signatures.  Nobody's in the house."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Archive.  "What kind of Retreat is this place?'

"One where everybody's dead."  Hammer pulled the car up.  "Or they've already abandoned it."

The house was a small, modem, two-story structure. The curtains were drawn closed, but a light was visible burning upstairs. A two-car garage stood across the road. There was no lawn or garden, though the brush and grass were cut back from around the house and garage to reduce the risk of fire.

The agents got out of the car.  

"Check this out," said Archive. 

The aluminum mailbox, labeled J.A. ARMBRUCE, had deep, regular scratches in it. The base of the mailbox was about forty inches above the ground. 

"Something big made those scratches," said Archive, inspecting the scratches.  "Judging by the separation of the teeth and the jaw wide required to bite down on both sides…this was made by one really big dog."

Jim-Bean drew his submachinegun.  "Great."

All windows and door of the house were securely locked and curtained. At the door of the house, there was an intercom with a lighted doorbell. 

Hammer led the other agents around to the back door. He jimmied it open.

The place shows signs of vacancy and destruction. An apparently new couch had no cushions, with crushed springs and a cracked frame. The kitchen contained a stove, but no refrigerator. 

Pieces of a broken television were scattered about the living area. A DVD player was thrown against a wall with some force, judging by the hole in the wallboard. 

Hammer froze.  "Camera!" he hissed.

A camcorder was in plain sight, sitting on its tripod in a corner of the living room. The light from the ceiling fixture of the loft gave plenty of light to see by, day or night. 

"I've got it," said Archive.  He chanted and the camera sparked.  

An open staircase led up to a bedroom overlooking the living room. They made their way upstairs.

There was a bent and cracked frame for a king-size bed. Tossed into the center of the frame were a half-dozen pairs of women's shoes, ranging from a women's 11D to a 15EEE. The light in the ceiling fixture was lit.

"Big girl," said Jim-Bean.

The bathroom has a sickly, musty odor, sweeter than sweat. Hammer poked the shower curtain aside with one of his pistols.

A grayish-translucent, viscous colony of thick mold flaked off, just missing Hammer.  He jumped backwards out of the way. 

"What is that?"

Archive frowned down at the slime colony.  "That looks like what was on the thing in the pool."

"Let's go downstairs."  Hammer closed the bathroom door, leaving the pulsing ooze behind. 

The basement contained a washer, dryer, and an army of bodybuilding equipment. All were covered with thick dust. 

Jim-Bean concentrated, putting one palm to the ground.  "There's three all-weather circuits leading from a second circuit box down into the ground outside the house."  He traced a trail only he could see. "The camcorder and electrical cables run about two feet underground."  Jim-Bean stopped at the wall.  "It leads towards the steep lava-slag.  Maybe a lava tube."

He cocked his head, listening.  "I hear…music?"  Jim-Bean blinked.  

Hammer exchanged a glance with Archive.  "The source of that music is where we'll find our cult.  Let's go."


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 8 – The Thing in the Cave*

Jim-Bean followed the trail of the cable like a human divining rod.  He pointed at a large lava boulder near the river.  "It leads here."

Hammer looked askance at the boulder.  "There's no way we can lift that ourselves."

"Don’t be so sure," said Jim-Bean.  "I may not be able to telekinetically move it around, but I'm pretty sure I can lift it straight up."

Jim-Bean put his palms to the boulder and concentrated.

Slowly but surely, the boulder levitated upwards, inch by inch.  "When the opening is wide enough," grunted Jim-Bean, "Go!"

After the boulder lifted up a few more feet, Hammer ducked inside, scoping out the cavern with his pistols.  Archive followed soon after.

When it was about four feet high in the air, Jim-Bean, still keeping his hands pressed against the boulder, carefully ducked inside. Then he let the boulder softly return to its resting place.

They were in utter darkness.  Hammer slapped his nightvision goggles over his eyes and the others did likewise.

"You realize," whispered Archive, "we're now trapped in here, right?"

"Can you see anything ahead?" Hammer asked Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean knew what he meant.  He shook his head.  "Music stopped, lights went out.  They know we're here."

"Okay, weapons hot, eyes peeled," said Hammer.  They slowly advanced into a cavernous hallway…

When the ceiling exploded. 

A series of planted charges fired in sequence above them.  The concussion alone was deafening, blasting them in different directions.  Hammer and Jim-Bean were thrown forward.  Archive, who was behind them, was not so lucky. The ceiling collapsed immediately afterwards in a cloud of dust and rock, pinning Archive under a pile of rubble.

Dazed, ears ringing, the agents struggled to get their bearings.  Before they could even see, a huge form came bounding out of the dust cloud and pinned Hammer to the ground. 

It was a fiendish-looking wolf grown to monstrous proportions, easily the size of a car.  Bony protrusions jutted from its forehead, shoulders, and along the length of its spine, as if the mutation of Mother's Milk had caused its bones to burst from its hide.  Its paws were enormously, easily as large as Hammer's head.  One pressed on his chest, the other on his head.  He was barely able to breathe, much less fire his pistols.

Jim-Bean was the only one left standing. 

"Give up," came a booming, feminine voice, "or Willie will tear off your friend's head."

"Jenny right? Easy, easy," said Jim-Bean, trying to make out the source of the voice.  A feminine silhouette was visible in the dust and dirt.  "We're here to help."

"Disarm yourself and lie spread-eagled on the floor," she commanded.

Jim-Bean looked down at Hammer.  Willie growled, his hot breath washing over Hammer's neck.  He slowly let go of the pistols in his grip. 

Realizing that Hammer was capitulating, Jim-Bean did as he was told.  He dropped his weapon and lay spread-eagled.

And then he saw her. 

Jennifer Armbruster was clearly a bodybuilder, her perfectly muscled, naked form towering over them at fourteen feet.  Her torso was abnormally long, with an abdomen that had too many individual muscles in it, but that didn't detract from the sheer presence of a perfectly sculpted giant striding towards him. 

Firm hands bound Jim-Bean's arms easily.  Archive was effortlessly dragged out of rubble by one foot.  All of them were searched over, weapons and communications removed. 

Willie picked up Hammer in its mouth and carried him down the hall.

They were all unceremoniously shoved into a pen. The chamber was of solid rock, with a lockable gate of steel bars opening into the Lab. 

Willie sat down on his haunches, panting, an ominous reminder that even if they escaped they could be recaptured easily.  It was clear they weren't going anywhere anytime soon.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 9 – Domestic Bliss*

The lab outside of the pen consisted of a large table, handmade from lumber remnants. It was covered with basic lab equipment, books, and papers. Mounds of household objects and appliances rose in odd corners. Boxes and former living room furniture were stacked in disarray. Table lamps, track lighting, and desk lamps illuminated the cavern.

Archive had managed to bind most of his wounds and, through his healing trance, mend his broken bones. Hammer was badly bruised but otherwise okay.  

The first day after she captured the agents, Armbruster busily tidied up the caverns. She arranged old bed sheets into relatively modest clothing for herself. She swept up and organized her deep dwelling into one more appropriate for family life. She appears content and determined as she transformed her haphazard environment into one of newly ordered boxes, carefully placed lamps, and scrubbed tables: everything was cleaned and put in proper place. 

Finally, Armbruster stopped to address them through the bars.  "Well, here we are. Look, I'm sorry to pen you up like this, but you kind of barged in on me, you know? I think you can understand my need for privacy." She laughed grotesquely, every tooth gleaming in the cavern of her mouth. "I know you're going to take this hard, but you're going to have to stay here. Hey--don't worry, Really, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not. I'm not one of those dangerous types who chop people up." She blushed, flustered. "Oh, that's the wrong thing to say. Sorry."  Armbruster cleared her throat. ''It's pretty clear you guys know a lot about me, and how—y'know, how I got like this. We'll talk. But not now." 

"Jenny, we're agents of the federal government," said Jim-Bean. "People will come looking for us."

Armbruster changed the subject. "So, what do you guys want for dinner? My friends always tell me I'm a pretty good cook."

"Uh…we don't really plan to stay here long," said Hammer.

"Microwave dinners and soup it is!" exclaimed Armbruster.  She left the room and bustled back in with microwave dinners, canned soups, and two-liter bottles of soft drinks. Along with the hot meal, she passed in a latrine bucket.

"All the comforts of home," muttered Archive. 

Jim-Bean gaped as Armbruster downed six entrees of Chicken Kiev. 

"You said there are people who know you are here," she asked around mouthfuls. "Who do you work for?"

"We're part of the Central Intelligence Field Agency," said Jim-Bean.  "We investigate terrorist activity—"

"I'm not a terrorist!" exclaimed Armbruster.  "I haven't bothered anyone…"

"I'm not saying that you are," said Jim-Bean carefully.  "But we were investigating some experiments performed by Dawn Biozyme.  In fact, we brought them down recently."

Armbruster looked thoughtful.  "How did that lead you to me?"

"Long story."

She smiled.  "We've got time."

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Walter Morrow, CEO of Centurion Computer Systems, was a majority stock owner of Tiger Transit. It turns out he accidentally caught the attention of a Hound of Tindalos while experimenting with a pure form of drug known as Blink, and he was using all his company's resources to try to stop it – only a research scientist he assigned to the task, James Morton, made a deal with the Tindalosians instead. Morrow ended up committing suicide so that his stock wouldn't go to the Tcho-Tchos, who were distributing Blink."

Armbruster leaned forward, intrigued.  "Go on."

"We stopped Morrow," said Jim-Bean.  "And then discovered that Blink was created from Fumo Loco, which was made in Dawn Biozyme labs. That led us to investigate Dawn Biozyme, which we shut down a few weeks ago.  Then we discovered that they were summoning something…"

"The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young," said Armbruster.

"Uh yeah.  That.  And they were milking it, using Mother's Milk to mutate…" Jim-Bean trailed off, careful not to insult Armbruster.

"And that led you to the Sisterhood of New Potential?"

Jim-Bean nodded.  "Apparently the Sisterhood has been stealing members from Full Wilderness."  He shot Hammer a glance.  "A mutual friend of ours gave us a tip, and those leads led us to Cynthia Dexter.  We interrupted her ceremony.  So there was nothing left to do but to arrest the leader of the organization."

"Me," said Armbruster with a frown. "I'm not really the leader.  In fact, I don't agree with their methods.  I'm more their figurehead.  They see me as an incarnation of the All Mother. But I don't run the place."  She spread her massive hands, gesturing at herself.  "I mean, look at me."

"Are you going to let us go?" asked Hammer.  "It will go better for you if you do."

Armbruster smiled.  "That depends on your behavior. But it's late.  Get some rest.  We've got a busy day tomorrow."

She thudded off to retire to bed.  Willie merely turned a few circles and lay down, huge snout facing the pen.

"Majestic will send someone, eventually, right?" asked Archive.

Hammer and Jim-Bean didn't answer.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 10 – Life With Jenny*

Armbruster greeted the agents the next morning with pop-tarts and frozen waffles.   She probed for information; Hammer and Archive were less forthcoming, but after enough prodding provided their names and some basic information. She was unnervingly perceptive and guessed at details they never mentioned.

"What are you studying here?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Me," said Armbruster with a smile.  "I was a researcher for Dawn Biozyme before the change.  I'm pretty lucky, I guess – the first human to enter a wonderful new phase of existence. You say you battled the Tindalosians, hmm?"

"Among other entities, yeah," said Jim-Bean.

"All these Elder Races…they are going to let us grow and develop to our full potential.  We are going to be…" Armbruster drew a deep breath, "Something Elses!"

"And what is that, exactly?" asked Hammer.

"I'm not sure.  That's what I'm trying to find out."

Other than bland human news in five minute chunks, idiotic talk shows blaring in the background, and unnervingly reactionary soap operas, the march of time became difficult to track.  Hours passed.

"Did you hear that?" asked Archive.  

They all craned their necks to listen. 

There was a scrabbling noise, like brittle silk and powdered glass. 

"It sounds like…millions of tiny feet," said Hammer. "Jimmy?"

"I'm not sure I want to look," said Jim-Bean with a frown.  He concentrated…

Armbruster was sprawled against the far wall of a cave. A horde of crickets scrabbled down from a hole in the ceiling towards her.  At first Jim-Bean thought she was about to be consumed by them, but then he realized it was actually the reverse.

The bugs swarmed over her, fighting to enter her gaping mouth. Her eyes seemed to acknowledge his presence even though she couldn't possibly see his scrying.  Without attempting to speak, her gesture seemed to be an offer to share…

Jim-Bean sprang back, once again in the cell, sweating.

"Well?" asked Archive.

"It's better off if you don't know," said Jim-Bean.  

The scrabbling sound lasted for a full half hour.

"We have got to get out of here," whispered Hammer. 

"Relax," said Jim-Bean.  "You heard her.  She's a researcher.  She was probably pretty antisocial, left to her own devices, all alone down here.  I know how to handle her."

Hammer snorted. "You mean like how you handled Lisa Howell?" 

"You know how to handle a fourteen-foot high giant with a monster dog for a pet?" asked Archive. "Did you notice the bulges under her armpits?  I think she's growing another pair of arms!"

Jim-Bean waved him off.  "I just need to gain her trust.  Give me time and I'll have her eating out of our hands."

He tried not to think about what Armbruster was eating out of her hands.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 11 – The Con*

After some further conversation from Armbruster wherein Jim-Bean assured her that they wouldn't try to escape, she let them out of the pen. She showed them around the caves, starting with the lab, pointing out the refrigerator and freezer as examples of her good will.

"You're all going to have to pull your own weight around the house, of course," she said. 

Willie growled at Hammer whenever he came near. Hammer gave the wolf-beast a wide berth.

Each agent was assigned chores.  Hammer had the bulk of the work, including fetching water from an underground pool, cleaning the dishes, and most disturbingly, emptying the latrine. 

Archive became Armbruster's research assistant.  He had was assigned the dull, dirty, and dangerous work: drawing quivering microscopic horrors, sniffing bubbling alembics pouring off poisonous gases, and reading paragraphs that tempted the mind to disintegration. 

She took Jim-Bean aside into another chamber.  "You're different, aren't you?"

Jim-Bean swallowed hard.  Armbruster poured three bottles of wine into a large glass vat the size of Jim-Bean's head.  She poured the remainder of it into a beaker and offered it to him.

"You could say that," he said, taking the glass.  Her hand brushed his arm, the contact a little too long to be an accident.

"You're more like me." Armbruster sat down, legs crossed on the floor.  She was wearing makeup and had even put on a makeshift bra, a large lab coat over it, and a rough skirt of sorts.  "I could tell.  You're on the same path to evolution." She handed him a book.  "You should read this."

Jim-Bean flipped through a few pages.  "What is it?"

"Unaussprechlichen Kulten, or Nameless Cults," said Armbruster.  "Friedrich von Junzt wrote the original in German. The English edition was issued by Bridewell in London in 1845, but it contained numerous misprints and was badly translated. A heavily expurgated edition was later issued in New York by Golden Goblin Press in 1909."

Jim-Bean perused the contents.  The text contained information on cults that worshipped pre-human deities such as Ghatanothoa and included hieroglyphs relating to the latter. There was also information on more recent cults including that of Shub-Niggurath. 

"Interesting," was all Jim-Bean said.  He knew he was treading a fine line.

Armbruster sipped the vat of wine. "I received a message from Qn about you, you know."

Jim-Bean feigned drinking the wine, barely sipping it.  "Who?"

"It's a Mi-Go.  It's very interested in you, wants a blood sample. But it wouldn't say why.  I'm not inclined to hand you over to them…not just yet."

Jim-Bean sat down, cross-legged, in front of Armbruster. "Keeping me all to yourself?"

Armbruster just smiled.  "Did they abduct you?"

For some reason Jim-Bean found himself talking freely about things he knew he should keep secret  This was madness, he knew abstractly.  But then, was he so much different from her?  He had long since left his humanity behind…

"Yeah.  Yeah, I think so, but some days I'm not so sure.  I used to have a British accent and then one day…I lost it."

Armbruster frowned.  "Lost it?  Like you forgot who you were?"

"Like that was never me in the first place.  I'm not sure I've ever been fully human…" He took a long gulp of the wine.  "I'm not even sure why I'm telling you this, this is crazy."

She smiled and shook her head.  "It's not crazy.  This is exactly right," she said with sympathy and whispered understanding. "And now it's all this otherworldly stuff dominating your life. I know, man. It's hard. But it's something you have to see your way through. It's a good thing you have friends."

"Yeah, friends."  Jim-Bean sipped more wine.  "Sometimes I have memories…I think I'm to be destroyed if I ever disobey orders.  So I'm not sure who to trust anymore."

Armbruster put one hand, the size of a catcher's mitt, on his back.  She rubbed his back in slow circles, pulling him a little closer to her.  Despite her size, her hand felt warm and soft. "I understand.  I'm the same way.  Some days I think Dr. Finley is only using me.  He doesn't understand that we're a new race. He just treats me like I treat Willie – a dog on a leash.  If we ever bite back, they think they can have us dragged out and shot.  Well I won't let that happen to you, don't you worry."

"Thanks," said Jim-Bean.  He was up against her leg now.  It didn't horrify him, even though it should have.  He was very sensitive to the skin on skin contact.

"Once this other world, this wonderful universe we're only beginning to understand, enters your life, there's really no choice but to embrace the truth.  So many researchers at Dawn Biozyme were consumed with greed by my research. All they thought about was how it could make them money – but secretly they were afraid.  Their whole goal in life was to get rich…and then what?  Capability maintains no necessary connection with temptation. Anyone can adopt Outer God worship as a path to personal betterment; after all, we're living proof."

All of this seemed to make sense to Jim-Bean when he knew it shouldn't.  But he still had a mission.

"I need you to open up fully to me, Jenny.  I can feel we're kindred spirits, but I feel like you're holding back.  If you can open your mind to mine, I think we can…"

He faded off as she leaned over him; all smothering, all encompassing woman.  His flesh rippled unnaturally at her touch.

"I think we can," she said with a whisper.

It was only later that Jim-Bean realized he had been seduced by a monster.


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Part 12 – Cigars for Everybody*

"Where were you?" Hammer glared at Jim-Bean, who had returned to the sleeping quarters sometime in the middle of the night.

"I…I'm not sure," Jim-Bean lied. 

"You were with her for a long time," said Archive.

"Did you get anything useful out of her?" asked Hammer. They only spoke about escape plans when Armbruster was feeding.  The noise drowned out their conversation.

Jim-Bean shook his head. "I need more time…"

"So much for your great escape plan," snapped Hammer. "Archive?"

"I've been experimenting with some of the chemicals," whispered Archive.  "I think I could create an explosion if I needed to."

"We'll need it.  She keeps the entrance blocked and none of us are strong enough to open it on our own.  Only you could do it, Jimmy."

"I don't think I could do it fast enough for us all to get out in time."

"It all may be moot soon. By my count we've been here a week," said Hammer. "Majestic is going to be looking for us."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Archive. "I didn't think Sprague cared if we lived or died."

Hammer smirked.  "Not us.  Him."  He pointed at Jim-Bean.  "Jimmy's too valuable."

Jim-Bean didn't take any solace in that. "Shh, the scratching stopped."

A moment later Armbruster skidded into the room, holding a vial of what could only be urine. "Good news!"

"What?" asked Jim-Bean, bile rising in his throat.

Armbruster patted her stomach. "Guess who's eating for eight!"


----------



## talien

*No Pain, No Gain: Conclusion*

"What the HELL is wrong with you?" shouted Hammer.

"Be quiet," said Jim-Bean nervously, "or she might hear you." One second into Armbruster's feeding time and they were arguing.  Hammer had been steamed all day.

"Hear me?" asked Hammer.  "Hear me?  That's pretty mild compared to what you did with her!"

"I didn't!" Jim-Bean sputtered.  "I mean, I did but…I wasn't myself!"

"She drugged you," said Archive, giving Jim-Bean a way out.

"Yes!  No! I don't know!"  Jim-Bean rubbed his temple.  "She looked different to me then.  She gives off this…this vibe, it's hard to explain."

"Don't explain it," snarled Hammer.  "Ever.  Do you have any idea what Sprague's going to do to us?  Or to her?"

Jim-Bean froze.  Although the skittering noise was still audible, Armbruster was standing at the opening.  They weren't sure how much she had heard.

"Jimmy," she said softly.  "I'd like to take a walk with you if you don't mind."

All the saliva in Jim-Bean's throat evaporated.  He rose to his feet.  "Okay."

"Willie, stay," said Armbruster to the monstrous dog.  "Sit.  Guard."

The dog chuffed but landed on its haunches, looking back over its shoulder at the agents' sleeping quarters.

Armbruster made her way over to the huge boulder and, with some effort, lifted it out of the way.  Sunlight streamed in through the opening.  Jim-Bean almost cried – it felt as if it had been years since he'd seen the light of day.

After they made their way outside, Armbruster shoved the boulder back into place.

Holding his hand in a firm grip, Armbruster led Jim-Bean out into the sunlight. "It's Sunday," she said, smiling towards the sky.  "No mailmen or deliverymen. Normally I let Willie pick up the mail and packages for me, but today is special."

Armbruster led him over to a ravine, and more importantly, let go of his hand. She began carefully piling up boulders in a pyramid-like formation.

Jim-Bean tried to probe her mind again.  If he could get a grip on her subconscious…

But no.  She seemed oddly resistant to any psychic influence.  Maybe she was right, maybe they really had more in common than he realized.

The thought fled Jim-Bean's mind as the rhythmic thump of hushed helicopter blades reached his ears.  It echoed throughout the ravine.  In the distance, Jim-Bean could hear Willie howling.  

"Jenny, look…that's them.  That's the men I talked to you about."

Jenny piled another boulder the size of Jim-Bean's head.  THUMP. "I know," she said quietly. "These are the men who keep you on a tight leash."

Jim-Bean bit his lip.  He had told her too much.  "Yes, that's true.  But listen…"

Larry's voice came bellowed through a bullhorn as one of the choppers buzzed the area. He was visible next to Bill, who was manning a heavy machinegun aimed at them.  There were three more choppers flying in formation around them.  "Put your weapons down and come out with your hands up!  This is your only warning!"

"It's too bad, you know," said Armbruster, piling another heavy boulder.  THUMP.  "I'll survive.  And I'm pretty sure you'll survive.  But your friends will die.  And poor Willie…"

"But think of the babies!" said Jim-Bean, increasingly desperate.  "Do you want to risk harm to them?"

Armbruster paused.  "I don't know if I want our children to live in a world like this." Then she resumed building the rock pile.

Simultaneously, Jim-Bean reached a tendril of thought towards Agent Larry, Warner's top man:  _Larry, listen to me.  When I say now, you open fire with everything you've got.  Do you understand me?_

If Larry was startled by the telepathic contact, Jim-Bean wasn't able to see it.  The chopper whizzed by for another pass.

"It's a shame," said Armbruster.  "I never got to say goodbye to Nolly."

Nolly!  The name rang a bell…

"Nolly?  Noelle?  Noelle Rand?"

Armbruster held a boulder in each hand, hefting the weight.  Jim-Bean knew they would be used as shot-puts to deadly effect.  "Yes.  Did you know her?"

"Yes!" said Jim-Bean.  "She's with our people!  She's safe!"

Armbruster dropped the boulders and, kneeling down to face him, roughly gripped him by both shoulders.  "You don't have to lie to me, honey.  I know you're trying to protect my feelings, but I need to know the truth."

Jim-Bean stared into her huge eyes. He noticed for the first time that they were green. The thrum of the helicopters thumped an urgent staccato beat.

"Okay.  The truth: Noelle was originally a photographer for Full Wilderness' eco-magazine, The Ecotopian, right?"

Armbruster's grip softened.  "Yes."

"She was lured away into the Sisterhood of New Potential, the cult that venerates you.  We found…we found her body in an abandoned YMCA.  The corpse was deformed…we found Mother's Milk at her apartment."

Armbruster's arms dropped.  "She was injecting Mother's Milk, using it like steroids, trying to follow in my footsteps.  But it doesn't work the same for everybody." Her head drooped. "Oh, Nolly.  Nolly, Nolly, I told you not to get involved."

"All along I thought you were the cult leader," said Jim-Bean rapidly.  "But now I realize what was happening – Cynthia Dexter was leading the cult and keeping you isolated."

Armbruster shook her head sadly.  "She wanted leverage over me, her high priestess. Dexter was manipulating me all this time."  She looked up at the choppers circling, tears in her eyes.  "I'll make her pay for this."

"She's dead, Jenny," said Jim-Bean.  "We killed her."

Armbruster rose to her feet.  "Then I will take down the legacy she left behind."

The choppers were hovering, all four chain-fed machineguns pointed at them.  Jim-Bean dove for cover as he psychically blasted just one word to Larry: _NOW!_

Nothing happened.  

Jim-Bean looked up from the ground, hands over his head. 

A STREETSWEEPER team in biohazard suits accompanied by heavily armed agents advanced on her.  Armbruster put her hands up.

Jim-Bean stood up as Larry passed.  "You're arresting her?  Why didn't you shoot?"

Larry shot Jim-Bean a grin.  "Are you kidding me?  She's the find of a century!  Warner's going to LOVE this!"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 50: Unit 23 - Introduction*

This story hour is a combination of the latest Delta Green Mailing List contest entry, "Unit 23," by Graham Kinniburgh, "Two Minutes On High" by Michael P. Nagel from Unspeakable Oath #11, and "Righteous Triad Fists" by Allan T. Grohe from The Triad Sourcebook. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Charismatic/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
The odds of someone posting a scenario that perfectly fit the window when I needed something involving tcho-tchos are incredibly small. As fate would have it, Graham posted a scenario that was just perfect.  It's not that surprising, given that my tastes in Delta Green action run similar to Graham's. I ended up using his scenario as the glue between At Your Door and what I like to call "Cthulhu Must Die."

This scenario actually draws on a third scenario, Righteous Triad Fists.  Instead of having the battle be over The Seventh Scroll of Hsan, we have a Portuguese translation in book form. The goal is simply this: get the book, stop the cultists. Of course, it's much more complicated than that…

I had no idea I would end up with a full host of players that day. Because d20 is level-based, Caprice and Guppy have fallen behind in levels, so I was careful to separate them from the combat initially.  What I didn't want was to have a bloodbath where the low level characters get knocked flat while the high level characters pound away on the opposition.   

I pretty much butchered Graham's entry – I completely tossed the items he had listed as a homage to Marc McFadden, who recently passed away, along with the allusions to "The Lizard King."  I replaced the Banzai 23 with Satan's Sadists, from At Your Door.  And most importantly, I wanted to role-play some bidding, which gave our two weaker characters a chance to shine. Since Caprice is involved, that means our favorite cover is back: SNOWDOG!

I've also learned that, although it's fun to place 20 ninjas and 20 thugs on a warehouse map and have them duke it out, it's really not practical to make all those rolls.  I learned my lesson running a massive D&D scenario with a similar number of opponents and skipped the boring parts. Narrative combat is key, rather than what miniature is on what part of the page.

*Defining Moment:* Snowdog and Baz getting into a bidding war…over a stick.

Relevant Media

*Unit 23:* Graham Kinniburgh's tribute to Mark McFadden.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0011Z0YR2?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0011Z0YR2]Rock Star[/ame]:* by Nickelback.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000EK5844?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000EK5844]Unspeakable Oath #11[/ame]:* The source of Two Minutes on High, and a more detailed account of the items on auction. It includes a great one-page prop of an auction list that I used for the scenario.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000LVB2ZU?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000LVB2ZU]Triad Sourcebook[/ame]:* For Hong Kong Action Theater, this little known sourcebook has an adventure that incorporates Cthulhu elements titled Righteous Triad Fists.


----------



## talien

*Unit 23: Prologue*



> _And we'll hide out in the private rooms
> With the latest dictionary of today's Who's Who
> They'll get you anything with that evil smile
> Everybody's got a drug dealer on speed dial
> Well, hey, hey, I wanna be a rockstar_​
> --Rock Star by _Nickelback_​



CHICAGO, IL--Chicago police and SWAT swarmed the checkpoint, boxing in a perimeter around the warehouse where the White Shadows were supposedly storing rare artifacts and crates filled with Coca Loco.

"You sure it's in there?" asked Jim-Bean, peering through binoculars at their target, a warehouse.

Hammer glared at him. "You're girlfriend gave us the info—"

"She's not my girlfriend," snapped Jim-Bean.  "She's…"

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Is "mother of your children" better?" asked Hammer sarcastically.

Jim-Bean muttered something under his breath.  

"I don't like this," said Hammer.  "Sprague's pushing us to come up with results too fast.  This isn't how we should be running this op."

"You mean we should call in the Jericho Jets?" asked Jim-Bean hopefully.

Hammer rolled his eyes.  "No.  I mean satellite scans, heat signatures…we're going in blind."

Jim-Bean put the binoculars down and looked out at the mass of police. "Blind, maybe.  But definitely not alone."

Hammer tapped his comm. earpiece.  "Team One, confirm." He turned back to Jim-Bean.  "All this for a stupid book."

"And drugs," said Jim-Bean.  "A $#!+ton of drugs."

Hammer got an acknowledgment back from Team One.  "Team Two, report." 

"Sprague's not the type to care about a silly book," said Jim-Bean.

"Yeah, it's not his style.  But then, when you have a fourteen-foot tall four-armed pregnant woman in custody, it's hard to ignore certain facts. Team Three, report."

"Such as the fact that we're chasing after a Portuguese translation of some Chinese book that nobody remembers? I bet the translation isn't even accurate." 

"Right," said Jim-Bean.  "I think that's why he's in such a rush.  He just wants to get this over with and go back to busting Commies or whatever it is he does to justify his job."

"Our jobs," corrected Hammer.  "Okay people, we are go." He addressed all three teams of police connected to his comm. "On my mark: Three, two, one.  Now!"

SWAT teams stormed the warehouse, pulling up in armored vehicles.  All the entrances were covered with automatic weapons and snipers.  Tear gas blasted through windows and from skylights.

Hammer and Jim-Bean advanced, pistols at the ready.  "Blow it!" shouted Hammer.

SWAT team members affixed plastique to the warehouse door and gave the all clear signal.  They ducked down behind impromptu barriers and vehicles.

The door exploded with a thundering crash, groaning outward as it clattered to the ground.

"Go, go, go!" shouted Hammer.  

The SWAT teams filtered through, gas masks on, weapons at the ready.  

They reported back.  "Zone One, clear."

Jim-Bean looked around.  "Where is everybody?" The warehouse had been ransacked.  "Shouldn't there be lots of screaming and Tcho-Tchos running everywhere?"

"Zone Two, clear!"

Hammer swore as he bent down to inspect a crate that had been hastily pried open.  "I knew it.  I knew we should have scoped this place out first."

"Zone Three, clear!"

"Son of a BITCH!" Hammer kicked one of the empty crates, hard enough to cause the lid skittering across the floor.  It smeared a trail of blood behind it.

Jim-Bean hunched down to peer inside.  "Looks like they ambushed them, took the goods, then stuffed them in the crates."

Hammer paced, trying to control his temper.  "So someone got to them before we did." He swabbed the bloodstain with one finger.  "This is recent.  We must have just missed them.  Jimmy?  Find out where they went."

Jim-Bean put one palm in the smear of blood and closed his eyes. After concentrating for a moment, he stood up.  "The Satan's Sadists gang hit the warehouse. They were looking for drugs but ended up with a bunch of artifacts instead. They're planning to sell it at an auction."

"When?  Where?" demanded Hammer.

Jim-Bean shook his head.  His psychic images were only snapshots of what took place at the scene, like a hidden video camera.  If they didn't say something out loud, he didn't experience it in his vision. 

"I'm calling in Archive, I don't care what Sprague thinks." Sprague had intentionally shut Archive out of the op because he was a "civilian." Hammer selected Archive's cistron from his own and rang him up.

Archive clicked onto the comm. "Don't tell me," he said, "the place is cleaned out."

"Yes, we think there's an—"

"Auction.  I know."

Hammer arched an eyebrow.  "How did you know that?"

There was the sound of typing on the other end of the line.  "Because I know where it's taking place."

"When did you find this out?" snarled Hammer.

"Just a few minutes ago.  I tried to get through to you but I wasn't authorized. Get this: Sprague has another team embedded there already.  Looks like he was covering all his bases."

"Who?"


----------



## talien

*Unit 23: Part 1 – Twenty Three*

Snowdog and his Indian accountant stepped out of the limo in front of a warehouse. 

"Are you sure this is the place?" Guppy asked nervously.  It'd been awhile since he'd been out in the field.  He had been running tech support from behind a desk, recognition from Majestic that he wasn't really up to the kind of stress demanded by a field op. 

Located in Chicago's 23rd District, they stood before a disused warehouse amongst an entire wasteland of abandoned and run down industrial units. It was exactly what it is intended to be – a quiet makeshift spot away from traffic where illegitimate business could be conducted.

"Unit 23, 2323 E. Schiller Street," said Snowdog, actually Caprice in his street rapper persona.  "Dis is it, yo."  

Guppy nodded and, taking a deep breath, they sauntered their way into the warehouse. 

White plastic chairs and a few tables were what constituted an "auction space."  They all faced an empty table, which had nothing on it. Beyond a generator humming in the background, and some lighting and sound equipment, there wasn't much.

The other participants filtered in. Most were dodgy art dealers, collectors or agents thereof and all of them were a little nervous in the circumstances

"What the hell is this?" snarled a scruffy-looking young man, dressed in torn jeans and t-shirt, a black leather jacket adorned with studs, and heavy boots.  His bleached blond hair was spiked, echoing the studded leather dog-collar padlocked around his neck. He stood accusingly in the aisle between the two separate columns of plastic white chairs. "Some kind of tag sale?  'Cause it sure as f*&k doesn't look like an auction to me."

He was flanked by a Jamaican man with long dreadlocks.  He wore steel-capped Doc Marten's boots, multi-strapped and zippered bondage trousers, a torn red T-shirt, and a ragged pair of formal coat tails adorned with badges, chains, and hand-painted slogans. 

"Baz?" Guppy panicked. 

"Somebody we should know?" asked Caprice out of the corner of his mouth.

"Elliot and Johnson!" Guppy repeated for emphasis, his whispered conversation thankfully masked by the hum of the generator.  "Baz Elliott!  He's the lead guitarist for The Rising!"

"So?"

"Spider Holloway is their band leader.  He was friends with Agent Blade.  If he recognizes us, our cover's blown!"

"Relax," said Caprice as Snowdog.  "I got this."  He stood up to face Baz and his companion, staring straight at him. 

Baz blinked.  "Snowdog?  Is that Snowdog?" He elbowed Dave in the ribs.  "Check this out, we've got a celebrity in the house!" They snickered.

Caprice snorted.  " $#!+, sit down fool. Only adults allowed."

Baz looked like he was going to say something else but he was interrupted by the roar of motorcycle engines.  Caprice didn't give him the chance and just sat down, his back to Baz, in an act of disdain.  Guppy slowly joined him.

"See?" said Caprice, stretching out his arms behind his head, "they got no clue."

Guppy shook his head.  "I hope you're right. Don't forget why we're here -- the Portuguese book."

The bay door was thrown open at the rear of the unit. Several choppers thrummed in, flanking a white panel van.  The van pulled slowly up to the table and out of the passenger's seat popped a man in an ill-fitting white suit.  

"Satan's Sadists?" shouted Baz.  "I thought this was legit!"

Some of the other clientele took up Baz's complaint.  

"My name is Victor Milliard and I'll be your auctioneer for this evening and I can assure you this auction is legit," said the greasy man in the white suit.  He nodded at the other bikers.  Weapons were cocked.  "Trust me."

The crowd stopped complaining.

"We've got a couple items for your bidding pleasure. First up is…" he nodded to a big burly biker with a length of chain around his fat gut. The biker turned the page on a big flipchart.  It was a photo taken of an item, blown up several times so that everyone could see it even from a distance.  "A Haitian Voodoo Doll!"

"Kinkos," muttered Guppy.

"From circa 1800!  Constructed of straw and cloth, this voodoo doll is rumored to have caused the death of an unscrupulous French plantation owner!  Starting bid, nine thousand five hundred dollars!"

"Ten thousand!" shouted some guy with his hair slicked to one side.

"Ten thousand!" Milliard's squeaky voice became a high-pitched whine as his speech accelerated. "Do I hear more! Do I hear more? Eleven thousand?  Done! Twelve thousand, do I hear more?  Twelve thousand? Twelve thousand!"

Bidding had spiraled up to over one hundred thousand dollars. Guppy shifted in his seat.

"One hundred and fifty thousand to the Indian fellow! Do I hear more?"

"What?" gasped Guppy.  "Wait!  I didn’t…"

"Going once…going twice…One hundred sixty thousand to the gentleman with the nose ring.  Going once, going twice…Sold for one hundred and sixty thousand dollars!"

Guppy wiped the sweat from his forehead.  

Caprice nodded at him.  "Yo.  Try not to fidget too much."

"Next up is a Celtic walking stick, also known as a shillelagh. Carved with runic symbols. Starting bid, two thousand dollars."

Baz lifted his hand, topping the bidding at two hundred thousand.  Caprice scratched his nose.

"Snowdog! And Snowdog jumps into the fray with a bid of two hundred and fifty thousand! Do I hear two seventy five?  Is the Rising done for?" Milliard knew how to bait his audience.

Baz swore. After a brief argument with Dave, he glared at Caprice and raised his hand.

"Two seventy five to The Rising!  Do I hear three?  Do I hear three?  Two seventy five going once…going twice."

Caprice coughed.

"Three hundred thousand to Snowdog! Going once…"

Baz swore again, louder this time.  Milliard was smart enough to not take the swear as a bid. 

"Going twice…sold to Snowdog!"

Guppy looked at Caprice in horror.  "You just bought…do you realize how much you just promised to pay?"

"Sure did," said Caprice.

"But…" Guppy leaned close. "We don't have that kind of money! In fact, we don't have any money!"

"S'all good, dog," said Caprice casually.  "It'll all work out, you'll see."

"Next up, the Focloro Verdadeiro, a Portuguese book written by Armando Vasco de Moraes in 1875. Fine quality leather binding, limited run – it's the only copy.  Rumored to be a translation of an ancient Chinese ritual. Bidding starts at two hundred thousand."

"That's our book!" said Guppy.

Baz raised his hand.  "Two ten."

"Two ten!  I have two ten!  Do I hear two twenty?" 

Caprice scratched the back of his head. 

"Two twenty! Do I hear two thirty? Two thirty?"

"Two thirty five," snarled Baz.

"Two thirty five?  The Rising vs. Snowdog, battle of the bands!  Will The Rising get revenge? Let's find out folks…two thirty five going once…going twice…"

Guppy nearly jumped out of his seat.  "But…"

"Be cool," hissed Caprice.

"Sold, to Baz Elliot of The Rising!"

"That's the whole reason we're here!" whispered Guppy frantically.  

"Naw, the reason we're here is to find the book.  We know they got it.  This ain't the way to get it from them."

"How will we know when's the right time?" asked Guppy.

Smoke bombs exploded around them as shadowy figures dressed in black darted out of the far reaches of the warehouse.

Caprice stood up, dusting some lint off his shoulder.  "Now's the right time."


----------



## talien

*Unit 23: Part 2 – Those Darn Ninjas*

Caprice, pistol out, made his way through the smoke and the screaming towards the van.  All around them, Satan's Sadist bikers engaged with White Shadows.  

A throwing star whistled past Guppy's ear, skewering the big biker near the flipchart in the forehead. He foamed at the mouth and fell over.

"We've got to get out of here!" wailed Guppy.

"Chill."  Caprice threw open the door.  Milliard was slumped over the wheel.  

Caprice unceremoniously dumped Milliard. There weren't any keys on the body. 

Caprice shoved Guppy in ahead of him and jumped into the cab of the panel van.

"Can you hotwire it?" asked Caprice.

"S-sure!" said Guppy.  He wiggled under the steering column.

There was a thump on the hood of the car, thin blade drawn for a strike.  Caprice fired his pistol three times, instantly cracking the glass.  The safety glass was a spider web of cracks, making it difficult to see anything.

"Almost there…" said Guppy.

A blade shrieked through the top of the cab, just missing Caprice's head.  He pointed his pistol upwards and fired the remaining bullets in his Beretta.

Another thump and a body bounced off the hood. 

"Got it!" The van hummed to life.

Caprice threw the van into reverse and slammed the gas pedal.  It lurched backwards towards the open exit.

Something thumped on the other side of the partition between the cab and the cargo area. "I think someone's back there…" said Guppy.

Then the tires blew out and they were tumbling over and over.


----------



## talien

*Unit 23: Part 3 – The Thing in the Van*

Archive, Hammer, and Jim-Bean stood uncertainly at the entryway to Unit 23, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Amidst the swirling smoke and occasional spurts of blood, black figures darted in and out.  Hammer kept his pistols trained on the entrance, waiting to see what came coughing out of it. Archive stood beside him, muttering an incantation.

Jim-Bean wandered into the melee, firing grenades at random. 

FOONT!  The explosion caused more screams.  

The explosion masked the roar of a vehicle's engine as it made a crazy dash for the wide open exit. 

Archive suddenly froze up.  Eyes fluttering, he staggered. 

Hammer took careful aim and squeezed off a single shot, puncturing the rear wheel.  The van, previously barreling past them, suddenly took a sharp turn…right at Hammer and Archive.

"Move!" shouted Hammer.  Catching a glimpse of Archive's slumping form, he slammed into him, knocking them both flat.

The van flipped over them, completing a full revolution before landing on its bent wheels. It teetered once, twice, and then was still.

A pitch-black winged figure flopped out of the van.  It had webbed feet and hands, with a long snorkel like tentacle dangling from its face. Its skin was rough and catfish-like.

Jim-Bean got a good look at it as its black, pupiless eyes focused on him.  He could feel the psychic pressure of a thing not meant for this world.  

"Huh," said Jim-Bean calmly.  Unphased, he reloaded the grenade launcher and took aim.

Before he could pull the trigger, it was gone.  Guppy and Caprice ran around to the back of the van. 

"Oh, hi guys," said Jim-Bean.  "You just missed the Insane Horror from Beyond Time and Space."

Caprice dove into the van, rifling through the artifacts.

"Did you find it?" asked Guppy.

"Yes!" Caprice crawled back out of the van with the shillelagh he won in the bid.  

"Not that, the book!"

"Oh.  Nope.  There's a book on torturing people and a book about physics, but nothing in Portuguese."

"Great," said Hammer, joining them with a rattled Archive in tow.  "Whatever was in the van escaped with it."

"Well I guess we can go home then," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of the continuing fracas in the warehouse.

"Oh, right."  Jim-Bean fired his machinegun in the air.  "May I have your attention please, gentlemen!  The police will be here any minute.  I recommend you leave before they arrive."

The smoke had cleared.  White Shadows and bikers previously engaged in a death struggle stared blankly at Jim-Bean.

He cocked his grenade launcher for emphasis.

The White Shadows scattered, leaving dead bikers in their wake.

Hammer shook his head. "I hate tcho-tchos."


----------



## talien

*Unit 23: Conclusion*

Archive ticked off the items they had discovered: "…an African juju bag, a Hindu incense burner, a South American feather cloak, an ancient reading glass, a book on physics and sorcery by Sir Isaac Newton, a crystal ball, and a book on torture by Count Ferencz Nadasdy."

"Sounds like nighttime reading to me," said Jim-Bean.  

"Were you firing…grenades into that warehouse?" Guppy asked.

Jim-Bean smiled.  "Why should the ninjas and bikers have all the fun?"

Hammer, standing a bit apart from the other agents, was getting reamed out by Sprague over his cistron. After a few more grunts and nods, he hung up and marched back to his companions.

"Sprague's pissed, isn't he," said Caprice.

"You could say that. We lost all our police backup. No cops, no SWAT, and…" he looked specifically at Jim-Bean, "no Jericho Jets."

Jim-Bean snapped his fingers.  

Hammer took a deep breath.  "So it's up to us."

"Us?" asked Guppy.  "Just us?"

"Just us," said Hammer.  "Sprague and Warner were forced to work together on our warehouse raid, and Warner has control of the manpower.  He refuses to give us any other agents.  So now Sprague has to prove he was right about this damn book."

"What's so important about this book anyway?" asked Guppy.

"It's a Portuguese translation from the original Chinese, the last of the seven scrolls of Hsan. Written during the Tang or Song Dynasties, these scrolls contained much wisdom handed down in an oral tradition dating from the Hsia Dynasty.  The knowledge in the scrolls took the form of riddles, prophecies, parables, and rituals passed down from the Heavens, through the Emperor, to his scribes and the learned men of China.  The original scrolls have been lost for centuries. Confucius was the last man said to have read all seven scrolls."

"And the scrolls matter because…" asked Caprice. 

"Together, the Seven Scrolls detail the key to the cycles of reincarnation and to the Heavens.  Each scroll imparts certain levels of knowledge and they built upon one another, so that one cannot master the secrets of the seventh scroll without having read the first six.  According to shipping records, Tiger Transit's already collected the other six scrolls. The seventh has been lost to history…until now."

"Let me guess," said Jim-Bean.  "They get all seven scrolls and then bad stuff happens."

"Right," said Archive. "No one's sure what the last scroll was, but it's supposed to trigger a cycle of rebirth amongst the gods…"

"Probably a bad translation," muttered Hammer darkly.  "One syllable off from the original Chinese and the whole world goes poof."

Guppy rubbed the back of his aching neck.  "This is going to be a very dangerous mission, isn't it?"

"Oh come on, it's not so bad!" Jim-Bean threw one arm around Guppy's neck.  "We can take on a couple of ninjas, right big guy?"

"That's not the problem," said Hammer. "Their headquarters, the Jade Temple, has a massive storage of Fumo Loco underneath it.  And Fumo Loco is extremely combustible so…"

"No guns," said Caprice.

Before Jim-Bean could say anything else, Hammer barked at him, "and NO grenades!"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 51: The Jaded Temple - Introduction*

This story hour is from the "Chinatown: The Jaded Temple," in Dragon Magazine #62 by Jerry Epperson for Top Secret. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Charismatic/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
There are a lot of gems hidden in archives of Dragon, back when a magazine was willing to fill its pages with a multi-page layout of an area that might – MIGHT – have something interesting in it.  These were the days when vast pages would be taken up with scenarios that read more like blueprints, with no clear narrative path for the agents to follow.  In this case, it's a temple that just happens to be hiding radioactive isotopes.

I knew that I wanted the agents to take on Tiger Transit's headquarters in full force, and that I would eventually need a layout for them to infiltrate. With the Portuguese translation of the Seventh Scroll of Hsan, the Focloro Verdadeiro, slipping through their fingers, the agents are rushed.  There's no time for preparation – I threw them right into the next scenario.  The twist is that the Tcho-Tchos are trafficking in Fumo Loco, which is highly flammable.  That provided a fun twist: Sprague specifically prohibited firearms lest the whole place go up in flames.

This really perturbed Hammer, as I knew it would.  But it also provided for some interesting twists.  In the end, it comes down to Mok Bin Tau, leader of the White Shadows, and Jim-Bean, the increasingly erratic psychic abductee.  We know this will end badly. 


*Defining Moment:* Hammer gets fed up with not using his pistols. 

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001MI14U4?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B001MI14U4]Dragon Magazine #62[/ame]:* Source of the scenario.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1887797122?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1887797122]Delta Green: Countdown[/ame]:* Source of the Tcho-Tchos, the White Shadows, and Mok Bin Tau.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0019NZ2FU?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0019NZ2FU]Kung-Fu Fighting[/ame]:* by Cee-Lo


----------



## talien

*The Jaded Temple: Prologue*



> _Everybody was kung-fu fighting
> Those cats were fast as lightning
> In fact it was a little bit frightening
> But they did it with expert timing_​
> --_Kung-Fu Fighting_ by Carl Douglas​



CHICAGO, IL-- The temple looked harmless enough. It was located at the edge of the area of the city known as Chicago’s “New Chinatown.” The building was constructed of wood and stone; most of the structure was obscured from view by a ten-foot-high stone wall encircling the grounds. A clump of small, leafy trees blocked the temple from casually prying eyes that looked through the single wrought-iron gate in the wall. 

At night, the area just inside the perimeter wall was illuminated in spots, and human shadows could be seen moving inside the temple itself when a body passed before a lighted window. A lone guard patrolled the perimeter wall, his outline clearly discernible in the dim light. There were no other signs of movement outside the temple building.

Hammer lowered the nightvision binoculars he requisitioned in a hurry from the Chicago SWAT team. Sprague had ordered the raid so quickly on the supposed Tiger Transit headquarters that the agents weren't given much time to prepare.  

"One guard, from the looks of it.  Caprice, you still know your way around a rifle?"

Caprice leaned next to him on the roof of the building across the street from the temple. He grinned and patted the sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.  "Sure, but won't that blow the place up?"

Hammer shook his head.  "It shouldn't, not out here.  We fired several rounds in a Fumo Loco greenhouse – blew out the glass first.  So long as there's air circulating we were okay."

Guppy chimed in over the comm. "It's inside that you have to worry about."

"Uh…" Archive interrupted.  "Where's Jim-Bean?"

Hammer looked through the binoculars again.  "Son of a…"

A shadow that was undeniably Jim-Bean sauntered up to the gate.  The soft glow of his lit cigarette marked his path.

"Looks like we are go," said Hammer.  "Everybody move!"

The other agents joined Jim-Bean on the other side of the now open gate.  He was smiling, with one arm thrown around the guard's shoulders.

"Jimmy, what the hell is going on?" demanded Hammer.

The tcho-tcho smiled at Hammer with a mouth full of filed teeth.  

"Hammer, meet my new friend Morris.  Morris, meet Agent Hammer."

Morris extended his hand.  Hammer didn't take it. The tcho-tcho slowly withdrew his hand. 

"Oh don't feel bad, Morris.  Agent Hammer isn't the trusting sort like you and I are."

"What is going on?" asked Guppy nervously, out of earshot.  "Did he hypnotize him?"

"Mind control," whispered Archive.  "I had no idea he was this powerful."

"Did you even consider for one minute that you should have consulted with me first?" snapped Hammer.  "There could be another guard.  He could be faking it.  There could—"

"He's not faking it," said Jim-Bean coolly, removing his arm from the tcho-tcho. "There are no other guards. And no, there aren't any alarms, not alarms that Morris knows of, anyway."

Hammer's eyes narrowed.  "Did you just read my mind?"

"Guys, guys," said Caprice.  "We've got a mission, remember?"

Hammer was very still.  The other agents knew from experience that Hammer was only still when he was about to draw a weapon.  "What are we going to do with this idiot now?"

"Oh that's easy," said Jim-Bean.  "Morris, take out your knife."

The tcho-tcho hesitated for only a second.  Then he drew a wicked-looking knife from its sheath at his belt.

"Jim-Bean…" began Archive.

"Hold it up," commanded Jim-Bean.

Morris held the knife up as if he were about to plunge it into someone.  Or himself.

"Jimmy…" snarled Hammer.  "You're pushing it with me. Tell him to put the knife down."

"What?" Jim-Bean snorted.  "I was just going to ask him to give it to you.  Give Agent Hammer the knife, would you Morris?"

Morris flipped the knife around and extended it handle first to Hammer.  Hammer slapped it out of his hand and dragged the tcho-tcho into the darkness near one of the trees.  

Inside was an open-air courtyard, with trees lining a stone pathway and obscuring the view of most of the yard. The pathway branched into two paths, each ending in a set of stone steps leading up five feet to a loggia. 

Hammer cuffed Morris' wrist to it with a tie. 

"Tell him to not move or make a sound," said Hammer.

Jim-Bean chuckled.  "Man you're no fun at all."

"Maybe not," said Hammer.  "But I'm still a human being."

"What's that like?"  Jim-Bean continued his meandering journey into the courtyard.


----------



## talien

*The Jaded Temple: Part 1 – Zombie Ninjas*

The loggia was an open-sided, roofed porch area that connected the various sections of the temple building. Pillars stood on either side of the hallway at ten-foot intervals. 

"This place has got to be blanketed with a security network," said Guppy, checking his cistron nervously.  "He's going to set off about a dozen alarms."

Jim-Bean didn't turn to address Guppy but had clearly heard him.  "Relax.  I can see ahead of us.  There's no traps."

"How can you be sure?" asked Caprice.

"I'm sure," Jim-Bean said with a smirk.  He waved a hand, and there were a series of clicks as double doors unlocked themselves and swung open.  "See?"

Guppy hung back long enough to catch Hammer, who was bringing up the rear.  "I don't like this.  Jim-Bean is out of control.  He's acting crazy.  And I know crazy."

Hammer didn't look Guppy in the eyes.  "I have a contingency.  If I have to, I'll use it."

"But he's getting more erratic," said Guppy, struggling to keep his voice to a whisper.  "He could put us all in danger!"

"I'll deal with it," said Hammer.  "Worry about yourself. We need to find out where that book is, and my guess is that we're going to have to hack into the Tiger Transit database to do it. You do your job, and I'll do mine."

They made their way into a giant room with parqueted walls and floor of dark wood. The interior was s tastefully decorated in modern decor. The western section of the room contained three small, short-legged tables, each accompanied by six large throw pillows. The eastern part of the room had a longer dining table, also short-legged, with twelve throw pillows around it. A variety of items hung or leaned against the walls, mostly paintings and some canvas hangings of Asian poetry. 

Jim-Bean looked around, unimpaired by the dim light. "There," he pointed with one finger.

More doors clicked softly open to a practice room.  The southern two-thirds of the room’s floor was covered with large padded mats for practicing martial arts routines. On the uncovered floor were five single-unit saunas, a weight and bench-press machine, three punching bags, and a set of barbells, plus some thirty individual loose weights ranging from five to twenty pounds. 

Jim-Bean kicked one of the mats.  "There's something beneath here. A lift.  And the switch is over…" he spun on his heel, pointing to the southeast corner like a human dowsing rod.  "There."

The agents filtered into the room.  "How big is the elevator?" asked Guppy.

Jim-Bean flicked a finger and the hydraulics system beneath them whirred to life.  A fifty-foot-square platform around them began to slowly descend.  "Oh, I'd say pretty big."

Dark flashes of movement blurred out of the shadows.  They were surrounded by men in black outfits wielding thin-bladed swords. They all wore peculiar masks over their faces, expressions of fanged beasts, jovial fat men, and weeping courtesans.

"So much for not setting off any traps," muttered Guppy. 

"Oh great," said Caprice. "More ninjas."

The leader stepped forward and slowly drew the mask away from its face. 

It revealed the head of a mummified corpse, its eyes empty and dry and its wrinkled mouth open in an eternal moan, with a long moustache gauzy with cobwebs.  

"Worse," said Archive.  "Zombie ninjas."


----------



## talien

*The Jaded Temple: Part 2 – Dead Weight*

The ancient thing that led the White Shadows took another step forward.  Archive held up the Elder Sign before it.  "By the power of the Elder Gods, I repel you!'

The mummified White Shadow shifted into a combat stance…and then turned and fled.

Everything happened at once. The other White Shadows struck, shuriken hissing through the air.  Jim-Bean held up one hand and they bounced a few inches from his face.

"Remember!" shouted Hammer, taking aim with his hand crossbow.  "No guns!'

Then the White Shadows were upon them.  Caprice ducked a sword swipe, unslung his rifle, and clubbed one of the Shadows across the head with it.  The attack knocked Caprice off balance long enough for another strike from a different Shadow.  Caprice barely blocked the blow in time with his rifle butt.

Guppy patted himself down.  He hadn't planned on engaging anyone in combat and was pretty sure he shouldn't be in a "high tension environment" according to his Majestic-appointed psychologist.  

"_Easy,_" he thought to himself.  "_This is just like a videogame. You're just fighting ninjas on an elevator.  It's just a game…_" 

Then he found his taser.

A sword swipe just missed Guppy's chest.  Guppy lunged in retaliation, shoving the taser in the guts of his foe and pressing the button.

The White Shadow jerked and twitched, stumbling backwards. He fell flat on his back.

"No guns means NO SPARKS!" snarled Hammer.  He fired his crossbow and one of the Shadows went down, a bolt protruding from his head.

Caprice blocked another blow from a blade.  He caught a flash of greenish fluid on the blade in the dim light.  "They're using poison!"

"You do NOT want to be poisoned!" shouted Archive. "I lost a pinky that way!"

"How?" asked Caprice.

Archive dodged a sword swipe. "I ate it." 

The fear of being poisoned energized Caprice.  He swung his rifle around and smacked the White Shadow in the back of the head, felling him.  Then, tearing a strip of cloth from the black-clad form, he tied the blade to his rifle: A makeshift bayonet. 

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Man I am really getting tired of this."  He extended both arms and the weights in the room lifted into the air.  "I suggest you all get down," he said quietly.

The other agents hit the ground.

The dumbbells spun around Jim-Bean faster and faster.  One Shadow tried to duck through it and paid the price, blood spewing from his crushed jaw.  The weights orbited Jim-Bean in two concentric patterns, the wind shrieking louder as the dumbbells blurred into dark circles.  Then, opening his palms, the dumbbells fired outward.

White Shadows went flying in all directions, striking the walls of the elevator hard enough that the sickening crunch of bone was clearly audible. None of them got back up.

A few dumbbells remained, hovering steadily over the heads of the prone men that weren't finished off.

"Jim-Bean what are you…" asked Hammer.

"Finishing what we started," said Jim-Bean.  He lowered his arms and the dumbbells smashed heads like melons all around them.

"Jesus!" gasped Guppy.  Some kind of white fluid leaked from the mask of one of the White Shadows, the one he had tasered.  Guppy stumbled as the world spun. "You just…you just murdered them all in cold blood."

Jim-Bean dusted himself off.  "Oh please.  They were trying to kill us.  And if we didn't stop them, they would have warned the others."

"I think they're already warned," said Caprice, but Jim-Bean ignored him.

"I'm just staying on mission.  Isn't that right, Hammer?"

The elevator stopped at a garage. It contained a complete workshop and sets of tools as well as plenty of parking space. On the western side of the garage was a dolly and several metal canisters.  The sickeningly sweet smell was strong here – the canisters most assuredly contained Fumo Loco.

Hammer wiped the blood spatter off of his face.  "Let's go."

The other agents dutifully filed out behind Hammer.  Caprice tugged on Guppy's arm.

"He's…he's crazy," said Guppy, eyes glazed.  "I used to think Hammer was a cold bastard.  But Jim-Bean…he's not…human anymore."

Caprice patted Guppy on the back.  "That's not our problem.  C'mon, let's go."

Guppy gave one backward glance at the spattered heads, the crushed bodies.  Then he followed the others.


----------



## talien

*The Jaded Temple: Part 3 – KABOOM!*

They were in the city’s sewer system. The walls and floor were covered with slime, which made footing treacherous. Jim-Bean led the way.

He stopped at a door.  "They're behind here."  

"Can you unlock it?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "I don't think so. It's an electronic lock."

"Guppy, you're up," said Hammer.  "Open those doors."

Guppy pried open the control panel, spliced some wires, and hooked his cistron up to them.  The door whisked open.

There was another door at the far end of the hall. 

Jim-Bean stalked forward. "That's the computer room." Jim-Bean blinked.  "More ninjas.  Lots of them."

"This is suicide," said Archive.  "We don't have much room to maneuver in here and they're waiting for us."

Jim-Bean smirked.  "Don't worry.  I'll stand in front."

"Guppy, you've got one job – hack that terminal.  I want names, addresses, any information we can get our hands on," said Hammer. "Jim-Bean, your job is to make sure Guppy does what he does best."

Jim-Bean nodded. 

"Caprice, this door's yours.  Go."

Caprice set to work hacking the second door.

"Get ready," said Caprice.  "In three. Two. One…"

The door whisked open.

This room was filled with a small but complete computer system, video monitors, alarm systems, and main overrides for the hydraulic lift systems and the lower level door locks. There were two chairs, one facing a one-way mirror and the other on the monitoring screens. 

Throwing stars flashed through the air.  Jim-Bean held out one hand and they clattered to the ground. Behind him, the agents returned fire with crossbow bolts. 

Then it was a swirling melee.  Caprice stabbed one of them with his makeshift bayonet, who went down writhing and foaming at the mouth. Archive's gun had switched to a knife – not a penknife, like he usually carried, but a big, wicked knife with blood grooves in it.  Guppy hung back.

"You want to get to those computers, right?" shouted Jim-Bean over his shoulder.  "Well come on!"

His grip on Guppy's shoulder was inhumanly strong.  Dragging him along with one hand, Jim-Bean extended his other, and White Shadows parted involuntarily from a wave of telekinetic force.   He charged forward with a shout.

Behind them, Caprice stabbed another White Shadow clean through his chest.  The man's mask fell to the ground, revealing a noseless, grinning face dripping bloody saliva.  He pulled himself forward on the blade, jaws champing inches from Caprice's nose. He was so close Caprice had a moment of clarity: pupils dilated, breath coming in gasps…they were high on something!

Caprice twisted the knife in the White Shadow's gut and hurled him away.  He was still in his final death throws when Caprice picked up the Shadow's sword just in time to block another attacker.

"There's too many!" shouted Caprice.

Jim-Bean loomed over Guppy protectively, but somehow it didn’t make Guppy feel more secure.  Occasionally a White Shadow would come too close, only to be hurled away by Jim-Bean's telekinetic shield.

"Take your time," he said calmly.  "I'm in no rush."

"I'm typing as fast as I can!" Sweat dripped from Guppy's forehead onto the keyboard.  Jim-Bean's unnatural calm only made him more nervous.

There was a grunt behind him. Guppy spun in the chair just in time to dodge a blade smashing through one of the monitors. 

On the other end of the blade was Mok Bin Tau, the heavily muscled Tcho-tcho leader of the White Shadows.  A few feet away, Jim-Bean got to his feet.

"Wow."  Jim-Bean cracked his neck.  "I actually felt that."

"You're goin tah feel ah laht morh," snarled Tau. Guppy guessed Tau's accent had more to do with the old bullet scar through his cheek than his ethnicity. 

Tau withdrew his sword from the monitor, ignoring Guppy for the moment.

Guppy ducked beneath the console. He didn't need the monitor – his cistron, still connected to the Tiger Transit mainframe, was doing all the work.

Tau faced off against Jim-Bean as the White Shadows pressed their advantage.  One of them tripped Hammer and he went down hard.

It was a reflex.  Surrounded by enemies, blades bristling everywhere, Hammer did what he did best.

He drew his pistols and fired. 

And the room exploded.


----------



## talien

*The Jaded Temple: Part 4 – Out of the Ashes*

Jim-Bean rose out of the ashes, sputtering.  He looked around.

"I think I contained the blast," he said.  "You guys can get up now."

Slowly, Archive, Caprice, and Hammer got to their feet.

"Where's Guppy?" asked Caprice.

"Here," said Tau, holding a blade against Guppy's throat.  Guppy's eyes were wide with fear. Tau was edging towards the exit.  "Don't make ah move or ah will kill him." 

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "No you're not," he said slowly.  "You're not going to kill anybody.  You're going to put your sword down and come over here."

The leader of the Tcho-Tchos froze.  Slowly, his arm jerking unnaturally, every muscle fighting the instinct, he threw his sword to the ground.

"I said," Jim-Bean repeated, "come here."

Tau released Guppy.  He took one halting step after another.

Guppy scrambled for his cistron.  The explosion has ripped through the cable connection.  The sputtering remains of computer parts were everywhere.  

"Damn it!" swore Guppy.  "I almost had their entire database!  Everything, all the locations of Tiger Transit's operations…we could have taken the whole thing down!"

Nobody spared Hammer a glance.  

Caprice yanked something out of the wreckage.  "This looks like a hard drive.  Maybe we can reconstruct it…"

"No big deal," said Jim-Bean.  He patted Tau, who stood next to him, on the back.  "Where's the Seventh Scroll?"

Tau strained.  He looked as if he were trying to bite his own tongue. Or what was left of it, anyway.

"Cho Chu-Tsao took it…to Alulu Island."

"And why is she going there?"

"To perform…the Invocation of Yuk Lung."

Jim-Bean nodded. "See?  This is so much easier when we're all friends."

"Yeah," said Hammer warily.  "Friends."


----------



## talien

*The Jaded Temple: Conclusion*

Tau and Morris were handed over to a Majestic safe house, where they would disappear into the bowels of special interrogation rooms.  There was little doubt that what remained of Tiger Transit would be ruined.  Either through the reconstituted hard drives or Mok Bin Tau's personal knowledge of their operations, Tiger Transit was mortally wounded – a weakness it could not afford in the cutthroat world of drug cartels. 

A van picked them up.

"What were you able to find out Guppy?" asked Hammer.

Guppy reviewed his cistron.  His face was still smudged with dirt from the explosion.  "The scrolls were written during the Tang or Song Dynasties and may have originated from an oral tradition handed down during the Hsia Dynasty.  They took the form of riddles, prophecies, parables, and rituals passed down from the Heavens to the Emperor."

"I've heard of these scrolls. Confucius was said to be the last man said to have read all seven scrolls.  The originals have been lost for centuries," said Archive.

"Together, the Seven Scrolls detail the key to the cycles of reincarnation and to the Heavens," added Guppy. "Each scroll supposedly imparts certain levels of knowledge and they build upon one another, so that one cannot master the secrets of the seventh scroll without having read the first six."

"Interesting," said Hammer.  "Not sure what this invocation is but it can't be good."

"It's a ritual of reincarnation," said Archive.  "Whatever Cho Chu-Tsao's planning to wake up, it's already dead."

"It also seems like Tiger Transit broke off relations with Dawn Biozyme and instead started a dialogue with Hunt Electronics," said Guppy.  "Something about similar research."

Hammer sighed.  "We know all about that.  Don't we Jimmy?"

Jim-Bean, who seemed to be in a daze, snapped out of it. "Huh?  Oh yeah, red flowers."

"Buckle up boys," said Hammer.  "We got the GPS coordinates from Tau.  We're going in tonight."

"Right now?" asked Caprice. "I think I may be poisoned."

Hammer nodded towards Archive.  "Archive can fix you up.  We're going in hard and fast.  Just us – Sprague's still not willing to commit resources to a mission that doesn’t have a clear threat, but he's banking everything on the intelligence we got from Armbruster." He looked meaningfully at Jim-Bean, but his companion didn't notice.

"Wait," said Caprice.  "If we're going to Alulu Island RIGHT NOW…

"That means we're going via SPIDER transport." 

"Damn it!"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 52: Righteous Triad Fists - Introduction*

This story hour is from the "Righteous Triad Fists" by Allan T. Grohe Jr. in The Triad Sourcebook, "Mad Merc: The Alulu Island Mission" from Dragon Magazine #56 by Rasmussen and Thompson. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Charismatic/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
Righteous Triad Fists is a hidden gem buried in a supplement for a game that has nothing to do with Call of Cthulhu: The Triad Sourcebook for Hong Kong Action Theater.  The design team received the rights to use elements of the Mythos from Chaosium, so when I was putting together my series of scenarios to take down Tiger Transit, I knew I had to include Righteous Triad Fists.

The plot from Righteous Triad Fists relied heavily on a pregenerated cast of characters, so instead I just took elements that might be useful – Colonel Feng Ho, and the hopping cultists.  Yueng Ng Wa, the deep one bodyguard, makes an appearance in the next installment. 

The Island Mission does most of the heavy lifting here, providing an island and a giant floating submarine dock. The agents almost didn't end up on the dock – they correctly decided that it was a job for Jericho Jets to blow the thing up, a decision Guppy and Caprice disagreed with.  There was a tense moment where the team almost broke up, but thankfully I was able to prod the players into rejoining the plot, and then for good measure had them suffer the consequences of their actions.

Despite the significant amounts of detail spent on the floating drydock, the agents skipped most of the details and went straight for the control room. This worked out just fine in the end. 

*Defining Moment:* The agents learn that the "horseshoe" is also a submarine.

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0394522516?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0394522516]Dragon Magazine #56[/ame]:* Source of the scenario.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1887797122?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1887797122]Delta Green: Countdown[/ame]:* Source of the Tcho-Tchos, the White Shadows, and Mok Bin Tau.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000LVB2ZU?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000LVB2ZU]Triad Sourcebook[/ame]:* Source of Colonel Feng Ho and the hopping cultists.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000QLYCCA?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000QLYCCA]Skullcrusher Mountain[/ame]:* by Jonathan Coulton.


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Prologue*



> _Picture the two of us alone inside my golden submarine
> While up above the waves my doomsday squad ignites the atmosphere
> And all the fools who lead their foolish lives may find it quite explosive
> Well it won't mean half as much to me if I don't have you here​_
> --_Skullcrusher Mountain_ by Jonathan Coulton​



30,000 FEET OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN—Agent Hammer had to shout over the roar of the SPIDER plane's engines.  The agents were all dressed in wet suits with parachutes strapped to their backs.  His voice was further muffled by a breathing mask each of them wore, a necessity during the pre-breathing period where their bloodstream was flooded with oxygen to flush the nitrogen from their systems. Microphones and earpieces within the masks helped somewhat, but Hammer still sounded like Darth Vader when he spoke.

"Alulu Island is located in the west central Pacific Ocean, about a thousand miles south of Japan between the Ryukyu Islands and the Bonin Islands just north of the Tropic of Cancer. It's an independent atoll not associated with any island chain. It's less than a mile in diameter from outer shore to outer shore, and is outside the domain of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands.  It's under 'unofficial' protection of the British government. British missionaries maintain an outpost on the island, which also serves as a weather station. We also had an undercover agent working there who suddenly ceased all communications with home base."

"Tsao's flying halfway across the world to get to this little island? Seems like an awful long way to fly to perform a ritual," said Caprice.

"Recently, a force of mercenaries assembled from the survivors of central African and Latin American campaigns descended upon the island. Shortly after this became known, all contact with the island was cut off. It is believed that Lt. Col. Feng Ho, commonly known as Mad Merc, is the organizer of this invasion. Guppy?"

Guppy punched a few buttons on his cistron, no small feat with the gloves he was wearing.  An image of Ho flashed on their cistrons.

"In the aftermath of World War II, Ho was discharged from the Chinese Army after an incident in which many innocent civilians were killed. Since that time he has kept a very low profile.  Since then, he served as a mercenary in military actions around the world. We believe Cho Chu-Tsao flew to Alulu Island to rendezvous with Ho, and that Ho is responsible for silencing all communications."

"Why don't we just—" began Jim-Bean.

Hammer held up one hand.  "Before you recommend bombing the place with Jericho Jets, Majestic's not willing to intervene until reliable intelligence is received from the island. The primitive native population of something more than one hundred individuals who may be under forcible detention, and their lives as well as the lives of the missionaries may be jeopardized if military action is attempted."

"What's a couple of hundred natives…"  began Jim-Bean, but Hammer cut him off.

"We will be inserted via HALO drop as close as possible to the missionary outpost, where Agent Powers was last reported before he disappeared. You all remember your training, right?"

They nodded.  Guppy had earned his HALO badge after the incident in Poland. 

"The cloud cover is pretty thick," shouted Agent Rudolph, the co-pilot.  "We've already made three passes and this is as good as it's going to get."

Hammer checked his cistron, which was plugged into his breathing mask.  Their nitrogen levels were clean. 

"Switching tanks over," commanded Hammer.

"Switching tanks over!" the other agents responded. 

Agent Pope, the plane's navigator, patted Hammer's helmet.  The bay doors opened up, revealing a sky lit only by a white fluffy landscape below…clouds.

"Go! Go! Go!" 

With a deep breath, Hammer launched himself out and away into space.


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 1 – Playing HALO*

The wind screamed past Hammer as he went into free fall.  

He was dimly aware of the other agents falling beside him, arms and legs spread.  Their altimeters clicked away as they descended.

For a little while there was nothing but Hammer's breathing.  It was peaceful, silent.  

They plunged through the cloud cover.  The air was nothing but mist and Hammer could feel the dampness fighting to get through his suit.  There were flashes of lightning here and there, but other than that it was quiet.  White.  Beautiful.

He fell out of the bottom of the cloud.  The ocean glittered beneath them in the moonlight.  A storm was roiling overhead, but it hadn't yet broke and the moon was still partially visible, illuminating the contours of the island.

It was the worst possible weather for a HALO insertion.  But they had little choice.

"We're clear.  Deploy parachutes in five…four…three…two..."

Hammer took a deep breath and set his jaw so that he wouldn't bite his tongue.  He pulled the ripcord. 

The parachute exploded out behind him.  There was always that breathtaking moment between deployment and the parachute filling with air.  In those moments men learned their fates.

The parachute deployed and it felt as if God flung him around by the scruff of his neck.  Hammer grabbed hold of the parachute controls and steered toward the landing target.

The heads-up display on his mask showed that the other agents deploying, one after another.  Guppy deployed his chute right on time -- Hammer was concerned that, given his past experience, he might deploy it too early.  But Guppy was the least of his problems.

A red light flashed on his HUD to the tune of a soft but persistent warning beep.

"Jimmy, what's up?"

"I'm fine," said Jim-Bean.

Hammer had to concentrate on steering.  He craned his neck, but in the darkness and with the storm swirling overhead it was hard to see anything.

"Why aren't you deploying your chute?'

"I don't need one," came the monotone reply.

"You can fly now?" asked Caprice sarcastically.

"Yes," said Jim-Bean.

The beeping became more urgent as they floated closer to the island.  Hammer was close enough to make out some details.

Alulu Island was an oblong coral atoll that almost encircled a shallow lagoon. There was a thin layer of topsoil inland, away from the sandy, wave-pounded beaches. On the southwestern side of the isle, waves had carved a wide inlet that connected the ocean with the lagoon. On the northern side of the island, a shallow channel of water divided the island at high tide. Hammer aimed his parachute toward the island.

"Jimmy, deploy your chute."

"I'm already on the ground," said Jim-Bean.

The altimeter disagreed with Jim-Bean's assessment.  But then, they weren't made for a psychic free-jumping like a madman. "God damn it Jim, deploy your chute! That's an order!"

Hammer was so caught up in looking around for Jim-Bean that he lost control of his parachute.  It snagged on a tree and whipped him around, nearly slamming him head first into another tree.  He came to rest upside down, spinning slowly in a circle one way, then the next.

There was the sound of lines snapping.  Hammer fell unceremoniously to the ground, ten feet up.  He rolled and came to his feet, pistols at the ready.

Jim-Bean, who wasn't wearing his chute or mask, stood over him. He was smiling.  "Told you I already landed."


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 2 – On a Mission*

The missionaries’ building was a small wood-frame house on the south side of the island. Hammer stealthily padded up to the veranda.  It was marred by signs of damage and forced entry. The front door was hanging on one hinge, three-quarters open.

"Something very bad happened here," said Guppy, stating the obvious.

They all looked to Jim-Bean, who had one hand out before him, eyes closed.  "All clear," he said. "Nobody's home that I can see."

They entered a main hall. It appeared to have been used as a triage area/emergency room/waiting area for the natives needing medical attention. Ten empty wooden chairs were lined up around the walls, and the walls were pockmarked in several places by what looked like bullet holes.

Caprice ducked into one room and Guppy followed.  What’s left of a radio and a simple transmitter were scattered about. The few pieces of electronic equipment were all mangled by gunfire. Two chairs were overturned on the floor.

A bird shrieked in the distance.  "Woooop! Woooop!"

Guppy ducked into an adjacent room.  The words “Meteorological Office” were printed on the door to the room in English. It had been smashed open. 

Radar equipment, a barometer, a hygrometer, a wind gauge, a weather vane, and a radio were housed in the room.

Guppy fiddled with the devices.  They were all intact and operable. 

"Wooop!  Wooop!"

"What the hell is that?" asked Caprice from the other room.

"I don't know," said Guppy over his shoulder.  "Something big and weird." He turned the radio on.  Nothing happened.

Guppy pried the back of the radio off.  Sure enough, there was a transmitting device on the back of it. He hooked his cistron up to it and tapped a few keys.  It was a signal.  A radio signal to another receiver not far from their location.  According to the coordinates, it had to be just off shore – which didn't make any sense, as any boat large enough to have the radio signature he was picking up would have surely been grounded on the island's beach. 

"Guys," Guppy whispered, covering the remote mic.  "I think they know we're here!"

"WOOOP!" shouted something that was most certainly not a bird near the window.  "WOOOP!"

"Oh you think?" Jim-Bean shouted back.

Guppy was about to put the device down when he heard it beep.  A gyroscope was attached to the transmitter.  And it had just activated.

"Uh…Caprice?  Buddy?"

Caprice ducked his head in.  "Yeah?"

"I think…" Guppy began to sweat. "I think I just triggered some kind of bomb."

Caprice walked in to get a better look.  Without touching it, he traced the wire from Guppy's hand to the floor.  Then he followed it into the floor.  

"Hey Jim-Bean!" Caprice shouted. 

Jim-Bean sauntered in.  "Did you hear those weird noises?  What's up?"

Guppy gulped.  "I think I'm connected to a bomb."

"Can you take a look underneath this place?" asked Caprice.

"Sure." Jim-Bean peered down at the floor.  "Uh oh."

"Uh oh!" asked Guppy.  "What do you mean UH OH?"

"This entire placed is rigged with explosives," Jim-Bean said calmly.  

Caprice sighed.  "What's what I was afraid of. Don't move Guppy, and whatever you do, don't drop that thing."

Guppy didn't even nod.  He just got very still, eyes practically cross-eyed staring at the triggering device.  "Okay."

Caprice pulled a multitool from his pocket and slid under the table.  

"WOOOOOP!" The cry sounded like it came from within the building.

Gunfire answered the cry.  "Natives!" shouted Hammer from the main hall.  "Lots of them!"

"Almost there…" muttered Caprice, seemingly oblivious to the combat.

Jim-Bean stuck his head out of the doorway to take a look.  "You may want to hurry up."

"Almost…there…" said Caprice.

In the main hall, Hammer ducked behind an overturned table.  "They're going to rush us!" 

Archive had just finished etching a huge Elder Sign across the span of the room in chalk.  He ran over to join Hammer.  "Ready!"

The tcho-tchos living on Alulu Island surged through the doorways on both side of the mission.  They had light brown skin, straight black hair and filed teeth.  But they looked different than the tcho-tchos the agents had seen before, with an odd bluish-cast to their features and bulging watery-yellow eyes. 

Hammer blasted two as they entered but more half-loped, half-hopped into the room, bristling with spears and bows.

He and Archive retreated to the radio room with the others, firing as they went.

"I did it!" shouted Caprice, holding up snipped green and yellow wires.

Archive began chanting. The tcho-tchos advanced, standing in a mass over the Elder Sign.

"Did what?" asked Hammer over his shoulder.

"There are explosives under the building," said Jim-Bean, as if he were reporting the weather.

"WHAT?!" shouted Hammer just as Archive finished his chant.

The eye at the center of the chalk pentagram opened, blazing to life with fiery fury.  Natives shrieked as they burst into flames.

"Get behind me!" was all Jim-Bean got out before the entire place exploded.


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 3 – Horseshoes and Hand Grenades*

Bits of flaming wood landed all around them.  Jim-Bean had his eyes closed, palms outward as if to ward off a blow.  He dropped his hands when the wreckage stopped falling.

"So much for the peaceful native population," muttered Hammer.  "Everyone on the island saw that explosion."

"I know where they were transmitting to," said Guppy.  He pointed.  "This way."

They marched off into the foliage. The inland part of the reef, although only a few dozen feet wide at best, resembled a tropical forest. The soil was thin and poor for farming, but substantial enough to support many growths of coconut palms. Tangled vines and low brush covered the inland area where the palm groves did not. 

The agents burst out into the open beach. The reef encircling the lagoon was composed mostly of limestone and covered with bright and colorful coral. The beach was sandy but narrow; beyond the shore, the landscape sloped sharply upward. 

Guppy looked down at his cistron.  "According to my calculations, something with a huge radar array was receiving the signal from the mission.  But I don't see how something that big could be…" he looked up. "…so close…to shore…"

Only a few hundred yards off sure was a huge, battleship-gray, horseshoe-shaped structure. The top ten feet of the complex was above the surface of the lagoon. Five crane mechanisms were visible around the perimeter of the top deck, framed by the night sky. Anchor chains stretched down at an angle into the ocean. Various seams and fittings were discernible. The horseshoe complex gave off a low, steady hum.

Six rotating searchlights were placed around the perimeter of the top deck, occasionally scanning over a statue at the center of the horseshoe. Connected by chains, the fifteen-foot tall statue was carved from a black glossy stone marbled with rust red and blue-green veins.  It depicted a squaminous beast, hunched over, wings flared, with tentacles dangling from its face.  It looked down into the emptiness between its two outstretched and clawed hands, as if to eat the world that’s not yet in its grasp. 

"Whoa," said Caprice.  "Guess we know what Tiger Transit's been spending their money on, huh?"

Hammer turned back to the team.  "Okay, I think this qualifies as an overt threat worthy of—"

Jim-Bean practically squealed with joy.  "Jericho Jets?"

Hammer nodded.  "Yeah."

Jim-Bean flipped on his cistron.

"I didn't say you could call them in, Jimmy."

Jim-Bean's eyes narrowed.  "Why not?"

Archive cleared his throat.  "Uh, guys?"

"Because I'm lead on this mission, that's why." Hammer flipped his cistron on.  "This is Agent Hammer.  Natives are hostile. Target sighted. Requesting a PURGATORY strike.  I repeat, PURGATORY strike at my coordinates."

"Roger that.  Jericho Jets inbound," responded  a female synthetic voice.  SINNER.  

Their cistrons all switched to a countdown.  Fifteen minutes before the Jericho Jets would reach their target.

"Guys!" interjected Archive.

Jim-Bean frowned.  "It's not because you're mission leader.  It's because you don't trust me."

"No I DON'T trust you," snapped Hammer.  "You've been going off half-cocked these past few missions and your powers are barely under control…"

"Hey!" snarled Jim-Bean in an uncharacteristic display of anger.  "I saved your asses TWICE!  You would have been burnt to a cinder back there if it wasn't for me.  And back at the control center in the Jade Temple, that little stunt you kept reminding us about not doing nearly killed all of us.  Who's acting erratically now, huh?"

"GUYS!" interjected Archive.  

Jim-Bean and Hammer both turned to chastise Archive for interrupting. "What?" they shouted in unison.

"Guppy and Caprice are swimming out to the horseshoe."

Hammer lowered his cistron with a sigh.


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 4 – Yours and Mine*

Guppy was glad that they all wore suits that could withstand freezing temperatures.  They had all packed flippers and some basic SCUBA gear, with their air tanks for the HALO jump converted to SCUBA tanks. But mostly Guppy was just following Caprice's lead, who decided to go ahead with infiltrating the base while the others were arguing about it.

Guppy could make out Caprice ahead of him, visible only by the sluice of water he cut as he swam steadily towards the giant horseshoe.

Then something tugged on his leg.  Guppy panicked and looked down, his mind conjuring images of some tentacled beast sucking him into the depths.  But it was just a fishing line, connected to a blinking round sphere.

Guppy untangled his leg and swam faster.  

An explosion behind him blasted seawater high up into the air.  The shockwave pounded Guppy a second later, flipping him over and over.  He wasn't sure if he hit another mine or if the shockwave set it off, but a series of explosions tore through the surface of the water.

Battered and bruised, Guppy felt himself slipping out of consciousness…

Caprice grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up.  An ululating alarm wailed from the horseshoe, followed by the sudden intense focus of the spotlights.

"Uh oh," said Caprice, swimming as fast as he could with one arm around Guppy.  

Guppy craned his neck.  "Uh oh?"

They were closed enough to see that the spotlights were each connected to a dome positioned atop the horseshoe's deck.  From each dome jutted a long barrel pointed in their direction.

"Gun emplacements," said Caprice.  

Caprice stopped swimming forward.  They were sitting ducks, defenseless.  He stared up at the heavy machinegun aimed at his head and made peace with his maker.

The machinegun clicked and shuddered. Sparks flew out of the sides.

Caprice started swimming again. "C'mon Guppy, SWIM!  If we can get inside their angle of fire I don't think they can target us."

Guppy turned and started swimming.  His ears were still ringing and his eyesight was blurry, but it didn't matter – in the churning surf, with the spotlights spinning frantically about, he couldn't see much anyway.  He swam as if his life depended on it.

Caprice reached an airlock door, just above sea level.  He tugged on the wheel but it wouldn't budge.

"Help me!" 

Guppy, still shaking off the cobwebs, grabbed hold and pulled.  It didn't move. "It's locked from the inside," he wailed.

Suddenly the wheel spun open of its own accord.  Half-expecting a pistol pointed in their faces, they peered cautiously inside. Nobody.  Caprice and Guppy dove inside.

Inside the airlock a red strobe light whirled crazily, the wail of the siren muffled but still audible. The water at their feet began to rise.

"What the…I think this horseshoe thing is diving!" exclaimed Caprice.

Caprice began to pull the door shut when Hammer's gloved hand caught the lip.  He stepped inside, followed by Archive and Jim-Bean.

"How did you…?" asked Guppy.

Hammer shot Jim-Bean a look.  "Don't ask."


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 5 – We All Live in a Giant Submarine*

"They're down there," said Jim-Bean, pointing at a narrow ladder to the bridge.  "They're waiting for us."

"All right.  We're going in hard and fast," said Hammer, pistols cocked.  "Jim-Bean, you take point.  I'll provide cover.  Caprice, Guppy, see if you can make it to the control panels.  We need to find out what happened to the book.  Archive, you hang back, provide support as needed.  Ready?"

They nodded.

"Jimmy, go!"

Gripping the ladder with the insides of his feet, Jim-Bean slid down the rail.  He was immediately peppered with gunfire.  Jim-Bean held one hand out and the bullets ricocheted off harmlessly.

Hammer was next.  He hit the ground hard, rolled and came up firing. The gunfire stopped for a moment as the guards ducked behind control panels.

The other agents followed, each letting loose a volley of retaliatory fire so that another agent could slide down.

Lining the walls of the chamber were seven consoles with matching chairs. The consoles were for RADAR, the diving control center, the quartermaster post, radio, sonar, SINS (Submarine Inertial Navigation Systems), and the complex’s computer. A periscope flanked by a radio antenna and a radar antenna stood in one corner of the room. 

The tcho-tcho guards piloting the horseshoe were dressed entirely in black — slacks, turtleneck sweater, and deck shoes. Colonel Feng Ho stood at the center of the mass of men, firing his pistol. 

Canister-shaped grenades were tossed over into the center of the room.

"Gas!" shouted Hammer.

The agents all flipped their breathing masks up. In the smoke and fumes, something big and heavy ka-clunked on one of the operating panels.

Feng Ho's voice was audible in the darkness. "Let's see you stop this."

"Chain gun!" shouted Caprice.

In the interim Ho had three men mount a belt-fed chain gun.  Ho's hand swiveled it to aim at Jim-Bean.

"'Bthnk! Ftaghu! Fhtagn!" Archive pointed one finger and Ho froze in place, hand still on the trigger.

Jim-Bean cackled. "You think that's going to stop me?  Try this."  He tore the pin of a grenade out with his teeth and tossed it.

"Jimmy, NO!" shouted Hammer.

The bridge crew could only look on in horror as the fragmentation grenade bounced its way towards them.  Ho, shaking himself free from the spell, dove over one of the consoles.

Then a localized explosion tore through the pressurized sub.


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 6 – Insecure*

Hammer came up first, sputtering in rage.  Half of him was amazed he was still alive. The other half considered how to murder Jim-Bean on the spot, if he could even be killed anymore.

Jim-Bean stood, smiling.  He was unharmed by the blast.  Water streamed in from a dozen places, electrical wires sparked, and computer equipment was everywhere.

The other agents slowly rose to their feet.  

Hammer turned to face Jim-Bean, hands at his sides. It was not a friendly gesture. 

Jim-Bean smirked as he held up a broken vial. "Looking for this?  It was destroyed in the blast.  Too bad."

It was the vial of BIOSAN-4.  Hammer now had no means of stopping him.

"Don't be mad, Hammer.  We don't have time for this nonsense and that was the quickest way to end the conflict."

"End it?  You put all our lives in danger!  Are you trying to kill us?"

Jim-Bean laughed.  "If that were the case you'd already be dead." He sighed.  "Besides, we're after the book, remember? And I know who can lead us to it.  Ho, come here," commanded Jim-Bean.

Colonel Feng Ho meekly joined Jim-Bean.  "We need to get to the auxiliary bridge."

Ho led the way.  Hammer, suddenly realizing just how powerless he was, went along.  The other agents, dusting themselves off, followed.

With Ho in the lead, they were left unmolested by the other crew members, who were no longer interested in fighting anyway.  Creaks and groans echoed throughout the ship as they reached the auxiliary bridge.

Guppy and Caprice sat down at the controls.  "Routing control to auxiliary," said Guppy.

Caprice flicked a few switches.  "What the…inbound targets, coming in fast."

"Oh right," said Hammer.  "We called in a PURGATORY strike."

"You what?" shouted Caprice.  "When were you going to tell us that?"

"When you asked your team leader for permission to swim across a minefield!" Hammer barked back.  He flicked on his cistron, but got only static. "Can you outmaneuver them?"

"Outmaneuver them?" Caprice shook his head.  "This thing's on autopilot.  It's a nuclear powered sub.  Diving fast too."

"I think I can change course…" began Guppy. 

Warning lights clicked on.  There was a terrible shudder as the entire vessel groaned.

"Direct hit!  We're taking on water!" shouted Caprice.

Guppy flipped some switches. "Sealing all non-critical sections.  This thing isn't going to last long."

The lights went out.  Then the emergency lights flicked back on, bathing them in an eerie green glow.

"All right Ho," said Jim-Bean.  "Where's Cho Chu-Tsao and her book?"

"She took one of the mini-subs," said Ho.  "She said she was going to R'lyeh."

"Ril-who?" asked Caprice.

Archive's lips were set in a grim line.  "R'lyeh," he repeated.  "That is very bad news."

"Are there any other mini-subs on this thing?" asked Hammer.

Ho nodded.  "The Wallaby has two Joeys.  She took one of them."

"Huh, must be Australian subs," said Caprice.

"Take us there," ordered Jim-Bean.  "Before those Jericho Jets realize they haven't finished us off."


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Conclusion*

Guppy sat down on the bridge of the Wallaby.  His eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store as he switched the power on.  It hummed to life with all the fanfare of a Mac computer. "I recognize this…this is the submersible that was stolen from an Australian facility!"

Caprice sat down on the chair opposite him.  "Yeah I heard of the Wallaby.  It keeps pressure equalized at any depth."

"The Wallaby can operate under its own power for two weeks," said Guppy.  He flipped more switches as the diagnostics whirred to life.  

"It looks the Millenium Falcon to me," said Hammer, standing behind Guppy.

"Better," said Guppy, grinning for the first time in awhile.  "The Wallaby has combination of pontoons and ballast, a single set of impeller motors, and a mini-sub cradle."

"The Joeys," said Ho robotically. "There are two.  Tsao took one."  

"I've got her signal," said Caprice.  "We can track her."

The horseshoe shuddered again.  "Let's get the hell out of here," said Hammer. 

"Aye, aye, captain!" said Guppy.  He pushed a lever forward and the sounds of couplers disconnecting rumbled the perimeter of the Wallaby. 

The Wallaby pulled away, spinning as it caught in the current and propelled itself quickly away from the larger ship.

"I just realized," said Jim-Bean, laughing to himself.  "If the mini-subs are Joeys and this thing is the Wallaby, then that Horseshoe thing is…" he broke out into fits of laughter.  "…a KANGAROO!  HA!"

Jim-Bean's hysterical laughter was all that echoed throughout the Wallaby as they descended into a deep sea trench.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 53: Grace Under Pressure - Introduction*

This story hour is from "Grace Under Pressure" by Jeff Barber and John Tynes and "Project Pi" by Peer Kroger from Worlds of Cthulhu #1. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Charismatic/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
Grace Under Pressure is a perfect fit for Project Pi, combining a deep sea submarine expedition with the excitement of heavily armed SEALs. While I was really attracted to running Grace Under Pressure with miniatures, time didn't allow for it.  Events moved quickly, as the agents are still in pursuit of Cho Chu-Tsao, there's a giant submarine tumbling into the depths behind them, and they're about to descend into R'lyeh.

In R'lyeh, our old friend Dr. William Davis Ko is back – turns out he's a traitor to Majestic-12 and continued to fund his Deep One research in conjunction with the Pi Virus.  John Powers, also a traitor to Majestic-12, was icing on the cake. From there, it was just a matter of having Cho Chu-Tsao, Ko, and Ko's bodyguard duke it out in front of Fat Dragon's nifty temple which my two-year-old son helped me put together. 

I knew this scenario was trouble though.  I even mentioned it on Nebulos' story hour, who ran it as a d20 Modern game like I did. The problem is that the scenario doesn't really have a survival conclusion.  Basically, the PCs have a very high chance of getting "Deep One on them" with the only solution being a tradeoff with the final villain in front of the Cthulhu shrine. Assuming the agents sell out to save their lives, it leaves the little matter of Cthulhu awakening.  

The resolution, as implied by the scenario, involves nuclear subs might firing a missile at Cthulhu. We didn't have a nuclear missile because I changed the scenario around.  But I did have a nuclear-powered submarine. 

Both scenarios are concerned about avoiding awakening Cthulhu, which just seems silly to me.  I mean, seriously, you can't beat a Star Spawn of Cthulhu in combat, so if you're going to blow one up with a plot device, why not just use the Big Guy himself?

So I used the Star Spawn as the Big Scary Monster you THINK is the final boss but isn't.  My brother even asked, "why do they call this game Call of Cthulhu?  Do we ever get to meet him?"

And then he did.

I had my Call of Cthulhu action figure from SOTA toys, which I used in my Arcanis story hour.  It's been a couple of years, so the players completely forgot about it.  In fact, I was careful to bundle him up in a plastic bag so that nobody accidentally discovered him before his big reveal.  It had exactly the effect I hoped.

*Defining Moment:* Agent Jim-Bean sacrifices his humanity to save the human race.

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002E3G618?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B002E3G618]I Crush Everything[/ame]:* By Jonathan Coulton.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1887797122?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1887797122]Delta Green: Countdown[/ame]:* Source of the Cho Chu-Tsao.
*Call of Cthulhu Action Figure:* from SOTA Toys.
*Grace Under Pressure:* from The Unspeakable Oath.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/3937826068?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=3937826068]Worlds of Cthulhu #1[/ame]:* by Peter Kroger.
*Shrine of Cthulhu:* by Fat Dragon Games.
*Project Pi Story Hour:* by Nebulos.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Prologue*



> _Did the stars come out? Did the world spin round?
> Does it matter that much when you're ten miles down?
> And in the light that filters down
> Into my giant yellow eye
> I can see the sails unfolding
> Stretching white against the sky and I forgive them
> I forgive and I let go​_
> --_I Crush Everything_ by Jonathan Coulton​



30,000 FEET BENEATH THE PACIFIC OCEAN—The agents were in hot pursuit of Cho Chu-Tsao's smaller mini-sub, the Joey.  It was difficult to tell if they were actually overtaking her in the Wallaby, though, as the pings they got back from her homing beacon were erratic.

There was a hideous wrenching noise and then the power flickered. The Wallaby swerved to starboard. 

"What was that?" asked Hammer.

"We lost the starboard impeller!" shouted Guppy, struggling with the controls.  

"Can you tell me where the problem is?" asked Jim-Bean.  "If so I can probably take a look." 

Caprice brought up a map of the Wallaby.  It really did look like the Millennium Falcon. A starboard section blinked red.  "There."

Jim-Bean grunted.  "I think I'm close enough…" He took a few steps towards the back of the bridge.  "Yep, I can see it."  His eyes glazed. "Looks like…looks like there's something stuck in the impeller. Muck and debris fouled up the blades.  The grill at the front of the impeller tube has been smashed in."

"The muck must have closed over the grill completely.  That'll cause the impeller to create a vacuum that pulls the loose corner of the grill inwards," said Caprice.

"Do something fast!" shouted Guppy.  "We're spinning in circles here!"

"I can suit up—" began Caprice.

"I've got it," said Jim-Bean. He reached out into the air with his hand, a pantomime for his telekinesis.  "Lots of muck and clay, and several sections of…that's weird."

"What?" asked Archive fearfully.

"It looks like black coral. Stout and gnarled."

Archive frowned.  "Black coral?  There's no coral like that in this part of the ocean."

"Can you clear it?" asked Hammer.

"I think so."  Jim-Bean concentrated and made a yanking motion with one clawed hand.  The Wallaby shuddered and righted itself.

Guppy sunk back into his seat.  "Whew.  Okay, we've evened out."

Jim-Bean lit a cigarette in the recycled air of the Wallaby and took a puff.  "Looks like the psychic maniac has some value after all."


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Part 1 – Welcome to R'lyeh*

The exterior lights of the Wallaby only extended about twenty yards; beyond that there was nothing but the Iightless deeps of the ocean and the silence. 

"Uh, guys?" said Archive.  "Did you notice what's moving in our wake?"

Caprice blinked at the monitors.  They'd been descending for fifteen minutes without incident.  "That's weird."

Guppy checked too.  "Phosphorescent plankton isn't that unusual on the surface, but it's definitely strange down here." 

Another few minutes passed without occurrence. Then, the Wallaby's lights revealed strange forms; the Wallaby had reached the strange black coral that fouled up their motors. 

At first the coral was just singular knobby fingers clawing up from the ground. Gradually the coral became more frequent, and the specimens got longer, thicker, and more gnarled. Before long, a forest of black stalks stretched out before them. 

While the earliest specimens were only a few inches or so long, the coral in the forest reached twenty to thirty feet in length. The mass extended to the sides for as far as the lights could reach. 

"What is coral doing down here at this depth?" asked Caprice.

A little more time passed. The Wallaby was traveling a few yards above the top of the coral spines, while the agents looked out the windows at the strange landscape surrounding them.

Gradually, patches of phosphorescence were visible, pooled on the sea floor within the coral, similar to the glow trailing in their wake. Then, just ahead, something entered the area shown by Wallaby's forward spotlights.

Within a few moments the coral forest was broken up by chunks of stone, curiously regular. While they appeared to be fragmented and split, they did suggest being a part of something else.

"Is that fallen masonry?" asked Hammer.

The chunks passing beneath the Wallaby were larger and larger, and had different shapes. Cubes, rectangles, then columns, octagons...it was clear that they were not natural.

"No," said Archive gravely.  "R'lyeh."

At first irregular and far between, the glowing patches increased in number and size, eventually flowing together into a soft latticework across the sea floor. While nowhere near as bright as the Wallaby's spotlights, the glow did serve to illuminate contours and shapes in the dim water beyond the light.

The coral grew thin, with only a few stalks clumped here and there. In its place lay the rudiments of buildings. 

It became clear that they were are at the beginning of a broad canyon-like avenue, lined with squat structures revealed by the spotlights and the sickly glow that was increasingly widespread. The buildings became more elaborate the further that the Wallaby went. Very quickly, the tops of the structures were beyond the range of the spotlights, and their height could only be guessed at by the faint phosphorescence that coated them. They were enclosed by mammoth towers, stolid halls, all cracked and dim, showing the wear of centuries, perhaps millennia. The architecture was of ancient origin, but showed traits found in nearly every style ever produced by man. 

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn," whispered Archive.

"What?" asked Hammer, irritated by Archive's odd behavior.

"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming," whispered Archive, hugging himself.  "We are in a very bad place."

The construction of the buildings wasn't right. Angles were swallowed up by masonry. As the eyes attempt to follow them, the mind reeled when they didn't lead where they should. 

The avenue came to an end at a slope of rubble and ooze, rising up to the face of a vast wall of closely-set structures well over seventy yards high. The span of buildings reached far beyond the range of the Wallaby's spots, but they could be made out in the strange glow of the place. A stronger glow emanated from over the top. The net effect was imposing and ominous.

Guppy nudged the controls, starting the Wallaby's climb to the top. 

And then they saw it.  The wall was actually the exterior of a mammoth depression mat extending below the level of the terrain outside. This enormous arena was hundreds of yards across. It would quickly stretch beyond their field of vision if not for one thing: it glowed. 

The strange phosphorescence noticeable in the Wallaby's wake was present, and it covered everything inside the bowl. The walls of the place descended and tumbled inwards, coming together somewhere below a vast pool of muck. The muck glowed only faintly, compared to the walls surrounding it.

A huge black mountain towered up above the rest of the sunken city.  The beeping signal suddenly cut out.

"We lost her," sighed Guppy.  He slowed the Wallaby to a hover. "The signal cut out."

"Where?" demanded Hammer.

"Into the mountain.  She must have crashed—" started Guppy.

"No," said Archive.  "She didn't crash.  They're inside the mountain."

"Follow her," said Hammer. 

"But the instruments say…"

"I don't care what the instruments say!" snarled Hammer.  "We've come too far to give up now.  Follow her!"

Guppy swallowed and accelerated the Wallaby straight into the mountain.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Part 2 – Losing Powers*

As the Wallaby approached the dark mountain, a massive opening revealed itself to be navigable.  It led into a kind of pool in a huge cavern.

"Sensors indicate a breathable atmosphere," said Caprice.  "But we'll need to put on pressure suits—"

Guppy sighed as a warning light flickered on his console.  "Jim-Bean just opened the airlock."

Jim-Bean gave the Wallaby's cameras a thumbs-up.  

"Caprice, you watch Ho.  I don't want him out of your sight."

Feng Ho, if he was aware of his plight, didn't show it.  He watched Jim-Bean curiously on the monitor, like a puppy wondering when its master would return.

Caprice rolled his eyes.  "I get to watch the mind-controlled zombie?  Great."

The other agents followed Jim-Bean out of the sub. 

The pool was located in a massive subterranean hall.  Wide paths ran along the edges, like the waterfronts of an underground port facility.  From the paths, dark passageways led further into the mountain.  The domed ceiling of the hall was so high that it was swallowed up in darkness.  Titanic, irregularly spaced columns rose up all around them.  

"This is interesting," said Archive, tracing a finger along one of the columns.  "It's in Aklo."

Everywhere on the walls and columns, strange, uncanny alien reliefs and hieroglyphs in an antediluvian, long forgotten language were worked into the stone.  The whole complex seemed to be incomprehensibly old.  But the dark, basalt stone with the strange symbols looked to be completely untouched down through the millennia. The only sign of its age was the thick growth of algae and fungus that had grown up out of the water like a cancer and covered large portions of the walls, ceilings, and columns.  The plants emitted a dim, greenish light that was the only illumination within the primeval edifice.

"This doesn't make any sense!" said Guppy, shaking his head.  "We're so far underwater…the pressure should be immense.  Even the whole notion that there's breathable air…we didn't have to depressurize...." he threw up his hands.

"The rules of nature don't apply here," said Archive gravely.

"Guys," said Jim-Bean, pointing.  "Looks like we found our Joey."

On one side, barely discernible in the darkness, the Joey research sub was moored.  On the shore behind it was the remains of an improvised camp.  

Gunfire raked one of the columns above Jim-Bean's head.  He didn't even flinch.

The other agents ducked behind columns.  Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Powers, I know that's you.  Give up."

The familiar tink of a grenade pin being pulled reached their ears.  The grenade made a lazy arc in the air.

Jim-Bean put one hand out and the grenade hovered for a split second before rocketing back the way it came.  The ensuing explosion knocked one pillar down. It folded in on itself, collapsing almost sideways. 

The agents encircled the shattered pillar.

Sure enough, Powers was partially pinned beneath it. He was alive but covered in blood, muttering the same words over and over, in what almost sounded like a prayer:

"As the tiger arose from the flame the sleeper will wake just the same.  Born again by our hands, infinite power he commands.  For his return we are forewarned, from his own flesh shall he be born.  His second body we shall bestow and our thoughts only will he know. By our will directed; by no thing deflected.  The age of man sets like the sun.  Death unto them, for we have one!"

Powers didn't look right.  Bluish veins pulsed beneath his skin and his eyes were a watery yellow. 

"Is he talking about Tiger Transit?" asked Guppy.

Archive shook his head.  "More like a prophecy."

"He's finished," said Hammer.  "Guppy, Archive, you're with me.  I want to make sure there's no one else in that sub. Caprice, Jim-Bean, stay with the Wallaby until we return."

The other agents left, leaving Caprice and Jim-Bean with the dying Powers. 

"Ho, return to the Wallaby." Jim-Bean didn't even bother to look up. "Stay there until we return."  

Ho robotically did as he was told. Caprice smiled.  "That frees me up.  I'll join the other guys. No offense, but you are freaking me out."  He jogged after the other agents.

When they were alone, Jim-Bean grabbed hold of Power's collar.  "You're a traitor to Majestic, Powers.  How?  How did you do that?  How come your head hasn't exploded?"

Powers laughed, spitting up blood.  "You…want to…know…how?"

"I'll just pry it out of you," began Jim-Bean, concentrating. He closed his eyes…

Then Powers vomited a hideous stream of bluish-green goo.

Jim-Bean stumbled backwards, gasping. Powers' eyes rolled as he expired.  

"Damn it, Caprice, I told you to stay with Jim-Bean!" growled Hammer. They arrived just in time to see Jim-Bean dunking his face in the saltwater pool.

"What happened to you?" asked Hammer suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Jim-Bean.  "Just cleaning the stink of this place off of me. Let's go."


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Part 3 – In the Mouth of Madness*

The agents entered into the labyrinthine passageways of the sunken nightmare city.

"From what I could decipher from the laptop on the Joey," began Guppy, "there's three cultists down here.  Cho Chu-Tsao, Agent Powers, and William Davis Ko."

"So Powers wasn't the only defector," said Caprice.

"No.  In fact, it looks like Majestic ended up funding Ko's research.  They gave him access to some piscid humanoids, codenamed BLUE HADES, retrieved from PROJECT JENNIFER—"

"Deep Ones," corrected Archive.

Guppy looked at him.  "Okay, sure.  Ko got his hands on some Deep One DNA."

Hammer nodded, his eyes tracking signs of Chu-Tsao's passage.  "That explains the fish-hybrids we found in Chicago. Tiger Transit was originally funding Ko's work."

The trail led through broad and high corridors overgrown with dimly glowing algae and fungi.  Mysterious reliefs on the walls depicted nightmarish horrors. 

"Right," said Guppy.   "And I think Majestic-12 wanted access to Ko's experiments.  But I guess he was a double agent."

"So Ko's research for Majestic-12 picked up right where he left off with Tiger Transit?" asked Caprice.

"Yeah," said Guppy.  "Worse, actually.  He stumbled upon a flu-virus under PROJECT PI.  The Pi prion can convert human DNA to Deep One DNA in a matter of hours."

Jim-Bean paused for a moment, coughing.  

"You okay Jimmy?" asked Hammer.

"I'm fine," said Jim-Bean.  He kept walking.

"They tested it on the native population," continued Guppy.  "And from the gist of the emails, they were going to unleash it on Ho's men too."

"So we did Ho a favor!" laughed Jim-Bean. 

"Yeah," said Caprice slowly.  "A favor."

The twisting trail led to a stone slab hallway that descended at a slight grade as it proceeded into a small hillock. There were signs of a lot of traffic in and out of the temple. The agents filed inside, weapons ready. 

The entrance opened into a passageway nearly ten feet wide and fourteen feet tall. Toward the bottom, where the walls were better protected from the elements, strange hieroglyphics covered them. The floor sloped at a nearly twenty degree angle.

"So what are the cultists up to?" asked Hammer.  "They want to turn the whole world into a bunch of fish people?"

Archive shook his head.  "That's not enough.  They need a leader."

"Or a god," said Jim-Bean.  He pointed ahead of them. 

The enormous hallway emptied into a waterlogged room nearly thirty feet across, twenty-five feet tall, and about sixty feet long. At the far end of the entry chamber was a huge octopoid form whose tentacles reached along the walls. The dank water was opaque, and the water grew deeper as the incline increased.

With the slope of the structure, the sensation of helplessly falling to be consumed was nearly overwhelming. At the center point where the tentacles came together there was a hideous mouth with savage, irregular teeth. The teeth continuously dripped noxious green slimy secretions. The chamber was not lit, and their flickering flashlights illuminated the massive tentacles, the shadows making them seem to move around to pull all into its awful mouth. 

"Cthulhu," whispered Archive fearfully. "There was a journal in the sub too.  It was written in Aklo.  Translated, it read: Who disturbs his rest and breaks the seal, who can wake the sleeper for he will rise up and in his wrath the earth will quake.  Woe to them who disturb his rest, for his wrath will be directed at them and will destroy them.  The day will come when he awakes, sets his foot on land again, when R'lyeh rises again and challenges anew. It will come, the day, when time comes to an end."

Caprice shook his head.  "No way. I am NOT setting foot in that thing's mouth.  It'll eat us!"

"It's just a statue," said Jim-Bean, fascinated.  He seemed unable to tear his gaze away from the horrible sculpture.  

"What about the green goo?" squeaked Guppy.  

"We'll just avoid it," said Jim-Bean, holding up one hand.  The goo began dripping in an umbrella-like pattern as Jim-Bean's telekinetic field held it at bay.  "Feel better?  Now can we please—"

Water exploded in a series of geysers around them. 

Hopping, loping humanoids reared up, encircling them. Their predominant color was a grayish-green, though they had white bellies. They were mostly shiny and slippery, but the ridges of their backs were scaly. Their forms vaguely suggested the anthropoid, while their heads were the heads of fish, with prodigious bulging eyes that never closed. At the sides of their necks were palpitating gills, and their long paws were webbed.

The agents tore into the Deep Ones.  Gunfire sparked in the darkness as the hopping things were blasted backwards, floating face down or face up.  More horribly, they bled like humans, great gouts of blood that spread in the water around them like a red stain. And as more fell, others sprang up out of the water.

"Where were they hiding?" Guppy fired his pistol, frantic.  "The water isn't that deep!"

"The laws of geometry and physics don't apply here!" Archive fired his Glock and a Deep One's head exploded. They were surrounded.  

"We have to go through the mouth!" shouted Hammer, guns blazing. 

"We'll be completely underwater," said Caprice.  They had used up their oxygen in the HALO drop and the swim to the Horseshoe. "If there's no exit on the other side—"

The thunderous explosion of an even bigger geyser behind them cut Caprice off. Something massive and squamous stretched to its full height out of the water.  Like a bent old man, it hunched over even in the huge room.  Rudimentary wings jutted from behind it, dripping seawater.  The writhing tendrils that made up its face were a disgusting bright pink, as were the wiggling appendages that constituted its forearms.  It shrieked an inhuman wail of rage as its tentacles stretched towards Hammer.

Without hesitation, the agents dove through the Cthulhu-statue's mouth.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressue: Part 4 – Knock, Knock…*

They swam into darkness through weird black coral, rising up in tightly clustered poles that hindered their progress.  Hammer gasped out of the pool, sucking in a stale lungful of air.

The other agents emerged behind him in a massive chamber.  The ceiling, if there was one, was concealed by mist.  

At the center was a subterranean dome. Before it were five oddly shaped tombstones, each with a symbol in Aklo engraved upon it.  A raised altar with an Elder Sign at its center pulsed in time with the glowing symbols. 

A huge doorway jutted from the surface of the dome. It had the features of Cthulhu's head, a skull-faced beast with tentacles for a mouth. Three figures stood at the portal. 

Cho Chu-Tsau, arms raised, was chanting in time with the pulsing symbols. Next to her, reading aloud the chants from a book and swathed in ceremonial robes, was the frail Dr. Ko.  But the third figure was what disturbed the agents most.

It was a fish that walked like a man.  Its giant, catfish-like head was somehow part of a purplish, malformed humanoid body.  Two of its whiskers rose up over its head like horns, and two others dropped like a moustache over its gaping mouth.  It had a distinct oriental cast, stripped to its waist in pants and sandals.  A huge cannon was strapped across its back, a wicked-looking sword dangling from its belt.

Hammer called them all to a halt.  The room's darkness was complete.  The agents had an advantage, as all eyes were trained on the portal.

"Archive, Hammer, you take out Chu-Tsao.  Guppy, Caprice, you're on Ko. Jim-Bean, you and I will take out…"

Jim-Bean was gone.  

Hammer swore.  "Move!"

The agents spread out.

"Alright people, on my mark.  One, two…GO!"

Gunfire flashed.  Cho Chu-Tsao turned as bullets sparked off the back of her head.  Eyes blazing, the petite tcho-tcho shifted her chant, pointing at Guppy, Archive, and Caprice.

Hammer aimted at Ko, but the fish-thing stumped into the line of fire.  Bullets thumped into its flesh but if it had an effect, its swollen purple body didn't show it.

Cho Chu-Tsao picked up some dust and smiling with perfectly normal teeth, blew a kiss at the agents.  A shrieking wind of greenish dust closed the distance between them, transforming into a flesh-ripping dust storm.  Guppy and Caprice dove in different directions.

"Split up!" shouted Hammer.  "Don't cluster together!"

Hammer fired again.  Cho Chu-Tsao held up one palm and the bullets deflected off of it. 

Archive, squinting and bloodied by the jade storm, pointed at Cho Chu-Tsao and chanted back.  

She felt it.  Eyes blazing with rage, Chu-Tsao started another chant.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Jim-Bean was already standing atop the giant doorway.  From his vantage point he could see that Ko was still chanting, picking up where Cho Chu-Tsao had left off, reading from the book.

Jim-Bean took aim and fired.  

The fish-thing shoved Ko out of the way, but not quite in time.  It nicked Ko's arm.  He yelped and crumpled, still managing to continue his chant.

"You know that ritual probably doesn't even work, right?" shouted Jim-Bean down at the two figures.  "I mean, you can't trust a Portuguese translation of anything…"

The fish-thing unslung the cannon on its back.  "BOOM!" it bellowed.  Then it fired.

Jim-Bean took the blast head on. Despite the protection afforded by his telekinetic screen up, there were limits to his powers.  His head rang from the impact, and blood trickled from his nose and ears.  

Down below, Ko slumped over the altar, still chanting.  "That's what was missing," Ko whispered to himself, blood dripping down one arm.  "Blood!" The pulsing of the Elder Sign and the runes reached a fever pitch.

Archive's own chant matched Chu-Tsao's cadence.  They seemed to be locked in a power struggle.  Archive held up the Elder Sign before him and chanted louder still.

Jim-Bean almost lost his balance, his protoplasm-infused body struggling to mend his broken bones before another blast finished him off. The big fish-thing reloaded its pistol and took aim…

"BOOM!" came the rumbling laugh.

Jim-Bean was smart enough to duck, but the rocket struck close enough to sting him with debris.  His telekinetic shield was fading. If he didn't do something fast, they would all be dead.

So Jim-Bean did what he always did when the going got tough.  He had brought with him a satchel full of explosives, originally intent on destroying the Horseshoe with them.  But he had a different target now.

Jim-Bean tossed the satchel down below and telekinetically fired all the detonators simultaneously.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Part 5 – Who's There?*

"No!" shouted Hammer.

Cho Chu-Tsao was momentarily distracted, turning to look at the satchel tumbling down towards the altar.  Her defenses lowered, Hammer fired a bullet between her eyes.  She slumped backwards, mouth open in surprise.

The ensuing explosion blasted the plinths off their bases. Guppy was nearly beheaded by one of the rocks as it whistled through the air.

The shockwave stunned the agents.  In the ensuing dust and debris it was clear that the altar had been ruined.  Hammer, Archive, Guppy, and Caprice struggled to their feet.

A figure strode towards them out of the cloud of dust.  Hammer's pistols were up in a flash. 

It was Jim-Bean.  He dusted his hands.  "Great, so now that's over…"

The rubble shuddered.  A huge piece of stone slid off the back of the Deep One bodyguard.  It was bloody and battered, with one goggle eye smashed in.  In its arms was the frail Ko, looking like nothing more than a sickly child in its arms. 

"The stars are right again," Ko whispered as he expired. "What we failed to do by design…you did…by accident…"

He died with a smile on his lips.

The bodyguard made a low moan.  But it was not mourning over the dead man in its arms. As the dust settled, a horrible fact became clear: the door was open.

By blood and force, the seal had been penetrated, its doors blasted open.  In the darkness, a mountainous mass pulsed softly with the same unnatural glow as the rest of R'lyeh.

Jim-Bean's mouth fell open.  For once, he was without words.

"Run…" whispered Hammer, straining to tear his eyes away from the slumbering mass at the center of the dome.  "Run!"

The agents turned.  Archive, like Jim-Bean, seemed entranced by the fleshy mass that stirred within.  A slit of yellow inched open, bathing the agents in an unholy light.  Slowly, a fiery red orb rolled down into view. The dual-pupils winced tighter, shifting from the far-off dreaming of a slumbering titan to keen alertness. An eye that had just regained its focus.

Hammer shoved Archive. "RUN!" 

A tentacle unfurled out of the dark recesses and, with a yelp, the Deep One bodyguard was gone.  

Jim-Bean turned and ran.  

The place shuddered around them.  Onwards they ran, diving back through the submerged chamber.  Stone plunged in great showers, puncturing the watery passageways.  Of the Deep Ones and their dark lords there was no sign.

They burst out of the entrance through the Cthulhu statue's mouth.  Struggling, with the water up to their hips, they lurched upwards, desperately scrabbling, crawling for purchase along the steep incline.  

One of the statue's tentacles snapped off, spinning over and over as it bounced its way towards the agents.  Caprice dove to the side but not fast enough.  It smashed into his shoulder, spinning the agent back towards the void of the Cthulhu-statue's mouth.

Hammer caught him by the arm.  Lugging the unconscious Caprice in a fireman's carry, he struggled on.  

The other agents paused to look back.

"Keep going!" shouted Hammer.  "Jimmy, tell Ho to fire up the Wallaby!"

Jim-Bean stumbled on like a man drunk. The psychic pressure was immense.  They didn't understand, the fools, what was happening.  They weren't running from a mere earthquake.  They were protozoa fleeing a Baleen whale.  Using his psychic powers was like screaming in a wind tunnel – he could barely concentrate, much less hear himself think.  

Finally, they reached the Wallaby.  The other agents piled in.  

On his way to the sub, Jim-Bean suddenly fell to his knees, hacking and wheezing.  It was as if someone was trying to pull his stomach through his mouth. 

Blue fluid filled up his lungs and nose, choking him.  Jim-Bean vomited it out in a spray.  The effluvia swam away with a life of its own. 

Jim-Bean found himself next to Power's corpse, staring at his vacant, dead eyes.  They had milked over completely with a yellow film.  His mouth was gasped open like a shark dying on land.

Jim-Bean grabbed the belt of grenades around Powers' torso.  He wasn't going to need them anymore.

The ground continued to tremble.  Jim-Bean staggered to his feet and clambered up onto the Wallaby.  He barely had time to pull the airlock shut when the submarine submerged.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Part 6 – Horseshoes…*

The agents were all battered and bruised.  Caprice lay unconscious on the floor with a bloody head wound, a strip of gauze over one eye.  Archive sat rolled up in a ball, whispering to himself over and over: "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" Guppy was in the pilot's seat. Hammer sat at the co-pilot's seat next to Guppy, but he wasn't entirely sure what to do.

Ho had it the worst.  He just laughed and laughed and laughed.  

Behind them, Jim-Bean languidly kept one arm on each chair.  He stared in fascination at the collapsing black mountain.  Something was emerging from it, wings unfurling like a butterfly exiting a cocoon.  It was so alien and yet strangely beautiful to him.

The psychic pressure was pounding now, like a heartbeat.  Jim-Bean had trouble focusing.

The comm. crackled. "Mayday! Mayday! This is the RSV Horseshoe, we need immediate help, is anyone there? Christ!" There was the sound of banging in the background. "…They're outside now…listen, we're under attack! Repeat, we are under attack!" There was a muffled explosion. "Wallaby! Wallaby!" A sudden crack. Then a couple of heavy thumps and static. 

Guppy yanked the wheel hard as the Horseshoe, still sparking and falling into the subterranean depths, suddenly loomed into view.  The Wallaby skidded off the side as the huge metal form slid past as the Horseshoe sank into the depths, down towards the thing that was assuredly coming for them all. 

"That's it!" Hammer turned to Guppy. "The Horseshoe is nuclear powered, right?"

Guppy blinked.  "Yes, but…"

"Guppy, that thing can't reach the surface. We've got to stop it.  No matter what it takes…"

Hammer and Guppy exchanged a look.  They had their differences in the past.  Guppy had threatened to kill Hammer; Hammer had Guppy committed.  But in that moment they weren't enemies, or allies, or fellow agents.  They were all that stood between humanity and the end of the world.

"Okay."  Guppy spun the Wallaby around and dove after the descending Horseshoe.  "I'm not sure how much pressure this thing can handle. We're descending fast."

"I just need you to get us on board."  He brought up a map of the Horseshoe.  "There!" Hammer pointed at the airlock near the bottommost part of the huge submarine.  "Can you get us close enough to the reactor?"

Guppy punched the Wallaby into overdrive.  "I can try!"

The Horseshoe was tumbling over and over, like an asteroid on a collision course.  Alarms shrieked in protest as Guppy set the Wallaby into a spin.

"I'm going to have to match the tumble…so hold on!"

Hammer strapped Caprice and Archive into their seats.  Hammer had just enough time to strap in before Guppy threw the Wallaby into a barrel roll.  Jim-Bean stayed with feet firmly planted on the deck, unaffected by the Wallaby's gyrations.

Ho hit the bulkhead with his face, splitting it open.  His insane laughter finally stopped.

There was a tremendous thump as the Wallaby bounced off the Horseshoe, Guppy leveled it out, and then the smaller sub scraped along its surface.  

"Extending umbilical!"

The Wallaby confirmed they had made a connection. 

"Jimmy, you're with me," said Hammer. "Guppy, keep this thing running.  We're going to need to exit it fast."

"Do you have a plan?" asked Guppy.

Hammer stopped in the middle of putting on a pressurized suit.  "We're going to cause a nuclear meltdown."


----------



## talien

*Righteous Triad Fists: Part 7 – …and Hand Grenades*

Jim-Bean and Hammer were dressed in pressure suits, which were sturdier than the diving suits.  The Horseshoe had largely depressurized.  Water streamed everywhere.  They moved past dead bodies floating face up in cramped corridors.

Hammer's cistron was hooked into the HUD in his suit.  "According to the deck plans, this is the entrance to the reactor."  They both grabbed hold of the huge wheel on the door.  Nuclear warning signs were plastered everywhere in bright yellow.  

It wouldn't budge.  

"The pressure from outside must be too great," said Hammer.  "We'll have to blow it."

"We don't have enough explosives to blow it!" shouted Jim-Bean.  He was always shouting now, because there was a roaring in his ears.  

"That's the only way.  We'll have to make do—look out!"

Jim-Bean turned slowly as Hammer extended one pistol and fired past him.  A Deep One's head exploded.  Deep Ones crept down the corridor, hopping along walls, jumping from pipe to pipe, swarming like ants down a tunnel. 

Hammer raked the area with gunfire.  Suddenly red warning lights began to swirl and klaxons shrieked behind him.

The Deep One corpses piled up.  Hammer spared a glance over his shoulder.  The outer door to the reactor had just slammed shut again.

"Jimmy!  Jimmy, are you nuts?  You can't survive in there!"

"Maybe not." Jim-Bean's voice betrayed no hint of concern for his plight over the comm. "But I can certainly handle it better than you can."

Hammer reloaded, fumbling with the pistols in the darkness.  The suit's limited visibility and the gloved fingers made it difficult. 

"Damn it, Jimmy!" 

He didn't get a chance to say more. The Deep Ones, finding their courage, launched another assault.  More of them plunged down the hallway.  

Hammer sprayed their legs.  He didn't have to aim, because they swarmed through en masse without regard for their own safety.

The door opened again behind him.  

Jim-Bean staggered out of the room, gasping.  Whatever had happened to him in the nuclear reactor was not visible; it was impossible to see through his fogged mask. 

"Hammer?" asked Guppy, who could monitor life signs from the Wallaby via their suits.  "What just happened to Jim-Bean?  His vitals are off the charts."

The Deep Ones had stopped their advance, for the moment.  "Can you walk?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean patted Hammer on the helmet.  "I'm fine," he gurgled back.   But Hammer knew he was not fine. The suits were not meant to handle radiation.  The amount of exposure Jim-Bean had suffered was horrific. 

Jim-Bean leaned heavily on Hammer as they half-limped, half-dragged each other to the airlock.  The Horseshoe shuddered and groaned around them like an old man.

"Guys, hurry up!" shouted Guppy through the comm.  "There's Deep Ones headed straight for us! I don't know much more the Wallaby can take!"

Hammer and Jim-Bean wheeled the airlock door open.  The umbilical bunched and flexed precariously as the Wallaby struggled to stay attached to the tumbling Horseshoe.  Hammer suddenly felt pressure on his back. 

He stumbled forward into the lock as the door winched behind him. 

Hammer whirled, struggling with the airlock door. "Jimmy, what the hell are you doing?"

Jim-Bean held up one hand, and telekinesis winched the Wallaby's airlock closed. 

"Don't worry…" wheezed Jim-Bean, "this is…what I was…built for."

"Jimmy!" shouted Hammer, watching helpless as his friend stood framed in the airlock door. 

Then the umbilical tore apart.

The Wallaby spun away, and Hammer could see Deep Ones hurled off in different directions from the violent maneuver.  Lights sparked behind the distant form of Jim-Bean, silhouetted in the open air lock. 

Hammer stripped off the suit, scrambling back to the bridge.

Guppy punched it.  The Wallaby roared forward with every reserve it had left.

On the screen, Guppy was able to monitor Jim-Bean and Hammer's vitals.  Jim-Bean's were flaring red.  

"His suit's losing pressure!" wailed Guppy.  

Hammer closed his eyes.  It was worse than that.  The explosion hadn't gone off.

He slowly slumped to the co-pilot's chair.  Even Archive had finally stopped muttering.

All that sounded within the cockpit was the long, mechanical wail of Jim-Bean's stopped heart.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Part 8 – The End of the Beginning*

The Deep Ones swarmed Jim-Bean.  He could feel their malice, their hatred, their fury at what he was trying to do.  

He was wrong about them, Jim-Bean realized.  He thought they were mere savages, gasping fish-monsters filled with an alien hatred of all life.  But they were far more malignant than that.

They were cells.  Single cells, shed from the greater being, the thing that men called Cthulhu.  They were the castoff, its detritus.  But it was their god, their universe, their source of life.  Their fury was not out of fear for their deity, but out of love – they were trying to impress their misbegotten god.

It didn't notice, any more than Jim-Bean noticed the skin that flaked from his body.  There was nothing to notice, after all.  It was so small, so imperceptible, that the very notion was absurd.  It was the ultimate vanity, a display of sheer ego, to think something so important could even notice, much less appreciate, the veneration of floating specks of insignificant life. 

The muck at the bottom of the depression bubbled and swirled, and in one large area the glow intensified. Within a few moments something began to rise from the muck. Its head was an enormous, great rubbery slab of tissue with malevolent dark eyes and a writhing mass of huge tentacles at the mouth.  

Claws rent Jim-Bean's suit.  Water pumped in.  

A sacrifice.  That's what he would be.  The Deep Ones, frustrated by the attack on their god, were going to pay obeisance to their master by ripping Jim-Bean limb from limb.

Jim-Bean knew all this.  He knew what they were thinking, feeling.  The psychic pressure of the titanic being below was immense, but now it was no longer threatening to drive him mad.  He felt peaceful.  It was joyous, the arrival of the One True God.  All was right.  He wanted to laugh, to sing, to dance…

Their sacrifice would be meaningless, realized the tiny part of Jim-Bean's brain that was still functioning.  He'd be dead long before they tore him apart. 

Jim-Bean drifted off into darkness, in the comforting psychic womb of his lord and master, who was now as much a part of him as he was of them. 

The Deep Ones backed off, uncertain.  Jim-Bean's head twitched as he drowned, body convulsing as saltwater exploded his lungs.  The suit's faceplate was shattered, revealing his peeled flesh and the ruin of a face.  The Deep Ones had torn one of his arms off, and it rolled hazily in the water, trailing blood like a misguided rocket. 

Jim-Bean was dying.  No more pain.  No more worry.  

The light faded.  Jim-Bean was already blind, his eyeballs long since destroyed from the radiation, but there was a light within his own mind that shone brightly.  Even that was fading.  He was falling, falling, falling…

He deserved peace, didn't he?  Jim-Bean had been abandoned, experimented on, treated like a dog.  He had been betrayed, violated, and used.  He was crazy anyway, increasingly losing his grip on reality. 

Stupid humans.  They could fend for themselves from now on. It was better this way.

And yet.  And yet.

Jenny was in his mind's eye, straining.  The babies were being born.  His babies.  His children.  Boys and girls all jumbled together.  Nurses whisked them away, except for one.  One of them, only one, was stillborn. 

The doctor said something to Jenny, holding the limp little creature up for her to see.  She wailed a scream of anguish that woke Jim-Bean up out of his stupor.  Dead?  Dead!

No, not dead.  The other six were alive.  But the doctors were hiding it from Jenny, hiding it from him.  Those were his children.  This was his future.  They were the inheritors of the earth, and Majestic was trying to cover it up. 

Jim-Bean forced himself back into consciousness.  He took a deep breath, and found that gills had formed in what was left of his chest. 

The virus!  The PI virus had infected him, turned him.  Now he was one of them. 

Though his senses were ruined, his mind's eye could still see. The Deep Ones chanted in a huge floating mass, ushering in their god's arrival. The beast rose from the muck, bigger than anything Jim-Bean had ever seen. It was coated in the phosphorescent stuff, so that it glowed dimly as it rose into the water. Its glow pulsed faintly and seemed to shift in patches, as if the glow itself were sentient.

No.  No, that would not do.  Jim-Bean reached out with his remaining good arm and grabbed hold of the handle near the airlock.

Down, down, down the Horseshoe plunged.  It was heading right for Cthulhu.  

Jim-Bean reached out with psychic tendrils.  He could feel the grenades, positioned in a wedge, ready to rent a hole in the reactor.  Someone just needed to pull the pin.  Someone.

Jim-Bean reached out and pulled.


----------



## talien

*Grace Under Pressure: Conclusion*

Guppy wept.  Cthulhu was visible as a dim glow off in the distance, approaching swiftly. 

"That's it then," said Guppy.  "It's over."

He put the Wallaby on cruise.  There was no point in fleeing.  There would be nowhere on Earth they could escape to. 

Hammer didn't say anything. He just kept staring at Jim-Bean's heart monitor, listening to the mechanical whine heralding his death.

Cthulhu reached the Horseshoe. With slow, ponderous deliberation it rent the submarine, tearing great gouts in its hull. 

Beep. Jim-Bean's heart monitor beeped once. 

"Guppy," Hammer said slowly.  

"What?" asked Guppy.

Hammer pointed at Jim-Bean's heart monitor.  His suit had lost pressure and the sensors were completely missing on one arm, meaning he'd probably lost a limb.  But the heart monitor still worked. 

Huge bubbles fled to the surface as sparks and flaring light from electrical systems lit the scene of the Horseshoe's demise. 

Beep-beep. Jim-Bean's heart monitor bleeped again. 

"I think you'd better speed up," said Hammer.

Guppy gasped as Jim-Bean's heart roared back.  Beep-beep-beep-beep!  He slammed the thrusters to full throttle. 

Dozens of Deep Ones swarm about the legs and torso of Cthulhu, seeming to rejoice as the submarine met its end.

Then the reactor in the Horseshoe went critical.  

There was no nuclear explosion -- the Horseshoe was no nuclear warhead.  Instead, Jim-Bean's grenades blew enough force to expose the reactor to water.  The instant cooling effect from something so superheated caused a pressure wave of unimaginable power.  It exploded outward in a shockwave, engulfing Cthulhu, the Deep Ones, and much of R'lyeh. 

The wave caught up with the fleeing Wallaby, engulfing it and then--


----------



## talien

*Chapter 54: In Media Res - Introduction*

This story hour is from "In Media Res" by John Tynes in The Resurrected 3: Out of the Vault. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*George "Incinerator" Jones* (Pyromaniac) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*"Crazy Freddy" Morgan* (Cult Leader) played by *Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)*
*Johnny "The Smasher" Morowitz* (Brutal Thug) played by *George Webster*
*Billy “Taste-Test” Bean* (Cannibal) played by *Michael Tresca*

John Tynes is very proud of this scenario.  He referenced it in the book Second Person and he went into even more detail in his column at Escapist Magazine, The Contrarian.  In both cases Tynes makes this scenario out to be the holy grail of Cthulhu gaming – or at least, a cinematic thriller as a role-playing game.  He uses it to contrast the lack of the visceral in online role-playing games (a notion I agree with).  It seemed that by just dropping players into a nihilistic game, with unpleasant characters with an equally unpleasant past, it brought out the worst of the characters and the best of the players.  I just had to test it on my own group to see if it was everything Tynes made it out to be – or at least, if our experience would be as electrifying.

We were between sessions.  I had originally planned a much more advanced story arc that would put the campaign on hiatus before the birth of my daughter, but when Jim-Bean sacrificed himself to blow up Cthulhu I knew I couldn't top that.  So In Media Res was a chance to show how the world had gone down the tubes after the explosion, how a wave of malevolence had seeped into everything.  And the best way to demonstrate that to the players was to let them experience it firsthand. 

I tweaked the characters slightly.  All four of these characters appeared previously in the campaign, all convicts, the worst of the worst.  I only had three players, so that made the sickest of the bunch (Billy) my problem to deal with – and I played him like Steve Buscemi as Garland "The Marietta Mangler" Greene in Con-Air. He also wasn't mute. Other than those changes – and make no mistake, they're big changes – I ran the scenario as closely as possible to Tynes' vision.  Joe Lalumia wore a mask I printed on parchment-colored paper to represent the skinned face.  He was eating fries at the time, so I had him use a French fry as the tongue (I bought licorice for this purpose, but nobody wants to eat licorice after eating fries).  With a print out of the inkblot on the table, I let them go at it.

It didn't go as well as I'd planned.  For one thing, dropping this scenario on players expecting to find out what happened to their characters made for a tough transition.  Jeremy in particular wanted to know what was going on and at one point thought he was playing his old character in some other form.  Joe didn't have much speaking parts.  It was George that shined here, immediately thrusting himself into the role and ultimately successfully navigating the scenario.

A key element of this scenario is mindset.  Tynes sets out to jolt players out of their role-playing malaise, but what he neglects to mention is that players know that the gaming experience will be different.  At conventions, they expect the unexpected, they expect to play with people they don't know, they are mentally ready for something and they're playing with John Effing Tynes, so that's got to influence how they approach the game.  I sprung this scenario on players who had a steady monthly rhythm with the same characters for years.  More explanation might have helped, but this scenario is called In Media Res for a reason…

*Defining Moment:* When one of the characters dies in a car accident…it's chow time!

Relevant Media

*"Leatherface":* Paper Mask.
*Escapist Magazine Article:* about In Media Res by John Tynes.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0262083566?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0262083566]Second Person[/ame]:* edited by Wardrip & Fruin.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0013AVSR0?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0013AVSR0]Train to Miami[/ame]:* by Steel Pole Bath Tub.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/188779722X?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=188779722X]The Resurrected III: Out of the Vault[/ame]*
[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwOITaTwNmk]In Media Res[/ame]


----------



## talien

*In Media Res: Prologue*



> _These are my friends now, these are my friends now.
> I'm all alone in a big white house, and...
> I'm all alone in a big white house, and..._​
> --_Train to Miami_ by Steel Pole Bath Tub​



SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE LIBERTY, MISSOURI—"I AM THE WAY!" shouted a strange voice.

They all came to facing an eighteen-inch by twenty four-inch Rorschach inkblot that looked familiar somehow. 

It was a pleasant fall evening.  They were standing in a dining room of a somewhat shabby and rustic house.  Cheap prints of dogs hunting quail decorate the walls.  A cabinet against the wall contained "fine" china and silverware.  They were all dressed the same: wearing greenish-blue institutional shirts and pants with low-cost sneakers.  Their name-patches read: MOROWITZ, BEAN, MORGAN. 

Their gaze was drawn to the supine corpse on the table. 

A beefy man dressed in police-style clothing lay tied by the wrists and ankles on the dining room table.  His throat was cut and blood had sprayed and run across his chest and the table.  In addition, his face was missing—cut off.  

The cut line ran across the hairline, in front of the ears, and under the chin.  He lay there, muscle and tissue exposed and eyes staring out dully with no eyelids to cover them.  His tongue was cut out.

Back to the blot. On the wall was a large Rorschach blot painted in fresh blood.  In front of it stood a fourth man whose name-patch read JONES.  He held the guard's face over his own and had just finished speaking in a strange voice. It was Jones' voice they heard first.

"What the F**K is going on?" shouted Morowitz, a large black man covered in prison tattoos.  He was big and beefy, with powerful muscles concealed under layers of fat.  He took one menacing step towards Jones.

Jones blinked and pulled the sticky flesh away from his face.  Then, gagging for a moment, he swallowed something. 

"I think…" he shuddered. "I think I just swallowed a tongue."

Morgan, with wild hair and unkempt beard, suddenly noticed the presence of a weapon in his pocket.  He pulled out the revolver, a .38.  It was probably the guard's.  He spun the chamber – two bullets had already been fired.  

Jones backed away, taking in the scene and realizing that his face and hands were covered with blood.  Bean, a bug-eyed slight man, watched him curiously. Morowitz crossed his arms.

"You gonna use that pistol?" growled Morowitz. 

Morgan tucked the pistol into his pocket.  "Not yet. Anyone know where we are?"

"Or who we are?" asked Jones.  "I don't remember…anything."

"Well you remembered cutting that poor f****er up good," said Morowitz.  "Nobody deserves that, man."

"I didn't do that!" shouted Jones.

"You were wearing his face," said Morgan quietly. 

"Gotta be a knife here somewhere," said Bean.  He twitched as he looked around.  "Where's the knife?"

Morowitz bent down under the table and came up with a bloody paring knife.  "Looking for this?"

Bean swallowed, going nearly cross-eyed focusing on the dull blade.  "Yeah, that's got to be the one."

Morowitz tucked it into his belt.  "I'll keep it if you don't mind."

"Sure, sure, sure thing big guy."

Morowitz rubbed his forehead.  "All right.  I'm not good at this planning s**t.  I'm guessing one of you is and that's how we got here.  So start talking."

Morgan shrugged.  "Looks like we're inmates."  He rifled through the dead guard's possessions.  He pocketed the contents of the wallet after taking out a nametag, which he tossed on the table between the dead man's feet. 

"Dennis Gelon," read Jones. "A guard at the Liberty Center for the…" he trailed off.

"Criminally Insane," said Morgan ruefully.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Part 1 – …Said the Spider to the Fly*

A polite voice called to them from the other room.  Morowitz went in first, knife at the ready.

A dim glow beckoned, the only light in the house that was on other than the dining room. The glow came from the television airing a local news special report.

A reporter stood in front of the wreckage of a large bus labeled "Liberty Center for the Criminally Insane," across which rescue workers clambered and scuttled. 

"The unprecedented flooding and earthquakes that shook the nation yesterday have been further complicated by yet another tragedy that has let four dangerous convicts escape a maximum security facility. Liberty Center inmates were transported by bus out of the flood zone when the earthquake struck, flipping several prison transports. Four inmates took advantage of the confusion and escape with a hostage, one Dennis Gelon.  The fugitives are considered armed and dangerous. Police advise residents to stay indoors and avoid walking anywhere…"

Morgan grunted.  "Now we know who we are."

Morowitz glared at him.  "F**k you.  We don't know s**t.  All we know is that one of you is a sick f****er who cuts people up for kicks."

Morgan smirked.  "How do you know you didn't do it?"

That gave Morowitz pause.

"I'm going to find a bathroom and change clothes if I can," said Morgan matter-of-factly.  "There's blood all over these."

Morowitz looked down and noticed the blood spatter on his chest.  "S**t," he whispered.  It was as guilty an indictment in his complicity of the murder as any jury.

Morowitz stripped his shirt off, revealing more tattoos and his considerable bulk. He headed into the kitchen, with Jones and Bean in tow.

Jones immediately headed under the sink.  

"What are you doing?" asked Morowitz.

"We may need explosives," said Jones as he puttered with the chemicals.  "I'm mixing something."

Morowitz rifled through the utensils draw and came up unsatisfied.  Then he spied a wooden block bristling with knives. "You remember how to do that, huh?"

"Yeah," said Jones, distracted.

"Well I remember how to shiv a man," said Morowitz, pulling a carving knife from the block.  "So be careful where you throw that s**t."

"Uh huh," said Jones.

Bean's eyes bugged more than usual.  "So uh…you gonna hold onto both knives?  'Cause I could use a weapon and I figure you don't need both knives."

"S**t, here," sighed Morowitz, tossing him the paring knife.  "F**k all good it'll do you."

"It's not the size of the knife that matters," said Bean, running a finger along the bloodied side of the paring knife.

"So you the leader of this here outfit?" asked Morowitz.

"I don't think so," said Bean.  "I think that other guy…Morgan, probably is.  But he seems too good for us. It makes me want to stab him in the f****ing throat." 

He said the threat without changing his tone, expression, or his gaze wavering from the blade.

"I know what you mean," said Morowitz.  "I don't like him either. F**k him.  We don't need him.  I say we stick together until we're out of this." He gestured at the room that was behind them where the skinned body lay.  "Then we grab some wheels, and split up.  They'll be looking for all of us together."

"Good idea."  Bean still hadn't looked away from the blade.

Jones didn't look up from his task.  "There's a car outside.  Saw it lying in a ditch."

"Come on then," said Morowitz.  "Get your s**t together and let's get the f**k out of here."


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## talien

*In Media Res: Part 2 – The Thing in the Trunk*

Outside, there was a barn with a fenced in yard about forty yards from the house.  Neighing indicated that there were horses inside. Morowitz shook his head in disgust at just how rural their surroundings really were and made a beeline to the car. 

It was wedged tightly into the ditch.  Morowitz put his bulk behind it and gave it an experimental shove.  It moved, but not by much.

"Well don't just stand there m***erf****ers!" He shouted.  "Get to it!"

Bean, pocketed his knife. Jones placed the homemade explosive down by the entry to the house.  They both put their shoulders to the car and shoved along with Morowitz. 

Shrieking and groaning, the vehicle slowly made its way out of the ditch. When it finally was level again, Morowitz checked the ignition.  

"Keys are still in it," he grunted, pleased.

"Did we drive this car here?" asked Jones.

"Maybe."

"Uh, guys…" said Bean.  "You may want to take a look at this."

The trunk had partially opened in their efforts to dislodge the vehicle.  In the darkness, a single unblinking eye stared up at them, illuminated in the waning light.

Morowitz lifted up the trunk.  "S**t."

Inside were two women, dead. The younger was just a teenager, not more than sixteen.  The other was probably her mother, judging from the family resemblance.  They shared more than looks – each had a red bullet hole in their forehead.

Bean craned his neck and then stuck his finger in the younger girl's bullet hole.  ".38 caliber," he said nonchalantly.  

"Who the f*&k murders a little girl and her mother?" asked Morowitz.  "This is some f**ked up s**t right there."

"Somebody with a .38 caliber pistol," said Jones.  They looked back at the house where Morgan was taking a shower and getting changed.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Things Go Bust*

Morgan rifled through the clothing of the man of the house, indifferent as to the fate of its owner.  Dead, he decided, if they were lucky.  Morgan was a cold-blooded killer, he knew that much.  But he wasn't some psycho – not the type to skin a man's face off or eat his tongue.  

He wanted to scrub the stink of the place off of him.  They were into some weird, deep s**t – cult stuff, the kind of things that made the news.  And Morgan didn't like the idea of making more news.

He was going to have to ditch the others, and fast.  Morowitz was too surly and unpredictable.  Jones was too quiet.  And Bean was just plain too f**ked up.  He didn't trust any of them.

Morgan turned the water on.  After squeaking and shuddering in protest, the pipes complied. 

The blood washed away. Morgan put one hand on the bathroom wall and bowed his head, letting the water pour over him, enjoying the sensation.  

When he looked up, he saw that he'd left a fading, bloody handprint on the shower wall.  It looked like the blot downstairs.  And that reminded him of something...


> He was fourteen.  Morgan and a friend had broken into the house of an old man in a nearby neighborhood – it was Morgan's first robbery.  His friend Terry was in the next room.
> 
> Morgan was in a small study with no windows and only one door.  He stuffed his backpack with a bronze bust of Shakespeare from a bookshelf when he heard voices in the hall outside.
> 
> Terry yelled. A gunshot responded.
> 
> Footsteps.
> 
> Morgan looked around. He had no weapon other than the bust.
> 
> The door opened.  The old man stood there in his nightgown holding a pistol.
> 
> Morgan struck with the bust and brought the old man down.



The bloody bust of Shakespeare.  That's what the blot reminded him of.

And suddenly, Morgan remembered who he was.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Part 4 – Power and Pain*

Morgan stepped out into the doorway of the cabin, cleaner and dressed differently.  The clothes didn't fit perfectly but they would do. The others were looking at him strangely.  He knew something was up.

Morgan kept one hand on the pistol but didn't pull it out.  "What?"

Morowitz stabbed an accusing finger in the direction of the open trunk. "Did you do this s**t?" 

Morgan peered into it.  "Dead bodies, huh?"

"One shot to the head each," said Bean.  "Clean.  Quick."

"Maybe I did," said Morgan.  "So what?"

"So what?" asked Morowitz.  The big butcher knife was in his hand.  "Maybe I don't trust someone who shoots little girls with a gun.  Hand it over."

Morgan backed up.  "No."

"I'm not gonna ask again, little man."  Morowitz took another menacing step forward.  "Hand it over or I will inflict a world of hurt…"

And then Morowitz remembered too…



> He was wearing a leather mask that restricted his vision.  He was just twelve.  His sister, Deborah, was seventeen.  She had tied him up.  His Jewish foster parents had gone out for the night.
> 
> "Who do you love most in the world?" snapped Deborah.
> 
> "I don't know…you?"
> 
> She slapped him.
> 
> "What do you like most in the world?"
> 
> Morowitz sobbed.  "Ice cream?"
> 
> She slapped him.
> 
> "What do you hate most in the world?"
> 
> "You!" shouted Morowitz.  "Why are you doing this?"
> 
> She slapped him again.
> 
> Finally, she drew nearer and cupped Morowitz's face in her hands.  "What is power?"
> 
> "I…" gasped Morowitz.  "I don't know…"
> 
> "Pain," she whispered gently.  Then she kneed him in the groin. The image of her torso in the leather corset filled his vision…
> 
> And suddenly Morowitz knew where he had seen the ink blot before.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Part 5 – The Hunters Return*

Jones looked back and forth between Morgan, who had his pistol drawn, and Morowitz, whose eyes fluttered wildly, knife still at the ready.

"Guys," said Jones.  "There's a car coming!"

Morowitz snapped out of it, gasping.  He looked around.  

"We have to get out of here." Morowitz turned his back on the pistol-wielding Morgan and sat in the driver's seat.  "You coming?"

Morgan didn't move.  Bean was gone.  Jones hopped in the passenger seat.

A full-size Chevy pickup truck towing a camper wound its way down the dirt road towards the cabin. 

Morowitz stomped the gas pedal.

The sedan lurched forward, lights off, a dust cloud in the fading light.  

"What are you doing?" shouted Jones, who realized at that moment he hadn't put on his seat belt.

Morowitz didn't answer.  There was nowhere for either vehicle to swerve.  The sedan smashed into the pickup truck just as Morowitz buckled himself in.

Metal smashed together with a jarring clang.  The impact shook Morowitz's world.  

He was momentarily panicked by the smothering scent of powder and cloth in his face until he realized it was the airbag deploying.  Morowitz shoved off of it and stumbled out of the car.

Jones fell onto the dirt road from the passenger's side, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.  His face swelled up from the impact with the dashboard. He kneeled there, on hands and knees, life pouring out of him.

"What in the hell?" shouted Olcott, the driver.  He had a wicked bruise on his forehead.  "What is wrong with you boys?"

Morowitz didn't need to exaggerate his condition.  He stumbled towards them.  "What the f**k man, didn't you see us?"

"Darryl, ain't that your car?" whispered Olcott's companion, Billy. 

"Son of a…it is! Is that why you were in such a hurrRRKH!"

Before he could get the rest of the sentence out, Morowitz stabbed Olcott through the throat with his butcher knife.  Billy, who had a hunting rifle in his hands, struggled to aim it at such close quarters.  Morowitz shoved the rifle aside with his free hand and it fired, blasting a hole in Olcott's chest.  He died instantly.

Billy panicked.  Morowitz yanked the butcher knife out of Olcott's throat and threw it at the fleeing hunter.  It lodged in the back of his neck.  Billy flopped down in the dirt, paralyzed but not yet dead.

Morowitz checked the rifle. It was a .30-06.  He looked through the scope. "Nice gun," he said to the dying Billy.

He checked the cab.  There was a shotgun too.  "Jones!" shouted Morowitz, turning to throw it to him.  

A bloody trail began where Jones once kneeled.  It swept around behind the sedan.  Bean popped up, blood dripping from his mouth. "Jones is busy," he mumbled.

"Jesus," whispered Morowitz.  He had half a mind to shoot Bean, but then he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

There were two other hunters in the camper.  They ran, screaming for help.

Morowitz kneeled and, chambering a bullet, took aim through the scope.  

The rifle cracked, and one of the men fell. But the other man made it out of sight.  

Morowitz swore and ducked back in the cab.  The CB was still off the receiver.  It was on a police band.

Then he heard the helicopter.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Part 6 – Tightening the Noose*

Morowitz ran.  The helicopter's spotlight danced behind him, unhindered by brush or bruises from the car crash.  It was all he could do, huffing and puffing, to stay ahead of it.  The dirt road, tightly enclosed by brush, led an incriminating trail back to the cabin.  

The light lingered mercifully on the car crash and what was left of Jones' corpse.  It bought Morowitz time to get back to the cabin.

Morowitz's thoughts raced around in circles. He was a caged animal, trapped.  He couldn't fight his way out of this one.  There was nowhere to go.

His sister laughed at him from the dining room. What the hell was that?

Morowitz crept into the room, the tightening circle of police momentarily forgotten.  

There was nothing but the faceless corpse on the table.  The inkblot seemed to pulse at him, whispering, laughing.  It beckoned him. Beckoned him onward. 

The inkblot looked just like her torso, that of a buxom seventeen year-old girl in a corset.  The same reflection of the black leather in the light, the same bell shape, the curve of her breasts at the top, the hemisphere of rigid material at the bottom…it was all there, now that he thought about it.  

Was this what happened?  Was this why they were here?  Morowitz remembered.

Yes.  His sister laughed again, quite clearly now, coming from the blot.  Yes, this was it.

Well f**k that.  Morowitz stabbed the blot with the knife. 

And disappeared.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Part 7 – Morgan's Plan*

Morowitz's plan, if he even had one, was dumb.  But what Morgan watched Bean do to Jones was far, far worse. 

The thrum of a police helicopter filled the air. A spotlight danced over the road, leading up to the cabin.  A dark shape loped ahead of it.  It had to be Morowitz.

Morgan shook his head.  Dumb plan.  He deserved to die. 

Morgan remembered them all now.  Johnny "The Smasher" Morowitz was the muscle, known for crushing skulls with his bare hands.  Billy "Taste-Test" Bean was a serial killer who was fond of eating the brains of his victims.  George "Incinerator" Jones was a pyromaniac…

Morgan looked around.  Pyromaniac!  Even in death perhaps Jones' skills could be put to good use.

There was noise in the forest.  Men, shuffling quietly through the forest, their flashlights dancing a perimeter.  It was an ever-tightening circle, converging on the house.  The hunters had given them away.

An odd sound echoed from the house behind him.  Breathing.  Like the death rattle of the old man—his first kill.

No time for that though.  Morgan had to get out.  He retreated into the house, picking up the mix of chemicals that Jones had left behind.

Morowitz skulked past him into the dining room.  Idiot.

Morgan needed a distraction.  Morowitz might just provide it, with a little urging.  Morgan took a lighter from the kitchen and lit Jones' homemade explosive.  He threw the bomb at the far end of the house, down the hallway.

WOOSH!  The concoction was expertly made.  The flames took on a life of their own, licking up and down the corridor and filling it with smoke.

Just what Morgan needed.  Now he needed Morowitz to come running out…

He didn't.  

Morgan swore.  What the hell was he doing in the dining room?

The cops were at the door.  Morgan's hopes fell.  He needed someone or something to break the line…

Bean rose up like a snake behind the cop. The cop gurgled as a paring knife jutted from his throat.  

Morgan saw his opening and took it.  He ran past Bean.

In the smoke, the cops didn't know who did what.  The fearsome reputation of the four murders played on their worst fears. The police opened fire in a panic.

Bean was shot by a stray bullet.  He crawled to the door, screaming that he was trying to stop "The Opener…" The police paid him little heed as they beat him into unconsciousness with their clubs. 

The helicopter above only fanned the flames, its spotlight whirling crazily over the billowing smoke. 

Morgan implemented step two.  He ran to the barn, where the horses were going wild.  They weren't horses meant to be ridden, but Morgan didn't plan to stick with them for long.

He dragged one of the horses through the smoke and slapped its flank.  It galloped through the confused mass of men, who were in danger of shooting each other in the conflagration.

Then, grabbing hold of the mane of the second horse, he hoisted himself up and kicked it into gear.  The horse reared up, nearly throwing him, and took off down the road.

Behind him, the flames leapt from the cabin to the nearby woods.  And like Satan hurled from Heaven, Morgan plunged through the inferno to the freedom beyond.


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## talien

*In Media Res: Conclusion*

Morowitz had the dream again about his sister.  He learned to love and hate the dream at the same time, yearning for closeness with the only relative he ever really knew but loathing the inevitable pain that came with it. 

But this time a man in the suit was there.  His sister was gone. 

"Wow, now this is one interesting dream."  He walked over, only partially visible through the leather mask Morowitz was wearing.  "That can't be comfortable. Is it?"

Morowitz shook his head.

"Here."  The man took the mask off of Morowitz, then released his other bindings so he was no longer strapped to the chair. "That's better."  He was very tan, sleekly handsome, impeccably dressed.  

"Are you going to hurt me?" Morowitz rubbed his wrists. 

"Hurt you? Oh I should think not!"  The man pulled up his own chair and sat down across from him.  "I'm here to recruit you."

"Recruit me?" squeaked Morowitz.  He was still a twelve-year-old boy in his dreams. "Who ARE you?"

The man smirked.  "You can call me…The Opener of the Way. Way for short. I suppose you could call me The Opener…" he mused, "but really that's a little weird, don't you think?"

"Uh.  Yeah.  So, recruit me for what?"

"Well now that's a really good question.  What are you good at?"

Morowitz shrugged. 

"I know what you're good at," said Way.  "See, right now you're just a scrawny punk who has a really weird sister with a pain fetish. But when you grow up…" Way's eyes lit up.  "You're going to be huge! And nobody will ever threaten you again. What do you think of that idea buddy?"

Morowitz liked that idea very much and said so.

"Good.  Well now there's a little thing you need to do. There's a storm brewing, something fierce.  It's the beginning of a change of times."  Way smiled.  "My kind of times.  With the storm is a flood, and that flood is going to reach right here – not right here, of course, but the other here, where you're sleeping right now, in Liberty Center.  They're going to move you, and when they do, you're going to take the guard hostage.  Can you do that?"

"Sure."

"Good, good. I won't lie to you…what comes next is pretty nasty.  Are you up for it?"

Morowitz swallowed hard.  "I…I think so."

Way smiled. "I've been chatting with several of your fellow inmates, but I like you most of all, pal."  He patted Morowitz on the shoulder.  "Some of your other friends…well let's just say they're better-suited to the other stuff.  You know – shooting people in cold blood, slicing off tongues, that sort of thing. But you, you've got a rough kind of morals that I admire.  I don't have any, myself.  Morals, that is."  He smiled again, like he had made a really funny joke. 

Way reached over and painted something on the wall across from the chair that Morowitz sat in.  He did it with just his thumb, but it smelled like the coppery scent of blood.

"All you have to do is paint this."  Way pointed at the blot. "And then, if you're smart enough and you're strong enough and just ruthless enough, you have to remember who you are.  And if you do that, you and you alone will be my most loyal servant in the end times. Can you do that?"

Morowitz nodded vigorously.  "Yes!" he said, eager to please.

"Good.  Now wake up.  You've got a prison to escape from."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 55: The Music of the Spheres - Introduction*

This story hour is from "The Music of the Spheres" by Kevin A. Ross from Chaosium's The Stars Are Right! You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Deputy Bob Horner* (Pyromaniac) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Deputy Donny Carpenter* (Cult Leader) played by *Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)*
*Sheriff Randy Kaufman* (Brutal Thug) played by *George Webster*

Continuing the narrative of what happened to the world after our heroic agents sacrificed themselves to detonate a nuclear sub in Cthulhu's face, this scenario shows what happens when insanity hits middle America.  Music of the Spheres has been kicking around in my files for years but I never knew how to handle it because its implications are world reaching. It's pretty much the end of the world and you don't just casually run the scenario in the middle of your campaign.

But then, I was ending the campaign in a way.  With the birth of my daughter I knew I'd be taking a half-year hiatus.  So instead of hapless human agents summoning Ghroth, I changed the scenario to Cthulhu's "death" sending a signal out to Ghroth via the radar array.  This plays nicely into the narrative and reinforces the overall sense of a looming apocalypse.  

By the second session the players were now in the groove of playing completely different characters, and I suspect they were frankly relieved to characters that were a bit more morally upstanding.  All of them had memorable lines and portrayed their heroes valiantly.  In this case it was Jeremy who really stepped up.

I stole liberally from The Crazies and Stephen King's "Cell," but the real star here is Blur's "Crazy Beat" which has been stuck in my head for years since I heard it.  I made sure to play that song any time The Music of the Spheres was played, which really irritated everybody but me.  

What this scenario gave me that I couldn't get from the main "superhero" agents was dependents.  While Donny and Bob are single, Randy has a wife and two kids to worry about.  They're not freewheeling agents out on a mission to save the world; they're just trying to save their home.  And yet there ARE Majestic-12 agents running amok in this scenario in an attempt to contain the disaster (a disaster, it becomes clear, that cannot be contained).  In other words, I wanted the players to see government agents as villains.  Jeremy had his character cling to that notion right up to the very end, and his sacrifice was all the more poignant because of it.

*Defining Moment:* "Well THAT ain't normal!"

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1416524517?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1416524517]Cell[/ame]:* by Stephen King.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0021L8UXA?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0021L8UXA]The Crazies[/ame]*.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000WWEW1E?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000WWEW1E]Crazy Beat[/ame]:* by Blur.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Prologue*



> _You got to get it together
> You're shooting at me
> You're just a teenage industry
> Why are the C.I.A. having fun?
> They think you're clever 'cos you've blown up your lungs​_
> --_Crazy Beat_ by Blur​



HAYDEN, NB—"Gosh darn it Bob, why did I have to park my car across the street again?"

Annie, the dispatcher for the Hayden sheriff's office, rolled her eyes. Sheriff Randy Kaufman and Deputy Bob Horner were having their weekly argument about the supposedly reserved parking space again. 

Bob grunted.  "It's for whoever's on duty at the time."

Annie tried to interject.  "Bob…"

"That may be, but I'm the Sheriff, and I need to be able to access the front door, especially in an emergency," replied Randy. "Besides, the Dodge Durango won't fit in the smaller spaces."

She tried again.  "Randy…"

"Me too," said Bob. 

Randy took off his hat and scratched the back of his head.  "Man alive, Bob!  Arguing with you is like arguing with a pole, you know that!"

"Excuse me, Randy…"

"Pole'd get its own parking space," muttered Bob.

"BOYS!" shouted Annie.  They both looked at her.  "If you two are done arguing there's been an incident over at the Osbourne house.  Carrie's going on about dogs, something crazy's gotten into them."

Randy screwed his hat back on and made for the door.

"I'll drive," said Bob.  "My car's closer."

Randy glared at him.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 1 – Shhh*

They came upon Dave first, the volunteer paramedic, hiding behind his ambulance.

"What's going on Dave?" asked Randy, warily approaching Dave.  Bob trailed behind him.  

"Something's up with Carrie," said Dave, eyes wild.  "She's gone nuts.  Leveled a shotgun at me!  She's going on and on about the noise. Threatened to shoot the ambulance if I turned on the sirens."  He shook his head.  "She must be on drugs."

"Let me talk to her," said Randy.  "She's probably been hitting the sauce again…"

"This isn't some trick to get a free ride to visit your pretty wife, is it?" snorted Dave.

Bob didn't laugh.

Randy forced a smile.  "Being the town doctor qualifies Judy as your boss," he said.  "But being my wife makes her my boss too so we'll keep that between us.  Now stay back until I signal it's safe."

Dave nodded, serious now.

Carrie was pacing back and forth, a rabid animal on deranged guard duty.

"Carrie?" said Randy from around the vehicle.  "Mind if I come talk to you?"

"Shhhh!" hissed Carrie, her eyes wild, her hair unkempt.  She leveled a shotgun at him. "You keep your voice down or so help me I will shoot you!"

"Okay, okay."  Randy lowered his voice, hands up in the air.  "Okay, I'm going to approach real slowly but I need to get closer or else you can't hear me, now can you?"

Carrie seemed to find some logic in that and she nodded, never releasing her grip on the shotgun.

Randy crept closer.  Carrie, never a particularly attractive woman, was torn up.  One leg was soaked in blood.  It looked as if she'd been mauled.

"Now Carrie," Randy asked once he was in earshot.  "What's this all about?"

"The noise," whispered Carrie.  "The noise.  The dogs hate it."

"The dogs?" He gestured at Carrie's leg with a nod of his head, keeping his arms up. "Is that what tore you up like that?"  

Carrie nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "The dogs...they killed Bill.  Killed him.  Ripped him apart." She refocused, shaking her head.  "If that ambulance comes any closer I will shoot it, I swear!"

"I understand, I understand," said Randy, edging closer. "Dave's not going to do anything stupid because he doesn't want to get shot.  But neither do you.  And if you're worried about noise…I think maybe you should give me that shotgun before it goes off and makes a lot of noise. How about that?"

Carrie glanced at the shotgun, a former ally turned traitor.  She began sobbing, deflated, as she slumped to her knees. 

Randy gingerly took the shotgun away from her.  He gestured behind his back to Bob, who ran over.

"Where's Julie?" asked Randy.  

"The baby's inside," sobbed Carrie.  "She's inside.  The dogs'll eat her…if she wakes up…"

Randy clicked on his shoulder radio.  "Donny, come in."

"What's up Sheriff?"

"You know those tranquilizer darts we bought after that black bear sighting last year?"

"Yeah?"

"Dust 'em off and bring 'em over to the Osbourne residence.  And bring the tear gas too."

"For what?"

"I dunno yet.  Just bring 'em."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 2 – Dogtown*

Randy padded up to the entryway, shotgun at the ready.  Donny and Bob approached from the back.  With any luck, this was all a misunderstanding, the drunken ravings of a woman who maybe beat her dog too many times.

Then Randy saw the blood and congratulated himself on being careful.

There was a lot of it.  It was smeared, with unidentifiable chunks of something.  The door had been slammed shut, forcibly, and bloody handprints – Carrie's, he guessed – were splattered along the doorframe.  It was too much blood for just Carrie's wound, bad though it was.

Taking Carrie's mandate of silence seriously, Randy gingerly tried the door.  

It was unlocked.  He gently put pressure on the handle and pushed it inward.

It moved a few inches before stopping.  Something was in the way.

Randy pushed again, and whatever was in the way rolled aside.

Randy looked down and the moisture fled his throat.  It was a man's arm.

Peering around the door, Randy could see what a bloody trail that ranged up and down the hallway.  It was most assuredly Bill's arm. The whereabouts as to the rest of Bill were unclear.

The gruesome scene was accompanied by the hiss of static from a radio.  Randy counted his blessings; if there were dogs riled up by noise, the radio would cover his footsteps.

But what the hell kind of dogs were these?  He tried to use the time waiting for Donny to ask Carrie what the dogs did, but he only got the sense they were big.  On a property as large as the Osbourne's a family could have big dogs. There were two of them, Marla and Maple. 

Big enough to tear a man's arm off?  It was possible, if he were dead.  From the far end of the hallway, Donny and Bob met Randy's gaze.  He pointed at the dismembered arm.

Donny covered his mouth in horror.  Bob's lips became a thin line. 

They ducked into the other rooms, hypersensitive to the danger now.  If Julie wasn't inside he'd have just locked the doors and set the house on fire rather than deal with this.

But Hayden was his town and he was the sheriff.  Like it or not, it was his job to deal with things like this.

Bob was already up the steps by the time Randy decided to follow.  He swore, silently.  Bob never did listen to directions.

Randy covered the entryway behind Bob with his shotgun.  He pointed Donny to the baby's room, evident by the pink bow on the handle.  Bob approached the master bedroom.

There was a faintly unpleasant sound coming from the master bedroom.  It was a moist sound.  The sound of licking and chewing.  The sound of eating.

The door was partially open.  Bob teased it wider with the business end of his shotgun.

He could make out the tails of two dogs from behind the bed.  It was a high bed, but he could still see their tails wagging like they were feeding on a treat. A bloody, lumpy trail swept along the entryway and out of sight to where the dogs were eating.

Behind Bob, Donny crept out of the room with Julie still asleep in his arms.  He made his way to the steps.

"Sheriff?  This is Annie, come back," shrieked the radio on Donny's shoulder.

Julie, startled by the crackle of the radio and Donny's movement, began to wail.

In the master bedroom the two mastiffs, Great Danes, looked up from the other side of the bed. Their muzzles were bright red.

"Son of a—" swore Bob.  He fired his shotgun but the shot went wide.

The dogs cleared the bed in one leap.  Nearly two hundred pounds of Great Dane slammed into Bob, who was not a small man, knocking him against the railing.  The other one bounded over his prone form and into the hallway.

Randy fired his shotgun at the first dog, a glancing shot.  The dog foamed at the mouth.

"Go Donny!" shouted Randy.

But the Great Dane was between Donny and the steps.  Hoisting the squalling child in one arm like a football he leaped over the railing onto the steps.

Bob, prone, struggled to keep the other dog from biting his face off.  It took a chunk out of his arm.  Bob pulled his pistol and, shoving it up to the dog's gut, pulled the trigger.

The first dog, heedless of the conflict and its wounds, jumped over the rail into space…

And landed in front of Donny at the bottom of the steps.  Randy couldn't believe it.   Bullets weren't affecting them. 

With reckless abandon, Randy leaped the stairway rail.

Just as the dog was about to leap again, Randy landed on the dog's back.  There was a snapping sound from the Great Dane. The dog's back cushioned Randy's fall. It still hurt like hell.

Donny jumped over them both and ran out the front door. 

"Dave!" shouted Donny at a full sprint.  "Get over here!"

Randy rolled off the Great Dane.  It was unconscious or dead, he couldn't be sure.  All he could think of was Bob.

He ran back up the steps, pistol out.  Bob was losing the fight, his struggles weaker.  The Great Dane was shaking his arm like a rag doll.

Randy shoved his arm through the railing up to the dog's pointed ear and pulled the trigger. Its head kicked as the bullet penetrated the brain.  It fell over instantly, dead.

Blood and dog brains were everywhere.  Bob was unconscious from blood loss.  Randy hoisted him in a fireman's carry down the steps.

The first dog's body was missing from the steps. 

He made it as far as the door when the Great Dane caught up with them.  Teeth gnashed at his leg, tearing his pants.

Randy shoved Bob's unconscious form through the front doorway.  He flopped onto his back.

"Donny!" shouted Randy.

"I'm comin'!" Donny shouted out of the window of his cruiser.  He drove it backwards up to the house, nearly smashing the trunk into the porch steps.

Randy spun around the front door to the outside and, kicking the dog viciously in the face, grabbed hold of the door and slammed it shut. 

"Keerist," swore Randy, panting.  

Donny dragged Bob near the cruiser, but wasn't able to easily lift him into the back seat.  Bob was a big man.

Donny reached into the trunk instead and came back out with a canister of tear gas.

"This should help," he said, handing the canister to Randy.

"I dunno, Donny. That one dog should be dead.  Bob must've emptied his entire pistol into one of 'em.  What the hell is wrong with these dogs?"

"I dunno, but it ain't right," said Donny.  " Ready?"

Randy nodded.  Taking a deep breath, Donny opened the door.

The dog, which had gone silent when the door closed, was instantly at the opening, blood-flecked muzzle snarling and barking with rage.  Donny slammed it in the snout with the butt of his shotgun.  Randy pulled the pin and threw the tear gas inside.

The dog's barking turned to a piteous whine.

"Finally," said Donny.  "That should do it—"

Shattering glass at the bay window signaled that the dog wasn't finished with them yet.  Covered in broken glass, half-blind from the tear gas, the Great Dane struggled to its feet.

The dog made its way towards the unconscious Bob.

"Son of a…" Randy fired his pistol at it.  "Stay down!"

It kept coming.

The engine of the cruiser revved.  Donny was back behind the wheel.  He slammed the gas pedal.

The dog looked up, ears pricked at the sound but unsure as to the source.  The cruiser smashed into the dog, tossing it up into the air and over the hood.  With a high-pitched squeak it finally lay still.

Randy leaned down on his knees, panting.  Donny pulled the car back around. 

"What the hell were they feedin' them dogs?"

"I dunno Donny," said Randy.  "But it ain't normal."


----------



## talien

*The Music of the Spheres: Part 3 – Take Me Out to the Ballgame*

Randy's cruiser screeched to a halt in front of the local high school. Donny arrived a few seconds after.

A baseball game was being played under the lights. Students, faculty, and townspeople filled the wooden bleachers.  

"Regional playoffs!" Randy shouted to Donny, jogging out of his cruiser.  "Everybody's here…"

The mayor, the pastor, and all the VIPs a small town had to offer were present.   All eyes were on the sheriff and his deputy.

Donny's hand was on his holstered pistol.  He kept a low profile as they advanced on the stadium.

Now they knew why Annie was urgently trying to get in touch with them. A dark figure walked out of the shadowy woods beyond the outfield. Weaving like a drunkard, he walked right onto the playing field, oblivious to the game. 

"Is that…Rory?" asked Donny uncertainly.

It was a man of fifty.  A local pig farmer.

"Yeah," said Randy, his lips a thin line.  "That's Rory Hamill all right. And he's carrying a shotgun."

Heads turn and mouths fell open in the bleachers and dugouts, everybody staring in collective disbelief. It was surreal. A guy with a gun walked past Petey Jenkins in left field.

"Want me to start evacuating folks?" asked Donny.

"Too risky," said Randy.  "He might just start shooting 'em.  I'm going to try to calm him down.  You approach from the side, out of his line of sight.  And for Pete's sake keep your weapon holstered!"

Donny nodded but didn't take his hand off his holstered pistol as he ducked. 

Randy approached Rory, hands up. "Rory!  Hey Rory!  What's going on, huh?"

Rory got as far as the infield before Randy got his attention. He stopped, glassy-eyed, head lolling sickly to one side. 

"Rory?" Randy tried to keep his voice modulated and calm, but it was difficult knowing all eyes were on him. "What's up?  You okay?" 

Rory cast a glance around the field. A dizzying number of faces out there. All eyes on him. He wobbled a little, caught himself.

"Rory?  You realize you're standing in the middle of a field with a shotgun?" Randy continued his approach, hands up. "Why don't you put that down, huh?" 

Rory's gaze floated back to Randy.  This time it was different. Harder. Deadly. 

"Now Donny!" shouted Randy.

Rory leveled the shotgun, bringing his eye to the sights. He drew back on the trigger and…

The shotgun blast went wide as two hundred pounds of former Hayden football star Donny smashed Rory sideways.  It was a perfect tackle – if a high-speed camera could take a snapshot of the moment Donny was parallel to the ground and he hit Rory with his shoulder.  

But that was only the adrenaline pumping through Rory's veins and in another second Rory was on the ground.  Randy tore the weapon away from him.  Only then did he become aware of the screams and the scrambling in the stands.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 4 – What About Bob?*

"Is he okay?" Randy stood over Bob's comatose form.  He was sleeping soundly.

Judy's brow was furrowed.  "He lost a lot of blood but he'll recover. He's suffering from minor hypovolemia. I'm more concerned about rabies."

"Can you give him a shot?"

"We started post-exposure prophylaxis.  You're going to need one too.  And Donny."

Randy sighed.  "I knew that was coming.  They hurt, don't they?"

"The cheap vaccines do. The WHO intradermal vaccination regimens aren't so bad, but…"

Randy rubbed his forehead.  "But we cut the budget last year. I know, I know. How long is the regimen?"

"Fourteen days."

"Fourteen days!" Randy sighed. "I can't have all of us off the street."

"It's just a shot, hon," said Judy, her tone softening. "You faced down Rory with a shotgun…"

"What about Rory and Carrie?  Can you treat them?"

"We've got a toxicology report sent out, but it's late."  She checked her watch.  "The girls should be in bed by now."

Randy shook his head.  "I don't know what's happening to our town, Judy.  Maybe a rabies outbreak."

"I checked Rory.  There wasn't a bite on him.  He may have gotten rabies, but it wasn't from one of the dogs. I'm vaccinating everybody to be sure, but they're going to be in a world of hurt for a few weeks."

"Bats?" asked Randy.

"Maybe.  It's possible."  Judy looked down at her clipboard.  "It's hard to tell. Between Carrie's dogs and Rory I'm thinking we need to call in the CDC."

Randy looked heavenwards.  "That's all we need." He glanced back at Bob.  "What about him?"

Judy wore a sly smirk.  "Oh, he'll be fine."

"What? I thought he was suffering from blood loss." 

"An hour's rest took care of that," said Judy.  "I wanted to keep an eye on him after the rabies treatment."

Randy's cell phone buzzed.  He flipped it open and listened.  Then he clipped it shut and swore under his breath.

"What?" asked Judy, concerned.

"The Arnold house is on fire."

Judy grabbed Bob's folded up uniform and plopped it on his stomach.  His eyes flicked open a second too early – he'd been feigning sleep for some time now.

"Well look who's awake!" said Randy.  "Get up Bob, we got work to do."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 5 – Burning Down the House*

The Arnold house was engulfed in flames.  At four in the morning, the flames lit up the surrounding countryside like the Devil himself just arriving for dinner.

Volunteer firemen hosed down the trees, too late to save the house or anyone inside. 

Randy and Judy pushed through the crowd of onlookers to the fire chief. 

"Norman, did they get out?!" asked Judy.

The Fire Chief shook his head. Judy, horrified, eyed the inferno that used to be a farmhouse.

"Stan did," said Norman. "Begs the question, doesn't it?"

Randy gave Judy's arm a squeeze. "I'll talk to him."

Stan Arnold sat expressionless on the back bumper of a fire truck, hands tied with baling twine.

"Stan? It's Randy.  Stan, what happened?"

Stan didn't respond at first. He slowly turned a glassy-eyed, remorseless gaze on Randy. "A reckoning," is all he said.

Judy inspected Stan next, flashing a pen light in his eyes.  "Could be an early stage," she said.  "But I'm not sure."

Bob and Donny huffed up behind them.

"Cuff him, Donny."

Donny looked questioningly at Randy.  "But…"

"He could have rabies, Donny.  Now cuff him."

Donny turned Stan around and snapped zip-tie cuffs on his wrists. Stan silently complied as he was led to the cruiser.

"Randy…" began Judy.

"I know.  I know!" 

"What?" Bob, who wasn't privy to the near-telepathic communication between husband and wife, looked back and forth between them.

"We're going to have to quarantine the town.  Call the CDC.  It's gonna be a big mess, Bob. I need you to go back, get things ready, start making calls.  I'll take care of things here and go back with Judy in the ambulance."

"Uh, okay. Yeah, sure. Sure."

When Bob left the scene, Randy and Judy allowed themselves a brief hug as they watched the firemen battle the inferno.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 6 – Space Pajamas*

Bob was tired, despite resting in the hospital most of the day. Ahead of him the dirt road showed nothing but darkness, extending only as far as the cruiser's high beams.  

He opened the window and turned up the radio. 

"…KRVN FM, the River. News on the hour every hour. Officials at the University of Nebraska reported that yesterday's minor earth tremor measured less than 2.0 on the Richter scale.  The quake is believed to have been centered in the area of Three Mile Lake in Arthur County 40 miles northwest of North Platte—"

The signal went to static.

Bob gave the radio a glance.  He tried a different station. More static.

He flipped through all the stations.  Nothing but static.  Weird. 

And then he saw something weirder. Out of the corner of his eye, caught in the spray of light from the cruiser, was a child-sized figure in a silvery suit.

It was so incongruous that it took a moment to register. 

"What the hell?"

Bob put on the brakes.  He backed the cruiser up, turned it slowly towards the field.  

Moths and other bugs fluttered up in the bright light.  But that was it.

Bob tried the CB.  "Donny, come back."

Static. 

"Donny, come back.  I think I saw…I don't know what I saw.  A kid in space pajamas, maybe."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 7 – Cracks*

Donny had the radio on too, his mute passenger staring silently into space behind him.  It creeped him out. 

_ “…a cell phone tower in the area recently exploded in a mysterious incident that gave a lot of listeners quite a headache.  Maybe those UFOs everyone keeps reporting are responsible! Speaking of foreign objects in the skies, we’re continuing our interview with Dr. Neal, exclusive on KRVN FM, the River.  Dr. Neal, can you tell us more about what you’ve been up to at the Great Plains Cruciform Array?”_

Donny checked his cell phone.  No service.  Hmm.

_“Yes, thank you. I wanted to give you the exclusive here, live, on the radio. You see, we believe we’ve found SH-01, the Nemesis Star. That recent quake seems to have calibrated our signal that we've been lacking all this time.”

"Quake?  You mean the recent 2.0 tremor?"

"Yes.  That tremor was the fortuitous accident we needed to calibrate our array.  That's how we found Nemesis."_

Donny had read about the quake.  Something about a deep-sea explosion. 

_“And what’s so important about this star?”

“Nemesis is a hypothetical red dwarf star or brown dwarf, orbiting the Sun at a distance of about 50,000 to 100,000 AU, somewhat beyond the Oort cloud. The existence of this star has been postulated in an attempt to explain an inferred periodicity in the rate of biological extinction in the geological record.”

“In English please.”

“We believe that SH-01 is the star that killed the dinosaurs. The star’s passage through the Oort comet cloud creates devastating comet storms that plague our solar system.  The comets striking the Earth throw up dense clouds of debris, shutting out the sun’s light, and killing off all life.”

“And you think you’ve found Nemesis? Sounds sinister.”

“Yes.  In fact, I have proof. What you’re about to hear is the frequency of SH-01.”

“And this is what the star sounds like? We can just put our ears to the sky—“ 

“Oh, heavens no!  Time on this recording has been compressed, so that 73 seconds corresponds to 27 minutes. Since the frequencies of these emissions are well above the audio frequency range, we have shifted them downward by a factor of 44. It’s quite beautiful, actually.”

“And here it is, the soothing sounds of the Nemesis Star.”_

Music started playing, but it wasn't classical music, or space beeping, or any noise Donny associated with stars.  It was a song, sung by people.  But it wasn't coming from the radio.

"You've got to get it together! Stop shooting at me! You're just a teenage industry. Why are the C.I.A. having fun? They think you're clever cause you've blown up your lungs…"

Donny looked around.  The music seemed to be…coming from his head?

He looked over his shoulder at Stan.  "Can you hear that?"

Stan's eyes were heavily lidded, as if he were falling asleep.  A thin stream of drool slid out of the corner of his mouth. 

"Guess not." He could somehow hear the song as well as static on the radio at the same time. Donny turned the radio off.

The music kept playing.  It was stuck in his head. 

"But I love to hear that crazy beat. Gets the people dancing on their feet and I love to live in paradise. I love my brothers on a Saturday night yeah."

Just then Donny hit a rough patch in the road.  But it wasn't a rough patch, as Donny realized that the entire landscape was shaking violently.  All around them, the telephone poles wobbled on their bases.

"Son of a—" Donny hit the gas.

One by one, the poles began collapsing.  Each pole tugged another down with it, like a series of dominos, sparking electrical cables and bursting transformers.  They began pacing the cruiser, collapsing faster than Donny could drive…

Donny revved the engine, hoping the cruiser was up to the task. It roared ahead as one of the poles spun sideways, sweeping downwards and nearly taking off the cruiser's lights.  

"Yeah!" shouted Donny as the collapsing poles fell behind the cruiser.  He was so caught up in the adrenaline rush of avoiding the poles that he barely registered the yawning crack in the pavement ahead of him.

Donny slammed on the brakes.  The cruiser swerved and then they were airborne.

The cruiser floated around him.  Donny caught sight of the air freshner that normally hung from the mirror bouncing off the ceiling.  Then the car landed again on its wheels.  Tires burst, axles snapped. 

Donny felt as if he had been punched in the spine.  He unbuckled the seat belt, which felt like a knife across his chest, and slipped out the door onto the cracked pavement. 

The wheels were still spinning.  Donny could make out a yawning gap from the beam of one cracked headlight.  The cruiser was teetering on it.

"Stan!" Donny got to his feet, yanked the door open—

Stan lurched forward and snapped at Donny's arm with his teeth.  Donny screamed, jerking backwards and involuntarily shoved Stan back into the back seat of the cruiser.

That was all the momentum the precariously balanced car needed.  It flipped forward, bouncing a few times into the abyss.  Donny caught a glimpse of one of the headlights spinning crazily as the car went down, illuminating the night sky.  It was extinguished by a cacophony of crunching metal. 

Donny wiped the dust from his face and looked around.  It was pitch black.  He wondered how far a walk he would have to Hayden.

But at least the damn music had stopped.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 8 – Crazy Beat*

It took hours before Randy and Bob reconnected.  They all felt the earthquake, but Hayden's fire department, ambulance, and law enforcement were already spread thin.  With cell phones out, communication was severely curtailed. When Donny didn't report back from the station, they went looking for him. 

Judy promised to have the ambulance stop by the house to check on the girls before returning to her shift. It was a sad testament to Hayden's state of affairs that there was nobody alive to rush to the hospital.  Randy and Judy hadn't been able to reconnect with the phones down.

Donny was battered and bruised, but he was alive and Randy couldn't afford a man down.  They took the Durango back to town together.

Main Street looked normal enough.  People were walking about minding their own business, chatting away on their cell phones.  

"Hayden doesn't look too worse for the wear," said Randy.  

A businesswoman with a poodle on a leash stood in front of a snack truck, the phone screwed into her ear as she attempted to talk and buy a bagel at the same time.  Nearby, two young girls with pixie haircuts, one blonde, one brunette, were listening to a single cell phone and giggling.

Donny looked down at his cell.  "Uh, Randy?"

"Yeah?" 

"I don't got a signal on my cell phone."

Bob held his phone up.  "Me neither."

Randy checked his phone at his belt.  "Me neither."

Donny looked back out the window.  "So who are they all talking to?"

“Hello?” said the businesswoman, staring at her phone.  “Hello?”  She put it back to her ear, listened for a moment, and then dropped it back into her purse. 

Randy pulled the Durango to a stop near the curb.  Something was very, very wrong.

"Well that ain't normal."  Randy slid one hand towards his holstered pistol.

Everything got very quiet. The businesswoman just stood there, as if she forgot what she was doing. When the bagel man handed her a bagel, she stared at it blankly. 

The sheriff and his deputies got out of the SUV. 

The businesswoman’s features suddenly peeled back in a look of indescribable, feral rage. Her polite expression was replaced by a convulsive snarl that shrank her eyes to slits and exposed both sets of teeth. 

The businesswoman’s poodle ran into the street, trailing its red leash with the hand-loop in the end. A black car roared through Main Street, catching the poodle beneath the wheel and tossing its bloody carcass through the air. 

The blonde-haired girl seized the businesswoman. Her companion backed away. 

The young girl latched onto the businesswoman's neck and bit down, causing an enormous jet of blood.  She shook her back and forth like a doll. Then she cocked her own blood-smeared face up to the bright blue sky and howled in what sounded like triumph.

BLAM! The blast went wide, just missing the blonde girl.  Donny fumbled to reload the smoking shotgun.  

Randy whirled on him, snapping out of his shock. "Donny, what in the hell!"

From behind them came the unmistakable hollow bang-and-jingle of a car crash, followed by screams. The screams were followed by another explosion, this one louder, concussive, hammering the day. Behind the bagel truck, another car swerved across three lanes of and onto the sidewalk, mowing down a couple of pedestrians and then plowing into the back of the previous car, which finished with its nose crumpled into the side of a building window. 

The blonde girl cleared the distance between them at a fantastic rate.  Donny was still in the middle of reloading when she launched herself at him, plunging her tiny feet into his torso.  He managed to get one arm up, but that just gave her something to bite.  She gnawed on his arm.

"AHHH!" shouted Donny. 

The blonde girl's bobbed backwards, spitting a jet of blood from her skull.  She slid off of Donny. Bob whirled his pistol on the other girl. 

"WHO AM I?" The dark-haired girl suddenly screamed. She smacked herself in the forehead, spun three times, and then runs straight into a lamppost, again and again. 

Her nose was broken, gushing blood down her lower face. A vertical contusion was puffing up on her brow, rising like a thunderhead on a summer day. One of her eyes had gone crooked in its socket. She opened her mouth, exposing a ruin of what had probably been expensive orthodontic work, and laughed.  Then she ran away down the sidewalk, screaming.

"Back to the Durango!" shouted Randy, who had his own pistol out.

From the top floor of a building across the way, a window shatters in a bright spray of glass. A body hurtled out. It fell to the sidewalk, where it exploded. More screams from the street. 

Randy hopped into the driver's seat as Donny and Bob followed suit. He threw it into gear and slammed on the gas pedal. 

A man came running out of a nearby building, roaring wordless sounds at the top of his lungs, his shirt flapping behind him. He ran into the street. 

Randy swerved around the man, barely missing him. He ran onto the other side, still roaring and waving his hands at the sky. He disappeared into the shadows beneath the canopy of the hotel forecourt and was lost to view.

"Where we going?" asked Bob, out of breath.

"Judy," was all Randy said.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 9 – Judy*

The stillness of prairie grass in the dark hush before dawn. Beyond it, a traditional white clapboard house with an old barn that needs painting. The ambulance lay silently nearby. 

The Durango pulled up to the Kaufman house.  Randy hopped out, followed by Bob and Donny.

"I'm gonna check on the girls," said Randy, pistol down.  "Donny, you're with me. Bob, you watch the door."  

Randy found some solace in the door being locked.  He unlocked it.  "Girls?  It's dad.  You home?"

"Daddy?" Alexis came down the steps, the older of the two, a pretty blonde like her mother and just blossoming into womanhood. "What's going on? Television and radio have been out--"

"I know.  The whole town's a mess.  We're going to have to evacuate.  Where's your sister?"

"Crystal's upstairs," said Alexis.  "I've been trying to keep her calm."

Randy blinked. "Where's your mother?"

"Mom?  I thought she was still at the hospital."

"You didn't see the ambulance outside?" asked Donny, peering through the curtains back at the ambulance.

"What?  We've been upstairs.  Oh, I see it now…"

Donny and Randy exchanged a look.  

"Get your gear together.  Pack up essentials.  Only what you can carry.  We're leaving right now."

"But what about mom?"

"We'll find her," said Randy sternly. "Right now I want you two safe so I can focus on finding your mother. Now go!"

Alexis nodded and ran back up the steps, calling to Crystal.  

Donny allowed himself a smile.  "Your girls are tough.  Like their mother."

Randy didn't respond to his compliment.  "Donny, I'm gonna stay in here with the girls.  But I need you to check out that ambulance."

"Will do chief."  Donny ducked back outside. 

The ambulance rocked while Bob approached it with his pistol. 

"What's going on?"

"Something," said Bob.

The back doors of the ambulance suddenly spilled open.  Judy fell out with the ambulance driver and volunteer paramedic Dave on top of her.  He was drooling, his eyes bloodshot, clawing at her face.  She rolled over and plunged a syringe into his throat.  

Dave shuddered. His eyes rolled in his head and he slumped off the ground, a marionette with its strings cut.  

"Like I said," said Donny, "tough."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 10 – The Array*

Judy rose, dusting herself off.  

"You okay?" asked Bob.

"Yeah," said Judy.  "The radio was all static and then right as we pulled up to the house Dave went nuts." She nudged Dave's unconscious body with her foot. "He'll be out for awhile, but he should be all right."

"Randy and the girls are inside," said Donny.  "You sure you're okay?"

Judy nodded.  "As okay as I need to be."

"This ain't a case of rabies, is it?" asked Donny.  He looked at his poorly bandaged arm.  "Because if it is, then I've surely got whatever Dave got."

"I don't know," said Judy, lips pursed.  "But if whatever's making people crazy spread to the town…"

"Already did."  Bob's gaze became unfocused as he recalled the girl's spattered brains.  "We came straight here from Main Street." 

Donny shook his head.  "Total chaos, Judy.  Everything's been turned upside-down.  We have to get out of here."

"Well come on inside," said Judy.  "You're no good to anybody with that awful bandage."  She ushered Donny into the house like a mother hen. Bob kept guard outside.

Donny unwound the makeshift bandage and washed the bite wound under the kitchen sink. After checking that Randy and the girls were okay, Judy returned with a first aid kit.

"Judy," Donny said slowly as she unwrapped new gauze from the kit, "give it to me straight: what's the first signs of rabies?"

Judy shook her head.  "You don't have rabies, Donny.  Rabies jumps to its hosts from an infected carrier.  It takes weeks to show up. Even if you had rabies, there's plenty of time to get vaccinated." She put some cream on the bite wound and finished wrapping it up.  "Where did the incidents first start?"

"You got a map?"

Judy rifled through a kitchen drawer.  "We use it a lot when we have medical emergencies in the middle of the night." She spread the map out on the counter.  

"First it started with the Osbourne house here."  He pointed with his good arm.  Judy made a black mark with a pencil. "She said something about dogs going nuts.  They killed Bill."

Judy nodded. "I saw what was left of poor Bill.  Terrible."

"Then here. Rory came out to the ballgame."  He pointed.

"Where's the Hamill house?"

"Over here."  Donny pointed to a location that wasn't far from the school.  "Why?'

"Because Rory didn't get infected at the ballgame.  He came from his house.  It's close enough for him to walk the distance to the school. Whatever happened, happened at home."

Donny agreed with that logic. 

"And the Arnolds are here," added Judy, making an additional mark.  "That allows us to triangulate a position to...here." She circled a spot roughly between the three points. It was four miles due west of Hayden. "What's in the center?"

Donny's brow furrowed.  "The GPCA."

"The what?"

"The Great Plains Central Array."

Judy's eyes went wide.  "The satellite dishes pointed at the stars?"

Donny laughed, then stopped laughing as the implications dawned on him. "You don't think...well now come to think of it, Dr. Neal over at the GPCA was talking about how that recent earthquake calibrated the dishes and he picked up on something from the stars."

"And the cell phone towers are down," said Judy.  "That can't be a coincidence."

"I don't..." Donny stood up, pacing.  "What if...what if...this frequency or whatever.  What if it's subsonic?  What if you can't hear it normally but if you're close enough to the array, it drives you nuts?"

"That'd be one explanation," said Judy carefully.  She seemed to be teetering between contradicting Donny and agreeing with him, but the explanation was so crazy that she couldn't make up her mind.  

"And then--and then they broadcast it over the radio!"  Donny swore.  "Son of a...that's it!"

"What?"

"The radio!  There was a radio on at the Osbournes.  And the earthquake hit right after they played the music from the stars on KRVN FM."

"When the radio went dead in the ambulance, that's when Dave went nuts."  Judy covered her mouth in dawning horror.  "The whole town..."

Her next exclamation was cut short by the sounds of gunfire.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 11 – Trust Your Government*

Bob's warning shot didn't deter the intruders. The white-suited figures that crept out of the tree line around the house weren't trying to be quiet.

There were three of them.  They were armed in full Nuclear Biological Chemical (NBC) suits complete with gas masks and M16s.  They marched slowly, forming a perimeter, rifles at the ready.

Bob holstered his pistol and reached into the SUV for his shotgun.  He took up a firing position behind it. 

One of the soldiers touched his breathing mask, presumably to turn on a built in megaphone. "This is the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency.  Put your weapons down!"

"I am a Deputy Bob Horner of the Hayden County Sheriff's Department!  You have no jurisdiction here!"

Donny, Judy, Randy, and the girls crept to the doorway.  

"What's going on?" asked Randy.

"Nothing good."  Bob spoke to them over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the advancing men.  "They claim they're government agents."

"That's good, right?" asked Donny, a former military man himself.  "I mean, they're the cavalry.  Right?"

"Judy, get the girls in the Durango."

"We are agents of the U.S. government!  You are being quarantined in conjunction with Title 14, Section 1211 of the Code of Federal Regulations!  Lay down your arms immediately!"

"Let's just give up!" said Donny, voice rising.  "They're the good guys!"

Randy shook his head.  "We don't know that.  And I can't tell what they look like behind those masks."

Bob cocked his shotgun again.  "I ain't giving up my gun."

Bullets peppered the porch, tearing through one of the columns in front of the Kaufman house.  Bob returned fire.

"Go!" shouted Randy, shoving Donny in the direction of the Durango. 

Donny stumbled towards the SUV, dazed by his crisis of faith.  

Randy took careful aim with his pistol and fired.  One of the white suits blossomed red and the man went down silently. 

In the driver's seat, Judy revved the car.  "Let's go!"

More gunfire strafed the ambulance.  Randy worried about poor Dave before he shoved Donny ahead of him.  Bob, still firing, hopped in at the last minute as the Durango tore off.  

A bullet pierced one of the wheels.  Bob retaliated with a well-placed shotgun blast as the Durango roared past the soldiers.

They closed the door on the carnage as the Durango limped on.  

"Daddy," said Crystal, tears in her almond-shaped eyes.  "Daddy!"

Randy tore his gaze from the window, trying to look everywhere at once.  "It's okay honey, shh."

Crystal shook her head.  "No, daddy, listen.  The men, they mentioned Section 1211."

"Yeah?"

"That's the Extra-Terrestrial Exposure Law," she said quietly.  "We learned about it in class when we were studying the Apollo 11 mission."

Judy, eyes on the road, frowned.  "What does that have to do with any of this?"

"I dunno," said Randy.  "But it ain't normal."

"That's just it," said Crystal.  "The law was repealed in 1991."

"Still think the government's on our side?" Bob sneered at Donny.

Donny, head down, just shook his head.  "This ain't right," he said quietly.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 12 – The Dish*

"I don't like it any more than you do," said Judy.  "But the Durango's not going to make it with that flat tire.  We've got to find a new vehicle that can hold all of us."

"But Judy, you said yourself that this might be where it all started…" began Donny.

The GPCA radio telescope facility was located four miles due west of Hayden.  

"Would you rather drive through the center of town?" snapped Judy.  "Or take the Durango into the woods?  We've got to get another vehicle and the parking lot of the GPCA is the closest.  If we can get another car there we can take the main road out of town. 

Nearing the facility, they could see a set of rails stretching across the flat plain.  Large, moveable radio dishes were mounted on these rails while other, still-larger dishes were permanently stationed nearby.  The entire array was nearly five miles long from east to west, two miles north to south.  

At the junction of the cruciform was a small cluster of buildings, including a four-story tower topped by a gigantic dish over a hundred feet in diameter. 
There was no one in the parking lot. Judy inched the car in, scanning the horizon.  The Durango crept under the shadow of the main dish. 

"It looks deserted," said Judy.

"Where is everybody?" asked Randy, suspicious.  He spotted a black minivan. "There's Dr. Neal's van..."  The vanity plate read: DRNEAL.  The border read "Astronomers Peak After Dark". 

Judy nudged the SUV in the direction of the minivan.

A body exploded into hood of the Durango.  Judy slammed on the brakes. The girls screamed.

"Keerist!" shouted Donny.  He and Bob hopped out of the Durango, leveling their weapons in all directions at once.

Bob pointed.  "There!"

There was a sniper on the edge of the dish above them. 

Randy tore the Durango's SUV open, positioning himself between the shooter and the girls. "Run to the minivan!  Go! Go!"  Bob and Randy returned fire. "Donny, get it open!"

Donny ran over behind the girls and, discovering that the minivan was locked, put a bullet through the handle.  He yanked it open. 

"Stay inside and stay down.  Don't come out until we give you the all clear."  Judy thrust Crystal and Alexis into the minivan and dove inside, slamming the door behind her. 

Donny pawed through the driver's seat, desperately looking for keys.  No luck. He got out of the minivan…

Windows shattered in a car near Donny's head.  He ducked and ran back towards Randy.

"Are there keys in the minivan?"

Donny shook his head.  "What are we gonna do about the nutjob on the roof?"

"Bob!  Get the tranq rifle!"

Bob already had it in his hands.  "Way ahead of you."

Donny reached for the rifle to grab it from Bob's grip.  "I have rifle training—"

Bob yanked it back.  "He's mine."

"I've seen Bob hit a deer from a couple hundred yards," said Randy. "He can do it."

Bob clambered up to the top of the SUV by bracing his feet on the passenger window.  He leveled the rifle on its bipod and took careful aim.

Bob's comb-over fluttered. Another car's tire squealed in protest as the sniper's bullet grazed his scalp.

"Take the shot!" shouted Donny.

"Quiet!" snarled Bob.  He slowly adjusted the scope.  Then, taking careful aim, he squeezed the trigger.

Another rifle shot rang out, but the shot went wide.  The sniper, whoever he was, tumbled off the edge of the dish.  The normally non-lethal tranquilizer dart had become a death sentence.

The man spattered onto a car's windshield, setting off a blaring car alarm.

"Well if there's any more psychos inside, they know we're here now," said Donny ruefully.

Randy spun the chamber of his pistol.  "Let's go pay the doctor a visit."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 13 – Jenny*

Inside, an alarm was sounding. Donny opened the door to find an attractive woman covered in blood.  She was curled up in a corner, wailing.  

"Easy," Randy reached for her.  "Calm down. Are you okay?"

"Careful," said Bob, nudging Randy's hand away with the barrel of his shotgun. 

"Bob, we're still human beings," snapped Randy.  "Now calm down miss…"

"He tried to rape me!” shrieked the woman, pointing.

Across the way was another man, naked on the floor. A butcher knife stuck straight out of his heart.  His eyes were open, his mouth twisted in a sadistic grin.

"You did that?" asked Randy.

She lunged at him, hugging Randy for dear life.  "H-h-he tried to – t-tried to—"

Randy patted her back.  "Easy.  Easy—"

Her head bucked as a bullet wound blossomed at her temple.  The corpse shuddered, twitching violently.  

Randy shouted at the dead woman's grip and the brains spattering his face.  "What the f—"

"I had to!" shouted Donny.  He lowered his pistol.  "She was going to kill you!"

"With what?" Randy demanded.  He shrugged the oozing corpse off of him.  "With WHAT?"

Bob nudged her dead body.  The spasming corpse finally let go of the small blade in her palm.  A pocketknife. 

Randy sighed. "Donny…"

"I had to," Donny said.  "She had a knife."

"A blasted POCKET KNIFE Donny!" shouted Randy.  "What the hell is wrong with you!"

Bob moved along to the elevators.  "They're out.  We'll have to take the steps."

Donny had already moved on, even as Randy stared after him.  He glanced at the display panels.  "I think that's a countdown." It was at T-minus ten minutes and counting.

Randy, shaking himself out of his shock, stood up to get a closer look.  "And it's going to broadcast out."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 14 – A Little Muzak*

They clambered up the stairs to the next floor.  Randy kicked open the door, pistol at the ready.

Outside one of the rooms in the hall, an older man was repeatedly slamming his shoulder into a door.  He held a shotgun. 

“Let me in you BITCH!” he snarled. A woman on the other side screamed something unintelligible.  

"Hold it," said Randy.  "This is the sheriff—"

The older man whirled on the sheriff and his deputies. “Help me!  She’s trying to transmit the signal to the other stations!”

"Put the gun down," said Randy.

The man lifted the shotgun to a firing position.

Randy knew the pistol retort was Donny's.  The man fell down dead, instantly. A perfect shot to the heart. 

Randy swore silently.  But this time he couldn't chastise Donny.  There was no time. "Check him for keys Bob."

Bob tapped the dead man's nametag.  DR. CARL GUEST.  "Not our guy."  

"Check him anyway!"

"I'll do it."  Donny rifled through the corpse's pockets. 

Randy rapped on the door.  "Ma'am?"

A woman's shaky voice replied. “He’s going to do it!” she shouted.  "I told him not to but he's going to do it!"

"Now calm down!" Randy found himself saying that a lot.  "Now what is going—"

The door shuddered from a pistol shot.  Blood and gray matter seeped from beneath the door.

Randy swore again.  "Bob, help me with the door!"  

He stepped back and Bob blew it open with the shotgun.  When they tried to move it, it was blocked by something heavy.  Pushing and shoving, all three men managed to get the door open.

Dr. Mancini lay on the floor, slumped forward, her brains painting the door. The .38 lay in her lifeless hand.

Donny looked down, distracted.  "She must have been really upset."

Randy started dragging the corpse out of the way.  The stairwell was on the other side of the room. "Well don't just stand there boys get helpin'."

"Randy," said Bob, pointing at a screen across the room. 

It was a monochrome feed.  A man in a rumpled suit and tie whose nametag read DR. NEAL was walking back and forth, pushing buttons and turning dials.   He turned and looked at the camera. 

"Oh no…" was all Randy got out. 

He waggled a finger slowly.  Then he reached down and turned a knob…

And the Music of the Spheres began blasting through every speaker in the room.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 15 – Little Green Men*

Everything happened in slow motion.  Randy put a pistol to his head. Bob smashed his elbow through a glass case to reach for a fire ax.  And Donny just stood there.

The pistol fired.  It wasn't pointing at Randy's head, but at the ceiling.  He blew his eardrums out, screaming.  If there was music playing, he couldn't hear it.

Bob grabbed the ax and whirled.  He swung it into the intercom where the music was playing.  It stopped.

And Donny continued to stand there.

The music was still playing.  It was playing on the intercom system throughout the building.  Randy could only guess where else it was broadcasting. 

"Go!" he shouted, unable to hear himself think.  "Go!"

Randy dashed up the stairwell, with Bob and finally Donny trailing behind. They kicked open the stairwell door.

Dr. Gerald Neal had just finished smashing the lock on the door to the opposite room. The computer room.  

“There!” he shouted triumphantly, sweat drenching his thinning hair.  “Now no one can interfere with it!”

Randy couldn't hear him.  Bob stood there, gripping the ax in both hands, unsure what to do next.  Donny didn't react.

Neal trailed off, staring in the direction of the fire escape door that wound around the outside of the building.  It went from open to closed without a sound, despite the fact that there had been a chain holding it closed only moments before. 

Standing before the now open entrance to the fire escape were three small humanoids.   Their bodies were elongated, having a small chest, and lacking in muscular definition and visible skeletal structure. Their legs were shorter and jointed differently than one would expect in a human. They had unusually large heads in proportion to their bodies with very small mouths, and very large opaque black eyes with no discernible iris or pupil. They wore silvery, skin-tight suits. 

"Space pajamas," whispered Donny.

“Who are you?” asked Neal.  “I didn’t think--”

Before he could finish the sentence, one of the Grays opened fire with a pistol.  Neal disintegrated in a flash, his clothes collapsing in the space once occupied by his body.

Donny looked up at one screen in particular. On the screen, flashed a digital rendering of a celestial body labeled NEMESIS. A vast, rust-red sphere, its surface split by faults blurred into view.  Two oceans slowly oozed open while its surface quivered and splits, revealing red magma-scars beneath. It couldn't be…it almost looked like eyes?

The leader of the three Grays tossed a knobbed sphere into the center of the room. There was a flash, and the Grays were gone.

On the screen, lightning bristled over Nemesis' surface. A steady humming, throbbing sound emanated from the planet-thing. The throbbing matched the music they had heard deep within their minds, an ear-splitting crescendo. A cry.  A call. 

The sphere rose up into the air.  Three discs elevated a few inches from the sphere's surface, and bright rays of light shone out of the seams.  It began to spin in a high pitched whine oddly dissonant with Nemesis' beautiful music. 

Another sound interrupted. The thrumming of helicopter blades rattled the tower.  Through the open fire escape, Bob could make out an Apache.  He locked eyes with the pilot, who had the helicopter close enough to the tower that they could make out each other's features.  

Two Hellfire missiles shrieked towards the tower, striking the joints between the dish and the tower.  The ceiling nearly gave way as the structure was torn apart. 

Donny finally snapped out of it when the monitor went blank.  The music stopped. 

The Apache turned towards the men in the doorway. The M230 Chain Gun under the nose of the Apache spun up.

Using the ax like a golf club, Bob batted the sphere through the doorway.

It continued to spin, unimpeded by gravity.  The sphere sailed through the air, whistling faster and faster.  It moved in a perfectly straight line from Bob's blow, as if it were floating in space.  

The sphere connected with the chopper.  With a shriek it imploded, sucking the helicopter into it with a popping sound.  Air rushed to fill the void, nearly sucking Bob out of the doorway.  And then there was no sign of the Apache, the Grays, or the sphere.

Randy shouted something over the shrieking of metal and the snapping of cables above them.  Rifling through Neal's pants, he found his keys.  Then he dove onto the fire escape, with Bob and Donny close behind.

Then it tore loose from its moorings.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 16 – We All Fall Down*

The fire escape wobbled before giving up, slowly bending downwards as the weight of the three men swung it away from the tower.  It smashed over a van, which broke its rapid descent, tossing them instead of smashing them into the pavement.  They were heaved onto the car roofs that gave way from the impact, cushioning their fall.

Randy, pumped with adrenaline, hit the ground running.  "Judy!" he shouted, unable to hear what he was saying but hoping it was loud enough anyway.  "Go!" He threw her the keys. 

Judy plunged the keys into the steering column of the minivan and for once, it started immediately. She drove down the road ahead of them. At least Judy and the girls were safe… 

Randy's moment of relief was replaced by panic.  The ground was shaking.  He knew that there were explosions, crashes, metal and cement breaking apart, but with one eardrum blown out he couldn't hear it very well. All he heard was an internal high-pitched whine.

It was Donny's face that tipped him off that something else was wrong.  He ran past him, the fittest of the three men from his stint in the military.  Randy pumped his legs faster when he saw the shadow.

The dish.  The dish had come loose.  It rolled like a giant penny, smashing through cars and the fence towards them.  Towards Judy. 

Randy wasn't moving fast enough.  The dish wobbled on its side and turned sharply. And now it was falling, falling, falling.  The shadow of the dish plunged him into darkness.

Randy was shoved, hard.  It could have been a boot.  Or maybe the butt of an ax, he wasn't sure.  The slam of metal behind him kicked up such a shockwave that it hurled Randy off his feet. 

But the shockwave was a good sign, because when Randy stood up from the dust he knew he was still alive.  He was just a few feet from where the dish had landed, face down.  He almost wept with joy.

Then he saw Judy's face, running up to him.  She was mouthing one word.  And he knew who didn't make it out from the dish in time.

She was shouting, "Bob!"


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 17 – Checks and Balances*

Judy drove along the main road, putting some distance between them and Hayden.  One step closer to freedom.

"Randy?  Can you hear me?"

"Yeah Donny," said Randy.  "Just talk to me in my left ear."

"Randy…" Donny coughed.  "I um.  I ain't right, Randy."

Randy lowered his head slightly.  "I know."

"I'm…I don't know how I caught it.  But I caught it.  Like Judy said it ain't rabies.  But…that music was so beautiful…"

"Try not to think about it."

"It's all I can think about. I can't stop thinking about it, that's just it.  And I'm feeling…what's the words…a lack of impulse control."

"Like back in the tower."

Donny nodded.  "Like back in the tower.  I just shot those folks.  Truth be told I didn't know the girl had a knife.  I made that up."

"I know," said Randy quietly.

"I don't want to scare the girls.  But I think—"

Judy slammed on the brakes. Donny had to grab onto the seat to not pitch forward.

"What is it?" asked Randy.

"Look," she said, pointing.

Two military trucks were butted together to form a checkpoint two hundred yards down the road.  Six heavily armed soldiers blocked the path in biohazard suits.  

Judy stopped the minivan and pulled it over.  The guards hadn't seen them, but then she doubted they could see much in their suits. She looked at the map they had taken with them.  "There's a way around, through an adjoining field, but…"

"Ain't no way you and the girls could make it without them seeing you," said Donny.

Randy's jaw was set.  "We'll have to smash our way through then."

Donny put one hand on Randy's shoulder.  "Come on now, you know that's not the way.  You've got the girls and yourself to think about.  Judy needs her husband and the girls need their father."

"Donny…" interrupted Judy.

"Shh."  Donny smiled at Judy, a sad little smile. "It's okay.  They're government, right?  I got rights.  You and the girls sneak around.  I'll keep them busy."

"Donny," began Randy.

"Don't try to stop me."  Donny opened up the minivan door.  

"I wasn't.  Just…thanks."  He clapped one hand on Donny's shoulder. 

Donny blinked back tears.  "You all better go.  I'll be honest, I kind of want to kill you all right now."

That was enough motivation for them to move.  Judy whisked the girls out of the minivan, with Randy in tow.  They crept into the tall weeds.

Donny took out his pistol.  It would get their attention for sure if he was armed.

"Hey!" he shouted, jogging down the road.  "Hey!  I'm a deputy of the Hayden County Sheriff's Department!  I need some help!"

"Get down!" shouted the men, leveling automatic weapons at him.  "Now! Put the weapon down!"

"Okay! Okay!" shouted Donny, dangling the pistol from one finger, slowly.  "I'm putting it down!"

Four of the guards, seeing his pistol lowered, advanced.  Two remained behind but they were glued to the events before them, weapons at the ready.

Judy led the way.  She knew this part of town because it was where Randy and she had met, as kids.  They'd grown up here; she left to pursue her degree, he stayed behind.  But eventually they ended up in the same place and before they knew it there were weddings and kids and mortgages.  They had once made love by a tree where Donny was kneeling, guards scanning him some kind of device. It beeped and blinked red.

"Go girls," she whispered, as they circumvented the checkpoint to a series of stopped cars.  "Go!"

"Do you think they'll hurt Donny?" asked Alexis.

A single machine gun burst rang out.  Randy didn't say anything.  Alexis covered her ears, weeping silently, but soldiered on.

Judy ducked from car to car, looking for keys.  She shoved a corpse with a bullet hole in its forehead out of the driver's seat of an ambulance.  The keys were still in the ignition. 

Randy climbed in and turned the key.  The car coughed.

The girls got in the back of the ambulance.  Judy slid into the passenger side. 

"Dad," whispered Crystal.  "Do you hear that?"

Randy couldn't hear anything.  He turned the key again.  

"It's…it's a buzzing."

Judy turned around to look out the back window.  "Randy…get the car started."

Randy pumped the gas and tried again.  He didn't have to hear her, he could tell by her body language what she meant.  "I'm trying."

"Randy…we have to go. NOW."

The car whirred to life.  The buzzing was audible now, loud enough to penetrate the ringing in his ear.  He had heard that sound only once before, back when the farm was nearly decimated by a locust swarm.

The black cloud blanketed the sky.  Machinegun fire poked tiny, useless holes in the swarm as it descended.  

Randy gunned it, smashing two other vehicles out of the way. In the rear view mirror, he could make out one of the white suited soldiers being lifted up in the air, helpless in the whirlwind of the swarm.  He disintegrated in a mist of red and white.

As they drove safely out of reach, Randy muttered: "That ain't normal."


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Part 18 – The Final Countdown*

Randy slowed the car down as they left the black cloud behind.  Just like a sudden rainstorm, it settled to the ground.  The locusts, which were surely no ordinary locusts, would scour everything clean.  Randy suspected only bleached bones would be left of the guards and Donny.

"Radio should be safe if you want to try it," said Randy.  "The Apache back there tore up whatever was transmitting that sound."

"You're sure?" asked Judy skeptically.

"Nope, but then I'm not sure about anything these days."

Judy fiddled with the emergency band on the radio.  There were snippets of military communications audible through the static. 

"PURGATORY strike commencing…fifty-five...fifty-four..." Static. "...fifty-one...fifty..."

"Is that a…a countdown?" asked Alexis. 

"A countdown to what?" responded Crystal.

"Gun it Randy!" shouted Judy.

Randy slammed his foot hard on the accelerator.  The ambulance roared ahead, barreling down the quiet country road. 

"...twenty...nineteen...eighteen...seventeen...sixteen..."

The ambulance tore past frightened horses jumping back from a roadside fence.  Randy barely registered them as they blew past. 

"...ten...nine...eight..."

"Girls, I want you to listen to me very carefully," said Judy, her voice calm, controlled.  She got up, buckling the seatbelts on each of the girls. "I want you to stay strapped in.  And I want you to sit as low as possible." The seats weren't optimal in the ambulance, but there was only so much time to prepare.  "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, but mom…" began Alexis.

"...five... four...three..."

"No time honey.  You hold on tight.  And if you can't find me, you find your sister okay?" She hugged both girls in her arms, the model of motherly efficiency.  Then she clambered back to the front seat and buckled herself in.

"...two...one..."

Two jets pulsed past the ambulance, nothing more than black triangles in the sky. They peeled away from their target in a perfectly orchestrated arc. 

Then it hit. 

The blinding white detonation of a PURGATORY strike ripped a hole in the sky.  Searing white light filled the ambulance. A luminous shockwave raced across the prairie behind them, sweeping over backlit barns and houses.  It walloped the ambulance like a punch from God, pitching it forward on the front axle.

Randy fought to control the ambulance, but there was little he could do. 

Through the blown out windshield he could see the shockwave go shooting past down the highway, Mach One, its vacuum sucking out the window's side windows - BOOSH!
The ambulance fell back onto its rear wheels, snapping the rear axle. Randy wrestled the ambulance under control, steering it onto the shoulder, the axle grinding on pavement. 

The initial blinding burst dimmed to an eerie crimson half-light. After checking that Judy and the girls were all right, he stepped out of the cab to look at Hayden.

It was a netherworld of fire and smoke and swirling ashes. A mile-wide cornfield was engulfed in flames, the posts of a wooden fence alight like a row of torches.  A hellish black-orange mushroom cloud rose up from the prairie beyond. 

There was no Hayden left to mourn.


----------



## talien

*Music of the Spheres: Conclusion*

They finally made their way on foot to a local diner in Nebraska. Judy asked to use the phone.  Randy ordered the girls something to eat.  They slumped down into a booth, exhausted.

On a TV above the counter, regular programming was interrupted by a SPECIAL NEWS UPDATE. Patrons looked up from their meals with the concern one feels for a neighboring community.

"Casualties continue to mount following a devastating explosion at a chemical plant in rural Nebraska. Hayden, a farming community of some four hundred families, is believed to have been leveled in the blast. Authorities continue to search for survivors, but hold out little hope. It is believed the blast was triggered by the aftershocks of an earthquake in the area.  This is just the latest in a series of earthquakes that have struck all around the globe."

"Scientists believe the original quake manifested off the coast of Easter Island, precipitating severe storms and monstrous tidal waves that pounded the Gulf Coast.  The effects of the quake were felt as far as Africa in Adis Abeba, where Nariobi, Djibouti, and southern Egypt all were affected by tremors registering nine points on the Richter scale."

The newscaster sighed.  "End of the world, huh?" he said to his pretty brunette co-anchor. "But now for some lighter news…Nina?"

Nina straightened her papers. "Thanks Jim. It really is depressing, but we've got an exclusive here tonight that might cheer you up: scientists are sharing a recently released recording of the 'music of the spheres.' I've listened to it and it's really quite beautiful." 

Jim checked his papers.  He looked confused. "Breaking news…huh?"

"Yes," replied Nina with an odd grin.  "And now for your listening pleasure, we present—"


----------



## talien

*Chapter 56: Fear of Falling - Introduction*

This story hour is from "Fear of Falling" by Steve Hatherley from Tales of Terror and "Double or Nothing" by James L. Cambias from Pyramid Magazine. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
*Sebastian "Caprice" Creed* (Fast/Charismatic/Smart Hero/Techie) played by *Bill Countiss*
Getting my players back in action was no simple task.  I wanted them to continue playing their characters, but at least one of them had heroically blown himself up trying to stop Cthulhu.  I left the fate of the others uncertain.  So where to start?

I decided it was time to change the campaign style yet again.  The very first version of the campaign had a G.I. Joe-style, anything-goes feel to it. Several sessions later I changed the tone to a more Men in Black feel, but the agents were getting increasingly powerful – too powerful, really, to be intimidated by very much.  

So I decided to take my action horror game back to its roots and make things more like the original game from which we took our inspiration: Delta Green.

Having established in a previous scenario that there were overlapping alternate realities, I used the nuclear Cthulhu explosion as an excuse for a tear in the space-time continuum. I took the agents back to a few seconds before their fated HALO drop to begin the mission.  And then let all hell break loose.

*Defining Moment:* Agent Hammer uses parachutes not once but twice as weapons. 

Relevant Media

*Double or Nothing:* by James L. Cambias.
*Fear of Falling:* by Steve Hatherley.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000VZUN8I?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000VZUN8I]Peek-a-Boo[/ame]:* by Siouxsie and the Banshees.


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Prologue*



> _Peek-a-boo Peek-a-boo
> Golly jeepers
> Where'd you get those peepers?
> Peepshow, creepshow
> Where did you get those eyes?​_--_Peek-a-Boo_ by Siouxsie and the Banshees​



30,000 FEET OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN—Agent Hammer had to shout over the roar of the SPIDER plane's engines.  They were all dressed in wet suits with parachutes strapped to their backs.  His voice was further muffled by a breathing mask each of them wore, a necessity during the pre-breathing period where their bloodstream was flooded with oxygen to flush the nitrogen from their systems. Microphones and earpieces within the masks helped somewhat, but Hammer still sounded like Darth Vader when he spoke.

"Alulu Island is located in the west central Pacific Ocean, about a thousand miles south of Japan between the Ryukyu Islands and the Bonin Islands just north of the Tropic of Cancer. It's an independent atoll not associated with any island chain. It's less than a mile in diameter from outer shore to outer shore, and is outside the domain of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands.  It's under 'unofficial' protection of the British government. British missionaries maintain an outpost on the island, which also serves as a weather station. We also had an undercover agent working there who suddenly ceased all communications with home base."

"Tsao's flying halfway across the world to get to this little island? Seems like an awful long way to fly to perform a ritual," said Caprice.

"Recently, a force of mercenaries assembled from the survivors of central African and Latin American campaigns descended upon the island. Shortly after this became known, all contact with the island was cut off. It is believed that Lt. Col. Feng Ho, commonly known as Mad Merc, is the organizer of this invasion. Guppy?"

Guppy punched a few buttons on his cistron, no small feat with the gloves he was wearing.  An image of Ho flashed on their cistrons.

"In the aftermath of World War II, Ho was discharged from the Chinese Army after an incident in which many innocent civilians were killed. Since that time he has kept a very low profile.  Since then, he served as a mercenary in military actions around the world. We believe Cho Chu-Tsao flew to Alulu Island to rendezvous with Ho, and that Ho is responsible for silencing all communications."

"Why don't we just—" began Jim-Bean.

Hammer held up one hand.  "Before you recommend bombing the place with Jericho Jets, Majestic's not willing to intervene until reliable intelligence is received from the island. The primitive native population of something more than one hundred individuals who may be under forcible detention, and their lives as well as the lives of the missionaries may be jeopardized if military action is attempted."

"What's a couple of hundred natives…" began Jim-Bean, but Hammer cut him off.

"We will be inserted via HALO drop as close as possible to the missionary outpost, where Agent Powers was last reported before he disappeared. You all remember your training, right?"

They nodded.  Guppy had earned his HALO badge after the incident in Poland. 

"The weather's really rough," shouted the pilot over the intercom.  "I'm going to have to take the plane higher above the clouds."

The plane rears upward and began the climb.  Out the window, the clouds engulfed them and then faded as the plane rose out of the cover. 

"I'll have to come back around…" began the pilot. His report was cut off by a flash of bright light below. 

"What was that?" asked Jim-Bean.

"It looks like…a nuclear blast—" was all Guppy got out before the lights failed. Everything stopped – watches, cistrons, nothing worked.  For a split second there was no noise but the shriek of the wind outside as the engines slowed to a stop.

"That was an EMP pulse," said Guppy, voice rising. 

Then the shockwave hit.  The plane bucked as it was lifted and tossed, almost as if it were surfing a huge wave. 

The co-pilot shouted over his shoulder.  "We lost all power! Nothing's working, not even emergency power! Everyone is going to have to bail. We'll have to jump from here!"

Behind him, the sound of breaking glass signaled trouble. The pilot's eyeballs explode out of their sockets.  He screeched, clutching at his face. A ghoulish tittering and giggling mingled with agonized screams. The co-pilot stared in horror as the bloody outlines of a floating bag of protoplasmic mass became visible.

The thing's body appeared much like a sickly green floating man-of-war jellyfish. It pulsed and rippled due to the tremendous amount of gas carried within it. Dangling from the floating body were a number of barbed tendrils, upon which were skewered the eyes of the pilot.

The co-pilot scrambled for the door but whipping barbed tentacles snatched his arms.  There was a desperate split-second struggle where the co-pilot's manic strength held him within the frame of the doorway to the cockpit.  Then he was gone, shrieking and begging the thing not to take his eyes.

"What the hell is that?" asked Guppy.  

Hammer drew his pistols, backing away from the cockpit door.  "I don't plan to find out.  We're going to have to jump."  He looked around at the other crew.  "All of us.  Get your parachutes."

"But we're not equipped to jump from here—" began Agent Pope. 

There was a moment of weightlessness as the plane reached the apex of its trajectory.  

"We're going down!" wailed Guppy.

Then gravity returned, pressing them against the bulkhead.  Hammer shoved Guppy ahead of him.  "We don't have a choice.  Go!  GO!"

Tentacles snaked through the doorway, probing.  Hammer fired shots, heedless of the damage to the fuselage.  The plane was going down anyway.

The bullets had an effect.  The tentacles withdrew.

Clambering down to the lower deck, Hammer nearly collided with Guppy.  "What's the hold up?"

"There's…a new problem." 

Hammer slid down the ladder to the cargo bay.  Tentacles snaked through the partially open bay door.  Pope and Caprice struggled to keep it closed. 

"Are there two of them?" asked Guppy.  "Or does it move that fast?"

"I need a spare parachute!" shouted Hammer.

"Spare parachute?" asked Agent Pope.  "Huck and Rudolph won't be using theirs, but they're up top—"

"Use mine," said Jim-Bean, shrugging his parachute off.

"But—" protested Guppy.

"No time!"  Hammer grabbed hold of the handles and shoved the parachute pack towards the opening.  "On my count, you open the door wide."

"Are you nuts?" asked Caprice.

"Maybe.  One.  Two.  THREE!"

Caprice and Pope let go of the door. It whipped open from the force of the thing outside and the change in air pressure.

The eye thing was there, tittering, barbed tentacles waving.  Hammer idly noted that the thing had four eyeballs on its tendrils now. 

He kicked the parachute out into space and yanked hard on the pull cords at the same time. The parachute snapped open, slamming hard into the creature and billowing open.  The shrieking winds tore it away.

"Go!  Everyone go, NOW!"

The other agents needed no further prodding, each jumping in turn. Just Hammer and Jim-Bean were left. 

Hammer turned to Jim-Bean.  "You're going to have to get a parachute from up top!"

"Don't worry about me!" said Jim-Bean with a smirk.  He shoved Hammer out into space.


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Part 1 – Free Falling*

They plunged toward the Earth, the wind shrieking all around.  Hammer could see the other crewmembers and agents' parachutes open, barely visible in the flickering lightning from above.  Another flash, and he could distantly hear the screams of Agent Pope, the navigator.  Whatever the thing was on the plane, it caught up with them.

Hammer removed his hand from the ripcord with some effort.  Once he pulled the cord he would be at the mercy of the wind. He pressed his arms as his sides and dove for Pope.  

As he got closer Hammer could see that Pope's head lolled to the side, his primary parachute ruined. The thing's tentacles tensed around the navigator's body.  Hammer slammed into Pope's body, causing it to temporarily slacken its grip. 

Hammer fumbled for the cords on Pope's emergency parachute, darting his arms through the sticky tendrils that coiled around Pope's ribcage like pythons. Safe within the pressurized containment of his HALO suit, Hammer was oddly disconnected from it all – the screaming of the wind was merely a whisper.

Then lightning flashed and Hammer was jolted back to reality.  Pope was still very much alive, eye sockets bloody and crusted over from the frigid cold.  He was mouthing something.  Screaming.  Hammer's external microphones were off, but he could guess that the agent was screaming for help.

Instead Hammer was using him as a weapon.  

"Sorry," he whispered to himself.

Then, kicking off Pope and pulling as hard as he could on the emergency chute's release, he let go.

Tendrils snaked for him, but the emergency chute caught the eye thing full in its torso.  It blasted it backwards, caught in the wind.  Hammer wondered how many times he could keep this trick up.

The altimeter in his suit flashed a warning. He was getting too close to the ground. If he didn't pull his chute soon…

More lightning.  The eye thing disengaged from the parachute, flowing like a jellyfish down through the wind, tentacles trailing lazily behind it.  For all its gas-bag like qualities it darted and flowed like a squid through the maelstrom. And it was heading right for Caprice. 

Caprice had pulled his chute. He was at the mercy of winds and the things from beyond.

"Caprice, look out!"

The thing, agitated now, tore right through Caprice's parachute.  For a second Hammer thought it had dropped him, but then he saw a body in its tentacles, like a tiny fish trapped in a man-o-war.  Hammer dove down again, arms at his sides.

He hit the thing hard, landing on a part that was away from its tentacles – Hammer wasn't sure if the thing had a back.  

Tentacles flailed at him.  Hammer couldn't see inside Caprice's helmet but he wasn't reacting to his mic.  He hung limply in the things grip, sharp tendrils ever-probing for those delicious eyes…

It hadn't yet tightened its grip. Hammer twisted Caprice around, turning his back to the thing.  

Third time's the charm, thought Hammer.

For a moment Hammer hallucinated that Jim-Bean was there next to him, floating without a parachute. He fastened something to the thing and gave Hammer the thumbs up.

Hammer pulled the release on Caprice's parachute.  The remains of the parachute caught on the thing's tentacles, ensnaring it just as it had captured Caprice.  It was only a seconds away when Hammer pulled Caprice's emergency chute.  

Caprice was yanked upwards, out of the thing's reach.  In the distance, whatever was attached to the eye thing exploded.

So I wasn't hallucinating, was Hammer's last thought as he realized he'd run out of time to pull his own chute.


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Part 2 – Burn Notice*

Rushing at the ground at maximum velocity, Hammer didn’t have much time to think.  He was so caught up in making sure Caprice was all right that by the time he realized he should probably have pulled his own chute, it was too late.

He spun around so he could face the ground.  May as well stare death in the face…

Hammer’s descent slowed.  He balled himself up tightly as he was swept sideways, as if he were bouncing down a water slide.  

Hammer rolled and landed on his feet.  The wind was all he could think of.  The wind must have—

Jim-Bean landed next to him, sans parachute. “You’re welcome,” he said with a grin.

Guppy, already on the ground, released his chute and removed his breathing apparatus.  “What the hell is going on?  Why are we in the middle of a field?”

Archive joined them.  “So?”

“We should be in an ocean, remember?  This is no island.  I saw lights from a city!”

“You’re good at landing in cities,” said Jim-Bean.

“Very funny.” Guppy looked around.  “I’m serious, something’s very wrong here.”

“No problem, we can just use the GPS to…” Jim-Bean tapped a few keys.  “SINNER?  Baby?  Where are we?”

The now adult CGI-rendered form of SINNER appeared on screen.  “Identify,” she said tersely. The image was marred by static. 

Jim-Bean blinked.  “What?”

“Identifying…”

”What’s she doing?” asked Hammer.

“I don’t know, but she seems pissed off,” said Jim-Bean, brow furrowed.  Falling thousands of feet out of an airplane while being pursued by an eyeball-sucking monster didn’t bother him.  But SINNER’s emotional state obviously did.

All of their cistrons lit up.  They pulled their cistrons out.  Each flashed on the screen: IDENTIFYING…

A bright red beam flared from the base of each cistron’s camera, scanning the hand that held the cistron.

“DUPLICATE SIGNAL.” Accused each cistron.  “SECURITY COMPROMISED.”

The cistrons squealed an alert in unison.

“I’ve seen this before!” shouted Guppy.  “Throw it!”

“But—“ began Jim-Bean.

“Throw it!” And to demonstrate, Guppy tossed his cistron as hard as he could into the field.  The other agents followed suited.

There wasn’t much time to dive to the ground. The explosion was contained but powerful – a small nuclear detonation, just like the one that had consumed Agent Blade so many years ago.

They rolled as the shockwave billowed outwards, flattening reeds and agents alike.  Jim-Bean was the first to get to his feet.

“What the hell just happened?” 

“We’ve just been burned,” said Hammer grimly.


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Part 3 – All Your Base*

The night sky was illuminated by a fireball flaring overhead.  It was the plane.

The explosion mingled with the thunder and lightning, nature's fireworks overshadowing the folly of man's flight. 

Guppy took a headcount.  "Where's Caprice?"

Archive frowned.  "Good question.  Where's the crew?"

"They didn't all make it, "said Hammer.  "At least one of them—" 

A corpse exploded as it splattered to the ground nearby.

"No parachute," Archive noted.  "That means…" He looked up. 

The eye thing billowed down from the sky.  

"Get back!" shouted Jim-Bean, pulling the pin on a canister of tear gas with his teeth.  "Since this thing likes eyes so much, let's see if it can cry!"

The thing landed over the corpse just as Jim-Bean threw the tear gas at it.  Smoke concealed its form, mingled with the flickering lights of the crashed plane and the lightning above.

"Fire!" shouted Hammer.

The agents blindly unleashed on the cloud. Gunfire was drowned out by the crack of thunder. 

"Did we get it?" asked Guppy after they finally stopped firing.  "Did we get it?"

The smoke dissipated.  There was nothing to be found.

"Where'd it go?"  asked Archive.

The answer came as it materialized over Guppy's head, tendrils curling towards his face like a lover's embrace. 

"Look out!" shouted Hammer, raising his pistol.

But before he could respond the eye thing squealed in pain as spotlights suddenly flashed over it. Eyeballs tipped several of the tentacles, and as the light played over the thing it yanked the eyes out of the beam. 

Hammer couldn’t help but wonder if Caprice’s eyes numbered among its tentacles. It darted upwards into the sky.

Machinegun-mounted jeeps rolled up, driven by camouflaged soldiers.  Automatic weapons bristled.  "Weapons down, hands up!" shouted one of them, presumably the leader.

Hammer dug out his badge.  "We are members of the Center Intelligence Field Agency.  I'm Agent Hammer.  This is my team."

"Major Bynum," said the leader by way of introduction.  "Now if you'd be so kind, please put your weapons down and your hands up."

Recognizing his British accent, the agents complied and the soldiers relaxed.  

"We seem to have been blown off course," began Hammer.  

"You've got that right mate," said Bynum.  "You're at the Royal Air Force base at Watton, in Norfolk, England."


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Part 4 – A Curious Problem*

As they were ushered into the air force base proper, it was clear security procedures were in effect -- all entrances were sealed, and the perimeter was guarded by airmen with rifles. They were accompanied by a pair of corporals with sidearms. 

Enlisted men set up several dozen four-man tents on the parade ground. No aircraft were flying. It was obvious that the base was at a complete standstill.

The agents were marched into the Colonel’s office, identified as Charles Munson at the door. 

Munson stood up when they entered, escorted by Bynum. The armed escort stayed outside the door.

“So you’re the yanks invading my airspace?” asked Munson, sitting back down and gesturing to the empty seats.

“Yes."  Hammer and the others took a seat.  “We’re with CIFA.”

Munson shot Bynum a look.  “So I’ve heard. Gentlemen, I have a problem. By all accounts you dropped out of thin air over restricted airspace.  In these times, we can't have that, as I'm sure you understand.  Thing is, we've checked you out. There's nothing on you.  In fact, the American government has disavowed having any connection with you."

Guppy blinked.  “What? But--”

Jim-Bean put one hand up.  “I’m MI-5.  I have security check clearance.”

Munson nodded to Bynum, who left the room. “We’ll check it out.  Just a formality I'm sure.”

Jim-Bean smiled.  It was nice to be back in a world he knew.

Munson turned serious.  “But in the interim, I’m afraid you’re our guests.  You’ll be confined to base until we work out this peculiar issue with your government. You must belong to somebody, after all.”  He smirked.  “We’ll also be reviewing the plane that we shot down.”

“Shot down?” asked Hammer.

Munson nodded.  “We can’t have an unidentified plane in restricted airspace, now can we?  When it failed to respond to our hails we had no choice.”

“That explains a lot,” said Archive.

“Did you find any other survivors?”

“A few,” said Munson cryptically. 

“Agent Caprice?”

“Ah yes.  He’s convalescing in our care, but he’ll be fine.  There were a few other crewmen too, but their wounds are formidable.  We’re looking for the black box on the plane—“

Hammer shook his head and sighed.  “There won’t be one.”

“Why not?”

“For reasons of…national security.”

Munson gave him a terse smile.  “You understand my predicament of course.  You’re claiming you're Americans without any corroborating evidence.  But we’ll get it sorted, I’m certain of that.  In the meantime, you're due some British hospitality. Major Bynum will show you to your bunks. Thank you gentlemen, that will be all for now.”

Munson turned back to his papers as Bynum entered with the other corporals.  The conversation was over.

They were ushered out of Munson's office. 

Out of earshot, Guppy said what they all thought. “Can we work for Munson instead?”


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Part 5 – Crying Jag*

They were marched by the corporals across the base towards the barracks. 

Jim-Bean cocked an ear.  "Anyone feel that?"

"What?" asked Guppy.

"A breeze," said Jim-Bean slowly.  

"They have breezes in Britain," muttered Archive.

"It's coming from the wrong—"

Bynum and the other three corporals collapsed before Jim-Bean finished the sentence.

"Heads up!" shouted Hammer.

A whirring matte black Bell Helicopter 206B JetRanger III hovered a few hundred feet overhead.  Men in black stealth suits zip-lined down before the agents.

"Grab a weapon!" shouted Hammer.  He was already rifling through Bynum's corpse for his pistol before their mystery assailants hit the ground.

One of the assassins shouted.  "On your knees!"

"PISCES," said Jim-Bean with a grin.  "The cavalry is here to pick us up."

"I'm not so sure," began Hammer.

Archive stepped out in front of the other agents, rolling up his sleeves.  "I'll take care of this.  Get back!"

"Get back?" asked Guppy.  "What are you going to shoot them with? They confiscated our weapons!"

"Not all of them."  Archive raised the amulet around his neck.  "Fm'latgh!"

The eye at the center of the star on Archive's amulet opened wide.  A blast of green fire spiraled down through the center of the JetRanger, igniting the gas tank.  It smashed downwards in a fireball, engulfing the men who had just rappelled down.

Jim-Bean was slack-jawed.  "You…you killed them?" He reached out and one of the assassin's cell phones flew into Jim-Bean's open palm.

"That's going to get some attention," said Hammer.

A military jeep screeched to a halt in front of them, spotlight trained on the agents.  Before the corporal could say anything, he was plucked out of the gun bay atop the jeep with a yelp.

Hammer trained his pistol on the glittering night sky.  "Oh we drew attention all right."

The driver gunned the jeep, all concerns about military protocol abandoned in his panic.  It didn't save him. He shrieked, eye sockets welling with blood, as the thing tore him from the vehicle.  The jeep careened forward, smashing through the perimeter fence.

Hammer looked around.  "This is our chance. Let's go!"  They ran for it.

Guppy hopped in the driver's seat.  "What about Caprice?"

"He's in good hands." Jim-Bean piled in behind him.  "He'll be okay."

Hammer and Archive got in and slammed the doors. 

"Where to?" asked Guppy. 

"Anywhere but here," said Hammer.  "Now drive!"

Guppy floored it.


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Part 6 – Escape to the Unknown*

Jim-Bean tapped a few keys.  "I was right.  That was a JAGUAR team."

"A what?" asked Hammer.

"PISCES.  Majestic-12 equivalent in the UK.  My old team. I used to work for Section H, the archaeological division. That's who I was working for when we crossed paths. The JAGUAR team's mission was…" he tapped more keys.  "Damn."

"To kill us?" asked Archive.

"If the team wanted us dead we would have been dead already. It was a retrieval mission.  They were bringing us to Magonia."

"What's Magonia?"

"Pray you never find out," said Jim-Bean.  "Just trust me…you don't want to go there."

Hammer filled in the blanks. "The brain spiders are at it again."

"Brain spiders?" asked Guppy, struggling with the vehicle on foreign roads at night.  "Would anyone mind filling me in?"

"When Jim-Bean and I were first recruited into Majestic-12, I was with the CIA on a mission to track down members of the Army of the Third Eye.  It's some kind of cult that believes in trepanation."

"Trepanation?" asked Archive.

"Brain surgery, basically," said Guppy. 

"Jim-Bean's team, as MI-5, was told that we were IRA nationalists.  When we finally sorted things out all of our partners were dead.  We barely made it to the U.S. embassy alive."

"So that's where we're going?" asked Guppy hopefully.

Hammer shook his head.  "Too dangerous. I need to make a phone call.  If we're really burned, we'll know."

"And where is that, exactly?" asked Guppy.

"I don't know, I didn't grow up here," muttered Hammer.

Guppy began hitting the steering wheel, punctuating each point with a slap of his hand.  "Unless someone starts telling me where to GO I am PULLING this car OVER!"

"Fine!" shouted Jim-Bean.  "Fine! There should be a Tesco in the next town, we'll stop there, ditch the car, and get some clothes."

They pulled into a sleepy town and left the local Tesco with new clothes and some survival equipment.

Jim-Bean watched a station on the televisions in the electrical department while Hammer made a phone call.

"…sources indicate that a UFO was downed near the RAF base in Watton.  Witnesses indicated that they had seen UFOs near previously identified sites of paranormal activity.  In a rare appearance, Dr. Ariadne W. S. Hennessey of the British Archaeological Review Board issued a public statement…"

Jim-Bean blinked. "Hennessey?  That's my old boss at Section H."

"…We have repeatedly investigated claims of the paranormal and they are without merit.  I repeat: without merit." The reporter shrugged.  "Standard denials of course.  Up next, our documentary about the Nightmare Wave, a conspiracy theory detailing the influence of the Pacific explosion."

Jim-Bean turned suddenly on his heel. "I know where we can find a safe place."

"You figured that out just now?" asked Hammer, skeptical.

Jim-Bean didn't look over his shoulder.  "My boss just told me."


----------



## The_Black_Cat

I'd just like to commend you on this excellent Story Hour, my personal favorite at the moment. 

Keep up the good work!


----------



## talien

*Fear of Falling: Conclusion*



The_Black_Cat said:


> I'd just like to commend you on this excellent Story Hour, my personal favorite at the moment.
> 
> Keep up the good work!




Wow, thank you! I'm powered by praise and will post more often the more praise I get. 

Here you go!

===============

"A month ago, what is believed to be a nuclear explosion detonated in the Pacific. Currents — including those strong currents by which mariners have navigated for centuries — were irrevocably altered," blared the television at the tiny pub where the former agents drank a pint. "Trade across the ocean ground to a standstill as ships became becalmed or were carried far off course or sunk in freak whirlpools." 

"Wait a minute," said Guppy.  "A month ago?  That was last night!"

"Looks like whatever that explosion was moved us through both time and space," said Archive. 

The documentary continued. "…this ripple, that some call the Nightmare Wave, left its mark in many ways. In some locales, particularly those close to the Intrusion Point, the Nightmare Wave wrought terrible physical destruction. In others, the changes the ripple brought were subtler and more insidious."

"On one island, the entire population suddenly turned cannibal. On another, a broken, unplugged jukebox was rumored to play songs that could tell the future. On a third, the native population disappeared, with only cockroaches remaining."

A pixilated image spoke on the screen, its voice disguised as oddly mechanical and deep.  The title beneath read CULT MEMBER OF THE BRINGERS OF SACRED LIGHT. "We are dedicated to revealing the truth of the Unbidden by taking the war to them. We’re fighting a shadow war for Earth and all humanity."

Archive did a double-take. "That group sounds familiar…"

Everyone looked at Guppy.  

"Oh yeah.  I may have, uh…" he chuckled nervously, "founded that group during my…uh, treatment."

"That organization went global fast."  Hammer looked down at the bottom of his empty glass.  "But if it's the same group, they may be our only allies."

Jim-Bean slammed his drink down, finished.  "Cheer up.  I have a safe house."

"A PISCES safe house?" asked Hammer.  "They'll be looking for us there."

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Better.  A Section H safe house.  We do it old school out here; off the grid, no technology. Hennessey knows I'm here; the Major must have triggered some alarms when I asked him to check out my credentials.  She gave me an encoded message in her public statement.  'Without Merit' is code for 'Windthrope Manor'. I have a cover identity and a support team embedded there.  We can stay at the manor until we figure out what to do next."

The former agents regained their spirits somewhat.  Guppy was the last to get up, following behind Hammer.

"I just realized," he said with a slow smile.  "Jim-Bean got his accent back."


----------



## The_Black_Cat

Love the update! I'm really enjoying the new direction the plot is taking.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 57: The Windthrope Legacy*



The_Black_Cat said:


> Love the update! I'm really enjoying the new direction the plot is taking.




Thank you!

Although I've been saying that this campaign was Delta Green-inspired, this new turn has really put the agents in a more Delta Green-ish vibe.  They're strangers in a strange land (okay, not that strange). They don't have any resources and aren't sure whom they can trust.  You'll see that what starts out as same-old/same-old quickly devolves into paranoia and fear.

And just for commenting -- new update! 

================

This story hour is from "The Windthrope Legacy" by Scott David Aniolowski from Ramsey Campbell’s Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more) 
Completely bereft of a home base, paranoid about being tracked by PISCES, and without access to any of their usual technology, the agents needed a place to hole up, fast.  What better place to set up the former agents than in a creepy old manor house?

Moving to their new location really brought home just how antiquated and isolated the agents were from their former home.  It was also important to emphasize why being isolated was actually a good thing – less technology meant they couldn’t be tracked by PISCES. Ironically, the agents are being helped by a splinter division of PISCES, the H Division and Jim-Bean’s former employers.

This scenario is really a set up for things to come. It also introduces our favorite recurring characters: the unflappable Albert Jenkins, his perpetually cheery wife Elizabeth, and the dour and mysterious Andy Cook. This scenario also introduces us to John Cornwell, a hard man who will be the agents’ primary source of weapons. It’s time to make some new friends…

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean returns home after years away and nobody seems surprised.

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1568821530?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1568821530]Ramsey Campbell’s Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places[/ame]:* by Scott David Aniolowski.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00104KNTI?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00104KNTI]Creepy Doll[/ame]:* by Jonathan Colton.


----------



## talien

*The Windthrope Legacy - Prologue*



> _In a town in the woods at the top of a hill
> There's a house where no one lives
> So you take a big bag of your big city money there and buy it
> But at night when the house is dark
> And you're all alone, there's a noise upstairs
> At the top of the stairs there's a door and you take a deep breath and try it_​
> --_Creepy Doll_ by Jonathan Coulton​



SEVERNFORD, ENGLAND--Windthrope Manor was a Gothic Revival-style building of stone and wood. Sharp-peaked roofs, delicately scrolled wood trim and tall, narrow windows decorated with leaded glass gave the manor a gingerbread house appearance. The garage—a converted carriage house—stood well behind the house.

“This is it?” asked Guppy in disbelief.  They had stolen a car and abandoned it, hiking their way to the manor so they could not be easily followed.  “This is our new home?”

Jim-Bean slapped Guppy on the back.  “Don't get too used to it.  It's temporary until we can find another place less conspicuous."

“Does it even have electricity?”

Jim-Bean snorted. “Yes. Just not up to your twenty-first century standards.”

“I didn’t see any power lines on the way over,” said Hammer.

“That’s because the Manor isn’t connected to any outside water, sewer, or power lines,” said Jim-Bean, quickening his step. “Fireplaces and a coal furnace provide heat. Petrol-fueled generators produce electricity. A well supplies water. There have been septic tanks since the end of the Second World War.”

“What about phones?” asked Archive. 

“Telephone lines do connect the manor to Severnford,” said Jim-Bean, “but don’t expect much in the way of cell phone service.  We’re about as off the grid as you can get.  This is a safe house, PISCES-style.”

“Won’t they find out about it then?” asked Hammer.  

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “It should be safe for a little while. Section H is PISCES historical intelligence department, responsible for research and investigation of ancient sites, artifacts, and historical events.  PISCES was never too fond of our division so we have quite a few things off official records.  And those records are typed in actual typewriters and filed in actual drawers somewhere.”

Guppy shook his head.  “No wonder PISCES doesn’t know anything about what you do.”

Before Jim-Bean could knock the gothic door swung open.  

A small, serious gentleman with sharp features, spectacles, and a black tuxedo was at the door.

"Master Windthrope," he said.  "Good to see you back sir."

"Jenkins." Jim-Bean said dourly. "I'm back."

The interior of the building was as charming as the exterior with more delicate woodwork and beautiful stonework. All interior doors slid back into walls instead of opening on hinges. Many of the large rooms on the first and second floors had functioning fireplaces.  Most of the furniture was original and, therefore, antique.

"We've kept things just as you left it years ago." Albert Jenkins peered down his spectacles at the Jim-Bean's companions.  "Shall Mrs. Jenkins prepare dinner for four this evening sir?"

Jim-Bean handed his coat over to Jenkins without looking at him.  "That'll be fine."

"Oh dear, I'd know those thundering footfalls anywhere!" shouted a high-pitched woman from across the manor. 

"Don't make a scene, mother," chastised Jenkins, but it was too late.

Elizabeth Jenkins swept into the room, a plump woman with round features and rosy cheeks. "It is you, I knew it would be!  Master Windthrope is home!  I shall arrange a feast!" Her eyes twinkled.  Hammer thought he detected tears. 

After a few seconds of choked praise, she swept back out in the room shouting about preparations. 

Jenkins cleared his throat.  "You'll have to forgive the missus, sir.  She's very sentimental."

Jim-Bean looked coldly at Jenkins. He was just another reminder of the fragility of the world.  "Yeah, sure."

"I didn't know Jim-Bean was Batman," whispered Guppy.


----------



## RedTonic

*showers Talien with praise* Ia Ia updates fhtagn!

I just finished catching up; this is wonderful. I feel like I'm learning more about the art and science of making your players both paranoid and happy. Thanks for the wonderful story hour!


----------



## talien

*The Windthrope Legacy: Part 1 – Dinner*

Thank you RedTonic! This is a reboot of sorts, as I mentioned, and it threw my players for a loop.  Here's how they reacted:

* Guppy (played by my brother): Loved it.  Which surprised me.
* Hammer (George): Liked it a lot, but a little unnerved by the circumstances as he was the most comfortable in the "old" style of play, which was more Men In Black with unlimited resources.
* Archive (Joe): He enjoys it if only because, and you'll see this in the next chapter, he is supremely powerful here.  Never underestimate the power of the Elder Sign -- or alternately, fitting d20 turning mechanics into Call of Cthulhu!
* Jim-Bean (Jeremy): Hated it at first, learned to like it, and by the end of the next chapter loved it. 

Whenever I have a child (and I don't plan to have any more, thanks) we usually have a six-month hiatus so it's always a good time to shake things up.  I think I suitably shook 'em up, but see for yourself.

Thanks for the praise -- it really does motivate me to post more often! 

===========

Hammer tore into the Beef Wellington with relish.  "First thing we need to do," he said around chews, "is find some weapons."

Guppy snorted.  "Computers first.  If I can rig something…"

"You won't get any signals out here," said Jim-Bean. He had given up tea since he left England. But he sipped it anyway.  "I said before the manor is isolated."

"Not from satellites," said Guppy defiantly.  "It shouldn't matter where we are."

Archive had the decency to finish chewing before he spoke.  "Something strange is going on.  I keep trying to detect auras on this place and I can't see anything; the entire thing glows.  It's like there's…magical radiation."

Guppy rolled his eyes.  "Magic.  Sure."

"The self-destruct mechanism took a few seconds to reach us," said Hammer.  "The last time that happened…" he trailed off.

"Blade," finished Archive.  "Blade blew up."

"That's why there was a countdown," said Guppy.  "There was a delay.  Interference.  Otherwise the cistrons would just detonate immediately."

Jim-Bean's brow furrowed.  "There was some interference over the cistron when I talked to SINNER.  I've never seen that before."

A handsome youth with boyish features and blond hair entered and froze upon spotting Jim-Bean.  "Oh, I didn't realize we had company."

Jenkins cleared his throat.  "Master Windthrope, this is young master Cook.  He tends to the grounds, the horses, and general repairs and maintenance."

Cook wiped a dirty hand on his overalls and then stepped forward, palm extended. 

Jim-Bean looked him up and down. "I don't like this.  Does he have clearance?"

Jenkins didn't lose his composure.  "Master Cook can be trusted, sir."

"I don't like it.  Keep him out of the manor."  Jim-Bean's fierce expression didn't change.  "I don't want him in the room when we have our…chats."

"Yes sir!" said Cook.  He backed out of the room, still smiling.

"He's a good boy, sir," said Jenkins. "He lives at home."

"How long has he been here?"

"Shortly after you left, sir. We needed someone to pick up your chores." There was the slightest hint of a smile on Jenkins' face.

"Speaking of chores…" interrupted Guppy, "we need supplies," said Guppy.  "What's the nearest town?"

"That's not the question you should be asking." Jim-Bean focused on Guppy, snapped out of his suspicious thoughts.  "The more important question is: which town can you visit without a JAGUAR team taking you out?"

Hammer frowned.  "So what's the seediest town around here?"

Jim-Bean grinned.  "Now you're talking.  Lower Brichester.  Not sure how much you can buy, but you can get a lot of stuff that's off-market."

Guppy swallowed hard.  "Oh.  I really don't think I should go alone…"

"I know a guy," said Hammer.  "He can hook us up with weapons." He nodded at Guppy.  "I'll go with you."

Jim-Bean turned to Jenkins, who was standing by impassively.  "What happened since I've been gone?"

"You mean besides the Event, sir?"

"We know all about September 11…" interjected Hammer.

Jenkins coughed.  "No sir, not that event.  The Nightmare Wave."

"The what now?"

"The Nightmare Wave, sir.  The Pacific Ocean explosion.  PISCES has been quite busy due to the proliferation of paranormal activity. It's one of the reasons we've been ignored of late." He looked down at his feet. "We're not quite considered front lines these days."

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "You say that like it's a bad thing."


----------



## talien

*The Windthrope Legacy: Part 2 – The Enforcer*

Thanks, RT!  As promised, another update.  There's not much action in this chapter -- it establishes that 1) there's no going back to the old way any time soon, and 2) helps set up the insane chapter that comes next.

====

Hammer entered the Strapping Lad pub with some trepidation. Lower Brichester was a seedy area of decay and degeneration. Burned-out shop fronts, condemned buildings, pornography shops, slums, sagging flats, and seedy pubs made up much of the town. The Beretta tucked into his belt was cold comfort – he felt naked without his Glocks.

He half-expected to be ambushed by PISCES goons when he entered, but the Strapping Lad was sparsely populated.  The proprietor, Nobby, approached Hammer.

“You must be Mr. Grange?”

Hammer looked around.  He was probably the only dark-skinned man for miles around.  “Yes?”

“Mr. Cornwell is in the back, sir,” he said curtly, all business.  

“Two beers please,” said Hammer.  Before Nobby could ask, he added, “whatever you recommend.”

Nobby nodded and went back to the bar.  Hammer got the impression these sorts of meetings were commonplace.

Cornwell sat at the pub booth and didn’t rise when Hammer approached.  “Well, if it ain’t me old friend, back from th’ States,” he said, his Gloucestershire burr evident.  He was a hard-looking man, with slightly curly gray hair and sharp features.  Cornwell looked like he would just as soon punch you as shake your hand.

Fortunately he did neither.  Hammer sat across from him.  Cornwell had just finished a drink.

“It’s good to see you John.”

Cornwell was an enforcer for a London firm run by the notorious Roy and Dave Dixon. The Dixon brothers specialized primarily in porn and prostitution with occasional forays into armed robbery to improve cash flow. Possessing brains as well as brawn Cornwell worked his way up to become the firm’s chief enforcer and fixer. The Dixons disappeared in 1978, killed by Cornwell with the connivance of Roy’s wife, Kate. Cornwell and Kate took over the brothers’ organization and remained in charge ever since.

“I'd be lying if I said it was good to be back.” Cornwell had left Brichester for London in the 1970s. He flashed a sardonic smirk.  “I assume this ain’t a courtesy trip.”

Hammer shook his head.  “I need your help.”

“Is ‘at so?”  He cocked his head.  Hammer instantly regretted admitting he needed anything.  Cornwell was the kind of person that could smell weakness.

“I need…tools.  Tools only you can acquire.”

Nobby dropped the dark beers off and Hammer paid the tab.  He wasn’t planning to stay long. 

“This ain’t the States, mate.  Across th’ pond, tools are difficult to come by.”

Hammer slapped an envelope on the table, filled with bills covering the fee of just getting Cornwell to show up at all. He started to get up.  “I must be mistaken then.  Beer’s on me…”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t get ‘em,” said Cornwell, moving on to his second beer.  “Only that it’s difficult.”  He took a sip.  “For you.”

Hammer sat back down.  It was his turn to take a drink.  “I see.  What will it cost?”

“I haven’t decided yet. What are ye lookin’ for?”

Hammer tapped the envelope. “It’s all here.”

Cornwell slipped the envelope off the table, removed the note, and secreted the money into a coat pocket.  “Let’s see.”  His dishwater blue eyes scanned the list.  “Things must be pretty bad.”

Hammer simply nodded. 

“Tell you what.  This isn’t simple stuff – you and yer boys are gonna have ta prove yerselves a bit.  I don’t make deals lightly, even with Yank spooks on the run.”  Hammer let the jibe pass without confirming or denying it. “If ya prove trustworthy, we’ll work our way up.  We’ll start small: Brococks, shotguns. ”

“When?” asked Hammer.

“Soon,” said Cornwell.  “I’ll tell ye when and where.” He looked around with a grimace.  “Are ye holed up here?”

Hammer nodded.  

Cornwell sniffed.  “Buncha backwards bumpkins.  Not sorry I left.” He slurped the rest of his beer and got up.  “Got t’ get back to th’ wife and kids.”

Hammer rose and this time they shook hands.  

“You watch yer back mate,” said Cornwell, eyes boring through Hammer’s skull. “If yer in the kind of trouble I think ya are, life’s not gonna be easy from here on out.”  He shrugged on his overcoat.  “This town…it eats people up.” Cornwell put up one finger.  "I nearly forgot.  Here's your phone.  Consider it a token of good faith on my part.  Untraceable.  Throw it away when you're done."

Hammer pocketed the phone.  "Thanks."

"Calling home?" smirked Cornwell.  "Don't be surprised if your parents don't want to pick you up."

Hammer left without explaining that he was more concerned what would happen if Majestic did.


----------



## talien

*The Windthrope Legacy: Part 3 – Who Ya Gonna Call?*

There was an international phone number that Hammer had with him at all times.  As cell leader he had never needed to use it.  Now was as good a time as any.

He dialed the number.  It pinged an automated system.  Hammer pressed one for an operator and was put on hold with some lovely country tunes and the occasional “Your call is important to us, please stay on the line.” 

He was finally rewarded with a human voice. “Hi, this is Nancy in customer service.  How can I help you?”

"Nancy, this is Agent Hammer.  I need an extraction."

"Please hold while I transfer you to Special Claims.” He was put on hold again.

Hammer's anxiety increased with each passing minute. Two minutes later, a male voice picked up.  "This is Special Claims."

"This is Agent Hammer.  I am asking for extraction for my team."

There was an odd clicking on the phone.

 “Your claims will be looked into.  Please provide a phone number and an address where we can reach you.”

Hammer hung up and threw the phone in a trash bin. 

"Any luck?" asked Guppy, arms loaded with some basic electronics.

Hammer shook his head.  "Your trace detector worked. They were trying to track us."

Guppy looked crestfallen. "First time I've been sorry a gadget of mine worked."


----------



## talien

*The Windthrope Legacy: Part 4 – Exposition*

They met in the drawing room.  A portrait of Queen Victoria done by Burne-Jones hung over the fireplace.

Jenkins reported a message for Jim-Bean right around when Hammer and Guppy returned from their respective supply trips. It was an audio recording on a reel-to-reel tape from Section H.

"What is this?" asked Guppy.

Hammer sighed.  "Believe it or not, audio equipment used to have moving parts."

"Funny," said Guppy.  "I know that.  I just don't understand why a message from Jim-Bean's organization came on an obsolete tape."

"Not obsolete," said Jenkins.  He lugged out a dusty tape deck.

Archive blew the dust off of it.  "This thing has to be decades old!"

Jenkins plugged the tape in and pressed PLAY.

"I'm not sure what happened to you, but I do know what came for you – the Shan, those brain spiders as your report once called them," breathed a husky female voice in mid-stream with an upper class British accent. "And if they're after you, you're going to need some help to survive."

"That'd be Dr. Ariadne Hennessey," said Jim-Bean with a smirk. "She's section chief of Section H."

"Accompanying this tape are your new cover identities: you are now officially employed by the British Archeological Review Board, which reviews applications for archaeological digs. It liaises with English Heritage, the Department of the Environment, and the British Museum.  You are all specialists in your field: arcane research, research, and security.  And of course, Jimmy, you're just stepping back into your role as mission leader."

Hammer flinched.  It hadn't hit him until now.  Jim-Bean had more authority here than he did. 

"Priorities have shifted after the Nightmare Wave.  The Bringers believe the explosion unleashed 
eldritch horrors of cosmic malevolence, called the Iconnu, or sometimes the Unbidden. The Unbidden, attempted to consume our reality, reshaping it for some unknowable purpose. This attempt, called the Intrusion, should have spelled the end of the world, with little humanity dying a swift, horrific death and six billion souls consumed by these Unbidden bastards who didn’t even fully recognize their existence."

Jim-Bean arched an eyebrow.  He'd never heard Hennessey swear before.

"The Iconnu weren’t even really aware of us. We’re as unknowable to them as they are to us. We were just too insignificant for them to notice. Yet the Intrusion wasn’t the end of the world.  Something stopped them. Not sure what, but it stopped them and stopped them hard. Despite this resistance, the Iconnu established a sort of foothold in the world — specifically in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It’s a seething sphere of nightmarish unreality. Currents — including those strong currents by which mariners have navigated for centuries — were irrevocably altered. Trade across the ocean ground to a standstill as ships became becalmed or were carried far off course or sunk in freak whirlpools.  Furthermore, the Intrusion sent a ripple through existence that altered the rest of the world. Changed the whole nature of reality, really. 

"That's what we witnessed!" exclaimed Archive.  "That was a tear in time and space!  It explains the time jump, and what happened in this reality. "

"This ripple, called the Nightmare Wave, left its mark in many ways, some small, others not so much. In some locales, particularly those close to the Intrusion Point, the Nightmare Wave wrought terrible physical destruction. In others, the changes the ripple brought were subtler and more insidious." 

"Their goal was to wipe us out entirely, so their victory was a partial one. Unsatisfied, the Iconnu then loosed spirits and demons into the material world. At first they were just trying to figure out what was stopping them from their goal, like when you stop on the street to figure out if there’s gum on your shoe."

"Some of these spirits merged with human bodies and souls to become composite entities. Others clothed themselves in earthly matter and took on the guise of men and women. These beings seek to complete the world’s destruction — through terror, through misinformation, through assassination and brutality and murder. Though it may be important to know that as strange and horrific as they are, they’re not the Iconnu themselves.  Even to these demons and things, the Unbidden are alien and unknowable. These things are more like agents, corrupted and converted to work for them."

"Yet again something happened that the Iconnu did not expect. Once more they underestimated the human spirit. 
Some of the possessed humans retained control of their bodies. They resisted the Iconnu and maintained their free will. Many turned their powers against the Iconnu and work to save humanity. I am one of them."

"There are layers within layers of conspiracy.  PISCES may be in league with some of the Iconnu, but if they are they are very unhappy about it. After you reported the brain spiders in the organization, I did some investigating on my own and came up with far too many nervous breakdowns in other departments. When the Bringers of Sacred Light contacted me it became clear; the things known as the Shan are vying for dominance.  They want their own Iconnu to come out on top, and in the mean time they're suppressing all other supernatural activity."

"That brings us to now. We’re in the wake of a focused apocalypse. These agents of the Iconnu travel throughout the world, seeking to complete its destruction. Their own kind fights against them, along with true human allies — some who know more than others, and some who wield ancient powers given new potency. A maelstrom of warping reality howls in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The Nightmare Wave’s influence haunts sites across the globe." 

"PISCES has its hands full trying to stop the Iconnu’s agents, and people throughout the world struggle to discover what’s really happened and what’s happening. Few of them get close. We’re fighting a shadow war for Earth and all humanity. Also included with this tape is information for your first mission.  I need you to take out two of the composite entities I mentioned previously.  Their pictures and bios are included."

Jim-Bean dutifully handed out copies of the mission folders. The files were typed on paper and photocopied. A red stamp labeled the files as OPERATION GOTHIC.

"This is a trial run. Your team is uniquely positioned to help me take down the Shan – you're the only group I'm sure is uncorrupted.  We'll see if you have what it takes to handle these two. Jenkins, destroy this tape after it is played."

Lightning fast, Jenkins grabbed the tape and tossed it into the crackling fireplace.

"But—" protested Hammer. It was too late.

Archive beamed.  "Just like old times."

Jim-Bean looked around.  "I don't like it."

Hammer didn't smile. "We should be worried about our own mission…"

"You mean the island?" asked Guppy.  "I checked.  There is no island.  That island, the whole place, disintegrated in the Nightmare Wave."

"Then we'll need the backup.  Until I can get weapons this is our best lead," said Hammer.  "I say we do it."

"I don't like it," said Jim-Bean.  "At all.  Hennessey's one of those…things."

"I'm in," said Guppy.  "It's our best bet in the short term anyway."

"Me too," said Archive.

Jim-Bean frowned but didn't say anything else.  When the time was right he would have words with Hennessey personally and judge for himself. 

"I just hope Caprice is okay," said Guppy.


----------



## talien

*The Windthrope Legacy: Conclusion (AKA Caprice Isn't Okay)*

Caprice lay face down on some sort of bed. His head was held up by a firm, circular cushion of some kind, while his hands were level with his head, restrained by medical restraints. Indeed, wrists, ankles and forehead were all held by Velcro restraints, ensuring that he did not move from their current position.

Caprice was laying on something soft. His eyes were closed. A faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air and he could hear a soft humming sound…perhaps of a fan. Beneath him, Caprice could feel the crispness of fresh sheets. He was comfortably warm.

He opened his eyes. Darkness. Total darkness.

There was the rattle of a trolley moving closer, a slight change in air pressure and the noise of a door being opened.

“Good morning,” came a female voice with a pleasant British accent.  She sounded youthful, yet professional. There was a smell of perfume, which was quickly overpowered by the smell of burnt toast.

“Have some breakfast,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s just the usual, orange juice and toast. You can’t have anything more substantial until the doctor gives you the once over.”

He heard the sound of furniture moving – perhaps a small table, and the squeaking of metal underneath his face. Caprice flinched as something plastic was pushed into his mouth, past his dry lips – a straw? Tentatively taking a sip, he felt the sweet taste of orange juice in his mouth.

The nurse went round to the other patients in the room.  Caprice gathered it was the crew.  Given their predicament he guessed none of them were his fellow agents. 

"What…happened?" he croaked.  He remembered tentacles, and screaming, and free falling.  The glass of his helmet shattered, and hungry mouths…

"You've undergone eye surgery—" The noise of a door opening cut her off in midsentence.

There was another change in air pressure and Caprice heard a door open and close. A male voice, with a distinct far eastern accent could be heard.

“Good morning, everyone. I hope you had a comfortable night.”

The man seemed to shift about the room as his voice grows and diminished in volume as he moved around. He appeared to be stopping at each bed and picking up something, making “hmmm, yes,” noises –studying medical charts.

“Yes, all quite good. Each of your eye procedures has gone very well,” the man said, somewhat smugly. “Now, you need to rest for another twenty-four hours. I’m afraid we can’t have you moving around as it may cause complications, hence the restraints. Yes, face down and no exposure to light. We don’t want any of that! None of you would like to have any disastrous complications, eh?! Don’t want anybody going blind!”

"What happened?" Caprice asked again.

“You have each had your eyes rebuilt.  I then replaced the emptied eye cavity with a gas bubble. Since gas rises and the macula and retina are at the back of the eye, you must remain face down in order for the gas bubble to apply pressure to the area in need of healing. And so, allow the macula or retina to re-bond to the eye wall and a new vitreous to replace the gas bubble. Although vitrectomy has a strong, successful track record in improving vision, the recovery from it is often far more challenging as patients must put up with the discomfort of being held in a face-down, post-operative position for a further twenty four hours. As I said, we don’t want you going blind!”

After a cursory examination of each of the patients, the doctor pronounced that he was happy with everyone’s progress. 

"The nurse shall return shortly, should you require anything further."

Caprice's thoughts roiled.  What happened?  He caught the British accent, but he didn't recognize the other one.  They were over the Pacific Ocean, right? What was he doing in a hospital? And what in God's name had happened to his eyes?

A terrible female scream snapped him out of his dark thoughts. It was from somewhere close to, yet outside the room, followed by the sound of someone running. It was followed by a strange, high-pitched, twittering sound that seemed to appear from nowhere. 

Caprice gasped.  He knew that sound.  It was the thing…the thing in the air that was trying to – no had succeeded in – eating his eyes.

More screaming. A male voice shouted something in a foreign tongue, and more footsteps. It was followed by a sucking noise that rose in volume. 

Then silence.


----------



## RedTonic

Nothing creepier than eyeball-eating monsters. Nothing.


----------



## talien

RedTonic said:


> Nothing creepier than eyeball-eating monsters. Nothing.




Oh I'm afraid Caprice will discover it's much, much worse than that. 

We're running Caprice's campaign solo via email and it's turned out surprisingly well.  Amazing what you can do with PBM campaigns. His story won't come until after the next chapter.  The downside of PBM is it's very sloooow.


----------



## RedTonic

The suspense! Ack!

I usually run/play in PbPs. Sometimes it's lightning fast, sometimes it takes months to finish an encounter. But I do like the luxury of having the time to make an IC decision and weigh a character's response rather than the tabletop immediacy, which tends to run on my instinct rather than what might be more the PoV of my toon. Plus, it generates an always handy record.  I suppose that's rather nerdy... But hey, I'm an accountant.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 58: Gothic - Introduction*

I agree, there's an entirely different feel to PBM.  You'll see this later -- I'm able to create horrific situations that I couldn't if I had players sitting around a table.  I'm not sure how many players would tolerate keeping their eyes closed to mimic being blind...

But since you commented, back to the story!

=============

This story hour is from "Gothic" by Richard Watts from Ramsey Campbell’s Goatswood, "Whack the Vampire" by Tony DiGerolamo, and Expedition to Castle Ravenloft by Bruce R. Cordell and James Wyatt. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
*Hank “Guppy” Gupta* (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by *Joseph Tresca* (eyeballistic.com) 
You might have heard a lot of criticism of Gothic, the scenario about homosexual vampires in love who are being stalked by a fanatic with a sword, blah blah.

Well, all that backstory is in here, somewhere.  It just went up in flames when our resident acolyte Archive turned them with a critical, causing them to burst into flames.  No time for angst, discussion, or character development.  And that was just fine with the group.

As they dusted their hands, they discovered that there's actually quite a bit more to this mission than they first thought. This isn't the first time my players surprised me and it won't be the last.  But it certainly did make things interesting. 

*Defining Moment:* Archive cuts out fifteen pages of investigation and plot by blowing up their targets. 

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1568821530?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1568821530]Ramsey Campbell’s Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places[/ame]:* by Scott David Aniolowski.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003A9V246?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B003A9V246]Temple of Love[/ame]:* by Sisters of Mercy
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/078693946X?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=078693946X]Expedition to Castle Ravenloft[/ame]:* by Bruce Cordell and James Wyatt
*Whack the Vampire:* by Tony DiGerolamo


----------



## RedTonic

I need more of this as motivation to pass some exams.  *brings bowl around, makes orphan eyes, pleads.*


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Prologue*

Ask and ye shall receive!

Good luck on your exams.  Not sure if this will motivate you.  It involves...well, you'll see. 

====================


> _And the Devil in a black dress watches over me,
> My guardian angel walks away.
> Life is short and love is always over in the morning.
> Black winds come carry me far away.​_
> --_Temple of Love_ by The Sisters of Mercy​



​BRICHESTER, ENGLAND—Jim-Bean looked at the black sphere sitting on the dining room table. "Why didn't you tell us about this before?"

Archive was rifling through a satchel of esoteric items.  I don't like spheres," he said.  "This is all from Unit 23. I kept those items in case we could use them. I think that's a scrying ball." He broke out in a sweat just looking at it.  "But keep it away from me."

Jim-Bean looked sideways at Archive. "Oookay." He placed fingertips on it, closed his eyes, and concentrated. "Yep, it's a scrying ball.  Wow."

"Great," said Hammer.  "Can you find this kid?"  He tossed the file for OPERATION GOTHIC on the table.

Jim-Bean put one hand on the file and the other hand on the orb.  

"Anything?" asked Guppy.

"It takes a minute," said Jim-Bean out of the corner of his mouth.  "I'm in the kid's bedroom.  Wait a minute…here we go.  Something in the laundry basket. A black shirt…with tickets in the pocket.  One for Heaven and the other for Darklands."

"Heaven is a club in Lower Brichester," said Hammer.  "Let's go."

Guppy hoisted a case onto the table.  

"What's that?" asked Archive.

"Something special I cooked up to deal with vampires," said Guppy with a grin.  

Hammer look askance at the bulky container. "That'll never make it past the bouncers."

"Leave that to me," said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 1 – Heaven*

Housed in the upper floor of an old but exclusive hotel, the Camden Place, Heaven presented an impassive front to Brichester and the rest of the outside world. A muscular, unsmiling bouncer stood beside the doors.

Jim-Bean smiled and nodded at the bouncer.  "We're going to go right in if that's okay with you." It wasn't a question. 

The bouncer nodded back like they were best friends. The rest of the team filtered in behind him.

Beyond the front door was a flight of massive steps covered with rich red velvet-like carpet. Gleaming, smoky, marbled mirrors covered the walls and ceiling of the ascending entryway, while sparkling chandeliers lavishly illuminated the passage. At the top of the stairs a slim, handsome youth waited to take the three pounds it cost to get into Heaven. The doorman wore black tuxedo pants and shoes and was shirtless--a black bow tie and tuxedo coat with tails covered his otherwise bare torso.

Guppy blinked.  "What kind of club is this?"

"That kind of club," said Hammer.  Jim-Bean muttered something inaudible to the doorman and once again they were let in.

Beyond the doors was a cacophony of sound, color, and light. Lasers and lights flashed through the hot, smoky air, and the music was so loud that it thundered in their chests. Dancers swayed and twisted their bodies across the dance floor: willowy young men with silky hair; slim nymphs caressed their partners’ limbs; women whose hair, cut mercilessly short, bristled; tanned men with the muscular builds of sporting heroes. Around the sides of the room, leaning against the walls or secluded in the private shadows of booths, sat and stood spectators--the drinkers, the lovers, the observers. 

Hammer had to shout above the thunderous beat of the music to have any sort of a conversation with the bartender. Short and stocky, Sue Oates was a friendly, outgoing woman with short-cropped blond hair, and a dragon tattoo on her left arm. 

"We're looking for this kid."  Hammer flashed a picture from OPERATION GOTHIC.

"I remember him," said Oates. "He was a nice, quiet kid who spent most of his time out or three times a week.  Friendly, but he didn’t seem to have any friends at the club."

"So you spoke with him?"

"Several times. I got the impression that he was terrified that his family would discover he was gay. I think he lost his best friend because he came out to him."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"About a month ago. He met up with another Goth, don't know his real name, but I nicknamed him Skunk."

"What did this other guy look like?" asked Hammer.

"Kid in his late teens with black hair, white face with black lipstick and eye shadow. He dressed completely in black. I call him Skunk because of the white streak in his hair."

"That sounds like every other clubber in this place," muttered Jim-Bean. 

"Do you know anything about Darklands?" asked Hammer.

"Sure.  It's a Goth club."  She gave Hammer directions.  "Hope the kid's not in trouble."

Archive said something threatening but it couldn't be heard over the din of the club.  Hammer paid twice the tab for the drink he never touched – he had learned to be cautious after an incident in a similar club in the States – and they left in pursuit of their prey.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 2 – Darklands*

Darklands was located at 1805 E. 54th Street near Sage.  The neighborhoods around Darklands were composed of dark store fronts with broken windows, burned out buildings, vacant lots overgrown with weeds and overcome by trash, and graffiti-encrusted tenements. A few cold eyes stared out from behind the cracked and boarded up windows. The pungent bodies of drunks lay sprawled across the filthy pavement. Rats darted in and out of piles of rubble. 

The club was a warehouse about half of a city block that was painted a dull black.  The front door of the club had a black velvet rope and a lighted sign that read, “Darklands”.   Two bouncers guarded the door. One had a clipboard and the other checked IDs. There was a black velvet rope to keep the line to get inside organized.  

Jim-Bean approached with a case.

"Uh, what do you think you're doing?" asked the first bouncer.

Jim-Bean nodded at the other bouncer.  "I'm friends with him."

"It's cool," said the bouncer mechanically.  "I know him."

The first bouncer looked surprised.  "Well you can't go in there without your kit being searched."

Jim-Bean shrugged and flipped open the lid.  A variety of vicious looking sex toys glistened in the neon lights.

"Wow," said the first bouncer.

"Yeah, we're performers," said Jim-Bean with a grin. 

Guppy chimed in.  "Yes. Performers!" He hadn't understood Jim-Bean's plan to get in until that moment.  When he looked down at the toys, Guppy was a little less enthusiastic.  "Oh…" he whispered.

The bouncer rolled his eyes.  "Okay, go on in."

Beyond the front door and the diligent bouncers was a pair of heavy, iron-bound doors in a small, dark, black velvet-curtained foyer. Behind the heavy oak doors was Darklands.

The theater boxes had long ago been bricked over, and had recently been painted black, as had the floor and ceiling. The black walls were broken only occasionally by mirrors and remnants of dusty red velvet drapes. The yellowed, towering movie screen had been returned to its place over the stage at the back of the building, and flickered noiselessly with ancient black and white horror movies. A heavy hook and a length of dusty chain in the ceiling above was all that remained of the once glorious chandelier; a few rows of antique theater seats faced the dance floor, their once-rich upholstery faded and tom. Harsh, flickering white lights illuminated the club in grainy monochrome, gave the place the look of an old silent movie. Dry ice and smoke mingled to form thick, pungent clouds that rolled and curled in the cloying atmosphere, rising to the far-off ceiling and hanging like a shroud above the patrons. Haunting music wailed and screamed above the constant susurration of the crowd; ghostly figures weaved a slow and macabre pattern across the crowded dance floor. 

"See them?" asked Hammer.

"They're going to blend in a place like this," said Guppy.

Darklands was a sea of pale flesh and black clothes: women in black wedding dresses, lace and gauze artfully ripped to reveal skin like alabaster; young men with pouting lips of charcoal, swathed in silk and velvet, their hair crow’s-nests of spikes and cobwebs. Youths in long black coats, black fingernails and wildly-teased hair moved zombie-like to the haunting sounds of the music, and androgynous patrons in mesh and lace posed against stark walls, malevolently majestic in their ebon finery, crosses and other religious symbols dangling from ears, wrists, necks, and clothes.

"Man I hate this Gothic $#!+," muttered Jim-Bean.  They wended their way towards a booth.

Lights flashed and the music blared.  The disc jockey was located on an elevated platform on the left side of the room.  There was one set of stairs leading to his booth and a bouncer hovered in that area.  There was also a second door that led to another part of the club.  The door said, “Employees Only”.  Up ahead and to the right was a small tattoo and body modification center run by two employees.  The crowded bar was at one end of the room, lit with the deathly ultra-violet glow of black light. 

They slipped into the open booth.  Jim-Bean drew the scrying ball from the case with a flourish. Archive's peculiar mumbo-jumbo was right at home here; there were two others just like it on tables.  

"Well?" asked Hammer impatiently. 

"I think…" Jim-Bean put his fingertips on the ball.  "It's hard to concentrate with all the noise."

"Wait," said Guppy. "I think I see them."  He pointed at the shiny surface of the sphere.

Jim-Bean opened his eyes. "You can see them too?"

"Yes," said Guppy, pointing at the dance floor reflected in the sphere.  He looked back at two men in the center, then back at the sphere.  "They're not casting a reflection."


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 3 – Vamps*

The pair arrived at the club around midnight; both dressed almost identically in tight-fitting velvet trousers, calf-length boots adorned with zippers, buckles, and straps, ruffled silk shirts trimmed in lace, velvet waistcoats, and floor-length velvet cloaks-all of pure, rich black. Likewise, both sported shoulder-length black hair teased out around their pale faces: Christopher’s hair had a long white streak dyed in it, from his forehead to the nape of his neck. The lovers’ eyes and lips were decorated with black makeup, making their faces appear even more porcelain-like. 

The pair frequently ventured out onto the dance floor, each having an occasional tryst with other patrons, both male and female. Ferguson and Leigh danced very closely to these other patrons, frequently burying their faces into their partners’ necks for a lingering kiss, or inviting them back to the darkness of a booth. After a few moments the pair abandoned their partners, retiring together to a booth until the next slow dance where they choose new companions. Immersed in their surroundings, and their love for one another, they were unaware of any scrutiny. 

Archive smoothed out his black overcoat, cracked his knuckles, and slipped out of the booth.  "Pardon me gentlemen, I believe I have work to do."

Archive stood before the pair on the dance floor and presented his Elder Sign. The lovers stood hand in hand. 

The pair turned to face Archive. "Nadasdy sold us out," said Sebastian.  "He must have, if you're here."

Christopher nodded. "He's gone mad.  We always suspected it, but now we have proof…"

"The Power of the Elder Sign compels you!" The eye at the center of the leather pentagram lensed open. A bright red beam played over the pair. They immediately burst into flame.

As they began to burn, they shared one last kiss, desperate against the flames. They held one another close in a final, passionate embrace. Even as they burst into an inferno, they were still together. The lovers were consumed by flame, but also by fear and hatred. As they turned to ash, a brief gap in the fiery swirl showed their blackened skeletons still embraced. Then the shapes collapse to smoldering cinders. 

The crowd, momentarily shocked into silence, watched in confusion. They were still trying to decide if it was an elaborate stunt.  Some were too high to tell the difference. 

A cloud of noxious smoke billowed about the chamber.

"Well that was easy," said Jim-Bean, dusting his hands.  He hoisted up the box full of sex toys.  "Looks like we won't need th—"

"YOU!" bellowed a deep timber with an upper class British accent.

A tall man, stooped and misshapen with death-white flesh, long gray hair, bulging eyes, and a mouth full of sharp canine-like teeth strode across the dance floor.  His black clothes were Victorian in style, including a long, black Inverness coat and a high, narrow-brimmed beaver hat. The crowd parted, the music stopped. 

"Who the hell is that?" asked Hammer. 

"Count Nadasdy," whispered one of the patrons. "The owner of the club. Nobody ever sees him!"

Archive frowned and held up the Elder Sign once more.  "He's another torch for all I care.  By the power of the Elder Sign I repel—"

The eye at the center of the pentagram opened and a blast of flames speared from it.  Nadasdy held up one hand and the flames deflected off his palm.  Smoke curled from it as he closed his palm into a fist.  The fire went out. 

Nadasdy pointed at Archive and a sphere engulfed him.  Archive instantly panicked, pounding at the barrier before curling up into a fetal position. His phobia of spheres overwhelmed him.

"You invade my CLUB!" snarled Nadasdy, striding closer.

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Vampires." He snapped the case open, spilling sex toys in all directions.  Lightning fast, he tossed the weapons hidden in the compartment beneath them: pistols to Hammer, a shotgun to Guppy.

"You destroy my MINIONS!" snarled Nadasdy.

Nadasdy pointed at Archive and he dropped the Elder Sign, hissing, as his hand smoldered.  

"I know how to deal with vampires."  Guppy took aim with the specially modified shotgun and fired. A rocket-propelled stake whistled through the air…

Nadasdy caught it in one fist.  He was knocked back several feet from the impact, his boots squealing as he dug into the dance floor to maintain his balance. After inspecting it for a moment with a sneer, he tossed the stake aside.

Bouncers from all over the club pushed their way through the crowd, pistols at the ready.

"But worst of all…you're AMERICANS!"

Nadasdy thrust both palms towards them and a small pea of flame screamed towards them.  

Flames engulfed the club, incinerating bystanders and the dance floor. The scorched floor formed an unbroken circle around the agents – Jim-Bean held one hand outstretched. 

Cracking his neck, Jim-Bean fixed his gaze on Nadasdy.  "Gloves are off, huh?  Fine."  He concentrated.

Hammer fired four bursts in quick succession.  The bouncers collapsed in unison, bullet holes in their foreheads. 

"Not bad," he said to the two Berettas he'd taken off of the guards at the military base.  They weren't his Glocks but they would have to do. 

The few surviving patrons screamed, clawing at the doors and walls.  Pillars began to collapse.  Tapestries, blazing hellfire fell onto the crowd.

The lighting equipment above began to shudder.

"Uh, Jim-Bean," said Guppy, doing some quick calculations in his head.  "I'm not sure that's such a—"

The massive lighting rig ripped from its moorings with a series of snaps, smashing down on top of Nadasdy.  The floor, already weakened from Nadasdy's magic, collapsed along a tunnel beneath the club.  

The one piece of unburned floor that was around the agents slid down into the tunnel.  It stretched beyond into darkness, partially lit by the flames above. Of Nadasdy there was no sign.

"Go!" shouted Hammer.  "GO!"

A second later the rest of the Darklands collapsed above them.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 4 – Blood for the Blood God! Kill! Kill! Kill!*

When the dust finally cleared, Archive was still trapped in the sphere of force.  The sphere went right through the floor where Archive stood.  The section of floor protected by the sphere from the flames was what slid down into the tunnel intact.

Guppy flicked on a small penlight that he always carried with him.  He played it across the rubble above them.  "That sphere is the only thing keeping us from being crushed to death."

Archive was still curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth in the sphere, seemingly oblivious to his predicament.

"That sphere's not going to last forever," said Jim-Bean.  "At least, I hope not."

"When it goes, we're going to have to move fast," said Hammer.

Guppy squinted.  "Did it just flicker?"

In the darkness the sphere was barely luminescent.

Then the sphere winked out.

Jim-Bean pointed, and the wreckage groaned under the weight of the debris of tons of rock. 

Hammer and Guppy dragged Archive out of the way just as the debris collapsed.   More of the burnt out club slid down into the tunnel, choking the air with soot.

Hammer pointed.  "Only one way forward."

The tunnel was a dark sewer-like passage that was paved and much older than the surrounding stone. 

Guppy helped Archive to his feet.  "You okay?"

"Yeah," said Archive, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.  "What happened?"

"You wigged out inside a sphere," said Jim-Bean.  "Happens to everybody."

"Not everybody," muttered Hammer.  He picked his way forward through the rubble.  Much of it had collapsed around the tunnel, but it was a sturdy enough structure to resist collapsing completely. 

The tunnel twisted and turned for what seemed like hours. It terminated in a ramp upward, a hole in the bottom of a much larger cavern. 

They climbed up into the larger opening, relieved to stretch their legs.  The air was thick with a musty, reptilian odor.

Two ten-foot-tall standing stones, capped by equally large blocks, stood in the center of the ancient cavern. The megalith stood at the head of a slab of dark stone. A metal cube sat at its center, covered in primitive glyphs. Standing opposite the megalith across the stone table was a primitively carved humanoid statue with no face.

Their flashlights played over the statue. The twelve-foot tall humanoid statue was carved of purplish stone, but its hands were black as pitch. Weathered remnants of horns and vestigial limbs were party visible. 

Guppy squinted.  "Its face looks like…" he frowned.  In place of a face was a primitive pictogram that was stained, as if in the past it leaked some reddish fluid. "…like it's bleeding."

"Don't touch the statue," growled Jim-Bean.  "Nothing good comes from statues. I'm going to try to find an entrance." He wandered off into the darkness. 

Hammer sniffed the air.  "Jim-Bean, toss me your lighter."

"Taking up smoking?" came Jim-Bean's voice from the darkness.  A glint of metal tumbled through the air.  Hammer caught it.  He clicked it on. 

The small flame flickered. "That's what I thought," said Hammer.  "Fresh air, this way." 

Archive bent near the altar, shining his flashlight on it.  "It reads: Spill your life to the Blood God. The Blood God repays total sacrifice." 

"That doesn't sound good," said Guppy. 

The rustle of stone behind him was his only warning.  Guppy was catapulted out of sight of Archive's beam. 

"What the—" was all Archive got out before a black hand nearly pulverized his head.  He dove into the darkness.

Guppy, coughing and wheezing from the impact, staggered to his feet.  "He told you not to touch it!"

"I didn't!" Archive shouted back.  His flashlight clattered across the stone slab.  The thing was alarmingly fast and quiet for its bulk. The flashlight's beam spun as it rolled, illuminating the thing as it crouched.  Red fluid bubbled from its face, squirting in a stream at Guppy. In the darkness it sounded like someone vomiting.

"Hey guys, there's a tunnel up here," reported Hammer, oblivious to the commotion on the far side of the cavern.  

Archive huffed to catch up to Guppy, who was running for his life towards Hammer's flickering lighter.

"What?" asked Hammer as they blew past him.  

"Up!" shouted Archive. It was a very tight fit. He clambered up the tunnel. 

Hammer had his pistols out and squeezed off two shots at the advancing bulk in the shadows. It hesitated only for a second, the bullets sparking in the darkness as they hit stone. 

Hammer holstered his pistols and climbed into the tunnel.  "Come on Guppy!"

Guppy froze at the entrance to the tunnel and began wailing, eyes wide.  "The Blood God!" he shrieked.  "The Blood God is going to—"

Before he could finish a hand reached down and grabbed him by his collar.  He was yanked up and out of sight.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 5 – It's a Trap!*

Jim-Bean managed to pry open the wall of the tunnel into a ten-foot square hollow.  It contained a rectangular slab of marble and a rag-draped skeleton.

Guppy stumbled in, dragged by Jim-Bean, eyes wide.  He was hyperventilating.  Their companions came in shortly thereafter. 

Guppy tore the rags off the skeleton, hurling bones everywhere. "Just in case it animates," he said with a few more gasps.  

"You need to calm down," said Hammer.  

"I'm calm," Guppy wiped sweat and dust off his brow.  "I'm calm. I'm okay."

"Good," Hammer shoved hard against the stone door blocking the exit.  It didn't budge. "Now help me with this slab." Guppy and Archive helped him open the door.

Jim-Bean shouldered past them. "Come on, Nadasdy's this way."

"How do you know?" asked Guppy.  

Jim-Bean tapped his temple and smirked at him.

"Oh, right." 

They passed several more tombs to stop at another stone door. 

"This one," said Jim-Bean.  "It's not a tomb."  

Hammer and Archive heaved the door open. 

Inside was a tunnel.  Fog flowed like a river, covering the floor. The tunnel's damp walls were rough and scored.

Jim-Bean plunged ahead, heedless of the mist.  "Mind the left side," he said, pointing downward.  "It opens into a chute."

"Uh…thanks," said Hammer.  They followed closely behind Jim-Bean in a line after that. 

The tunnel ended at a set of rough stone stairs.  Jim-Bean froze and the others stopped immediately behind him.  

"What?" asked Hammer.  "What is it?"

Jim-Bean blinked.  "It's what's behind that door."

"What?" asked Guppy, panicking.  "Another statue?  The Blood God?"

"Worse," said Jim-Bean.  "It's a woman."


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 6 – Speaking in Tongues*

A great vat squatted in the center of the chamber, filled with roiling pale mucus. From their alcoves to either side, bloated giants stood pulsing and heaving. The towering bloated giants looked as if their skin was about to burst. Thick veins forked across the giants' flesh, and their bodies pulsed and shifted as if a great quantity of fluids strained beneath their skin.

Before Jim-Bean sauntered into the room they had argued at length as to what to do.  Killing her was always an option.  But in the end they argued for a more subtle approach.  In a world gone mad, being human went a long way, and near as they could tell the woman was human. 

Besides, if things went south, there was always the passphrase: "Bloody hell!"

Two walls of the chamber were lined with tome-stuffed shelves, and a stained desk was shoved into the southwest corner. Behind the vat, a slender figure in pale leather armor and hood yelled in consternation.

Jim-Bean sauntered into the room.  "You can stop yelling, I'm here now."

The slender figure named Thredra narrowed her eyes.  "Interesting.  You are powerful indeed," she said appraisingly.  "No magic at work.  And yet you spoke in my mind…"

"I told you I was quite powerful." Using his clairvoyance, Jim-Bean was able to scout ahead.  It was a simple matter to telepathically contact the necromancer, who was thankfully a living being. 

"Who are you, stranger? What's your name?"

"Andy," said Jim-Bean.  "Andy Cook." He didn't like the kid.

"My name's Thredra.  Thredra Aranax."

"Interesting name," said Jim-Bean.  

"I'm quite interesting, as you can see."  She gestured at herself and Jim-Bean, even before he entered the room, knew what she meant.  Thredra wore an impractical bustier of pale leather, baring her midriff.  A hooded cloak framed her pinched features. Skulls dangled from a belt that hung loosely around her waist.

"About Nadasdy…" he reminded her.

"Ah yes, Count Nadasdy."  She sighed, pacing. "He's been sending spies after me ever since the Nightmare Wave."

"Nightmare Wave?" snorted Jim-Bean.  He thought the name was ridiculous.

"Yes," said Thredra.  "He has grown increasingly depraved and is now utterly lost to madness. I believe that's what precipitated his attack on you at the Darklands Club. He would never be so careless – he'll bring all of PISCES down on our heads!"

"So…" Jim-Bean tried to ignore the heaving giants. "How exactly did you fit those big guys in here?"

Thredra frowned. "They started out smaller, but as they fed on blood they got bigger and bigger and, well…" she made a little noise of frustration, "now they can't leave this room. Poor planning on my part, I admit."

"Right.  Okay.  So anyway, I wanted to discuss a change in the hierarchy around here."

Thredra looked him up and down.  "What are you suggesting?"

"Only that if Nadasdy were to…step down…there will be a power vacuum.  Someone will need to take his place."

Thredra raised one delicately plucked eyebrow.  "And who might that be?"

Jim-Bean shrugged.  "Got something to drink?"

The necromancer made a decision.  "Yes.  Yes I could use a drink.  This way."  She beckoned Jim-Bean into a room behind her. Without hesitating he followed her in.  

It was just about what he expected of a muttering scantily-clad necromanceress in the dungeon of a vampire.  Two large thrones on the balcony overlooked a flooded chamber filled with torture equipment. She gestured and the muck responded. 

A humanoid, covered in the thick film of the torture chamber slime, slid upwards, reaching.  Jim-Bean thought he could make out two forms, one hunched and legless clawing over the other.  They reached into a compartment beneath the balcony.  A tray slid out, with two glasses and a bottle.  Like demented acrobats in a circus of rot and filth, the two bodies served wine – waiters at the fanciest restaurant in the crypt.

Thredra uncorked the bottle, poured them both a glass, and handed one to Jim-Bean before reclining on the throne.  Jim-Bean did the same on the throne opposite hers. 

"I've long served Nadasdy," she said after sipping the blood-red wine.  For all Jim-Bean knew it was blood. "Who wouldn't bow down to such a black-hearted power? But lately…Nadasdy hasn't been himself."

"And you're wondering what to do about it." Jim-Bean gave the drink a taste.  It actually wasn't bad.

"I question tying myself to someone who's grip on sanity slowly crumbles."

"So his behavior at Club Darklands wasn't the first incident?"

Thredra shook her head.  "Nadasdy's growing insanity manifests itself in many ways. Most obviously, he's started sending his servants secretly against me, disguising them as Brichester villagers." Her face twisted in rage.  It wasn't a pretty sight.  "He's forgotten all I've done for him…and what I could accomplish against him, should I decide to act."

Jim-Bean almost smiled.  His telepathic conversation with her was dead on target.  For every fanatically loyal underling, there was another waiting to stab her boss in the back.  A little necromancy didn't change things one bit. 

"What if Nadasdy were to be eliminated?"

She shrugged her bony shoulders.  "I want things back the way they were.  The old way.  When there were rules, and people respected them.  Now, he seems to be under the sway of other forces…"

"Inconnu," finished Jim-Bean.

Thredra failed to hide her surprise at his familiarity with the term.  "Whatever they are, it's disrupting everything. Their grip on Nadasdy is ruining the empire he built – the empire I helped him build.  I want that back."

"Then I believe we can help each other," said Jim-Bean. 

"I can give you specific aid," said Thredra.  "I can't act myself, of course.  If the hierarchy were to know of my involvement—"

"I didn't get this far without being discrete," said Jim-Bean curtly. 

She got the message. Thredra pulled a ring made of bone off her finger and held it up in the dim torchlight. Inscribed on the interior of the band were some evil-looking runes. The exterior of the band was carved to resemble a swarm of humanoid skeletons interlocked in a circle. 

"This is a Ring of Parting Prevented.  It will protect you from Nadasdy's life-draining touch. But I will share this ring with you on one condition."

Jim-Bean waited.

"You will repay me with a tongue."

Jim-Bean nearly spit out his drink.  

Thredra's lips curled into a slow smile.  "Bring me the tongue of a living man or woman. The man or woman must be alive when you render their tongue unto me."

Jim-Bean snapped his wrist and a knife was at the ready.  "I could give you mine right here."  He lifted it to his lips and opened his mouth.

Thredra held up a hand.  "You've such a talent.  I'd hate for you to ruin a natural gift – but you must be powerful indeed if you can survive its removal..."

Jim-Bean snapped his mouth shut.  "You have no idea."

She leaned forward, putting one delicate hand on his forearm.  "I like you, Andy.  So I'll throw in the whereabouts of a certain saint's thighbone that will be useful against Nadasdy. Just get me that tongue."

"What do you need it for anyway?"

Thredra smiled and this time Jim-Bean felt a chill. "It has certain necromantic requirements that cannot be set aside."

"We'll get you one."

She flipped him the ring.  Jim-Bean caught it in mid-air. 

"We?"

"I have…associates."

Thredra took this in stride. "Your acceptance of this ring is your unbreakable pledge to bring me what I requested. If not, you forfeit your own tongue."  She grinned.  "I'm sure I can find a use for it."

Jim-Bean slipped the ring into his pocket.  "And the saint?"

"You passed through the catacombs to get here.  Go back through the tunnel, directly past four crypts to a crypt set into the east wall. The name once inscribed there is clawed away.  Inside, you'll find Saint Markovia's thighbone. It is a relic of some power that is useful against Nadasdy."

Jim-Bean got up.  "Thanks."  He patted Thredra's arm.  "We'll continue this discussion once we've eliminated Nadasdy—"

Before he could remove his hand, she clasped her own bony claw over it. Thredra's eyes met his. "Don't forget the tongue."

Jim-Bean lost all saliva in his mouth, but he managed to keep his cool and nod.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 7 – Boned*

Archive squinted at the stone door, playing his flashlight over it. "Saint Markovia; Great Was Her Might; Undone By a Jealous Hand."

"Sounds friendly," said Guppy.  He was sweating.  "So where are we going to get this tongue?"

Jim-Bean shot him a glance.  "Relax.  We'll find a tongue."

"From a living person though right?" asked Guppy.  "A living person?"

"Yeah," said Jim-Bean.  "That's what Thredra wants."

"You on a first name basis now?" asked Guppy, voice rising.

"Be cool, Guppy," warned Hammer.  Their last conflict over Guppy's tenuous grip on sanity had landed the Indian agent in an Outlook facility. 

"I'm just saying..." He wiped his forehead.  "If you don't get the tongue, she might take it from one of us. And I'm not giving mine up without a fight."

"If she wants a tongue, she'll take mine," said Jim-Bean.  He frowned.  "Trust me, she wants mine more than yours."

"If you two are done chit-chatting..." interrupted Archive.

"Right," said Jim-Bean.  He put his palms out before him.  "Here we go."

He concentrated and the crypt door groaned obligingly to the side. 

A fusillade of darts whined through the air.  They froze inches from Jim-Bean and Hammer's face and then dropped to the ground. Then a loud gong rang out.

Corpses exploded out of the ground to either side of them. Before they could react, huge bony claws reached out from around the crypt door behind them. 

Guppy spun, his makeshift stake gun at the ready. The arms of the thing behind them were so long that the rest of it was in the shadows of the crypt.  

The air around Guppy whistled as a dust devil engulfed him, spinning up the dust and grime of the crypt.  

"What the..." was all Guppy got out before he covered his eyes.

Hammer fired his Berettas, which weren't as good as his Glocks, at the whirlwind.  The bullets tore glowing green paths through the air, setting off a series of shrieks that came from the wind itself.  The bullets kept on going, pushing back the thing in the crypt.

"Stop shooting!" shouted Guppy through gritted teeth.

"Archive," said Jim-Bean, still focused on the door.  "Take care of them."

Archive held up his amulet.  "The power of the Elder Sign repels you!"

The eye at the center of the pentagram on Archive's amulet opened and its all-consuming gazed swept the room.  The animated corpses to either side burst into bright flames.  The whirlwind dissipated, dropping Guppy unceremoniously to the ground.  The thing in the crypt pulled its arms back into the gaping darkness.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" muttered Jim-Bean.  He pointed at the stone door to the saint's crypt and it flew over their heads.

The door smashed into the crypt behind them, sealing it once more.

The catacombs were silent. 

"You couldn't stop that gong?" growled Hammer. 

Jim-Bean ignored him as he scanned in the inside of the crypt.  All that remained on the slab was a thighbone. He tossed it to Archive, who caught it.

"Hope it was worth it," said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 8 – Dr. Knightsbridge, I Presume*

The shadowy room they entered was in perfect order. An old cot stood to one side, its heavy blanket pulled taut and straight. Lances and swords were carefully hung on the spotless walls. A great desk stood against the south wall with inkwell, papers, and other items perfectly in place.

Sitting at the desk was a tall man in his late forties, with a neat beard and moustache, and black hair with distinguished gray streaks. He was dressed dapperly in a fine suit, and smoked a fine cherry wood pipe. There was an air of skepticism about him, as if he has heard it all. Incongruously, a sword was strapped to his back. 

Hammer cocked his Beretta, the gun barrel pointed at the back of the man's head.  "Don't move."

"Dr. Knightsbridge?" asked Jim-Bean in surprise.  

The doctor put his hands up.  "Jim?" He turned around. "Jim Baxter?  What are you doing here?"

Hammer looked over his shoulder.  "You know this man?"

Jim-Bean nodded.  "From the States.  Yes."

"So you're hunting Nadasdy too?"

"I think we need to catch up," said Jim-Bean.  He sat down at the table in the center of the room. Hammer was polite enough to not point his gun directly at Knightsbridge's head but that was all the courtesy he gave the man. Guppy sat across the table from Knightsbridge, as did Archive.

"Enolsis came across Count Nadasdy only recently.  He consists almost exclusively of body thetans, a creature of pure negative energy. He's rather ancient."

"Ancient?" asked Archive, skeptical.

"Yes.  He was married to Elizabeth Bathory in 1575. He died in 1604. I believe his resurrection from the dead and subsequent blood-drinking habits caused Elizabeth to believe she could also cheat death if she drank and bathed in blood. When his wife was found out and imprisoned, Count Nadasdy fled Csejthe Castle. The countess’ accomplices confessed that Ferencz Nadasdy had returned to Csejthe Castle shortly after his burial."

"So that's when he became a vampire." Archive's interest was piqued.  

Knightsbridge nodded. "Nadasdy was one of the living dead. The hunt for the Count was on, and he was forced to flee his native Hungary. He made his way across Europe, eventually settling here in the eighteenth century in the Severn River Valley. He established himself with the aid of Sir Gilbert Morley, who arranged for a safe dwelling for the fugitive Count and supplied him with sufficient victims to feast upon. In return, Nadasdy transformed Morley into a vampire. The count has dwelled in the area since."

"And you just happen to be here when we are," said Guppy suspiciously.

"I could say the same thing about you," said Knightsbridge.  "I've set up a base of sorts to track the fiend to his lair."

"By yourself?" asked Jim-Bean.  "How exactly do you plan on defeating him?"

Knightsbridge was indignant.  "I have my own resources.  And I'm not alone."

"No?" Hammer looked around.  "Where are your companions?"

Knightsbridge took a puff on his pipe. "They will come at my call."

Sweat beaded on Guppy's brow.  "I think he's lying.  I think this is a trap."

"You think everything's a trap," said Jim-Bean.  He turned back to Knightsbridge.  "I'm not sure how you got into the U.K. PISCES watches everything."

"PISCES?" asked Knightsbridge innocently.

"The government agency responsible for dealing with the paranormal." Jim-Bean watched Knightsbridge closely.  "They've been taken over by brain spiders – body-hopping things that can possess a man. PISCES is literally crawling with possessed agents."

Did he detect a flicker of emotion?  Dismay?   Or was it something else?  

"Intriguing.  I had thought the Shan had been confined…"

"Who?" asked Jim-Bean.

"He's lying," hissed Guppy. He was damp with perspiration, but everyone's eyes were on Knightsbridge.

Hammer shushed him.

"75 million years ago there was a Galactic Confederacy, which consisted of 26 stars and 76 planets including Shaggai, Xiclotl, Thuggon, L'gy'hx and Earth. The planets were overpopulated, with an average population of 178 billion. The Shan leaders were about to be deposed from power, so they devised a plot to eliminate the excess population from their dominions. With the assistance of psychiatrists, they summoned billions of these citizens together, paralyzed them and captured their souls. These souls were brainwashed and reinserted into the bodies we have now, but there was a civil war and the Shan leaders were imprisoned. It appears they have escaped."

"You've got to be kidding me," said Hammer.

Knightsbridge held up one hand.  "Unbelievable, I know, but it's all true.  But first and foremost we must deal with Nadasdy. I can help—"

"GIVE ME YOUR TONGUE!" shrieked Guppy.

Electricity crackled beneath the table as Guppy lunged with his stun gun at Knightsbridge.

Quick as a cat, Knightsbridge unsheathed the longsword at his back and leaped onto the table.  "Fools! I told you I was not alone!"

The air boiled around them.  Shadowy forms rose up out of the floor.  Misshapen skeletons, gorilla-like demons, and a host of other horrors were suddenly in the room with them.

"Bloody hell," sighed Jim-Bean. He fished a tool out of his satchel.  

Knightsbridge kicked Guppy backwards so he had more room to swing his sword.  Guppy stumbled, bouncing off the wall behind him. 

"By the power of the Elder Sign I repel thee!" shouted Archive.

Just as quickly as they had come, the demons disappeared with a flash. 

Knightsbridge planted one foot on Guppy's chest.  "PISCES is going to take you apart, piece by piece." He pointed his blade at Guppy's throat. 

The retort of a pistol rocked Knightsbridge.  He dropped his sword, falling to his knees.  A bullet had pierced his cheek. 

Hammer was about to holster his pistol when a shape appeared out of Knightsbridge's head, flapping above the ground on leathery wings. The thing which flew whirred towards Jim-Bean, wings slapping the air at incredible speed.

Huge lidless eyes stared in hate at Jim-Bean, the jointed tendrils seemed to twist from the head in cosmic rhythms. It had ten legs, covered with black shining tentacles and folded into the pallid underbody, with semi-circular ridged wings covered with triangular scales.  Jim-Bean saw the three mouths of the thing move moistly and Jim-Bean knew he was facing a Shan.  A brain spider. 

Another shot from Hammer caused it to bank left. It flew upwards into the ceiling and out of sight. 

"So he was actually possessed by a brain-spider?" said Hammer, uncertain as to what he had just witnessed.

"Which means PISCES is already here." Jim-Bean threw a multi-tool to Guppy. 

"Was anything he told us true?" asked Archive.

"Who knows?" Hammer looked around the room.  "Are you sure all those things are gone?"

Archive yanked an amulet off of Knightsbridge's neck.  "This is a symbol of the Templars."  It had two knights riding one horse.  

Hammer hefted Knightsbridge's blade.  "The same symbol is on the hilt of his sword."

Jim-Bean frowned.  "So Enolsis has been infiltrated by the Templars, which were infiltrated by the brain spiders."  He shook his head.  "Damn bugs are everywhere."

Guppy straddled Knightsbridge's dying form.  He was whispering something.

"W-wait."  He drooled blood. "The Shan left me…I'm okay now…"

Guppy, eyes filled with tears, pried his jaw open as Knightsbridge gagged on his blood.  

A strangled gurgle was Knightsbridge's only protest. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he knew what was going to happen next.

Guppy shoved the multi-tool into Knightsbridge's mouth, grabbed hold of his tongue, and pulled.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 9 – Just a Lick*

Jim-Bean explained what had happened to Thredra.

"Spies!" she sighed.  "There's no way Knightsbridge should have been able to get past our defenses. If he was infested by a Shan, that means PISCES is moving on us."

"The brain spider in his head escaped."

Thredra paced.  "Damn.  Yes, it will report back.  We haven't much time.  You need to find Nadasdy and put an end to this."  She pointed at her two giant hulks.  "Toodles, Twiddles, gather my things."  The two hulks slowly lumbered towards her desk. 

"You're leaving?" 

"We're all going to have to leave soon.  Contact me once you are finished with Nadasdy—"

"Oh yeah, we got your tongue."  Jim-Bean handed her a jar filled with red fluid.

Thredra looked inside.  "A messy job, but it'll do."  She smiled at Jim-Bean and he couldn't help but notice her bone-white teeth.  "I'm impressed.  You are a man of your word.  I thought it would take you weeks."

Jim-Bean snorted.  "We don't exactly have a lot of time here."

"Too true."  She peered past Jim-Bean's shoulder.  In the hallway, she could make out Guppy, who was rocking and muttering to himself, his hands drenched in blood.  "What's wrong with him?"

Jim-Bean didn't look back.  He knew exactly what was wrong with Guppy.  "Him? That's our muscle."

Thredra arched an eyebrow.  "Really?"

Jim-Bean nodded.  "Once he sets his mind to something there's no stopping him."  He shrugged.  "But you have your tongue, so let's leave it at that."

"Fair enough," she said.  "Hurry back soon, Andy."  Thredra blew him a kiss.

Jim-Bean closed the door behind him as he entered the hallway, happy to close that gruesome chapter of his life.  

Guppy's eye twitched, a pathetic smile on his face.  "So you told her about the tongue we found?"

Archive and Hammer exchanged looks.

"Yeah," said Jim-Bean.  "The tongue we found perfectly preserved in that jar that Knightsbridge was keeping."  He lied. "She said it counts as a living tongue, so we're good."

"So she's not going to take my tongue?" Guppy sounded like a ten year old talking to Santa.

"No, Guppy," said Hammer.  "Nobody's going to take anybody's tongue." He patted Guppy on the back.

"That's good," said Guppy.  His shoulders sagged.  "That's good."

Jim-Bean shouldered past them.  "Come on.  We've got a vampire to catch."


----------



## RedTonic

There must be something wrong with me because those last two posts had me stifling mad laughter on the MBTA.


----------



## talien

*Part 10 – Captive Audience*



RedTonic said:


> There must be something wrong with me because those last two posts had me stifling mad laughter on the MBTA.




Heh. On some level Guppy tore out what may well have been an innocent man's tongue (who just happened to be possessed by an alien bug). On the other hand, we were laughing hysterically too as Guppy went completely bonkers.  Mechanically, you could argue that the golem's confusion ability totally unhinged him.  But that's how my brother rolls -- give him an excuse to have his character go crazy and he will gleefully play out that weakness to the hilt. 

And now, on with the show!

=======

Occasional flashes of lightning spilled into the throne room in jagged shafts through the broken glass and iron frames of a large window in the wall opposite the entrance. Otherwise, the immense room stood in chilly, brooding darkness. Hundreds of cobwebs, thick with dust, hid the ceiling from view. At the far end of the hall, a huge throne stood atop a raised platform, its back turned to the room. Something hunched on the throne.

"Nadasdy," whispered Guppy.

Archive shook his head.  "I don't think so.  Look."

Whatever it was, it was large—larger than the throne, seeming almost draped over the massive chair and hanging over the arms and front. A tentacle or eyestalk rose above the dark writhing mass and twisted as if peering around.

"What…IS that?" asked Guppy.

The shapeless spawn was a great heap of flesh with only vaguely discernible features. Three large tentacles protruded from its body, but it constantly extended and withdrew an array of smaller appendages, each one bearing an eye, a mouth, or a less identifiable organ. Beneath its black, membranous skin, a pulsing heart glowed bright red, and two sac-like organs glowed a paler red beside it.

"Stand back." Archive took a few steps forward, raising his amulet.  "I'll take care of this."

To either side of the throne, the stone puddle as if it were water.  Gibbering masses of grey flesh rose up right out of the slate, covered with dozens of randomly placed eyes and mouths, of different sizes and shapes.

"By the power of the Elder Sign I…"

Everything else Archive shouted was drowned out by the shrieking voices.  The great hall echoed with them, shrieks and cries and worse of all laughter reverberating and rebounding off the walls and inside their skulls.  Jim-Bean stumbled backwards, hands clutching his ears.  He turned and fled from the room. 

The whip-crack of a tentacle cut through the din.  If Hammer hadn't had Guppy in view he would have missed the motion, it was that fast.  One of the tentacles from the thing on the throne reached out and, it seemed, barely brushed Guppy's cheek – a lover's caress.  It was enough.

Guppy went insensate, howling.  He was down, twitching, eyes rolling, mouth foaming. 

Hammer fired at the thing and another tentacle spiraled out, this one fired like a javelin. A powerful force pierced his shoulder, nearly spun him with the impact.  

Hissing from the pain, Hammer kept firing.  He felt the barbed tentacle pierce his shoulder and twist.  Flanges extended as the thing wiggled its tentacle in his wound.  It wanted him to suffer. 

It was difficult to think through the noise and the pain. He put both pistols to the tentacle jutting from his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Black fluid spewed all over as the tentacle withdrew, severed.  It was in pain. If it screamed, Hammer couldn't hear it. 

Archive was still shouting, holding his amulet up.  He looked tiny and pathetic in the huge room.  The two other masses of gibbering flesh sank back down and the cacophony diminished somewhat.  Archive's symbol was having an effect.

Hammer shook his head.  White hot pain lanced his shoulder.  The tentacle was still writhing, independent of the thing on the throne, remotely exercising its vengeance.

Hammer took aim at the sac-like organ and fired.  It burst in the black membrane and the two remaining tentacles flailed madly.  

The show of the thing's weakness hardened his resolve.  Hammer was losing blood fast.  He had to finish this before it finished him.

Grimacing through the pain, Hammer advanced.  The two tentacles cracked toward him, but they were slower than before.  Hammer skipped to the left as one smacked down.  The tentacle wasn't barbed like the one still jutting from his shoulder; he took comfort in thought even though the thing that had touched Guppy was far worse. 

He fired again, and the other organ burst.  Now the tentacles took up a defense position, trying to cover the glowing heart. 

Hammer chuckled at the irony.  Maybe the damn thing's heart shouldn't glow if it didn't want it to be a target. 

He fired again, missed, hit one of the tentacles.  Hammer spat up a little blood.  The tentacle had pierced more than his shoulder.  He'd have to ask Archive to fix that.

Hammer used both pistols this time.  He fired right and left of the thing and it had the intended effect.  The throne thing took the bait, trying to block the gunfire from both directions, which left its heart open for a split second.  Hammer put both hands together and sent a bullet right down the center.

The heart burst and immediately the noise stopped. The goo deflated, as if intelligence alone kept it propped up. 

Hammer looked around. Archive was down on his knees, tripoding with one arm, his free hand clutched around his amulet as if in prayer. Guppy was still rolling around, but his howling had stopped.  

A second later Jim-Bean came panting back through the door. "Did you get it?" was all he asked.

Hammer spat more blood out on the floor near the throne.  "Yeah, we got it."

Archive rose unsteadily to his feet. "Was that an Inconnu? Is Nadasdy sane now?"

"Maybe," said Hammer.  "That doesn't change anything. Fix up Guppy and let's go."


----------



## mxyzplk

Getting caught up with the new spate of posts, great stuff, glad you're back and thanks for posting it all!


----------



## RedTonic

More please!  I was biding some time by reading all of Shilsen's SH, but now I'm finished. Yet my appetite has only increased!


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 11 – Who is Number One?*

Sorry, sorry, I got sent on a business trip for a week, fell behind on writing story hours, and the baby isn't sleeping.  Fortunately we still have several installments to go before I fall totally behind.

Thanks to you both for the comments!

===============

Cobwebs hung from dust covered columns in the great hall. Stone gargoyles squatted motionlessly on the edge of a balcony circling some twenty feet above the floor. Cracked and faded frescoes adorned the domed ceiling, nearly obliterated by centuries of decay. Two great bronze doors stood closed opposite the arched entry. To the left of the entry, a staircase climbed into darkness. A wide hallway extended to the right.

Nadasdy stood at the top of the steps, dressed for battle.  He wore ancient full plate armor, blood red.  A huge sword was in his hand.  He held it solemnly, like a warrior statue.  And his features, normally jagged with rage, were frozen in a sneer. 

Hammer and Jim-Bean stood at the center of the hall, a revitalized Archive and Guppy fanned out slightly behind them.  

They were combat ready. Hammer's pistols were out.  Jim-Bean had his submachinegun slung loosely over his shoulder. Guppy's stake shotgun was loaded and ready.  Archive had his magical pistol in one hand, the amulet in the other. 

"It's over Nadasdy," said Hammer.  

Nadasdy's expression changed slightly.  His lips curled in a smile.  The rest of his features remained frozen. 

"It is indeed," he said in his upper class British timbre. "I should thank you.  You released me from the Inconnu's grip."

"Yeah, yeah," began Jim-Bean, "but see…it's time for a change—"

"It is indeed."  A husky woman's voice, familiar, interrupted him.  Her high heels clicking, Ariadne Hennessey walked over to stand next to Nadasdy in her power suit. "And that's why I gave you this mission."

Jim-Bean shook his head and sighed.  He knew it.  He just knew it. "So let's see…Nadasdy gets erratic, his pretty boy vampires take advantage of the lack of supervision to do whatever they want, they draw too much attention…"

Ariadne wore dark sunglasses, her hair up in a bun. "And I send in a desperate team of dupes to do our cleanup work without making it look like open rebellion.  You're as sharp as ever, Jimmy."

"This isn't the old days," said Jim-Bean, keeping his hand loosely on the grip of the gun. "The Section H I remember didn't have bloodsuckers."

If the words had any effect on Nadasdy he didn't show it.  Ariadne frowned.

"You're right, Jimmy.  This isn't the Section H you knew." She encompassed herself and Nadasdy with a sweep of her perfectly manicured hand.  "This IS the new Section H.  PISCES is overrun with the Shan.  You've already encountered Knightsbridge.  Our allies may be different than what we're accustomed but they are necessary.  I understand your skepticism."  She lifted up a folder she held in the other hand.  "This is everything on record about Windthrope Manor.  All of it. As a gesture of good faith, it's yours if you join us.  With Nadasdy restored to his right mind we will have enough firepower to fight back against the Shan."

"And if we don't?" asked Jim-Bean.

Ariadne shrugged.  "You are free to leave.  But you'll never survive long out there without our help."

Jim-Bean turned to Hammer.  "I don't know, guys. What do you think?"

The files exploded out of Ariadne's hand as a bullet tore through them.  Hammer, pistol still smoking, reloaded. 

Jim-Bean smiled.  "That's a no."

Ariadne sighed.  "That…was a mistake." 

Nadasdy looked to the left and right of them, and the entire room ground to life.  Gargoyles hopped down from balconies, serpent-headed torches slithered forth, and ornamental suits of armor clanked forward to flank the Count. 

Hammer danced backwards from the nearest snake-headed statue as it unleashed a gout of flame from one of its torches.  He rolled and came up firing.  The bullets sparked off its head.

Guppy, realizing his shotgun was useless, slung it over his shoulder and drew his pistol.  He fired a bullet directly into a gargoyle's head.  Nothing.

Ariadne drew an obsidian blade from behind her back and hurled it at Jim-Bean.  He held out one hand and it clattered to the ground.

"It's time," Hammer said to Archive.  "We'll give you as much cover as we can."

Archive nodded, chanting.  He already wore the ring.  He hefted Saint Markovia's thighbone in both hands.

The sight of it shattered the Count's cool demeanor.  He stretched forth an open palm and a blast of flame engulfed the entire hall below.

Jim-Bean tried to shield them from most of its effects, but he took the blast head on.  He reeled, blown backwards even as the animated statues around him blackened and burst.  The Count may have been sane but he was getting messy.

Ariadne shook her head, tearing off her sunglasses and releasing the bun in her hair.  Odd fibrous strands that looked from a distance like dreadlocks snaked with a life of their own.  Her eyes glowed a piercing red.

"Don't meet her gaze!" shouted Archive. 

"How am I supposed to shoot her then?" shouted Hammer.

Some of the statues, cracking from the heat, continued to advance.  Guppy fired, his bullets only managing to flake their already crumbling exterior. He gave up and ran towards the exit. 

Guppy cocked his ear as he made his back the way they came.  He knew that sound. Boots thumping.  Lots of men, hustling in uniform.

"Guys!" he shouted over his shoulder.  "I think…I think we're not alone in here!"

Jim-Bean groggily got to his feet, the melted flesh on his face knitting back together. 

"Yeah, we KNOW," growled Hammer.

"No I mean…I think there's a LOT of people in here with us.  Invisible!"

Black lightning flashed from the Count's fingertips.  Archive held up one hand and the energy dissipated into his palm.

"No," snarled the Count.  "The Ring of Parting Prevented!"

"That's right," said Archive.  "And if you know what is, then you know what I'm carrying…"

"You still have to deal with me!" Ariadne drew a pistol from her belt and took aim, but before she could get a bead on Archive, Hammer put a bullet between her eyes.  

If the Count had any affection for Ariadne he didn't react to her death.  

Archive advanced as more energy blasted from the Count's free palm.  Again it had no effect. 

Archive swung the thighbone but Nadasdy easily blocked it with his blade.  "I am nearly four hundred years old! I have fought more wars than your country has fought in its lifetime!  You're no warrior!" He shoved Archive, who stumbled back to a nearby wall. Nadasdy lifted his sword overhead with both hands. "I'll show you what a warrior can—"

The Count froze in mid-swing, gasping.  A bladed cross jutted from his chest. 

"Can do?" said a man who materialized out of thin air behind him. "Why yes," said Agent Raphael.  "Let's show him what a real warrior can do, shall we?"

Lean and wiry, Agent Raphael was filled with enthusiasm for his task; indeed, his dark eyes burned with divine fervor. He was dressed in an expensive suit, a full-body cloak covering his form, a golden sword in the shape of a cross in both hands.  The click of cocked machineguns echoed around them. 

"Damn," swore Jim-Bean.  "Hands of Glory." 

The magically-infused severed hands of criminals rendered the wielders invisible.  They were surrounded by invisible PISCES agents.  PISCES had sent an OCCULUS team, which mixed magic with technology to take down prey. 

Jim-Bean pointed at the papers on Windthrope Manor, now scattered across the steps.  They burst into flame. At least there would be no evidence left behind.

Nadasdy fell to his knees as Agent Raphael drove the blade deeper through his chest.  He was close to Archive.  "Run," Nadasdy whispered.  "I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

Archive stumbled to his feet and ran down the steps just as Raphael, using both hands, rammed the sword even further into Nadasdy.  The Count burst in a blast of red mist, dissipating into the air.

"Go!" shouted Archive, running past his companions and towards Guppy, who was ahead of them.  "Go!"

Hammer and Jim-Bean hesitated long enough to see a massive, human-shaped figure made of stone, steel, and lead appear out of thin air. Carved, magic runes inlaid with precious metals adorned its head, limbs and torso. The runes flared up into a variety of brilliant colors and suddenly they saw the other eight men with their weapons at the ready.

Hammer and Jim-Bean ran after Archive as gunfire erupted all around them.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 12 – Asking for Directions*

Jim-Bean skidded into the entry room to Thredra's lair.  He was really starting to dislike the place.

"It's done," he said.

"So I gathered." Thredra had changed.  Instead of her midriff-baring outfit she wore armor sewn from pale skins.  The armor was studded with sharp canine teeth and adorned with a voluminous hood.  Jim-Bean guessed it was made from people. Attired as she was, he actually found her more attractive.

"We saw mist come through here—" began Archive, but Jim-Bean cut him off.  

Thredra's gaze shifted from Archive back to Jim-Bean.  He could tell she didn't like Archive one bit.  "And you want to finish the job PISCES started."

"Think of it as a promotion," said Jim-Bean.  More gunfire.  The guardian Nadasdy had summoned was formidable, but it couldn't hold off an OCCULUS team magically loaded for bear. "It's decision time, Thredra.  The clock's ticking."

Thredra sighed.  "Fine.  You passed his tomb on the far right side."

"Is it trapped?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean sighed.  "Of course it's trapped."

Thredra smiled.  "I can't make this easy on you, you understand.  If word got out that I helped you—"

"The new minions would never follow you."  Jim-Bean nodded.  "Got it."  Boots marched down the hall. "Can you slow them down?"

Thredra nodded.  "Go all the way south in the catacombs.  You can't miss it." 

"Great," Jim-Bean turned to go.

"You'll need to find a way out of here.  You can't go back this way, it's not safe. There's a portal on the northwestern part of the catacombs, behind King Tomescu's tomb.  It will take you back to your destination, but I warn you…it will exact a price."

"Fine." The others went ahead of him down the hall.  The gunfire stopped completely. Now just booted steps echoed in the hall.

"Andy?"

Jim-Bean almost didn't turn around.   "Yeah?"

"How will I find you?"

Jim-Bean flashed her a smile and a wink.  "Windthrope Manor. Look me up."  

Thredra beamed, staring after the spot in the hallway after Jim-Bean had fled.  Then her expression turned serious.  "Bertram? We're leaving."

The disgusting muck in the pool at the center of the room bubbled to life.  One formed appendage lifted up a heavy trunk in the shape of a coffin.  The other slid beneath her feet.  It roiled beneath her, an ever-moving carpet of death at its mistress' beck and call.  

She lifted one hand without looking back to make her last order. "Toodles, Twiddles?  Block that passage!" 

The two oozing giants began squeezing their bulk through the hall behind her. 

"I knew those overgrown blood sacs would be useful for something," she muttered.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 13 – Nadasdy's Lair*

The arched ceiling of the catacomb sagged over squat crypts, forming a vast catacomb.  Thick fog clung to the floor at knee level.  Cobwebs hung limp in the musty air. 

Iron bars blocked a marble stair down to a great, murky tomb in which light seemed to be repelled, and from which wafted the smell of freshly turned earth. A shining black coffin of waxed wood with brilliant brass fittings was embedded in the dirt on the floor. On the far wall three alcoves waited. 

Jim-Bean pointed at the bars and made a pulling motion with both hands.  Nothing happened.

"Wow," he said.  "Too strong, even for me."

Guppy examined the portcullis for a moment.  "Can you guys help me with this stone block?"

Archive and Hammer pulled on the stone. The heavy stone fell out, revealing a chain mechanism.

Guppy reached in and, fiddling with the gears for a moment to a series of grunts, clicked a switch deep within the wall.  He snatched his arm back as the portcullis lifted.

Hammer clapped Guppy on the back. "Good job."

They descended the steps to the coffin. 

Guppy loaded his shotgun.  Archive hefted the thighbone. Hammer drew his pistols and nodded to Jim-Bean.  "Open it."

Jim-Bean gestured and the coffin lid blew off.

An imposing man lay within the black coffin, dressed in noble finery, with a black cape lined with red velvet.  His eyes immediately popped open and a hellish sneer twisted his features.

"Wait!" Nadasdy said, gasping.  "You're all alone in this world.  Think about what you're going to lose if you destroy me.  I'm the only ally you have.  Without me PISCES will hunt you down like dogs.  It's only a matter of time!"

"No thanks," said Jim-Bean.  "We work alone."

Guppy took aim with his modified shotgun. "Dodge this!" He fired the stake straight into Nadasdy's heart.  The vampire gaped in agony.

Archive lifted the thighbone high overhead and smashed it down onto the stake.  

"NOOOOO!" shrieked Nadasdy.  Bright white light flared from the thighbone into the stake, filling first the coffin, then the entire tomb.  When the light and the residual spots lingering in their vision faded, there was nothing but blackened ash where the coffin and Nadasdy once lay.

More gunfire echoed further down the tunnel.  "Thredra's buying us some time, but it won't stop the OCCULUS team for long.  Let's go."


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Part 14 – Escape*

The epitaph inscribed on the stone door read: King Tomescu; He Traveled Far. They didn't give it a thought as Archive and  Hammer wrenched it open. 

Fused to the west wall of the crypt was a stone ring, ten feet in diameter.  Disturbing glyphs and pictograms decorated the stone ring, which frame a shimmering curtain of green mist full of shifting stars, flashes of light, and blossoms of dark clouds.

"Let's go," said Jim-Bean. He strode towards the portal.

"Wait," said Hammer.  "Thredra said something about a price."

"Stay if you want.  I'm leaving."  Jim-Bean touched the portal and disappeared through it.

The entire catacomb began to hum, trembling as some great force shook its very foundation.  It was enough to make the others dive through after Jim-Bean.

They appeared a moment later in front of Windthrope Manor. Jim-Bean looked around, blinking.  He checked the time on his cell phone.  An hour had passed, though he didn't remember any of the journey.

The others came in a moment later.  

"Well that wasn't so bad," said Jim-Bean.  He trailed off as he got a good look at his companions.

They were all covered in claw marks, scratches, and bites. But from what and how, nobody could remember.

"Now we know the price," gasped Archive.


----------



## RedTonic

Post Easter bump. I hope you and yours had a lovely holiday.


----------



## talien

*Gothic: Conclusion*

It's a good thing you remind me Red...I'm so far behind on writing story hours that I forgot to update this one!  I've written three more installments, but I'm actually seven story hour chapters behind. And without further ado, let's wrap this sucker up!

==========

Thredra had to give Toodles and Twiddles credit.  They held off PISCES longer than she had hoped. 

But the PISCES agents were too close now.  She briefly considered taking the OCCULUS team on in their weakened condition – she guessed they were down a few men after encounters with the runic guardian and the blood hulks – but she knew more would be coming.  Castle Drake's rule was at an end. 

She didn't want to resort to such drastic measures.  But PISCES left her no choice. It was time to release the Blood God.

Bertram easily slid her down the tunnel.  The golem resumed its position before the altar, but it turned as soon as Bertram deposited her.

"Bertram, keep him busy."

The undead muck immediately obliged, wrapping tendrils of slime around the faceless statue.  It crept up over the thing's head just in time to catch a sneeze of vile red fluid, which instead caused a large, sagging bubble of pitch to form around its face.  It was disgusting, even for Thredra, who was wearing a suit of human skin.

She ran over to the altar and grabbed the cube.  It had a strange violet luster that suggested it was merely covered with a black coating.  Inscribed hieroglyphics had been incised upon its surface, which she recognized from the Necronomicon as protection against demons. It was surprisingly heavy – about the weight of a piece of lead of the same size. 

Thredra backed away from the altar as a thick reptilian stench billowed out of the hole beneath the cube. "Let's go Bertram!"  

The black slime disengaged from the animated statue and slid underneath her, ferrying her effortlessly into the darkness of the tunnel to the Darklands. 

The statue started after her, stopped, and turned around as the OCCULUS team lowered on zip lines.  There were five of them now, led by Agent Raphael. 

One of the agents fired a grenade launcher at the statue, obliterating it.  The cavern continued to rumble.  

Agent Raphael sifted some of the dirt of the cavern between his fingertips and sniffed it.  "She was just here." He pointed at the yawning maw of the partially collapsed tunnel.  "That way—"

A strange stirring began beneath their feet.  Looking down, the floor on one side of the cavern was ascending the stone wall, sliding down into darkness.  The shattered statue slid down into the darkness below. 

"Get back," shouted Agent Raphael.  "Back!" He screamed into the mic at his ear.  "Byatis is loose! Site has been compromised! Repeat, Castle Drake has been compromised!"

A slithering sound began below, mixed with a rubbery suction.  A black object slid from underneath the edge of a wall and began to expand upward, slapping itself blindly against the sides of the cavern.  It resembled a gigantic snake more than anything else, but it was eyeless and had no other facial features. 

One of the OCCULUS agents let loose with his machinegun on full auto.  The tentacle whipped around his torso and sucked him down squealing into darkness.

Raphael clambered up the zip line, shoving agents out of the way.  He made it to the top.  One OCCULUS agent was waiting for him.

"Give me your satchel charge," he snapped.

"But sir, there's still men down there."

"Now, soldier!"

The agent handed the entire satchel over. Agent Raphael set it and tossed the charge down the hole.

There was a protracted hissing sound from below, coupled with a terrible bass roaring, which rose in intensity and pitch before changing to a repulsive bubbling. The OCCULUS team, what was left of them, evacuated the building in jet black helicopters.

The explosion rocked the foundations of the castle.  Towers sagged and then cracked, tumbling into dust and ash. Thin greenish spirals of gas whirled out of the castle's tombs and collected in a thick cloud about fifty feet above.  The cloud seemed to congeal at one point of its ascent into a great swollen toad-like shape, which flapped away on vast bat-wings toward the west.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 59: Flesh for Eihort*

This story hour is from "Flesh for Eihort" by Linden Dunham from the Unbound Book. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
With the players almost all 14th level, I thought it was time to kick things up a notch.  Although Cthulhu was technically blown up, his "death" wasn't really a victory.  It was more of a plot device escape.  I wanted to see how the agents did in a toe-to-toe fight against a Great Old One.

The Goatswood Mythos are a much more physical lot, far more immediate and personal than Lovecraft's hulking monstrosities.  So they make for interesting targets that can actually be overcome with firepower.  A lot of firepower.  A whole lot of firepower.

Ostensibly the purpose of these scenarios is to set up an ongoing contact with the criminal underworld so that the agents have access to resources on the black market that they had when they were at Majestic-12.  They won't get access to sci-fi levels of equipment of course, but this scenario is the beginning of a devil's deal: the agents are going to get their hands dirty in return for access to weapons.  Was it worth it?

*Defining Moment:* Jim-Bean impersonates a drunken Welshman and nobody understands a word he's saying. 

Relevant Media

*Flesh for Eihort:* by Linden Dunham from the Unbound Book.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0812516605/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0812516605]Cold Print [/ame]:* by Ramsey Campbell.
*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000V639DI/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000V639DI]Polly[/ame]:* by Nirvana.


----------



## The_Black_Cat

This scenario sounds like the most interesting in a while. I'm unfamilliar with Goatswood (what novels does it show up in?), but, from your description it sounds quite promising. I started my own campaign without telling my players it was CoC (I described it as a detective game, and used the _Crimes People Play_ system) and my players loved it so much we kept gaming while giving them a ride home (I wasn't the one driving). Ended the session with one character fallling from the top of a lighthouse, one keeping cultists from killing the last detective whilst said detective squared off with a ghost in the Nether (a more personal, memory-driven version of the Dresden-verse's Nevernever, without faeries and such stuff). One of my players left absolutely terrified (a horror movie buff) and the others were fairly spooked.


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Prologue*



The_Black_Cat said:


> This scenario sounds like the most interesting in a while. I'm unfamilliar with Goatswood (what novels does it show up in?), but, from your description it sounds quite promising. I started my own campaign without telling my players it was CoC (I described it as a detective game, and used the _Crimes People Play_ system) and my players loved it so much we kept gaming while giving them a ride home (I wasn't the one driving). Ended the session with one character fallling from the top of a lighthouse, one keeping cultists from killing the last detective whilst said detective squared off with a ghost in the Nether (a more personal, memory-driven version of the Dresden-verse's Nevernever, without faeries and such stuff). One of my players left absolutely terrified (a horror movie buff) and the others were fairly spooked.




Hi Black Cat!

The area is technically the Severn Valley (Severn Valley (Cthulhu Mythos) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia) and the majority of which is in Cold Print. Sounds like you had an excellent time!  

And as a thank you for reminding me that this thread still exists, it's time for an update!

==============================



> _Polly wants a cracker
> Maybe she would like more food
> Ask me to untie her
> A chase would be nice for a few​_
> --_Polly _by Nirvana​



LOWER BRICHESTER, ENGLAND—Hammer stood before the Strapping Lad Pub's entrance.

Jim-Bean looked askance at the sign.  "This isn't a gay bar, is it?"

Hammer didn't dignify him with a response.  "Stay here," he pushed through the door. 

Nobby, the proprietor, merely pointed to Cornwell's favorite booth.  Hammer followed his finger.

The normally dapper and cool Cornwell looked unnerved.  His eyes were bloodshot and two beer glasses stood empty before him. 

"So th' time's come, mate.  I need ya to do somethin' fer me, and in exchange I'll do somethin' fer you."

Hammer slid into the booth.  "Oh?"

He tossed a manila envelope onto the table, hard enough that some of the contents slid out of it.  Hammer caught sight of a pale white arm, splayed on pavement.

Cornwell answered the unasked question as Hammer sifted through the envelope's contents.  "My brother, Gerald."

The picture was of a man in his forties, stripped to his waist. Gerald was bleeding from a head wound and also from several long cuts that formed odd brackets in his chest. His eyes were wide open, dead.  His nose had the telltale veins of a lifelong alcoholic. 

"He was ambushed in the street?"

"Around here," said Cornwell darkly.  "Gerald may have been a broken down drunk but he's still – he was…" he chewed on a few words to gain his composure, "…my brother. And I'll not let this go unanswered."

"And you want my team to do this," said Hammer.

"Aye, I do," said Cornwell.  "And I'll give you the tools to do it.  That symbol," he tapped an image that zoomed in on the cuts, "is the work of a cult, I'm sure.  If it's the work of one man then I want you to bring him to me.  If it's the work of a larger group then ye tell me where they are and I will treat them like any gang."

Hammer nodded.  He knew how Cornwell dealt with rival gangs.  "How did he die?"

"It's all there in the coroner's report," said Cornwell, impatient with Hammer's questions. "Cause of death was due to a fractured skull and internal bleeding. He was beaten about the head but survived for some time after the attack."

"I'll need my pistols.  And walking around money."

"£80 per day for each member of your team, plus expenses."

"And if we get him?"

"£1000 each. The envelope contains the possessions he had on him."

Hammer took the envelope and stashed it in his coat.  "We'll do it.  But know this – I'm not an assassin. I won't kill an innocent man just because you think he's suspicious."

Cornwell smirked.  "Yer a man of principles.  It's why I'm hiring ya instead of a couple of meatheads.  I got plenty of muscle to do that, don't you worry."  It sounded like a threat.

Hammer got up to leave.

"One more thing.  They found soil traces on Gerald's body.  He may have been underground at some point prior."

"Of course," said Hammer.  "That's how it starts."

As he left, Cornwell ordered another drink.


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Part 1 – Getting Chubby*

RedTonic keeps encouraging me so here you go!

===============

Karen Walters picked up the phone. 

"Hello," she said in a pleasant voice. "Lower Brichester Housing Association.  How may I help you?"

A voice so thickly accented that it bordered on unintelligible bellowed into the phone.  "Roit, ahait ya wot an ahppuntment wid Mistuh Chubb."

"Mister…Henry Chubb?  Yes, he's out doing his rounds.  He should be back soon." She looked up as the unassuming housing officer entered.  "Ah yes he's in, may I…"

A dial tone answered her.

"Call for me Karen?" asked Henry

Karen looked at the phone before hanging up.  "Apparently not.  And where have you been?"

Chubb's brows narrowed.  "Out.  Why?"

Karen folded her fingers together.  "Henry, you've been out quite a bit these days and I'm having difficulty accounting for your hours.  If you keep this up I will have to start docking your pay."

Chubb swallowed.  "I understand.  I'll do a better job of checking in—"

The door burst open and Gerald Cornwell burst in.  

"Eh? Roit!"  He stabbed a finger at Chubb.  "Yew!  I gotta bone tah pick wid—"

Karen stood up.  "Now, sir…"

Chubb put both hands up in capitulation.  "Karen it's all right. Mr. Cornwell, I see you received my warning."

Cornwell blathered on about rights and waved the notice in Chubb's face.  When Chubb took it from Cornwell, a slight tingling sizzled up his fingertips.  "Yes," he said, "that's my note.  We've received numerous complaints from the neighbors.  This is your last chance to clean up your act.  If there are any more complaints against you proceedings will be taken to evict you from your property."

Cornwell stormed out angrily.  A moment later he clambered into a black Rolls Royce Phantom and tore off his faux moustache and beard.  

"Yep," said Jim-Bean, rubbing the tender skin where the mustache had been.  "Chubb's our man." 

Hammer threw the car into gear as a blue Metro pulled out of the small park outside the offices.


----------



## RedTonic

A friendly bump for more scary goodness. :3


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Part 2 – The House on Coleford Road*

I'm now a whopping ten story hours behind!  This is separate from writing/posting them, but I'm working hard to get it all written.  If I were to post every day it could take over a month to catch up to "real" time. Work's kept me busy...

But anyway, as always RT, you keep reminding me to update.  So here you go!

===============

37 Coleford Road was a Victorian terraced house in an area of Lower Brichester which escaped redevelopment in the 1960s. 

Hammer went in alone, the welcome feel of a silenced Glock once more in his palm. It felt good to be back in action with the tools he knew best.

He padded up to one of the windows.  Chubb was inside, probably panicking over how the man he killed could possibly show up at his doorstep days later. Which was precisely the intended effect of Jim-Bean's makeup. 

The window looked into the kitchen.  It was in a state of complete chaos with dirty utensils and crockery scattered all over the place. Signs of a disordered mind.

Chubb popped up from behind a counter and their eyes locked.  Then he bolted out of the room.

Hammer swore at his bad luck and kicked open the back door. He reflexively reached for his cistron but then remembered he didn't have one.  There was no easy way to call for backup and Chubb was getting away.

Hammer plunged into the filthy, darkened dining room. Chubb dove down steps in one corner that spiraled into a cellar.  

Hammer squeezed off two shots. He tagged Chubb into the shoulder, but it didn't slow him. 

"Don't you understand?" shouted Chubb from the darkness below.  "The spider makes me do this.  I don't want to hurt you!"

Hammer pursued.  He clambered down the metal steps when someone grabbed him by the ankles and yanked. The world spun as Hammer hit the steps hard.  

"The cult makes me do this!  I was only killing vagrants until I met The Lord of the Primal Labyrinth!"

Something plunged into his thigh. Hanging upside down, one foot wedged in the stairs, he managed to tag Chubb again in the leg as he fled into the cellar's dark womb.

Then it was over and Chubb was gone.  His vision swimming, Hammer painfully twisted his foot out of the steps' metal grip and limped his way to the front room of Chubb's flat. With poison coursing through his veins, every second counted. 

Hammer's leg gave out on the way to the fridge.  But it wasn't his leg giving out; the nerves simply weren't reacting.  It was like a dead man's limb had been sewn onto his hip.

Hammer managed to claw at the fridge handle and tore it open.  Something dripping and wet rolled out to face him, glaring with accusing eyes at his failure. The head of one of Chubb's victims.

He wasn't going to make it. Hammer made his way to the door and, after fumbling with the chain lock, shoved it open.  He gave the signal, hoping Archive would get to him in time.

Archive and Jim-Bean moved immediately.  Archive laid Hammer out on the sofa, ignoring the dark stain on it.  He worked feverishly to stop the poison from spreading with a special enchantment for just such a purpose.

"He'll be fine," he said after a moment.  Hammer's breathing steadied.

Hammer stirred feebly. "Evidence," he coughed.  

"Right," said Archive.  He went into the study, a converted bedroom lined with shelves full of sci-fi and horror paperbacks. There was also a high quality digital camera with timer device and desktop PC. Archive plugged in a smart drive with a hacker code Guppy had given him.  In less than a minute it figured out the password: Chubb's middle name, Thomas. 

Then the parade of horrors began. The PC’s hard drive was chock full of pictures of Chubb’s victims taken with a digital camera. All of the subjects were dead and had horrific head injuries. They were posed in normal attitudes, sitting propped up in armchairs or at the dining room table. Some had glasses or cutlery placed in their hands as if they were having a drink or eating a meal. Chubb appeared in a number of the pictures smiling broadly, obviously enjoying the corpse’s company. It was an obscene parody of someone entertaining a particularly welcome guest. 

"There's more than enough evidence on his computer," said Archive.  "This guy was a real sick bastard."

"Good," said Hammer, coughing.  "Send them to Cornwell.  And then set them for an hour later to send to the police."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."  Hammer suddenly sat bolt upright. "Where's Jimmy?"

"He went down into the cellar.  Why?"

"Chubb may still be in the house!"


----------



## RedTonic

May I have an update for my birthday?


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Part 3 – The Thing in the Cellar*

In honor of your birthday, two updates at once!

Happy birthday RT!

===============

The cellar had a brick floor, which was very uneven.  There was a large hole in one corner of the cellar where the floor collapsed into a space underneath. Earth and bricks were piled up on one side of the hole to form a ramp leading into the darkness below.

Jim-Bean crept down the steps, pistol out.  He didn't like the look of the place and he wasn't inclined to play a cat-and-mouse game with a serial killer. He had intentionally let Hammer take the lead in investigating Chubb – he wasn't interested in getting psychically inside a murder's head.  But they were running out of time and Chubb was tough enough to take on Hammer.  It was time to step up the game.

Jim-Bean touched the floor of the cellar and focused, closing his eyes.

The path into darkness ahead of him yawned wide as Jim-Bean's mind expanded exponentially to explore the labyrinth.  It sucked him relentlessly into a whirlpool of thought, diverging into a labyrinth.  In the distance he could make out a dim glowing form.

Jim-Bean began walking the path.  As he walked, titles came unbidden to his lips: The Lord of the Primal Labyrinth, the Walker of the Sacred Roads, and The Invisible Fire That Works In Secret. He spoke them with each step, and as he strode forward into the labyrinth its lines wavered and shifted in position, what was outside the outer wall became hazy and indistinct.

The distortion increased the deeper he went, until the lines overlapped one another, and what was outside could not be seen at all. 

At last he was before the source of the glow, an ethereal, almost angelic presence, composed of burning wheels, white angel's wings and wise, ancient eyes.

When it spoke, a fatherly, wise-sounding chorus resonated in Jim-Bean's head. "WHEN THE METEORS FALL FROM POLARIS, THE BARRIERS OF MY LABYRINTH WILL BE WEAKENED AND I SHALL WALK AMONG YOU.  ACCEPT MY BARGAIN AND I WILL MAKE YOU MY—"

A sharp pain across Jim-Bean's face tore through the communication, and the angelic being shrieked with rage as he was sucked away back to the world above.

"…Jimmy!" Hammer raised his open palm to slap Jim-Bean again.  "Snap out of it!"

Jim-Bean caught his wrist.  "I'm okay."

Hammer rose, a little stiff.  "Good. Because you don't look okay."  

Jim-Bean looked down at himself.  Blood was pouring from multiple stab wounds, and a syringe stuck out of his neck.  Chubb had been busy while Jim-Bean was communing with whatever it was down there.

"Are you okay?" asked Archive.  "Judging from the amount of drugs he must have pumped into you…"

Jim-Bean rose, waving him off.  "I'm fine."

"Chubb got away. Get your stuff," said Hammer.  "We're going after him."

Jim-Bean rubbed his eyes and peered into the foreboding darkness.  "Don't tell me," he said slowly.  "He went into the labyrinth."


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Part 4 – The Blessed of Eihort*

They entered under an oddly carved overhang, and it was as if they had turned over a stone in some dark moist place; things came alive and retreated into the dark.  The labyrinthine tunnels were lined with an unidentifiable soft substance.  
The place was alive – Jim-Bean could sense that life pulsed and watched from every unlit room. 

Their makeshift torches flickered in the darkness, illuminating three human-shaped stalagmites.

"What is that?" asked Hammer, disgusted.

"Human bodies."  Archive wrinkled his nose.  "I think."

The corpses were swathed in what appeared to be thick spider webs. 

Jim-Bean inspected one closer.  "What happened to them?"

The eyes flicked open of one of the figures, mouth working soundlessly at first.  It was a woman, and her voice rose in a strangled moan of terror. 

"The Bargain!" she wailed.  "I MADE THE BARGAIN AND IT'S COME DUE!"

Archive glanced around at the flickering shadows. "If Chubb didn't know we were here, he knows now."

Hammer shook his head and sighed.  In a flash his shiny new Glock was aimed at the woman's forehead. 

He needn't have bothered.  The scream terminated in a choking gasp followed by a liquid, bubbling cough. 

The woman's face tore, a rent appearing from temple to jaw, opening the cheek to hang revealed; there was no blood – only something pale as things that had never seen the sun, pouring down the woman's body, which deflated like a balloon. The other two bodies opened like overripe fruit left bloating in the sun, their contents adding to the white swarm. 

Hammer leaped backwards as the swarm of enormous fat white spiders rolled forward.  He reflexively brandished his torch and the spiders recoiled.

"They fear fire!" said Archive.  "Burn them!"

The swung torches before them in wide arcs and the spider shrieked like infants, wailing for their mother.  

All Jim-Bean could think was that he had nearly made the bargain too.


----------



## RedTonic

@__@ CREEPY

But an excellent birthday present.  Thanks for the double update!


----------



## The_Black_Cat

Excellent update! I'm eagerly awaiting the next.


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Part 5 – Eihort's Cult*

Thanks for commenting!  It reminds me to visit this thread.

I'm now like 10 stories behind writing all this.  But I swear I'll catch up when my job calms down, my three-year-old lets me type, and my book projects are finished...eventually.

===========

Jim-Bean led them through the tunnels.  "We're close," he said.

Red robed figures slipped out in front of them at the edge of their torchlight. 

"More behind us," whispered Archive. 

Hammer drew both of his Glocks.

The gesture provoked them.  Automatic weapons bristled as Hammer took aim.  They ducked behind stalagmites, exchanging gunfire. 

"This is a waste of time."  Hammer squeezed off a shot and pieces of the cavern puffed in response. "If Chubb's still down here he's long gone.  We need to get out of here."

"I'm telling you he's close."  Jim-Bean ducked another shot.

A sibilant whisper responded very near Jim-Bean.  "Very close."

One of the cultists sneaking up behind them fell to the ground, gurgling from a gaping throat wound.  The other turned in shock and was rewarded with a knife in the gut.  

"They can't let this pass!" whispered Chubb, slipping back into the darkness.  "They'll release me from the Bargain for sure!"

"Where'd he go?" asked Archive, trying to aim everywhere at once.

The gunfire on the other end of the tunnel stopped. More shrieking, panicked gunfire, and then silence.

Chubb stepped forward into the torchlight, knife dripping with gore.  "This…this will make it stop."  He took a few haltering steps forward. 

Hammer kept a bead on him. "I don't think so."

Chubb lunged but Hammer legged him with a shot before he could take another step.  He fell on one knee, silent in his agony.

"The spider!" he growled.  Chubb staggered back to his feet.  "The spider…will not let me…stop!"

He lifted the knife to his own neck.

Hammer blew his hand off.

Now Chubb screamed, staring at the twitching bone that was once his hand.  Small, white spiders coiled amongst the gristle.

Hammer cocked his pistol and aimed it at Chubb's forehead.  Chubb kept screaming.  

Then Hammer released his finger from the trigger.  "Death is too good for you."  He whirled, releasing his overcoat and tossing it onto Chubb.  At the same time he lit it with the torch.

The coat instantly ignited in the heat, setting Chubb aflame.  The pain of the fire tore him out of his shock and he turned and fled, screaming the entire way.

"Well that's done. Can we go home now?" said Jim-Bean.

Hammer squinted.  The human torch that was Chubb receded in the distance.  But then it stopped.

"I think that's a good idea," said Hammer slowly.  "Let's go. Now."

Suddenly Chubb was returning.  Faster, smoother, undulating, bobbing up and down as if he was held aloft by…

Archive gasped as a wave of fat white spiders churned at their feet."Go!" he shouted.  "GO! GO!"

They turned and fled as the wave of white spiders grew into a crushing torrent, carrying Chubb's burning form aloft even as he continued to scream.


----------



## talien

*Flesh for Eihort: Conclusion*

Okay, okay RT, let's wrap this one up...

============

Hammer leaped out of the entry to the labyrinth in Chubb's cellar, which slurped shut behind them like a suppurating wound. 

A mustached police officer in a tactical vest stood silhouetted in the stairwell. His badge read: INSPECTOR BARRETT. 

"Got my message already?" Hammer checked his watch.  It seemed that no time had actually passed while they were in the tunnels, but he had long since learned not to trust timepieces in odd places.

"Oh yes," said Barrett.  "I got your message.  Where's Chubb?"

Jim-Bean jabbed a thumb over his shoulder behind him.  "Toasty."

Barrett looked from the sealed hole back to the former agents.  He seemed unsurprised by the warping of time and space. "That's too bad."

"Too bad?" asked Hammer, arching an eyebrow.

Then the shambling things stepped out onto the steps behind him. They were well-rotted and crawling with maggots, but on closer examination they were not maggots at all but bloated white spiders writhing in and out of their skull orifices. 

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Cops are corrupt here too eh? Easy fix for that."

Archive stepped up and presented the Elder Sign.  "The power of the Elder Sign compels you!"

The corpses dashed forward, surprisingly fast for zombies. Spiders leaped at them…

The eye at the center of the Elder Sign lensed open.  Its all-encompassing gaze swept the room, blasting the corpses and their spiders.  They burst into cleansing white flames, consumed almost instantly in a righteous conflagration.

Barrett looked left and right.  "Oh shi-"

Hammer put a bullet between his eyes and the inspector tumbled down the steps.

Hammer's phone beeped with a message.  Hammer flipped it open, heedless of the slack-jawed corpse he had just created at the foot of the stairs.

"Cornwell has another job for us. He thinks he found the cult's leader."

Archive frowned. "Since when did we become assassins?" 

"He's offering fully automatic weapons and new identities."

Jim-Bean stepped over Barrett's corpse on the way up the steps.  "Tell him we're in."


----------



## RedTonic

Yeah! Time to get some industrial strength insecticide.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 60: Curse of the Bone*

This story hour is from "Curse of the Bone" by from White Dwarf #86 by Marcus L. Rowland. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:


*Game Master:* *Michael Tresca *
*Kurtis "Hammer" Grange* (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by *George Webster*
*Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter* (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by *Jeremy Ortiz* (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
*Joseph “Archive” Fontaine* (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by *Joe Lalumia*
Curse of the Bone is an awful lot like Flesh for Eihort.  It features ghouls, a serial killer who is forced into servitude, and of course takes place in Britain. There’s no Eihort here, but that’s not a problem, as I just converted the ghouls to Spawn of Eihort (Kyuss, but you get the idea) and used a wormcaller instead of the ghoul named Priest.  Eric Green, the serial killer, became a high priest of Eihort – a sort of handler for the serial killer Henry Chubb from the other scenario.

Unlike the first scenario, I wanted the agents to feel like their efforts to root out this cult were escalating.  Things get a bit more dangerous, but then the agents have more firepower.  This was also a great opportunity to show how messy a gang war with a cult can be. 

*Defining Moment:* The Grove brothers decide to rub out a cultist with messy results. 

Relevant Media

*[ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0036BDUMA/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0036BDUMA]Curse of the Bone[/ame]:* by Marcus L. Rowland from White Dwarf #86.
*Feast of Eihort:* by James Gruetzmacher.


----------



## talien

*Curse of the Bone: Prologue*

Sorry RT, Hurricane Irene had other plans for my wireless access. But power's back on now!

==========



> _Oh great Eihort, rise up and consume,
> The lost souls that challenge your presence,
> Those who see your gelatinous cocoon,
> Under lurid rays of phosphorescence.​_
> --_Feast of Eihort_ by James Gruetzmacher



ALBERTON, ENGLAND—The agents arrived at an entirely normal lot, somewhat isolated by its location between a junk yard and a sewage farm.  There was a chain-link wire fence around the lot, topped with barbed wire, with two entrance gates. Cars for sale were littered throughout.

"This is where he asked us to meet him?" asked Jim-Bean, skeptical. "At a used car lot?"

Hammer shrugged.  "If it gets us what we need, I don't care."

"And we're supposed to kill someone else for him?" Archive frowned.

"Only if they deserve it." Hammer scanned the lot. 

"I'm tired of hunting cultists.  I want guns."  Jim-Bean patted a sporty-looking vehicle.  "And new wheels would be nice."

"You don't like Guppy's adjustments to the Phantom?" asked Archive.

Jim-Bean snorted and inclined his head towards their vehicle, a black Rolls Royce Phantom. "I'd rather not drive a car that makes me look like I'm the Green Hornet, thanks."

A black Jaguar XJ-6 roared onto the lot.  Two hard-looking men in gray business suits and overcoats stepped out. 

"You uh," the dark-haired man fished a card out of his pocket and read it. "Hammer?"

Hammer's fingers twitched. "Who wants to know?"

"We're the Grove brothers. He's Chris, I'm Pete," said the lighter-haired thug.  "Cornwell sent us to deliver the goods."

"Here?" asked Jim-Bean.  "In broad daylight?"

Chris made his way over to the trunk.  "We like to think of it as killing two birds with one stone."  He hefted a heavy satchel filled with guns.  "Pop your trunk."

Archive popped the Phantom's trunk and Chris dropped the bag into it.  "Guns in the first bag.  In this one…" he gingerly handed it over to Archive, "…this one's got nightvision goggles and other stuff."  

"And finally," said Pete, patting his pockets until he found an envelope.  "Here's your new identities."  He handed Hammer an envelope.

"Good…" Hammer trailed off as Pete went back to the car and drew an Uzi from the back seat. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"Killing the other bird," said Chris, who bristled with weapons beneath his overcoat.

"Excuse me!" A dapper car salesman in a three-piece suit charged over to them. "You can't just come in here like this.  I'm going to call the police…"

Pete let his jacket fall so that the Uzi was concealed. "Are you Eric Green?" 

"Who wants to know?"

Chris pointed at the salesman's nametag that read: HI, MY NAME IS: ERIC GREEN. "Yeah, that's him."

"Good.  We've got a message for ya: Don't ever f**k with the Cornwell family." And with that Chris sprayed Green with gunfire at point blank range.

A second later Pete joined in, adding his own Uzi's spray to the chaos.  The agents drew their own firearms but ducked for cover, unsure who to shoot at. 

When the Grove brothers' clips were emptied, Green stood there with arms crossed.

"Are you finished?" he asked.  "Because that was a very big mistake."

He made a double-quick gesture with both arms across his face and disappeared.  The Grove brothers looked at each other in shock.

One of the cars that had suffered the brothers' wrath exploded, flipping end over end as its gas tank ignited. It landed on another vehicle, spraying flaming debris everywhere.

"Amateurs," muttered Hammer, shaking his head.

Pete asked the obvious. "Where'd he go?" 

Chris didn't answer.  His dumbfounded expression was frozen, but his eyes rolled desperately, trapped in a body that wouldn't move. 

"Chris?" asked Pete.

Something pulsed in Chris' head, roiling like a serpent in a lake across his cheek. Jim-Bean fired a clip into his head before the thing could escape.

Pete spun, Uzi trained on Jim-Bean.  "What the hell did you do that for?"

"Trust me, you don't want to see what was inside his head."

"That was my brother you stupid cu—" Pete never finished his sentence.  His eyes rolled upwards as he stared at something so horrible that it contorted his features into an infant-like wail.

The agents looked up.  Nothing.

Pete wet himself, staggering backwards in the grip of utter terror.  He gurgled an animal-like cry and fell to a fetal position.

Archive checked on him.  "He's dead."

Hammer slapped on the nightvision goggles from the bag. "This is why you hire professionals.  Let's go."


----------



## RedTonic

Ha! That was a good update.

I'm glad you guys weathered the hurricane well. We in Providence also got fairly lucky, though I heard about 40% of the state lost power during the storm. Our block lost internet for half the week, but hey, that just means I had to go be productive.


----------



## talien

*Curse of the Bone: Part 1 – The Flat*

Thanks RT.  I recommend never bailing water for four hours.  I'm still one big ball of ache.

====================

The only building on the lot was a brick structure built in the late 1940s.  It consisted of a garage and office, with a small apartment perched on its flat roof.  The door was still open so the agents let themselves in.

The flat above the office was compact but comfortably furnished.  A narrow staircase led to a hall linking the living room, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom.

The living room showed no obvious signs of any sinister activities. Shelves contained books on different models of car, a few novels (pornography, spies, and adventure) and some road maps and directories. Other furniture included a television, radio, cocktail cabinet, and a fish tank.

Jim-Bean kicked open the cellar door.  "Cult sorcerer?  Check.  Creepy cellar?  Check. All we need is…"

"A labyrinth."  Hammer tried the light.  It didn't work. 

Archive slapped his nightvision goggles down and peered down the stairwell. 

The room was packed with old tires, boxes, car components, and junk.  Narrow gaps in the rubbish led to an old cupboard under the stairs.

Hammer led the way.  He kneeled down to investigate the floor. There were faint brown bloodstains, and a faint damp musty smell. He knocked on the rear wall and, listening to the hollow sound, nodded.  "Plywood."  

He yanked it aside to reveal a tunnel.   

Jim-Bean sighed.  "I'm really getting sick of these tunnels."

They advanced, weapons at the ready. The tunnel behind the cupboard ran north-east for thirty feet to join an old sewer system under the used car lot. 

The tunnels were damp, humid, and smelled from their former use.  Rats billowed out, disturbed by the agents' passage. 

Another branch of the tunnel ran past a side tunnel and entered an old arched masonry tunnel covering an underground stream. Hammer shoved the door open. 

It was an old air-raid shelter.  The floor of the chamber was comparatively clean, but marked in a pattern of lines.

"Eihort's symbol," whispered Archive.  Two boxes, made of cunningly joined human bone, shuddered as the door opened. 

"Nope, no cultists in here!" 

Jim-Bean slammed the door shut, leaving whatever lay within the boxes to their own devices.


----------



## talien

*Curse of the Bone: Part 2 – The Crypt*

A crudely dug tunnel led from another old sewer to the floor of an old crypt. Hammer kicked open the door. 

There were two coffins in the crypt, and stairs led down. 

"Oh great—" began Hammer, but then a rustling noise alerted them to bigger problems.

Loping down the hallway was death and its minions. The leader was a stooped creature sheathed in armor, over which lay the tattered remains of ancient robes of state.  The creature's shriveled and tortured limbs teemed with writhing hordes of white spiders.  The spiders moved over the creature's decayed body, crawling between the plates of its armor.

Behind it half-stumbled eyeless corpses bursting with white spiders. 

Archive frowned. "Maybe we should have dealt with what was behind that door."

"Yeah well too late for that now."  Jim-Bean reached one hand out and pulled.  The ceiling collapsed behind them, burying the thing in armor and its minions.

"Did it ever occur to you that we may need to get out of here?" asked Hammer.

"You won't be leaving," snarled Green's voice. 

He appeared out of thin air in the middle of the steps as more spider-ridden corpses shoved coffin lids aside.  Jim-Bean wailed and clutched his head, falling to his knees in agony. 

Archive dug out his Elder Sign.  "By the power of the—"

Green smirked and pointed at Archive.  His arms withered to blackened husks and he screamed, collapsing in shock.

"And now for you!" Green pointed at Hammer, but he found himself staring down a barrel.

The gunshot bucked his head and he flew backwards, smashing into the shambling corpses at the end of the hall.

The collapsed tunnel behind them rumbled.  Hammer kicked Jim-Bean to the side and dragged Archive out of the way as the rock that clogged the passage was violently ejected.  The corpses that managed to regain their feet from Green's impact were instantly pulverized from the force.  A giant had cleared its throat.

Hammer ducked his head out to peer down the cleared tunnel.  A foaming wave of white sloshed up one side and down the other towards them.

"Spiders," muttered Hammer.  "Jim-Bean, get up!"

Jim-Bean blinked, clearing the mental cobwebs.  "What happened?"

"No time, we have to find an exit."

Archive unsteadily rose to his feet.  "Like that?" He pointed with his restored hand. 

The rock blast had blown open a previously covered tunnel.  "It'll have to do! Go!"

They clambered up the tunnel just as the bloated wave surged into the upper room.


----------



## talien

Was just thinking of you RT!  The campaign finished last weekend!  I'm very far behind in write ups, but now that I know you're still paying attention I have extra motivation to finish.  My goal is to wrap all that up so we can move on to our next campaign.  Thanks for reading (and caring!). There should be new posts soon.


----------



## RedTonic

Wonderful! I'm always happy to hear of a campaigns successful conclusion. I'm looking forward to more installments.  forgive the typos, I'm postig from a phone.


----------



## talien

*Curse of the Bone: Conclusion*

All right, time to wrap this campaign up before the end of the year.  Unfortunately I've moved on to other writing projects so I can't write out in full fiction form the entire campaign like I used to.  I'm already on to something else.  But I feel I owe it to Red Tonic to actually finish this, so I'll post what I do have (several chapters to go of fiction), and then summarize what happened to the end of the campaign so at least we get some closure. 

Thank you for reading!

=======

Hammer's phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"It's me.  Listen, I found the cult's headquarters.  I want ya to take it out."

"We're not assassins, Cornwell. I told you that."

"I know.  Which is why I sent the Grove brothers to do it.  But ya saw how that worked out, right?"

"Yeah," said Hammer.  "I saw."

"Then you'll want to do this.  These bastards killed me kin.  They're gonna pay."

"Are you?"

"I'll play ya in explosives.  Big ones.  Whatever you need, it's yours, after this."

Hammer relayed the message to Archive and Jim-Bean.  They agreed.  They were going to need more firepower with the number of eldritch abominations they were facing after the Nightmare Wave.

"Okay.  We'll help—"

"One other thing."

"Yeah?"

"I'm coming with ya." 

Cornwell hung up before Hammer could protest.


----------



## talien

*Chapter 61: Live Evil - Introduction*

This story hour is from "Live Evil" by Dave S. Moore. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster
Live Evil is an interesting con scenario that's very difficult to survive.  The characters play a camera crew following another camera crew's disappearance on Halloween.  The story involves an entire village full of cultists with no rules on adjudicating an attack, an assumption that one of the characters will end up making Eihort's bargain, and a lot of dramatic but ultimately forced narrative that puts the investigators on a road to hell.

I tweaked it, but only slightly.  Capable agents with firepower have a fighting chance.  I also put the rules for mobs to good use, which helped turn the village cult into a formidable but quantifiable foe. The rest of the scenario played out pretty much as expected, although I fleshed out a few additional beasts to spice things up. 

The agents demonstrated their powers are now far beyond mortal man.  Jim-Bean in particular can levitate himself and others, and that ability alone changes the tactics significantly. 

Defining Moment: Cornwell decides to go out with a bang. 

Relevant Media

Live Evil by Dave S. Moore: Halloween. A busy time of year for employees of the Sci-Fi channel, such as yourselves. However, on this particular night of the dead, a camera crew have gone missing in a creepy little village in Wales? Can you find them before...things that definitely should not be...find you? YSDC Files - Modern Day Scenarios - Live Evil - Yog-Sothoth 
Meet Your Master by Nine Inch Nails: [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000VZTJ0G/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B000VZTJ0G]Amazon.com: Meet Your Master: Nine Inch Nails: MP3 Downloads[/ame]


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Prologue*



> _You want to play a new game
> You put on this blindfold
> You do what we tell you
> You do as you're told_​
> --Meet Your Master by Nine Inch Nails​



LLANGORSE, WALES— Night blanketed the tiny village of Llangorse as they finally arrived. 

"I sent a camera crew here," explained Cornwell, decked out in full combat gear complete with a tactical vest, shotgun shells draped over one shoulder, an Uzi, and a belt of grenades. "They never reported back."

"A camera crew?" asked Jim-Bean.  "You own a television station?"

"I got a lotta contacts," said Cornwell.  "They were supposed to be filmin' a documentary about the place.  I do it all the time, send in reporters to scope the opposition out."

Hammer drove down the tiny and twisting main street. "And send innocents into danger." 

Patches of fog crept across the light from their headlamps, no doubt sweeping in from the nearby lake. Its pale curtain enshrouded the village, giving it a ghostly death like quality, an impression not helped by the lack of activity. 

"I've never sent a man to his death that didn't deserve it," said Cornwell. "The gangs won't off a journalist – most of 'em would welcome the publicity.  But these kooks – they don't play by any rules.  'sides, this may well be a rescue mission too.  If they're still alive."

Archive looked out the passenger side window. "I don't think there's much life here."

Indeed, the only activity seemed to be a few stragglers making their way to and from the village pub, which was lit by the only streetlight in the village.

"Maiden Manor is the place they were investigatin', the place I thought was the cult's lair."

As they reached the other end of the village, the large, dark silhouette of Maiden Manor loomed. There was no sign of life – there were no lights on. 

Leaving the road, and pulling into the driveway, their headlamps illuminated the Tudor facade of the manor house. The darkness in the windows confirmed the impression of complete inactivity.

The 4x4 came to rest by the cement steps leading up to the grand oaken front door. When Hammer switch the engine off the encroaching fog muffled all sound, leaving only the deathly quiet of the Welsh countryside. The subdued light from the rising moon cresting distant hills added to the isolation.

Jim-Bean got out of the 4x4 and stretched his legs.  "Okay Cornwell, have you dealt with the supernatural before?"

Cornwell snorted, checking his shotgun.  "I'm from Brichester.  I know how to deal with it. Why?"

Jim-Bean's voice echoed in all their heads. "Because you're going to deal with it right now."

Cornwell blinked.  "Blimey!  That's a neat trick. Better'n headsets that's for sure."

Jim-Bean grinned.  It was refreshing to meet someone who didn't scream or shoot at psychic phenomena.  "I think we'll get along just fine."

"Speaking of your abilities, can you scan the house Jimmy?" Hammer spoke out loud out of habit. 

"Scan the house?" asked Cornwell.

Jim-Bean nodded and turned to face the house.  He put one hand to his temple and stretched the other towards the front of the manor house, scanning each room as if he were holding a laser microphone.

After a few minutes he shook his head.  "Static.  There's definitely some psychic phenomena in there."

Hammer cracked his knuckles. "Looks like we're going in.  Be ready for anything."

Cornwell clutched his shotgun a little tighter.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 1 – Ground Floor*

After jimmying the lock they entered the manor proper, a large hall with a high-beamed ceiling. The floor was polished and lacquered wood and the walls were wood paneling. The walls were decorated with tapestries and paintings showing scenes from every-day life in the 17th century. There were various mahogany cabinets, dressers and drawers scattered about the periphery of the room. In the middle of the room was a large plain rug. The windows were stained glass and filled with various heraldic symbols and a large curved wooden banister and staircase led up to the first floor. In the middle of the ceiling was an extremely expensive-looking and impressive crystal chandelier. Various doors led off to other parts of the ground floor.

Jim-Bean focused.  "There was a camera here.  Someone smashed it."  He pointed at the rug.  "They swept the pieces under the rug."

Cornwell looked crestfallen.  "So they were here."

"And they weren't alone," said Jim-Bean. "There's something in the lounge."

He made his way over to the lounge.  The room was decorated in a similar fashion to the study, but there were several old sagging couches and sofas scattered about the room. Mounted on the wall opposite the window, and looking rather out of place was a shiny silver crucifix.

Archive froze, transfixed, staring.  

The room darkened suddenly. The crucifix on the wall glowed with a bright light and then burst into flames. They flared for a moment and then subsided, as quickly as they started. The darkness fled and the rest of the room returned to normal. 

"Did you guys see that?" asked Archive, gasping.  "The crucifix is burning!"

Jim-Bean and Hammer exchanged glances.  "Uh, no?"

The crucifix hung on the wall, unburnt and seemingly untouched…

Archive touched it.  It was cool.  He pulled the cross off the wall.

"Hey!" protested Cornwell, a God-fearing Catholic. "That's a symbol of our Lord yer playing with there…"

His protest was interrupted by the SHING! of a sword drawn from its sheath.  A glistening blade protruded from the cross held aloft in Archive's hand, the other filled with the sheath that was formerly the bottom of the cross.  He looked like a Templar called to service.

"Looks like you had that vision for a reason."  Jim-Bean, unimpressed, was already on to the next room.

"The last time we saw that was on an OCCULUS agent from PISCES," said Hammer.  "So be careful."

Archive nodded and sheathed the blade.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 2 – The Master Bedroom*

It took awhile for the other agents to catch up to Jim-Bean.  He was silent, head cocked.

"What?" asked Cornwell.  The others knew better than to interrupt Jim-Bean when he was in a trance.

Jim-Bean put one finger to his lips.  "Shh.  I'm listening."

Cornwell looked around.  "To what?"

"To history."



> A female voice whispered, "I I have a bad feeling about this. Something isn’t right."
> 
> "Quiet Emma," said a male voice. "It is vitally important that nothing disturbs Chris."
> 
> There was a pause.  Long silence was followed by a dull thump.
> 
> "Is it me or is it getting cold in here?" asked the female.
> 
> "Yes it is, isn’t it?" replied the male.
> 
> "Do you think—" the woman was interrupted by an exclamation from another woman, by the window.
> 
> "$#!+! Look out there… what are those lights?"
> 
> "Hold on a moment, this tape is coming to an end," said the male. "I’ll need to change tapes."
> 
> "No damn it!" shouted the second woman. "Look at all those lights outside!"
> 
> "Crap…you’re right. What are they?"
> 
> There was a muffled bang.  Several of the people in the room shouted in unison.
> 
> Sounds of running feet were followed by another loud bang.
> 
> "Oh $#!+! What are those things?"
> 
> More footsteps followed by a dull thud.  Silence.
> 
> The female shrieked, "They’re all over me!" followed by a burst of staccato screams, then a curious gurgling noise.




Jim-Bean took a deep breath, snapping out of his trance.  "Something very bad went down here," he said.  "And I don't suggest we stick around to find out what it is."


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 3 – Gone Daffyd*

Just outside the manor house, a fog-veiled figure was silhouetted by the pale moonlight. Some six-foot high and wearing a long black coat, it stood with its back to them, unaware of their presence.

Jim-Bean crept up to him, pistol at the ready.  "Turn around slowly."

"Wha?!" The man spun and a spray of urine nearly spattered Jim-Bean. 

The man had a careworn grimy face. Two glistening blue eyes stared out from beneath a full beard and moustache. The eyes were unfocused and initially uncomprehending. Jim-Bean knew the smell of a drunk, back when he still ate and drank. 

“Who…who are you?” he stuttered, in a thick Welsh accent, before shrugging his shoulders in protest. 

"More importantly," asked Hammer menacingly.  "Who are you?"

“Leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with whatever it is you want!”

"I think you can take some time to chat with us."  Jim-Bean took a flask out of his pocket.  "Here."

The man's eyes followed the flask like a fish desperate to plunge into water.  He snatched it out of Jim-Bean's hand and took a swig. "Yer very kind, stranger."

"As my friend was saying…"

"Th' name's Daffyd James Jones. I grew up around here."

Cornwell grabbed him by the collar to get the drunk's attention.  "And did ya see a camera team here?"

"Aye. There was a camera team in the village for the last couple of days – I don't know where they went though.  I'd ask at the Merry Maiden if I were you."

And with that he slowly stumbled his way to the pub.

"Well, guess we should go with him," said Hammer. "Jimmy, you're with me.  Archive, Cornwell, you take point outside."

The fog lifted somewhat as they started to make their way towards the center of the village. From up ahead came a shrill whistle, blasting through the fog, followed by a roar. Ghostly lights appeared, dulled and softened by the pale foggy curtain still hanging in the air.

Then suddenly, as if by some supernatural hand, the fog cleared. A group of people holding bottles and pint glasses were standing outside the pub, surrounding a large grey shire horse, draped in a saddle covered with garlands of flowers. The horse seemed unbothered by the drinking and dancing of the villagers. Indeed, they could hear their cheers and songs, most of which are unintelligible due to intoxication. One lonely street light, mounted on the wall of the pub, illuminated the scene, casting a gentle orange glow on the whole area.

The horse was guarded by four large and burly villagers dressed in black and green capes, who stood facing outward, staring into the night and not partaking in the general festivities. One of them was holding the bit and bridle of the horse.

"Hey," said Hammer.  "What are you doing with that horse?"

"It is a symbolic sacrifice to the spirits of the dead, to prepare for the forthcoming Winter. This is all cleared by Constable Pritchard.” 

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "I don't like this.  This looks cult-like to me."

"Of course it is," said Hammer nonchalantly. Marching to their doom, they made their way to the Merry Maiden.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 4 – Maiden Merry*

Entering the pub was like stepping backward into the 17th century. The ceiling was low, dominated by large wooden beams. The atmosphere was smoky, making it nearly impossible to see the long low bar on the other side of the room. 

The smoke was produced by a dozen tables worth of villagers, talking amongst themselves whilst sipping their drinks. Some of them were wearing costumes of garlands of flowers and long capes. A few glanced up as the agents entered before returning their attention to their drinks and the conversations they were having. 

The only concession to the modern era was a fruit machine standing lonely in one corner, multi-colored lights flashing away, ignored by the rest of the pub.

"We're looking for Pritchard," said Hammer.  

"Ya mean Constable Pritchard of the South Wales Police”, corrected a hook-nosed villager.  He pointed to a large gentleman sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with another villager.

Constable Pritchard was a youngish man with blond hair. Judging by his farming clothes he was off-duty. He cheerfully waved them over. The thin man with sallow features got up and left without saying a word.

"What kin I do fer ya gentlemen?"

Hammer didn't sit, his stance aggressive, hands at the ready to reach for his pistols if need be. "We're looking for a camera crew that was at the manor house.  Have you seen them?"

"Oh aye. They were in the village, but left this morning to go film somewhere outside of the village. They are due back sometime this evening when they will be filming the Ceremony on the mountain."

"Hammer," said Jim-Bean, one hand inching under his overcoat.

Hammer waved him off. "That the ceremony that involves the horse.  Going to slaughter it or something?"

Pritchard looked indignant. "The Ceremony is a time-honored village tradition, stretching back hundreds of years. Every Halloween, a straw man is burnt on the mountain as a respectful nod to our Celtic ancestors. The horse is not going to be sacrificed in reality but only symbolically."

"That's when the giant straw man comes to life and kills everybody," whispered Jim-Bean.  "I say we torch the place."

"In fact, the Ceremony is just about to start.  Would you like to accompany me?"

Hammer and Jim-Bean exchanged glances.  "Sure."

Pritchard gathered up a bulging rucksack from beneath the table and left. The pub emptied soon after.

Outside, a gaggle of villagers, some of which were wielding flaming torches, milled about. Constable Pritchard produced a whistle and blew on it shrilly. The villagers formed up into a drunken approximation of a military procession with the horse at the front. Out of nowhere appeared Jones, manhandled by two villagers, and he was lifted up onto the horse

The fog lifted, leaving a crisp, clear Autumn night with the stars sparkling brightly above. The whole convoy of over sixty villagers staggered off out the village and slowly up the hill on foot, chanting and singing Welsh folk songs.

Following the procession, Jim-Bean and Hammer, trailed by Archive and Cornwell, made their way to the ritual site on top of Givenny Hill.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 5 – The Fool on the Hill*

A gently winding road led up Givenny Hill for approximately half-a-mile at a fairly steep angle. The villagers made surprisingly good time up the hill, sobering up. 

The top of the hill was deserted and in darkness. From that height the countryside could be viewed for miles around. Nestled immediately at the foot of the hill was the village of Llangorse, a few sparse lights the only sign of its presence. 

Coming up the hill the torches in the winding column of villagers were visible. To the west, Llangorse Lake stretched out into the darkness, the weak moonlight reflected off the surface and gave it a curious grey tint – it appeared like a thin sheet of grey silk stretched between the hills. 

The lake itself was interrupted by several small heavily wooded islands rising out of the water like blackened pimples. The hilltop itself was bare and covered in short grass. 

A gigantic wicker behemoth stood at the very highest point of the hill. Some thirty feet tall, its feet surrounded by piles of firewood and kindling, it reinforced how insignificant and puny man was. It rose up into the darkness, seemingly built by the hands of giants and not mortal men.

The villagers spread out and formed a circle around the statue. Pritchard started putting on some black robes that he produced from a rucksack. 

Jim-Bean was just shy of pulling his guns out.  "Wait.  Did he really just put on cultist robes?"

Pritchard, masked and robed, strode forward to address the crowd. His voice was surprisingly low. 

“Brethren”, he said, “tonight marks the final triumph. We have gathered here every year for decades, and our fathers before that, and our forefathers before that. We have fought the infidels and their foreign idols, and we have triumphed!” 

His voice grew louder. “But brothers and sisters – we have a new threat. You all know of whom we speak, and the Lord of the Labyrinth is not pleased. Therefore another sacrifice is required. Behold!”

He reached up and pulled down Jones from the horse. Strong hands from behind seized him and several burly villagers wearing capes and garlands brought him forward and held him in front of Pritchard.

Pritchard spoke again. “Ah brother Daffyd…for too long you have refused to join us, instead seeking comfort in the solace of the bottle. But no longer. My gift to you is revealed.”

There was a strange retching noise, as Pritchard bent over double and stumbled. Even in the weak moonlight, glistening arcs of a steaming black liquid emerge from his body. He collapsed with a curious gurgling noise. 

It was answered by a piercing scream as Pritchard's cloak ruffled, as if there was a wind, and several white spider-like creatures emerged from beneath it.

"That's it!" Jim-Bean threw back his overcoat to reveal his firearm.  "I'm torching this place!" 

The spiders swarmed over Pritchard for a moment, and then leaped towards Jones, still held fast. They clamber up his body.  He let out a scream as they burrowed their way into his face, their tiny repulsive white limbs forcing apart his mouth. 

A red hole appeared in his forehead as Hammer put Daffyd out of his misery. 

Daffyd collapsed to his knees for a moment…then gradually stood up.

Daffyd spoke in a very different voice than his usual drunken slur. Strong and commanding, he shouted with the strength of a man unburdened by years of alcohol abuse.

“The time is at hand! The Shambler below demands obedience. Time for the ceremony to begin!” he said with a flourish. 

With that signal, there was an orgasmic moan from all the assembled villagers.  They converged on Hammer and Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean levitated both of them up into the night sky.  "Cornwell," he telepathically transmitted, "if you've got some grenades, now would be a great time to use them!"

"No, wait—" shouted Hammer, helpless in the grip of Jim-Bean's telekinesis. 

FOONT!  A grenade struck the base of the wicker man.  The wicker statue lit up almost immediately, sending a torrent of flames into the night sky. As if in response, the sky itself seemed to catch fire. Several large shooting stars suddenly passed overhead, and headed over the lake. Stunningly, a series of motes of light rose from an island in the middle of the lake and rise up into the night sky. Somehow, they met the shooting stars and there was an almighty flash and a loud bang.

The mob let out a low roar as they surged towards the source of the grenade.  Archive stood before them, arm outstretched, chanting.  The end result was a white hot column of flame that shrieked downwards, instantly incinerating several villagers and setting fire to others nearby.  

FOONT!  Another grenade from Cornwell blew up a piece of the countryside.  The burning wicker man threatened to topple.  

"You want your sacrifice?" snarled Jim-Bean, eyes flickering from the bonfire. "Here it is!"  He pointed at the burning statue and the blazing head detached.  It bounced and rolled down the hill, crushing some villagers and igniting still more.

"Put me down!" shouted Hammer.  "I see something we can use!"

The mob reorganized itself, spreading out to attack the area where Archive and Cornwell were holed up.  Jim-Bean tossed Hammer near a farmhouse.  He landed on a haystack in its loft…

…and left driving a thresher.  The thresher smashed through the double doors and kept going.  Villagers dove out of the way. 

"Where's Daffyd?" Hammer thought into the mindlink that connected the agents and Cornwell.  "We've got to take out the leader!"

"They're done," said Jim-Bean.  "The villagers are running for the hills." 

"Andrews?" asked Cornwell, involuntarily shouting his thoughts to the others.  "It's John Andrews, one of the camera crew!"

Jim-Bean landed next to Cornwell, who was comforting the panicked man.  "Should I shoot him now or later?"


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 6 – The Itsy Bitsy Spider*

John Andrews eyes were wide with terror and he was breathing very hard as he struggled to get some words out. When they did come out, it was a quick torrent of pleas…

"Please...go and find the others….the villagers took us out to the lake…I don’t know if they are still alive… I managed to escape…Please! Hurry up and find them…there are caverns beneath the lake…"

"How did you escape?" asked Cornwell. 

"I…I don't know.  I don't remember anything but the caverns beneath the lake."

"And the others?"

"I remember seeing Chris Chavez, Tony Adimeju, and Jenny Butler, but not Emma McFarland."

"Calm down," said Hammer.  "Take a deep breath and tell us what happened.

Andrews shuddered from the adrenaline rush, but he was finally able to regain some measure of control. 

"We arrived in the village three days ago. We were wrapping up our shoot when a mob of villagers suddenly surrounded and stormed the manor house. They were led by the local policeman, a Constable Pritchard. What happened after that I can’t remember, apart from some odd flashes of random memories – a journey over the lake by boat, some caverns beneath the lake, and some memories of spiders crawling over me…"

Suddenly, Andrews’ eyes opened wide, and his face transformed into a mask of utter horror. He bent over double, holding his stomach, gasping in pain. Blood started to trickle down his face, pouring out if his eyes and ears. He collapsed, squirming. 

BLAM! Cornwell stood with a smoking pistol over Andrews' head.  "Sorry lad.  It was fer the best."

But large bumps swelled on Andrews' skin around his face and hands as if out of nowhere. Great rents opened up in his skin. Blood poured from the open wounds, crimson arcs splattering his whole body and the area around it.

Andrews whole body convulsed, and a dozen small, translucent, spider-like creatures crawled out of his wounds.

Tearing the pin off a thermite grenade, Cornwell dropped it on the corpse.  "So that's what happens to the poor bastards," he whispered.

"Told you to shoot him," said Jim-Bean.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 7 – The Thing in the Lake*

They reached the shores of Llangorse Lake. The water was inky black, and lapped gently upon the shore. Out in the middle of the lake, some half-a-mile offshore, loomed a heavily wooded island. On it were some motes of light, which appeared to be moving slowly through the trees.

Cornwell pointed out several small boats, which lay abandoned on the shore in the village."That's our only ticket to the island."

Hammer and Archive looked at Jim-Bean.  "No," he responded to their unspoken question.  "I can't float you all across the lake.  It's too far."

They embarked on two boats, Archive and Cornwell in one, Jim-Bean and Hammer in the other.  

The silence of the lake's unbroken surface was interrupted only by the soft swish of the oars in water. 

Jim-Bean peered down into the inky blackness. "There could be anything down there." 

As if in response, something long and thin passed beneath the boat, momentarily scraping the keel. 

"Jimmy…" Hammer muttered a warning.

A vaguely humanoid head covered in stringy green hair emerged from the surface.  The creature's mouth, a round sucker-like orifice ringed with rows of tiny teeth, worked a malefic chant.

Jim-Bean clutched his eyes.  "Uh guys? I'm blind."

Hammer responded by spraying bullets into the water.  The head disappeared under the surface, only to reappear behind them.  

Cornwell fired his grenade launcher, exploding the water in a great shower, but the head appeared a third time off to their left.

"It keeps moving!" said Archive.  "I can't get a bead on it!"

"Oh for crying out loud," shouted Hammer.  "Just do that thing you do with your symbol!"

Archive shrugged and held the amulet up.  "By the power of the Elder Sign I repel thee!"

The head snapped backward as if slapped.  The face's expression turned from cold malevolence to fear and it ducked down into the murk, followed shortly thereafter by a stubby green tail.

Jim-Bean rubbed his eyes, blinking. "Finally!"

He could see the island; approximately one hundred yards in diameter and heavily wooded. As they approached, the motes of light disappeared. 

They hopped out of their boats – there was no dock – and clambered up onto the island. 

Once on the island, the weak moonlight illuminated a path through the bare branches and trunks of the trees, mainly Alder and Willow. This path was some three-feet wide and the ground was carpeted in leaves. All around them was heavy undergrowth. 

Jim-Bean cocked his head.  He could hear…something. A curious distorted voice, telling him random gibberish. He decided not to share it with the others.

The path came to an end in a mound surrounded by a small clearing. At the center of the mound was a circular wooden door, which looked ancient. Embedded on the door was a strange glyph.

"That symbol…" said Cornwell, shaking with rage.  

"It's the one we saw in that other labyrinth," said Archive. 

"The one that sick bastard Chubb carved into me brother."  The door opened of its own accord and Cornwell charged down the steps leading into darkness. 

"Amateurs," muttered Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Part 8 – Sacrifices Must Be Made*

The steps descended for about fifty feet and then opened up into a small cavern, carved from rock. The walls were dank and slimy. There was no natural illumination. There was one exit leading from the small cavern, which led into a long and twisty tunnel some three-hundred yards long. 

Cornwell led the way to a light at the far end of one branching tunnel.  It opened into a large round vaulted-ceiling cavern, dimly lit by flaming torches ensconced in the walls. At the center of the room, the floor was dominated by a carving similar to the one on the door, but only much, much larger. It glowed with a faint luminescent unearthly pale blue glow. Around the walls were smaller tunnels which lead off in all directions.

Rising up from the carving were eleven wooden poles some six-inches in diameter and six-feet high. Mounted on each were two cross-bars. Three of the poles were occupied, human sacrifices tied to each. All three were blindfolded. Small moans and whimpers escaped from the lips of two of them – from the third torrents of dried blood hung down, the body shredded and torn.

"Chris!" said Cornwell.  "Jenny?  Tony?"

"You know what comes next," Jim-Bean said menacingly.

Cornwell responded by putting bullets in the sacrifices' heads. 

There were footsteps in the tunnel. A commanding voice spoke quietly at first but then rose in its rage. 

 “That’s far enough. The Lord of the Labyrinth demands that you submit to his rule immediately!”

Daffyd Jones was stripped bare to his waist.  A huge axe was in one hand, and a mask covered the entirety of his upper skull.  He was covered with small white spider-grubs that crawled all over him. The grubs burrowed into his cheeks and squirmed out his mouth. If they hurt, he showed no indication. 

“I said submit!” he screamed. “The moment is at hand. Great Eihort cometh! He demands servants for his eternal reign of triumph!”

Jim-Bean sprayed bullets into Daffyd, but he moved with frightening speed.  He whirled the axe over his head and brought it down in the space where Jim-Bean was standing.  Jim-Bean was above him, standing upside down on the ceiling, levitating in place.

Archive held up his Elder Sign.  "By the power of the Elder Sign I—"

Daffyd sneered and slammed into Archive, bashing him into the far cavern wall.  Hammer and Cornwell riddled him with bullets. 

Daffyd stretched his arms backwards and spider-grubs exploded out of his chest in a geyser, covering Cornwall, who fell backwards under the stream.  

Hammer fired more bullets into Daffyd, but he was unphased.  He ducked a wicked swipe of the axe and rolled to the side, still firing.  "Jimmy, slow him down!"

"Cornwell, we need explosives!"

Cornwell was losing the fight against the spiders.  He hurled the satchel off of his shoulder in Jim-Bean's direction. 

Jim-Bean caught it telekinetically and sent the sticky C-4 within sailing onto Daffyd. The sticky C-4 clung to him, but he paid it no heed. 

With another roar Daffyd swung at Hammer.  He missed him but took out a stalactite with an earth-shattering swipe. 

"Pull the trigger damn it!" shouted Hammer.

"I don't have the detonator!"  But Jim-Bean knew who did.

Cornwell's form was overwhelmed by a surging swarm of pale grubs. 

Jim-Bean extended a tendril of thought into the seething mass, afraid what he might find.  Cornwell's mind was swirling with pain, but it struggled to get a message out.

"I can…Eihort is displeased.  It wants revenge.  For killing his children.  So he's going to kill mine.  You've got to save Jamie."  He sent them two sets of GPS coordinates to them all. "I'm sorry."

The tunnels on the other side of the cavern whispered an ominous sound. Like millions of chittering locusts, it came closer and closer.

Hammer stumbled backwards and hit an outcropping hard.  The impact jarred him and he fell to his knees.  Daffyd reared back with both hands on his axe for a mighty swing…

Cornwell's arm burst from the slithering swarm.  It was stripped to the bone, but with his few remaining nerve endings he pressed the button on the hand detonator.

The C-4 exploded in a rapid-fire series of bursts around Daffyd's body.  Puffs of white grubs and red blood blasted in all directions.  Then the ceiling caved in on him. 

Jim-Bean landed on his feet.  "Well, that's that…"

The half-broken mask of Daffyd broke through the fallen rock.  A white grub extended outwards through the hole in the faceplate, shrieking in rage.  The rubble began to move.

Hammer blew its head off.


----------



## talien

*Live Evil: Conclusion*

Hammer and Jim-Bean finished digging at the first set of GPS coordinates Cornwell provided.

"Nice of your girlfriend to provide us with magic bullets…" began Hammer.

"She's not my girlfriend," Jim-Bean snapped at him. 

"Fine, but she gave us fire-bullets.  Those bullets and whatever Cornwell stored here should be helpful."

"What's down there?" asked Archive, peering down into the hole.

Jim-Bean pried open the top of a barrel.  "Guns."

"More than that."  Hammer pried open another barrel.  "These are armor-piercing rockets."

Archive gingerly opened a third barrel.  "And lots of C-4.  What's all this?"

Hammer's jaw was set in grim lines.  "Before he died Cornwell was communing with Eihort.  It was a two-way communication. He shared things that Eihort knew that we can use, like the location where he was keeping Cornwell's son. Here's hoping all this firepower makes a difference."

"You want to save his kid, don't you?" asked Jim-Bean.

Hammer hoisted the rocket launcher out of the barrel.  "Yep."

Jim-Bean dumped the C-4 into a satchel.  "I was hoping you would say that."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 62: Cross My Heart and Hope to Die - Introduction*

This story hour is from "Cross My Heart and Hope to Die" by J. Todd Kingred. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster

It's always interesting when scenarios have showdowns with Mythos beings.  Goatswood is rife with these sorts of encounters, because Campbell's Mythos are considerably more personal.  So you're much more likely to meet Eihort or Y'golonac face to face.  This also makes the scenarios considerably more dangerous to typical investigators, who couldn't possibly survive going mano-a-monstro.  But then, as has become clear by now, the agents are not ordinary investigators.

The other three scenarios were really just a means of building up to a final showdown.  The goal here was to get the agents back in contact with an equipment supplier, but Cornwell's arrangement didn't work out quite the way they had hoped.  Instead, it turned into a war against a terrorist beast that uses child soldiers.  

Defining Moment: The decisions the agents make in facing down warrior children might surprise you. 

Relevant Media

Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1568821530/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1568821530]Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: A Present Day Severn Valley Sourcebook and Campaign (Call of Cthulhu roleplaying): Scott David Aniolowski,Gary Sumpter,Lynn Willis,Matt Harpold,Paul Carrick: 9781568821535: Amazon.com: Books[/ame] 
Ding Dong Bell nursery rhyme: Ding Dong Bell - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


----------



## talien

*Cross My Heart & Hope to Die: Prologue*



> _Ding dong bell, Pussy's in the well,
> Who put her in? Little Johnny Green.
> Who pulled her out? Little Tommy Stout.
> What a naughty boy was that,
> to try and drown poor pussy cat.​_--Children's nursery rhyme​



BRICHESTER, ENGLAND—Jim-Bean tossed and turned in his dreams when the whispering sound of cloth rubbing together woke him. 

Floating at the foot of his bed was a ragged figure, dressed in a thick, hooded robe, exuding a terrible chill. The face was hidden completely in the shadows cast by the hood. 

Jim-Bean rolled and grabbed his pistol from the nightstand. “JEEEEEEENNNNNNKIIIIIIIINNNNNSSS!”

The figure floated through the air toward Jim-Bean, robe rustling. The hood fell halfway back, revealing a head of flying cobwebs. The hood pressed towards his face—the clingy cobwebs were home to several scurrying grub-like creatures.

Jim-Bean fired bullets into the robe with no effect.  It billowed outward like a cobra spreading its hood, and Jim-Bean faced utter darkness.

He leaped to the side as the robe landed on the bed. The door burst open.

Jenkins, in his nightcap, striped pajamas, and slippers, held a thermite grenade in one hand, his other grasping the pin.  “Fire in the hole, sir!”

Jenkins drew the pin and threw the grenade. Jim-Bean jumped as the grenade whirled through the air.  It flared to life and instantly ignited the entire bed.  The white hot flames consumed the spiders, popping like popcorn in the heat. The entire bed and much of the floor was immolated.

Mrs. Jenkins came in soon after with a fire extinguisher.  She sprayed the fire a few times but it was largely unnecessary.  There was nothing salvageable in the room.  

“Not to worry dear,” said Mrs. Jenkins.  “Your friends are safe.  Just had to use the flamethrower you picked up from that nice fellow.”  She frowned.  “Of course I suppose he’s dead now.”

Jenkins patted her on the shoulder.  “It’s okay mother.”

Jim-Bean dusted himself off.  “Thanks Jenkins.”

Hammer and Archive were in the hall in their own bedclothes.  “So they went after you too, huh?” asked Hammer.

“Yeah,” said Jim-Bean.  “Looks like Eihort’s not going to wait for us to come to him.”

“The attacks will keep up.” Archive looked around, expecting another attack at any second.  “Eihort will never stop.”

“Then we’ll just have to take the fight to Eihort,” said Hammer.


----------



## talien

*Cross My Heart and Hope to Die: Part 1 – Sticks & Stones*

CAMSIDE, ENGLAND—The agents made their way to the second set of GPS coordinates.  Camside was a small farming community, quiet and picturesque with its flocks of sheep, babbling streams, and quaint limestone cottages.  Zeroing in on Cornwell's residence was made more difficult by the swirling fog that had engulfed the town.

The Cornwell home was located on Queen Street in Camside. It was a modest two-story home flanked by tall hedgerows. 

Archive cocked his head.  "You hear that?"

"What?" asked Jim-Bean.

"Laughing," said Archive.  "Kids, I think."

"Kids do live in towns," said Hammer. 

Archive started to speak but he was cut off by the large crack of rock on skull.  He fell forward, clutching the back of his head.

Hammer's pistols were out.  "Are you okay?"

Archive removed his hand from the back of his head. It was covered in blood. 

Jim-Bean spun, trying to identify the targets in the fog.  "That'd be a no."

"You've been marked!" a child's voice cried out.

"You cannot escape retribution!" cried another.

The rocks became a hailstorm of sticks, stones, and bottles. 

Archive put one hand out and chanted. "This should help." 

The children, twenty of them, were limed in glowing flames. It didn't stop the attack.

Hammer took aim.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Jim-Bean.  The memory of his own children, a world away, was still fresh in his mind. "Those are kids!"

"They're not kids," Hammer squinted down the sight of his Glock. "They're possessed by Eihort."

A single shot rang out. One of the sparkling forms fell. 

The children disappear into the fog, their cackling laughter hanging in the damp night air.

Hammer turned his back.  "Let's go.  We need to find Jamie."

Archive looked between Hammer and Jim-Bean, who was still staring at the small, fallen form dimming in the thinning fog. He followed Hammer through the open door into the Cornwell house. 

Jim-Bean stared for a long time before he slowly turned to follow.


----------



## talien

*Cross My Heart: Part 2 – Question for the Teacher*

The inside of the house was once neat, tidy, and tastefully furnished. Downstairs consisted of a central living room, a kitchen, a small dining room, a den, and a guest bedroom. 

But everything was chaos and destruction. The place was ransacked. Furniture, decorations, and belongings were broken and strewn about. 

"This must be the wife," said Archive. 

She was in the living room, her hand pinned to the wall with a knife and her body slashed by dozens of deep cuts and lacerations. Her body was slumped against the wall, the pinned hand raised above her head like a child asking permission to speak. Blood pooled on the carpet and had been used to draw a silly grin on her terror-stricken face. 

"No bodyguards?" asked Hammer, peering around corners with his pistols.  "She should have had protection."

Jim-Bean stared through the walls.  "There's a bodyguard out back.  Looks like they caught him with a tripwire before they beat him to death."

They made their way upstairs to the bedrooms.

The boy's room was typical. It was decorated with movie and athletic posters, as well as comic books, airplane models, and the numerous knickknacks little boys hoard.

Hammer swore.  "They took him."

Archive fished a collection of magazines out of the boy's backpack.  "Look at this."

They were all astronomical in nature, and some bore the stamps of the Camside Public Library or the Camside School Library. 

"These articles are all current, about a recent meteor fall." 

"The meteors we saw at Llangorese," said Jim-Bean.

Archive scanned the articles.  "The most prominent meteor showers occur every year, on roughly the same dates. They seem to be connected with the orbits of comets, or are the offspring of a parental comet. Some meteor showers are unexpected, however, and some unexpectedly appear with special intensity. One of the journals predicts a meteor swarm in three nights from now, with an unusual radiant point near Polaris, in Ursa Minor."

Jim-Bean frowned.  "That's when Eihort will come out of his labyrinth.  Permanently."

"Can you find out what happened to the kid?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean touched his hand to the backpack.  "I can try." He focused…


----------



## talien

*Cross My Heart: Part 3 – Well…*

Jamie ran from a gang of children. They seemed intent on doing him harm, shouting and threatening him as they give chase.  On and on the children chased Jamie, through yards and alleys, sometimes separating to prevent him from veering left or right, or escaping into the company of adults. 

They were herding him. 

The group of kids chased Jamie to Grigsby’s Field, where Kerwin, Davey Nooren, and Nick Selsby awaited. 

Kerwin Barclay was twelve years old, with grungy blond hair, watery blue eyes, and an extremely pale complexion. His lips turned up slightly on the corners, giving him a hateful expression most of the time. His skin had a curious, chalk-like coloration that looked clammy and greasy  Davey Nooren was the vice-president of the Survivors and Kerwin’s right-hand man. He was a razor-thin lad, exceedingly tall for his age. He had long black hair and braces. Nick Selsby was the club enforcer. He was bulky, stout, and rude. He already showed a strong growth of facial hair amid his unsightly pimples. 

The three boys were engaged in a morbid game of tying up cats and tossing them into an old well. Jamie stood breathless in front of the three boys, the other children encircling him from behind.

"You broken your vow of secrecy, Jamie, by telling adults about the Survivors," said Kerwin.

"But—"

"Shut up! Jamie has hurt the club by telling its secrets and must pay the penalty."

"No! How did you know?" asked Jamie. 

Smiling like a skeleton, Kerwin Barclay said that “you are no longer part of us, no longer like us. I know.” 

When Kerwin and Davey turned to consult on the punishment, Jamie Cornwell made a break for it. 

Nick immediately caught him and punched him hard in the stomach. A baleful glare sprang into Kerwin’s eyes, and he yelled for Jamie to be thrown into the well. “If he wants to act like a pussy cat, we shall have to treat him like a pussy cat!” he sneered.

Davey and Nick lifted Jamie bodily, dangling him by his ankles over the well. 

"Wait."  Kerwin tilted his head, listening to some unheard voice.  In his vision Jim-Bean thought for a brief second Kerwin was looking at him. "The Master has another purpose in mind. Come on, we're taking him to Grimsdyke Hill."


----------



## talien

*Cross My Heart...: Part 4 – Grimsdyke Hill*

It was just an hour before dawn when the agents descended on Grimsdyke Hill. The hill was located roughly a mile outside the town. It was a small, domed hill about a hundred yards high at its pinnacle. Rough ground, farmland, and open fields bounded by stone walls lay around it. At the center of the hill was a cave entrance.

The children of Camside were gathered, chanting together.  The echoing, haunting sounds were performed in a sing-song child’s voice. 

"We're not alone," said Archive.

Several hard-looking men, tattooed and weapons at the ready, stood around the perimeter.  Jim-Bean worked quickly to free Jamie, who was tied to a stone altar facing the cave entrance. 

One of them, a hook-nosed man with his head shaved, caught sight of Hammer.  "You!  You're Hammer, roit?"

Archive blinked.  "How did he…"

"Not that many African-American yanks around here," said Hammer.  "Why aren't you going in?"

"That's my kid!" the hardened criminal choked back a sob.  

A faint glow emanated from the cave, growing brighter. Then, as they watched, something clambered up from the dark.

Eihort was a bloated blanched oval supported on myriad fleshless legs. Eyes formed in the gelatinous oval and stared at in all directions. 

Every child in the Survivors club was present, prostrated and straining near the cave mouth as the oily, corpulent thing slowly shambled across them. Some were crying while others were in a state of shock; they were terrified but unable to resist Eihort’s entrance into the world. 

The Shambler Below rested obesely atop the children, its patchy, quivering bulk teeming with Brood. Leprous bits of pallid hide hung from the body. Multi-faceted eyes form and disappear. The thick, fleshless legs dragged the ground limply. Beneath and around the foul procession writhe millions of fleshy, grubby Brood.

"You've got to do something!" sobbed the man.  "Those are our children!"

Archive nodded and stepped forward.  "By the power of the Elder Sign, leave those children be!"

The reaction was instantaneous. The children broke out of the spell, screaming and fleeing to either side of Eihort.  They made it a few paces in all directions before fell, vomiting up bloated white spiders.

Kerwin turned.  "You!" His features twisted into an inhuman mask of rage.  "YOU'VE BEEN VERY BAD!"

That was all the men needed.  They opened fire on Eihort.

Kerwin charged straight at Archive, growing with each step.  The tips of his limbs disintegrated into foaming piles of spiders until he wasn't running but sweeping along like a swarm of bees blowing in the wind.  Two clumps caved off and wriggled in the grass, coalescing into something worse.

Archive muttered another spell but it had no effect as the billowing mass that was once Kerwin was upon him.  He disappeared in a pale maelstrom of spindly legs. 

The two wriggling forms disappeared into the ground, burrowing out of sight…but only for a moment.  Seconds later there was a terrific tremor that rocked the hill.  Two huge worms with spider-like maws dangling far too many legs reared to either side of Eihort, roaring their arrival.

The men stopped firing and ran for their children, dragging them to safety.

Hammer charged between the giant worm-things, diving and tumbling as first one and then the other spider-worm dove at him with its massive, convulsing maw.  He came up pistols blazing right in Eihort's face – if it even had one.

Jim-Bean put his arms out and floated up into the air, a heavy satchel dangling from one shoulder.  He hoisted a RPG-7, with a rocket already loaded, over one shoulder. 

"This one's for Cornwell." 

The rocket FWHOOSHED through the air, trailing smoke as it impacted Eihort.  The spider-thing squealed in rage, flailing in the explosion. 

For a moment all was silent. Then Eihort charged out of the dust and debris right towards Hammer. 

Inside the mass of spiders, Archive realized that they weren't reaching him because Jim-Bean had shielded him.  It was the only thing preventing them from penetrating every orifice.  He stumbled blindly out of the mass, away from the Kerwin-spider-pile.

The worms, momentarily distracted by the explosion, turned their wrath on the remaining men. One by one they hoovered them up like giant vacuums, engulfing trees, bushes, and earth with giant gulps. 

Archive spun and chanted a quick incantation, immolating the mass that pursued him – swarming around trees and over rocks, heedless of any obstacle.  The spiders burst into a million little flames, shrieking as one. Whatever was left of Kerwin exploded in cinders.

Hammer was still firing when the stars blotted out above him.  He had a moment to realize that Eihort had leaped, and then flattened himself as the bulk of the thing landed on him.

Once again Jim-Bean's shield held, barely.  The thousands of fat spiderlings scrabbled ineffectively over Hammer's prone form, buried in the dirt from the sheer mass of the Great Old One's bulk.  He was going to suffocate long before the spiders got him.

Jim-Bean levitated Archive out of the two giant spider-worms' reach just as a drooling maw snapped at his dangling legs.  Frustrated that their prey had escaped, they turned on the remaining men, who fled into the bush.

Keeping up the shields on his allies, levitating himself and Archive…it was becoming a strain.  Jim-Bean could feel the Realizer crystal he wore around his neck heating up.  It took every ounce of his psychic reserve, and he had to dig deep for just one more.

He flung the satchel full of rockets, thermite grenades, and C-4 at the Eihort.  It sailed in a perfect arc, guided by his telekinesis, to embed itself in the thing's massive bulk.  

And then he didn't see Eihort.  In its place was Eihort's true form, an ethereal, almost angelic presence, composed of burning wheels, white angel's wings and wise, ancient eyes.

When it spoke, a fatherly, wise-sounding chorus resonated in Jim-Bean's head. "I WALK AMONG YOU IN THE FLESH.  ACCEPT MY BARGAIN AND I WILL MAKE YOU MY—"

Jim-Bean triggered the detonator with a flick of his thumb.

Explosions blossomed on Eihort, small at first, then larger as the rockets caught fire.  The rockets spiraled off, one of them skewering one of the spider-worms.  The forest caught on fire as the thermite grenades burst, some of them next to Eihort, others blasted further away.  White hot flames engulfed the obscene spider-thing's flailing form.

Grimsdyke Hill convulsed as if it were giving birth.  The tunnel-womb opened wider and air, leaves and rocks were sucked back into the narrowing hole.  First one worm, than another was torn from its moorings and it was clear that the things were as much spider-beneath as they were worm-above, spindly legs snapping under the wrath of a labyrinth calling them home.

But Eihort held on.  Hammer gasped to life as the bulk quivered over him, stumpy legs dug into the earth all around him.  It had not gained purchase fast enough to sink all of its limbs in; only the front two.  It scrambled to anchor its lower half, which shielded Hammer from being sucked in as well. Hammer had seconds before he was sucked into the labyrinth cave or Eihort regained his grip and stayed forever to infest man like a bloated leech.

Hammer put his two Glocks to the massive legs, wide as tree trunks.  He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger, praying that Thredra's fire-bullets would do the trick.

The effect was instantaneous.  Instead of tearing a small hole it was like two cannons tore through Eihort's limbs.  The spider-thing squealed, tumbling as it bounced once, twice, and was called home beneath Grimsdyke Hill.

The cavern winked shut and instantly the wind stopped. Jim-Bean and Archive floated to the ground.

Hammer got to his feet.  "Where's Jamie?"


----------



## talien

*Cross My Heart...: Conclusion*

In the firefight they had forgotten the reason they were there.  

The eight-year-old boy had red hair, freckles, and wore broken glasses.  "I'm here," Jamie called out.

Hammer walked over to him.  Jamie took a step back. "Don't be afraid.  We're here to help."

He nodded, hesitant.  "I know."  He was covered in dust, dirt, and a multitude of scratches.  The boy had aged years in one day.  There were no more tears left. "You saved me," was all he said.

Hammer kneeled down.  "I have a knack for helping out kids," he said.  "There's another little boy I know…" he thought of Alex, whom he was funding in Agent Blade's absence.  It occurred to him only then that, with Hammer's own presumed death, payments had stopped helping Alex.  Hammer choked.  "He's a lot like you.  He's a survivor.  You'll be fine."

"We won't abandon you, don't worry," said Jim-Bean quietly. It was tone he didn't use often.  "I've got a friend.  I think you and her might get along well."

Archive frowned.  "A necromancer isn't exactly a great role model..."

Jim-Bean glared at Archive and he clamped his mouth shut. "She's nice, you'll like her.  A little quirky.  But she can help you with…"

"The family business."  Jamie nodded.  "I know.  My dad told me one day I would have to take it over.  And with all of his lieutenants gone…" He looked around at the great furrows that had been dug in the earth from the things that had gobbled them up. "I guess that leaves me."

"Come on," said Jim-Bean, patting the boy on the back.  "Let's go home."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 63: Silent Scream - Introduction*

This story hour is from "Silent Scream" by Scott Aniolowski. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster

When you've been game mastering for the same players for over twenty years it's amazing how you start to synchronize. George mentioned that, given the agents no longer have Majestic-12 to back them, they would need allies.  Allies, he thought, that could help them with a grass roots rebellion.  He thought immediately of Fiona Lin-Wei, the environmentalist they radicalized against the Mythos.  

Of course, all along I had planned to smuggle in some Americans into the Goatswood plot.  The excuse was a movie remake. I just dug into the treasure trove of characters we had in the past tied to movies: the writer (Randy Kalms), the director (Derik VanVon, newly released from prison), and the actress (Christine Dee). Fiona was almost an afterthought, undercover as a camerawoman and really the only contact that the agents valued.

Then there's Snow Dog. That Snow Dog. Or maybe not that Snow Dog.

This scenario is supposed to be a murder mystery, but it actually became a role-playing experiment as the players got a chance to stretch their role-playing legs, kick back, and take a break from shooting at stuff.  They made it through dinner before the shooting started again.

Defining Moment: Jim-Bean uses his psychic abilities to solve the mystery, and discovers the murderer is the monster at the door.

Relevant Media

Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: [ame=http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1568821530/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=1568821530]Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: A Present Day Severn Valley Sourcebook and Campaign (Call of Cthulhu roleplaying): Scott David Aniolowski,Gary Sumpter,Lynn Willis,Matt Harpold,Paul Carrick: 9781568821535: Amazon.com: Books[/ame] 
Eyes of the Stranger by the Payolas: [ame="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0000072TW/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=michaeltresca&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399349&creativeASIN=B0000072TW"]Amazon.com: Between Rock & Hyde Place - Best of: Payolas: Music[/ame]


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Prologue*



> _…I sense a danger,
> You've got the eyes of a stranger._​
> --Eyes of a Stranger by the Payolas​



BRICHESTER, ENGLAND—"It appears we have visitors, sir," announced Alfred.

Jim-Bean opened the door just as a black stretch limousine arrived at Windthrope Manor with three American visitors. 

"What in the bloody…" was all he got out, trailing off as the visitors exited the limo. 

"Jimmy!" shouted Randy Kalms, scriptwriter and Mythos author, practically hopping out of the limo.  "I thought you were dead!  I can't believe you've been hiding out in England all this time!"  He looked around at the manor.  "This is a pretty amazing place!  So, uh, I should probably bring you up to speed…" He looked back nervously over his shoulder.  Randy's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.  "I heard from your friend Mr. Alzis that you were in trouble.  He asked me to work with your friend Fiona to get everybody here, but the only way I could do it was…"

"Alziz…?" Jim-Bean blinked slowly.

"I'll get the brandy, sir." Alfred made his way towards the kitchen. 

Out stepped Derik Vanvon, former director of the remake of Curse of the Undead. "Master Baxter," said the portly director with a wide grin.  "So good to be working with you again."

Randy fingered his collar.  "Yeah, uh, see about that.  So I guess Mr. Alzis got Vanvon off of whatever charges the police brought against him.  He was cleared of all wrongdoing.  So he's producing a film here – that's our cover anyway.  But there's something else you should know…"

Jim-Bean put one hand out and, without looking, grabbed the glass of brandy from a tray Alfred had returned with. He took a long slurp. 

Hammer pulled up in the stolen vehicle they used for short missions into Brichester.  He exited the vehicle with a tray of McDonald's food in his hand. 

"Hammer…what in the—"

Before he could finish, out stepped the shapely leg of a woman nobody could ever forget. Christine Dee.  Agent Blade's ex-wife, B-movie scream queen, and a Hollywood bombshell. 

"Oh Agent Hammer!" She ran up to Hammer, throwing her arms around him.  He almost lost his grip on his Diet Coke. "I can't tell you how grateful Alex and I are for all your support.  It's been hard, between movies…" her eyes welled up. "And the government reduced our benefits.  I'm hoping this film will be the one I become famous for," she sniffed.  "Well, just…just thank you."  She gave Hammer a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah, I uh…Guppy helped me get a message to Fiona," muttered Hammer.  "I asked for her help with contacts here and I guess...this is it."

Jim-Bean transferred the empty glass of brandy from one hand to the other and, without looking, put it down on the tray that Alfred nimbly moved to the opposite side. 

Fiona exited the limo carrying Christine's luggage and a film camera on her back.  She glared from Christine to Hammer, then back to Christine, huffed, and dropped the luggage in front of the manor's doors.  "Carry yer own god damn luggage, bitch!"

Christine let go of Hammer.  "What was that all about?"

Vanvon stepped over to Jim-Bean, arms behind his back, luggage unattended.  "I assume you've been briefed?" He arched an eyebrow at Randy, who stuttered. 

Jim-Bean snatched the bottle of brandy off of Alfred's tray. 

"No?  Of course not.  Well then, Mr. Carpenter – that's John Carpenter -- is planning to re-make the 1925 silent film The Harbinger, which tells the story of Sir Gilbert Morley. Mr. Kalms is researching the film, and will co-write the screenplay with Carpenter, while Miss Dee will star. We'll be staying a few days at the mansion while Mr. Kalms and I do research for the film; you will, of course, be compensated for your troubles. The male lead will be arriving in a separate vehicle.  Ah yes, here he is now."  Vanvon swept into the manor.

Hammer, still standing at the entryway to the manor, looked from the limo to the black Mercedes Benz.  Christine and Fiona were already in the manor. Jim-Bean stood in the entryway, a man powerless to resist the powerful winds of change blowing through his home. 

Randy cleared his throat.  "One other, OTHER thing. I thought he was dead along with the rest of you guys but it looks like he takes his deep cover seriously cause…"

Bad, foul-mouthed, rap music bellowed across the entryway as the Benz pulled up to the door.  Snow Dog exited the vehicle. 

"Yo whassup homies?"

Jim-Bean took a swig from the bottle.


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 1 – Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?*

Jim-Bean sat at the head of a very long table in the dining room.  He walked through the manor in a daze. Fiona and Christine left each other a blessedly wide berth, but that didn't keep Vanvon and Kalms from irritating Jim-Bean by snooping around the house.  He gave Jenkins orders to keep them at bay, but it didn't improve his mood. Snow Dog seemed content to keep to himself. 

Against his wishes, Mrs. Jenkins arranged a dinner.  Jim-Bean flounced at the head of the table. Snow Dog was to his right, Hammer on his left.  Christine sat next to Snow Dog and Fiona sat next to Hammer. Further down was Guppy, Archive, and the others. 

The ever-present snifter of Brandy magically appeared at Jim-Bean's right.  Jenkins made sure it was never out of reach.

"I don't get it."  Jim-Bean squinted at Snow Dog.  "How are you Snow Dog?'

"Yo G, I feel you." Snow Dog slapped his chest.  "It's been awhile, right? I gotsta introduce myself to the fam." He threw one arm over Christine's chair and winked at her.

Guppy cleared his throat from the far side of the table.  "He's legit."

"I KNOW he's legit," growled Jim-Bean, He turned his gaze back on Snow Dog.  "Let me guess…you started as Rob Johnson with a hip-hop rap group, White Chocolate."

Snow Dog bobbed his head. "Too right! Got my first big break, yo, when we were invited to open for Heavy D. & The Boyz on their 1999 tour."

"And you were in construction."

"…and left mah home town of Buffalo when I went on the road, see?"

"And then in 2000 you recorded your debut album…"

"Blizzard, right! So you a fan!"

Jim-Bean slapped his forehead.  "I WROTE all this.  I don't understand…what have you been doing in the past year?"

"Aww, you know dog.  Posters, t-shirts, pillows, buttons…" He tossed a button on the table.  Jim-Bean ignored it.  "Maybe you've seen my videos…"

"I have," volunteered Christine, fluttering her long lashes. "Your spread in Playgirl was…fantastic."

Fiona rolled her eyes.   

Snow Dog focused his piercing blue eyes on Christine, as if noticing her for the first time.  "That right? Well maybe you'd like to get a taste of the real—"

"So anyway," interrupted Vanvon, "Mr. Dog will be debuting in his breakout role for our movie, The Harbinger."

Jim-Bean was still boring bullet holes through Snow Dog's skull, who was much too preoccupied with Christine to notice.  "There's no movie."

Kalms nearly spat out his food. "What Jimmy means to say is there's no movie without his permission, right?  We wouldn't dream of filming anything here without your permission." He pleaded. "Right Jimmy?"

Jim-Bean sighed and took a long slurp from the snifter. 

"Speaking of the business you have here," said Hammer.  "Who are your contacts in England?"

"Students Against Nuclear Energy.  SANE."

"SANE?"

"Right." Hammer's smirk disappeared when he realized Fiona was deadly serious. She lowered her voice. "They're a branch of the Bringers of Sacred Light here in Brichester."

"And they have…resources?"

"Yes. A little disorganized perhaps, but…" her mouth snapped shut as Christine clasped one well-manicured hand on Snow Dog's arm. 

"The Harbinger is actually a remake," interjected Vanvon, aggravated by the lack of interest in his film shoot. "It was originally filmed in 1925 by MGM, starring Lon Chaney. So you see we've set something of a precedent."

"What precedent?" asked Archive, looking up from his meal.

"Americans visiting England to film The Harbinger," huffed Vanvon. "The Harbinger recounts the legends of demonologist Sir Gilbert Morley, and was filmed at the very castle he had owned some two hundred years earlier. Lon Chaney played the auspicious part of Morley, while Theron Lysander had the role of the vicar. Although no demon is actually shown in the silent film, ominous toad-like shadows appear on screen when Chaney summons his monster. In the end, the monster which casts the toad-like shadow kills the demonologist, and the vicar leads his congregation in destroying the mansion." He winced under Jim-Bean's sudden attention. "That will all be done in post-production, of course." 

"Well," said Jim-Bean, "I've had enough.  I'm going to bed."

Christine looked meaningfully at Snow Dog.  "Me too."


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 2 – A Tryst*

Hammer finally managed to coax Fiona out onto the balcony.

"Look," he began, staring out into the manor grounds that yawned into darkness.  "I know I didn't tell you about Christine…"

Fiona punched him in the face.  She was pulling her punches – it was a light tap, comparatively.  But it hit him hard enough to stun him.  Hammer rubbed his jaw. "Ow."

"That's fer dyin' on me and not tellin' me first." Fiona's eyes flashed, glinting in the light from the dining room behind them.  The guests were retiring one by one. "Ye practically adopted her kid!"

"It was a promise I made to Agent Blade," responded Hammer.  "When he died, I felt…responsible."

"But now the payments have stopped, eh? No more gravy train for the washed up slutty actress?"

"I don't know if that's…" his defense of Christine trailed off.  The light in her guest room flicked on, then off, and then Snow Dog's room lit up.  Loud moans and shrieks made it very clear Snow Dog wasn’t alone.

"Anyway, it's pretty clear there's nothing between us."

Fiona followed his gaze. "Yah, that's clear." 

"So are we cool?"

Fiona frowned at him.  "I flew halfway across the globe for ye, didn't I?" She shoved him, lighter this time. "Just don't die on me again." 

Hammer nodded.  "I don't plan to."


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 3 – Family Secrets*

Jim-Bean snapped awake.  Alfred was in his doorway.  

"Something you might want to see, sir?"

Jim-Bean hopped out of bed and rubbed his eyes.  "What is it Alfred?"

"A corpse, sir."  He had Jim-Bean's robe and slippers in hand.  Alfred helped Jim-Bean get into both. “Someone appears to have cut the power.”

"What kind of corpse?" asked Jim-Bean calmly.  He expected this.

"It's difficult to tell sir."

"Christ."  Jim-Bean nearly bumped into Mrs. Jenkins as he strode into the hallway.  "Mrs. Jenkins, please keep all the other guests in their rooms."

Mrs. Jenkins, in her house dress, whirled on one slippered heel and immediately blocked Vanvon from getting past his open door.  “What is the meaning of this?” he sputtered but was quickly shushed by Mrs. Jenkins. 

Hammer and Archive met Jim-Bean further down the hall.  "What is it?" they asked.

Jim-Bean stopped at the top of the steps and then looked over his shoulder.  "That depends.  Is Fiona here?"

"Aye," said Fiona, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and rubbing her eyes.  "And?"

"Then I'm guessing that's Dee down there. Or at least, what's left of her."

At the bottom of the winding staircase there was a surreal scene of savagery wildly contrasting with the baroque stateliness of the manor steps. 

Dee's face was ripped off: the wound looked rather like an odd bite mark. Her breasts and crotch were gutted with gaping wounds worthy of a great white shark. Oddly, there was only a small spot of blood by the body. 

Hammer was down the steps faster than the others.  "She had a little boy…" he gasped.  

"Were there any signs of a struggle?" Archived asked.

"None sir," said Alfred, materializing by Jim-Bean's side.  "I'm afraid whatever did this was quite stealthy."

Hammer didn't look up.  "I want a head count. Now."

"It's not like there's that many of us…" began Jim-Bean.  "Wait a minute…where's Snow Dog?"

"And Kalms?" asked Archive.

Jim-Bean, still at the top of the steps, knocked on Snow Dog's door.  No answer.

"Alfred?"

Alfred unlocked Snow Dog's room. 

Inside, the young man was naked, wrists and ankles tied to bedposts, with a gag in his mouth. Dead. There was a single bite-like wound in the Snow Dog's groin--his reproductive organs are missing. The bed was soaked with clotted blood, and a pool of the thick substance had formed on the floor.  His ankles and wrists were bruised and bloody where he struggled to break free. 

Jim-Bean closed the door without a word.  "There's only one way to get to the bottom of this."


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 4 – The Watcher*

“The backup generator should be running.” Guppy was still groggy with sleep. “Our security systems are tied to it…”

“Oh dear, I hope someone hasn’t cut the power to that too!” declared Mrs. Jenkins. 

Archive shrugged on his shirt.  “I’ll check it out.”

“I’ll go with you dear.”  Before Archive could protest she cut him off.  “You’ll do no good fumbling around in the dark.  I’ve a torch,” she rattled a large flashlight, “and I know the way.”

“But if it was sabotage, whoever did this could still be lurking out there…”

In her free hand she loaded a pump-action shotgun.  “That’s why I’ve got this, dear.” She flashed Archive a benevolent smile to sooth his ego. “And you’ll protect me of course.”

“Okay.”  Jim-Bean tapped his temple. “We’ll be in touch.”

After they set off, Jim-Bean and Hammer made their way down the steps. 

“There’s not a lot of blood.  She was killed somewhere else and the body was dumped here.”  Hammer’s eyes glistened in the feeble light of the moon.  

Jim-Bean was too preoccupied to notice.  He leaned down and touched the floor near Christine’s body, thoughtfully covered by Alfred with a sheet. The sheet was soaked with blood in three places, creating a grotesque V. 

A gust of wind filled the room. Jim-Bean glanced down at his hand. It turned a pale white and began to shake and jerk about uncontrollably. 

Jim-Bean stared on incredulously as his hand, guided by some unseen force, began to sketch a figure on the wall using Christine’s blood. The wind gale through an open window but died down slowly as his hand completed the drawing. It lost the pale cast was under his control once more. 

He had drawn a palm with a screaming mouth in the center. 

“Snap out of it!” Hammer snarled, shaking Jim-Bean. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Their heads all jerked around at the sound of snapping wood beneath the floorboards. 

Jim-Bean cocked his head.  “Do you hear that?”

There was another sound, almost like faint breathing.

“It seems to be coming from the cellar, sir,” said Alfred dryly.


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 5 – The Cellar*

Windthrope Manor’s cellar looked as if it were actually built on a much older cellar, judging from the age of the bricks.  There were re two smaller rooms: a wine cellar and more storage space. The coal furnace, coal bin, and petrol-fueled electrical generators were located down there. 

Down below, Jim-Bean and Hammer moved quietly past the old stone walls and wooden beams which supported the main floor above. In front of them stood an old door which led to another section of the cellar. Before Jim-Bean could touch the door, it swung open slowly with a moan. 

Racks of dusty wine bottles lined the walls of the cool, dry room. Condensation from water pipes above turned the cellar into an echo chamber as drips fell into shallow pools on the dirt floor below.  

Jim-Bean swept his light to another corner and revealed several items atop a small table. There was a reel-to-reel tape recorder, an old film projector, a wind up record player, a shotgun, and a box of rifle shells.

Hammer turned the recorder on. 

“My name is Douglas Winthrope,” began the voice, warped with age and the dying battery of the recorder. “I am a parapsychologist working for the British Museum...I am recording this entry from Windthrope Manor, which I inherited from my father. Here, I am staying with my wife for a few weeks so that I may continue my research undisturbed. Since May, a group of associate professors and myself have been excavating the ruins of Glaaki. I believe I have made an important find in that area, and thus the reason for this log. With it, I can keep an accurate record of translations from my latest find; the last of twelve, the others still lost, volumes of the worshippers of Glaaki. “

“Basically, it is a book dealing with the Great Old Ones entitled ‘The Revelations of Glaaki.’ It is bound in human flesh, and inked with blood of the deceased...This particular volume deals with Y’golonac and those scampering, tattered minions who serve him.”

“The first few pages that I have translated warn that Y’golonac is dangerous, ever-present, and exists primarily through this book. As legend has it, only the sacred high priests of Glaaki could possess these books, for they alone could properly control Y’golonac. It is only through the act of reciting the resurrection passage that Y’golonac would be able to possess the living. When his name is spoken or read he comes forth to be worshipped or to feed and take on the shape and soul of those he feeds upon. For those who read of evil and search for its form within their minds call forth evil, and so may Y’golonac return to walk among men and await that time when the earth is cleared off…”

Outside, clouds rolled in from the east, thunder boomed in the distance, and as the wind picked up, it began to rain.

“…and Cthulhu rises from his tomb among the weeds and Glaaki thrusts open the crystal trapdoor…”

The winds howled, and blackbirds flew from their nests outside, screaming.

“…the brood of Eihort are born into daylight, Shub-Niggurath strides forth to smash the Moon-Lens…”

A bolt of lightning struck very near the manor and its thunder crash was deafening.

“…Byatis bursts forth from his prison, and Daoloth tears away illusion to expose the reality concealed behind!”

“Shut that off!” shouted Jim-Bean.

Hammer struggled with it.  The button was stuck on PLAY. He hit another button and the audio accelerated with a shriek, then played again:

“March 12th. Camille came after me and almost murdered me. My own wife. At first I thought it was a physical disorder because of what had happened to her hands, but I was only fooling myself. I knew what it was.”

Hammer hit another button.  More shrieking as it advanced, then resumed playing. 

“Three days have passed since that thing has been down there. I was hoping to weaken it without food or water. Nothing worked. I could not bring myself to dismember her myself. But I buried her. I…buried her…in the cellar. God help me, I walled her up in the fruit cellar.”

Hammer just tossed the recording against the wall.  It snapped apart, the voice slowing to a guttural moan before finally stopping. 

“Finally,” muttered Jim-Bean.

Just the power flicked on.  The record player started playing 1920s-like jazz and the movie projector burst to life, even though there was no film. 

“At least Archive got the power running,” said Hammer, pistols at the ready. 

The screen flickered a sickly pale yellow on the opposite wall.  

“Look at this.” Jim-Bean edged into the projector’s light.  “The wall has cracks here.  Almost as if…”

“It was removed and replaced,” said Hammer.  

With a shove, Jim-Bean tugged hard on the brick.  The entire wall fell forward.  It would have taken incredible strength to pick it up and move it. 

Inside, the walls were soiled and old.  In the middle of the room stood a metal bedstead covered by an old and worn mattress.  A small night table had an ancient dagger lying next to it. A shower of blood speckled the room, and a pool of the red fluid stained the center of the mattress.

“Oh God,” whispered Hammer.  “This is where…”

Jim-Bean picked up the dagger.  It was made of human bone.  “This is weird.”

“THAT’S the only weird thing you noticed in this room?” asked Hammer, trying to not look at the blood. 

Before he could say more a greenish-white arm, silhouetted by the projector, burst out of the floor.


----------



## RedTonic

8D I'm delirious with happiness!


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 6 – The Lost Room*

Welcome back RT, glad you're sticking with us. 

=======

Jim-Bean leaped backwards as a huge clawed hand jabbered, the fanged maw in its palm shrieking with cracked lips.  Another arm blasted out from the other side, desiccated with decades of rot.  But still there was enough for the mouth that shouldn’t be in a hand that had no right to exist.  Together, the two fanged maws made an unholy chorus.

Hammer unleashed on the rising corpse, punching dusty holes with his Glocks.  One of the gnashing mouths faced palm-down as it lifted a huge, fetid bulk out of the dirt. One pendulous breast slipped free as the thing that was once Camille lurched to the surface. Even in death she had not been released from Y’golonac’s grip.

In the stuttering light of the projector the conflict took on gray and white hues.  Jim-Bean tossed the knife from one hand to the other, debating on whether it would be effective against the corpse or if it would just make things worse.

Camille slapped one flabby foot onto the dirt of the hidden room, rising up to its full height.  Even without a head, the thing had to crouch.  It blocked the way out completely and with it the projector’s light.  Glistening yellow fangs reached for their faces…

With a shriek, the body collapsed in on itself, shuddering and wheezing.  Archive stood in the glow of the projector, the Elder Sign clutched in his palm. 

“Sorry I was late,” he said. “There’s…” they noticed the scratches on his arms and face, “…a problem upstairs.”

Distant gunfire lent urgency to Archive’s words. They charged back up the steps.


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Part 7 – The Thirteenth Hour*

“The manor defenses are running full tilt!” came Guppy’s voice, echoing through the telepathic connection in their heads.  

Outside, children were torn apart by gunfire from the manor rooftops.  Automated drones swept the grounds, coldly picking and eliminating their targets.  Child after child went down in a spray of bullets.

“Christ!” shrieked Fiona, a machinegun in her grip pointed at Vanvon’s back, whom she didn’t trust.  “They’re sending children now?”

“Those aren’t children,” said Mrs. Jenkins.  Her housedress was torn in several places.  “Those are eyeless little monsters.”

Archive nodded.  “The Children of Y’golonac, that crawl on his bulk.”

“That means Y’golonac is coming.”  Hammer reloaded both of his Glocks.

“Where’s Kalms?” Jim-Bean rummaged around in his satchel for the crystal ball.  “He’s got to be involved in this somehow.”

He put his fingertips to the crystal and concentrated.

His vision swept up and out the uppermost window of the manor; up, up, up…and then straight down at the huge, headless, fat mountain that clambered towards the manor house, surrounded by scampering eyeless children. 

Jim-Bean zoomed in.  The thing was naked, but he could make out a tattoo on one arm, of an anchor. 

The same tattoo on…

Jim-Bean snapped out of his vision to stare at the front door. “Yep, it’s Kalms.”

BOOM!  A gouge worthy of a great white tore splinters out of the sturdy oak door.  The children slapped their tiny mawed hands against the windows. 

“Open fire!” shouted Hammer.  

Mrs. Jenkins, armed with a shotgun, Alfred armed with his pistol, and Fiona armed with her submachinegun all let loose on Y’golonac’s children, who seemed oblivious to the threat of harm.  For every one that fell another eyeless, searching face filled the gap. 

BOOM! The wood began to splinter. The wall cracked beneath the terrific force of whatever was outside hammering upon it.

“We can’t fight him!” shouted Archive.  “He can only be banished.”

“How?” asked Hammer. 

“That knife!”  Archive pointed at the knife tucked into Jim-Bean’s belt buckle.  “Let me see it!”

Jim-Bean tossed him the knife.  

BOOM! One of the doors groaned as it began to tear from its hinges.  Dust fell all around them.  

“Yes,” Archive twisted the hilt of the blade in his hands and a thin piece of paper slipped out.  “This is the banish ritual!  Hold him off until I can complete it!”

“Hold him off?” asked Fiona.  “With what?”

“Nos-feratos-allo-memnon-kanda!” shouted Archive. 

The massive bulk squeezed its way through the front doorway.  Hammer, Jim-Bean, Fiona, and the Jenkins let loose with everything they had.

“Kanda!  Samonda Roba Areda Gyes Indy En-zeen, Nos-Feratos!” chanted Archive. 

Flesh tore and ripped, oozing greasy yellow fat tinged with red veins.  But still the massive bulk kept coming.  First one arm, the fangs in the palm gaping as wide, then another. 

“Archive…!” shouted Hammer, as the Y’golonac’s full form stretched out, blocking out the chandelier’s light above.

Archive’s chant reached a fever pitch as he finished reading from the scroll. “Nos-feratos - Amen-non.  Ak-adeem! Razin - Arozonia...Kanda!”

Y’golonac froze. Smoke poured from its dual slobbering maws as distant demonical screams screeched from its hands. The body caved inward upon itself, collapsing to the floor in smoldering heap. Finally, nothing was left but burnt clothing and a blackish grey ooze on the floor where its body once was.


----------



## talien

*Silent Scream: Conclusion*

The first rays of sunlight gleam over the woods beyond the manor. Daybreak had finally come.

Exhausted, the survivors returned to their rooms, except for two.

Jim-Bean looked out at the wreckage.  Greasy stains were spattered across the lawn, the walls, the doors.  Spent shell casings from the massive amount of ammunition fired were everywhere, mingled with broken glass from the manor’s windows. 

He put his hand out and snatched up a brandy snifter without looking for it – it was, of course, perfectly balanced on a tray, held by a gloved hand that belonged to Alfred.

“What a mess,” said Jim-Bean.

“Quite, sir,” said Alfred.  

“All that gunfire, the eyeless things…we must have woken the dead.”

“You mean the thing in the basement, sir?”

“Besides that. The windows need to be fixed, the blood needs to be cleaned up, and then there’s the fact we have three dead Americans on our hands…”

“Three, sir?”

“Yes, three.  Christine Dee, Randy Kalm, and—“

There was a shriek as Mrs. Jenkins discovered the mutilated corpse of Snow Dog.

“Oh, right.  Snow Dog’s dead too.  Not that he was real to begin with.”

“Pardon, sir?”

“Never mind.”


----------



## talien

*Chapter 64: Holy War - Introduction*

This story hour is from "Holy War" by Adam Scott Glancy and "Of Dreams and Dark Waters" by Rob Malkovich. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://jeremyrobertortiz.blogspot.com)
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster

This scenario combines two modern battles with Glaaki, throws in The Fate, Belial, and everybody's favorite pervert Y'golonac. Belial's removal from the Fate as the favored son has big implications in the game world, and Thredra is angling to fill his spot. She is a dangerous source of magical firepower that the agents can't afford to give up easily.

But she comes with a price, and that price is Jim-Bean's affection.  The date was role-played out, completely impromptu, as a means of negotiating for magic weapons.  This will be a problem later – Thredra is not a nice girl. 

The battle itself between Glaaki and Y'golonac was thrillingly brief but effective.  I had no idea how this scenario would conclude, but as usual the players concluded it for me by proposing an insane idea that just had to work. So it did!

Defining Moment: Hammer jumps off a crane, grabs a book, jumps off a building, dodges giant monsters, and leads one Great Old One into direct conflict with another.

Relevant Media

Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Prologue*



> _And as his strength began to fail
> He saw a shimmering lake.
> A shadow in the dark green depths
> Disturbed the strange tranquility._​_
> --The Fountain of Salmacis by Genesis​_​



BRICHESTER, ENGLAND— That morning, Hammer was cleaning his pistols when Jim-Bean entered the room.

"We need better firepower, Jimmy."  He cleaned out the barrel of one of his Glocks, treasuring them now more than ever before.  

"Looks to me like you're doing okay."

Hammer shook his head, peering into the barrel like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.  "That's not what I mean.  You know what I mean."

"I can do a lot of things."  Jim-Bean sighed and reached for the brandy that Alfred had left in the room for him.  "But I can't make you magic bullets."

"You know someone who can."

"Oh come on!" Jim-Bean took a sip and put the brandy snifter down.  "You want me to whore myself out to Thredra so you can get magic guns?"

Hammer didn't look up from his task.  "Yes."

"You're serious."

"Yes."

Fiona entered the room. "What are you two girls gossipin' about?"

"A date," said Jim-Bean with a smirk.

"You'd make a cute couple."

"With Thredra and..." Hammer trailed off.

"Twist my arm!" Fiona rolled her eyes at Hammer. "I'll be your date." 

"Fine!  Just one condition: no zombies." Jim-Bean muttered.

Hammer nodded.  "Right.  No zombies."

They had no idea how they would force Thredra to stick to that rule.


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Part 1 – Life Could Be a Dream*

They were at Club Apocalypse again.  Through the double doors was the Green Bar, a large, finely-decorated art-décor bar that was packed ear-to-ear with celebrities and their entourages.  It had a small dance floor, a quarter the size of the main one.  

The dream was different this time.  There was no Belial to lead them past another set of double doors, which opened onto a small bar with several tables, finely but sparsely decorated, most near-empty.  As soon as the doors closed, the rhythmic beats of the dance floor were instantly silenced.

An exquisitely coifed and tanned older man dressed in a white suit sat at a table in the center of the room.  He sprang up at the sight of Jim-Bean, Hammer, and Archive.

“The shades return!  Come in, come in!  It’s so good to see you!” Catching the expression on their faces, Stephen Alzis smiled.  "Oh don't be so surprised. This is how it works – Blade didn't tell you?  Once you've been in my club, you can always visit again."  He gestured to chairs at the table.  There were precisely three empty chairs. "Please, sit.  Drinks are on the house."

Once they were seated, Alzis joined them. "You might recall that I helped you recently – yes, I arranged your friends' visits. You're welcome. Well now it's time for you to help me."  He held up one hand.  "Now, now, don't get too defensive, I know what you're thinking.  But trust me you'll be happy to do this."

"Awhile ago, you thought Belial, the manager of Club Apocalypse," he encompassed the room with a gesture, "was the killer you were hunting.  You were wrong.  But Belial is guilty of a much greater sin." Alzis' features darkened.  "He's been disloyal.  And that is intolerable."

"Belial – real name Robert Hubert – has been secretly keeping his allegiance to the Dreamer in the Lake." Alzis shakes his head.  "I blame myself, really. I knew Hubert's special condition was useful, but eventually the Green Decay claims them all.  Hubert knows he's at the end of his rope, and he's gotten desperate. So he's started a little side operation at the lake in Brichester.  That will never do.  I've officially revoked my protection of Hubert. I'd like you to take him out."

"Oh don't look at me like that. I like to maintain order.  It's very important that my minions understand that rules are there to be followed. It's just better for everybody – less grumbling to suppress and fewer defectors to track down and kill." 

He started to rise, then stopped.  "Oh yes, one other thing. It seems Hubert has a book, a book that Blade became very acquainted with. A book he stole from your house."  He smirked.  "The Hand That Feeds wants that book, and it will do everything in its power to get it.  So I recommend you get to Hubert and his book before It does.  If It gets that final volume of the series…" Alzis sighed, "It will make the Dreamer in the Lake look like crab cakes."

"I’d move quickly if I were you. Hubert won’t wait much longer. Have a good night gentlemen and good luck in your hunt.”
And with that, Alzis stood up and walked out.


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Part 2 – Date Night*

Fiona was dressed in a slinky forest green dress that hugged her muscular curves.  She was compact and finely boned, more muscle than fat.  The bare-armed dressed showed off her toned arms, which she adorned only with a gold bracelet. She wore gold eye shadow as well.  Her hair, brushed and treated, sparkled jet black.  Fiona wore heels that elevated her five foot two frame a few more inches.  In the right light, her mix of Chinese and Scottish heritage gave her an elfin appearance that was quite appealing.  

Thredra arrived in a black hearse.  She was arrayed in a gown worthy of a Disney villainess, low-cut, her eyes painted a dark shade of purple, her eyebrows arched with jet black ink. Her hair was up in a bun with a purple spider pin holding it together.  Her form-fitting, plunging dress fleshed out her angular figure nicely, pushing up parts here, slimming out parts there.  Although she looked like she was out for a night of trick-or-treating, Thredra cleaned up nicely in her own way.

Jim-Bean and Hammer wore tuxedos. Jim-Bean looked like he'd been wearing tuxes his entire life.  Hammer had only worn one once before, at his high school prom, and it showed. 

"I'm so glad you finally came to your senses, Andy," said Thedra, her driver Sirahk opening the door for them to join her in the converted hearse, complete with minibar. "Keep it up and you might find our relationship mutually beneficial."

Jim-Bean coughed.  "Yeah, sure.  Got anything to drink in here?"

Thredra wanted to drink and dance, not necessarily in that order, and she suggested Club Eden first.  Eden was a gothic-style S&M club. Hammer and Fiona tried lay claim to a booth, but it was unnecessary.  Thredra spoke with the bouncer, who spoke with the four people in "her" booth and they promptly left.

Sirahk joined them, a near pitch-black-skinned man with a hook nose who wore a black suit and fedora. He never said a word, but he was unnaturally tall -- easily over six and a half feet. Most of the people who tried to approach Thredra, and there were more than a few, were warned off by a glare from the big man. It was clear Thredra was moving up in the criminal hierarchy. 

After sweating on the dance floor for what seemed like an hour, Thredra finally dragged them back to the booth for more drinks. 

"Don't worry about the boy," Thedra she said after casting a spell that would allow her to be heard at the table.  "I'm his steward now until he comes of age.  But in the interim I've taken over the family business.  They have some real firepower in their corner now.  We'll be going places."

Jim-Bean just took another sip of his drink.

The wedding march began playing from somewhere.  Thredra and Fiona exchanged confused glances. 

Jim-Bean put the drink down. The music stopped.

As an experiment, he picked the drink up again and the wedding march started.

Thredra stood up.  "Stand back.  We're under magical attack.  Sirahk, clear a path to the exit!"

Jim-Bean put one hand on Thredra.  "Relax.  It's just Archive."

Thredra blinked.  "Who?"

Archive made his way through the crowd, grinning mischievously.  "Hi guys!"

"He has a...peculiar sense of humor," said Hammer.

Thedra sighed.  "Well since we're up anyway we may as well go.  I'm hungry.  There's a McDonald's around here somewhere."

"You really are American," said Jim-Bean. 

"And I guess you can come too," she gestured dismissively at Archive.  "But no more magic tricks next time or Sirahk might yank out your tongue."

Archive stopped smiling.

Sirahk pulled the hearse around front and they clambered in.  The nearest McDonald's wasn't near at all, but the night was young.  

"So Andy," Thredra propped her chin up with the palm of one hand.  "Tell me about yourself."

Jim-Bean nearly coughed up his drink.

Fiona grinned. "Yes, ANDY.  Tell us all about yourself."

"He doesn't ever take a crap," said Hammer.  "It's his crazy metabolism."

Fiona grimaced and elbowed Hammer. "Classy."

"What?  It's true!"

Jim-Bean glared at Hammer.  "Thanks for that."

Thredra was delighted.  "Do tell!"

"My metabolism is hyper efficient."

"But you can eat, right Andy?"

"Yeah...and my name isn't Andy cook," he confessed.

Thredra feigned shock. "That is totally new information!"

"You knew all this time?"

Thredra chuckled, patting his leg.  "Of course, Jimmy.  I own this town now."

Jim-Bean didn't like the sound of that. 

After eating a messy combination of fries, burgers, and nuggets, the date finally drew to a close.

Thredra smiled at Jim-Bean.  "Well, this was nice.  We acted like civilized people and no corpses were involved.  And since you behaved yourself Jimmy I've got a gift for you."  She handed him a gilded box the size of a small suitcase, with skulls in silver filigree on the four corners.  

Jim-Bean popped it open.  Inside were two gold-plated Glocks with skulls engraved on the handle. Jim-Bean spun the box around on his knees to show Hammer.  "Merry Christmas."

Hammer's face lit up.  "Thank you!"

"As long as it makes Jim-Bean happy," said Thredra, stroking Jim-Bean's neck.  He managed to not flinch. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship."

"Yeah," replied Jim-Bean flatly.

The hearse slowed to a stop. "We're here," said Thredra mournfully.  She got out of the car. The others filed into the mansion. 

Jim-Bean swallowed and followed her out. Thredra pressed herself against him. 

"I had a really good time," she whispered.

"Me too," said Jim-Bean.  All he could think about was how her purplish-black lipstick looked like a bruise.  

"I'm working my way up, Jimmy.  We're equals, you and I.  You should think about joining me when this is all over.  The leader of the Fate, Alzis, wants me to join his organization.  He helped me get your friends through PISCES security."  She looked at the sparkling stars.  "Oh yes, that's right, you should be on a mission for him right now." A slow smile crept past her lips.  "But you chose to spend it with me instead."

Jim-Bean tried to pretend they hadn't wasted an evening just to get Hammer his pistols.

Thredra leaned in for a kiss.  Her perfume, which had been coiling its way through his brain for hours, flared white hot in his skull.  He kissed her passionately back.

"That's more like it." Thredra gasped, gently touched her forehead against his. "Keep it up and I'll get you more bullets."

Inside, Archive stumbled off into his room.  Alone once more, Fiona led Hammer towards her room.  They caught sight of Jim-Bean retreating to his own room alone. 

"You've got something on your forehead," giggled Fiona over her shoulder.

Jim-Bean frowned and furiously rubbed his forehead.  White makeup from Thredra's face. He swore and stomped off to his room.

It wasn't until the next morning that any of them remembered Alzis' dream.


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Part 3 – Welcome to Lakeside Terrace*

The site of the original six houses, Lakeside Terrace was the center of a housing development. The only approach to the area was via Lake Street, a small, two-lane dirt road. Where the road entered the forest, a billboard proclaimed, “Lakeside Terrace Estates-Modem Living at its Finest” above a painting of an attractive housing complex situated on the shore of a sunny blue lake. 

The woods were dense, dark, and full of ancient, gnarled trees. Eventually, the road emerged from the forest and into a large clearing on the shores of the dark, still body of water known as Brichester Lake. The whole area seemed to be shrouded in perpetual twilight.

A high brick wall eight feet tall surrounded the entire property.  Hammer could make out chanting figures atop the roof of Lakeside Terrace. 

"We're late." Archive pointed. "Look."

The first residents of Brichester shuffled down Lake Street, fanning out along the road that encircled the lake. Swirls of orange and yellow light danced across the surface of the lake.

"Can you get that to work?" asked Hammer.

A crane was parked towards the center of the site. It was a large mobile crane on caterpillar treads, with a steel arm approximately sixty feet long when fully extended. The crane was mobile, resting on enormous wide, flat treads; to lift extremely heavy loads. 

Archive rubbed his hands together. "I think so."

"I didn't know you knew how to operate construction equipment," said Jim-Bean.

"I don't." Archive muttered an incantation and put his hands on the tread nearest him.  It glowed blue for a moment.  The crane buzzed to life. 

The sky quickly darkened, and a terrible thunderstorm began overhead. 

"Bring me as close you can to the resort." Hammer clambered up the side of the crane. 

"Where are you going?" asked Archive.

"I'm going to try to catch us up," Hammer shouted back.


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Part 4 – The Thing(s) on the Roof*

The orange and yellow swirls took on more solid shapes, rising above the water in the center of the lake to form the edges of a giant circle. The dancing lights formed strange runes and shapes, twisting and turning with ferocious intensity. The center of the circle was pure darkness. 

Archive pointed and Jim-Bean held on as the crane rumbled forward of its own accord.  

"Uh, do you have a plan for getting through the wall?" asked Jim-Bean.

Archive shook his head, intensely concentrating on maintaining his connection to the massive machine.

"Then you might want to extend the crane."

Archive expressed his agreement by extending the crane beneath Hammer, who nearly lost his balance when it suddenly lengthened.  It extended fully just as the treads hit the wall.

The crane pitched, hard.  The arm swung wildly from the force as it came to an abrupt stop, slinging Hammer towards Lakeside Terrace likes a lacrosse player hurling a ball.  He clung to the crane until it hit the peak of its parabolic arc and then let go, letting centrifugal force do the rest. For a heart-stopping moment he flailed in the gap between crane and building...and then he landed. 

Hammer rolled and came up magical Glocks blazing on the five men standing on top of Lakeside Terrace, each at a different point an oddly shaped rune.  At its center was Robert Hubert, AKA Belial.  He held a book aloft, chanting furiously, his eyes on Hammer but unwilling to interrupt the summoning of his god.

Hubert's bodyguard, a huge African man in a black suit and fedora, moved to interrupt but whirled at a rhinoceros-worthy roar from behind him.  Barreling out of the emergency stairwell was Y'golonac, the fat, slobbering Great Old One of perversion, its flabby toothed palms speaking for its headless mass.

"GIVE-" said one of Y'golonac's palms. 

Hammer rolled as one cultist drew a pistol to fire at him. He retaliated by shooting him between the eyes.

"US-" said the other of Y'golonac's palms. 

Hammer ducked behind a spinning air vent as bullets ricocheted near his head. 

"THE BOOK!" Y'golonac's two palms shouted in unison. 

The book! Hammer listened for the wet slapping of fat feet on pavement.  The gunfire changed direction.

Beams of darkness shoot out from the circle with Hubert at its center, spreading out across the ground and enveloping the people standing there. Everything appeared to be twisting and writhing, coming in and out of focus. The buildings, and even the ground around them, writhed and pulsed, pushing and twisting into impossible shapes. Screams of agony arose from people around the lake.

The nearest group of people between Hammer and the dock were transformed. Their shapes were odd and distorted, and only vaguely human; faces and limbs drooped as if melted; strange protrusions sprouted from their bodies; some of their limbs withered or grew massively disproportionate to the rest of their bodies. Their screams resounded, as they were literally torn apart and then pieced back together into horrors beyond imagination. 

Hammer ducked his head out just long enough to confirm what he was witnessing: a holy war. 

Y'golonac engaged Glaaki's followers with fury.  Oloni drew two long spikes from his suit and, wielding them like short swords, parrying the slobbering maws.  The other cultists fired their shotguns and pistols into Y'golonac's unyielding bulk to no effect. 

Hammer made his move.  Pounding the pavement as hard as he could, he ran straight into the melee.

The cultists, focused on the headless terror, had forgotten about their unwelcome guest.  They certainly didn't expect him to charge into the fracas.

He rolled and ducked Y'golonac's backhanded swipe.  Oloni stabbed one of the mouths with a spike, and the teeth worried it like a dog. Hammer rolled beneath them and came face to face with Hubert. 

Hammer fired one of the magical Glocks at point-blank range into Hubert's face.  His magical shield protected him from the force, but his still human reaction caused him to flinch, which is all Hammer needed.  Hammer snatched the book from Hubert's clutches with his free hand.  And then he was off and running again. 

Hubert shouted, clutching his face and pointing.  Oloni, temporarily distracted, found both of Y'golonac's maws crunched down on his fists.  Holding him up like a paper doll, Y'golonac tore him in half.

Hammer charged towards the edge of the building.

"He's not going to make it," said Jim-Bean with a sigh.

"Not without our help, anyway," said Archive.  He whispered a chant.

"Stop him!" shouted Hubert, recovering.  "He has the twelfth volume of--"

Then Archive shouted a spell and the roof collapsed beneath him.


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Part 5 – Clash of the Titans*

Hammer dove just as the building crumbled beneath his feet. He leaped into space, and this time there was no crane to help bridge the distance.

But Jim-Bean's telekinetic grip caught him.  He landed on his feet and kept running.

"Where's he off to?" asked Archive.

Jim-Bean nodded towards the rickety dock that extended into the lake.  "There."

The mutated villagers between Hammer and the lake began to stagger about the landscape, grossly altered but still growing, as large dark pillars spiral up into the sky, framed by massive buildings with obscenely huge windows and doorways. The wretched victims stagger toward Hammer, seething with evil and the desire to punish those who survive unaltered. 

At the end of the dock was...something.  An oval body covered in thin, pointed metal spines rose from the water. It had a rounded mouth with thick lips set in the middle of a face from which extended three yellow eyes on thin stalks.  Underneath the creature's body lay multitudes of white pyramids. 

Hammer kept running, dodging mutants who stood in his path. He drew from his belt the knife they found in the basement of Windthrope Manor.  Jim-Bean and Hammer followed behind him, providing cover fire and keeping the mutated rabble from surrounding him. 

Charging like a rhinoceros and pounding full-speed behind him, Y'golonac was undeterred by the collapse of Lakeside Terrace. Rubble and blood flaked off its flabby shoulders as it smashed aside mutants. 

Hammer closed the gap to the end of the dock. 

"What the hell is he doing?" asked Jim-Bean.

"He's bringing two Great Old Ones together," said Archive breathlessly. 

"Has that happened before?"

"Not in our lifetime." Archive shared a worried look with Jim-Bean. 

Y'golonac lunged once, twice for Hammer, almost grasping him each time.  The dock groaned from the weight of the pounding behemoth.  Glaaki watched, impassive, alien, unknowable.

Hammer leaped over Glaaki.

It wasn't so simple.  Glaaki thrust upward as he passed and several spines shot through Hammer, piercing his arms and legs.  He screamed but brought the knife in one hand with the book in the other, stabbing it through the spine.  

And thus the Twelfth Volume of Glaaki, co-opted by Y'golonac, met the blade crafted to unsummon him.  

The effect was immediate.  The two beings were drawn instantly into the water as Y'golonac's claws met Glaaki's spines. The light that played over the water suddenly convulsed, sucking downwards and into the spot where the two behemoths clashed.  A portal raged, a dimensional wound that suppurated magical energy.

Hammer struggled to swim against the current but the foaming, yellow surf was no act of nature.  He flailed helplessly as it engulfed him.

And then he was lifted up, hovering gently beyond the swirling morass that grew by the second.  Jim-Bean stood at the edge of the ruins of the dock, arms outstretched, telekinetically pulling Hammer back to the safety of the shore. 

With a slurping pop, it was over.  The storm over the lake died down, and the winds quieted. In the dawn of a new day, thousands of people- many dressed only in their bedclothes - stared in confusion at their surroundings. Children cried for their parents, and the voices of bewildered men and women begin to rise in a low murmur over the now-still lake.


----------



## talien

*Holy War: Conclusion*

The building upon which Hubert was working his magic was a ruin. Reduced to a mound no more than ten feet high, it was melted into a strange pile of rubble, marked at several points by odd protrusions of twisted metal rising out of the ground which snaked outwards like plants growing toward the lake. The crane arm was twisted into a spiral that bent down, its tip bent just above the surface of the lake. There was no sign of Hubert, nor any of the servants. 

The next day, the effects of the dream-pull were felt on people throughout the area. The Brichester Lake area went under martial law. The police, backed by PISCES, cautiously investigated the carnage around the lake. 

Jim-Bean kicked up his feet in the viewing room, brandy in hand, as he watched the news coverage. "Nothing like killing two Great Old Ones with one stone."

"They're not dead," said Archive, who watched pensively next to him. 

Hammer rubbed his shoulder. "If they don't come back in our lifetime I'll consider a victory."

"They're not defeated." Archive shook his head, at a loss for words.  "It's…more of an embarrassment for them.  Like adults closing the door so the kids don't see them fight."

Jim-Bean shrugged and turned back to the television. 

The secretive event spun multiple conspiracy theories: One easy explanation was that a mass of space debris (perhaps an old Soviet satellite) crashed into the area, causing limited destruction. Since radioactivity was a concern, the area around the lake was off limits. 

"When in doubt, blame it on the Russians."  Jim-Bean smirked.  "It worked for Sprague."

"There's a lot of townsfolk that were affected," said Hammer. "They had to come up with something that justifies rounding them all up." Many of the survivors were relocated out of the Brichester area, while others surely received monetary compensation to buy their silence.

An alternate theory scrolled across the screen: the government uncovered LSD in the water supply, put there by SANE--

BLAM!  The television exploded.  Fiona holstered her newly acquired pistol from Hammer.  "Don't watch that crap.  TV rots your brain."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 65: The Watcher Out of Time*

This story hour is from "The Watcher Out of Time" by Clifton Ganyard. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://jeremyrobertortiz.blogspot.com)
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster

I enjoyed the idea of a time travel scenario where the characters get the chance to learn a story by playing it backwards, a bit like Memento.  In truth, this game didn’t play out that way.  Part of the challenge is that the action obscures the details; part of it is that we were pressed for time, and part of the problem was that the characters didn’t initially understand they were in a time loop.  

But then, when you’ve got time travel you can do all sorts of awful things to characters. I even brought back a villain from the very first scenario the agents played in.  I modeled these scenarios after Hellraiser (the Crystallizer of Dreams is a lot like Lemarchand’s Box) and in that regard at least the Tomb-Herd – animated stone crab-people in hooded robes – were creepy enough for the players to comment on it.  

Defining Moment: In the second time jump, a lot of agents die.

Relevant Media
	Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014 

Prologue
“You’ll see me there,” said the cat and vanished.
Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting
so well used to queer things happening.
-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

BRICHESTER, ENGLAND—At dinner, Derik VanVon proposed a toast. Fiona wasn't present and neither was Guppy. Mrs. Jenkins set the table.

"I recognize that circumstances have been highly irregular due to the…" he stumbled over the words, "events, but I believe we have enough shooting footage to proceed with the film despite my colleague's unfortunate demise. All we need is to film a climactic ending, something permanent, final, that will do justice to the events that have unfolded--"

Fiona burst in, swearing.  "Ya know, I was wonderin' what happened tah Guppy.  So I checked in on him.  Funny thing." She tossed a laptop onto the dinner table, spraying dinnerware in all directions.  "And that's when I noticed this."

Video footage played on the laptop's screen.  It looked like a relatively mundane shot of the manor from a distance.

"I don't see—" blustered VanVon.

"Oh but I think ya do. Ya see, I thought there was something odd about th' wireless feed, which is why I checked with Guppy.  Only Guppy's missing.  And that's when I remembered…the security feeds aren't in color." She tapped a key and the black-and-white security feed enlarged next to the color video. Fiona whirled on VanVon.  "These ain't our cameras. They're his."

VanVon swallowed hard.

Hammer squinted at the screens.  "The feeds don't match up."

"Please…you don't understand!" sputtered vanVon. "My wife left me since I've been in prison…my family won't speak to me.  It's very, very important to me that this movie gets made.  Please, this will be my greatest triumph!  It will redeem me!"

"Guppy's got this place wound tight. He's got security all over th' place – heck, he's got it wired ta blow after that last attack.  And ye expected ta place a camera without us noticin'?"

VanVon looked around. "Where's Albert?"

"Don't try ta change the subject…"

"I don't know dear," says Mrs. Jenkins, frowning. "He went out to check the perimeter…"

For a split second the moonlight streaming in from the window winked out as it was blocked by something large.

"GET DOWN!" shouted Jim-Bean. 

Hammer hurled the large dinner table over with a mighty kick just before machinegun fire exploded the windows. Splinters puffed out of the heavy oak table, but not everyone ducked behind it in time.

"PISCES. They found us," Jim-Bean supposed it was just a matter of time.

"We've got to get out of here, right now!" shouted Hammer, scanning the exits.

The silhouettes of men on zip lines shadowed the broken windows.  Archive whispered a phrase and flicked one palm open wide.

A solid brick wall built itself up at high speed across the windows.  There were muffled grunts and shouts of surprise as the intruders struck solid rock. "That'll hold them for a little while."

"Back door!" 

Hammer led them out of the living room toward the kitchen. Instinct only saved his life as the whistle of a blade nearly tore his head off.  As it was he ducked just in time, the blade grazing his scalp and embedding itself in the doorway.

Hammer unleashed his Glock's in Agent Raphael's face. The PISCES agent pirouetted away, blodding spitting through the air. 

"He came out of nowhere?" panted Hammer. 

"There's more," said Jim-Bean.  "He was using a HOG."

"HOG?" asked Hammer, trying to cover the room against assailants he couldn't see.

"Hand of Glory," said Archive.  "It renders the user completely undetectable."  

Canisters of tear gas thumped into the room from the kitchen exit. 

Hammer retaliated by firing wildly into the gas.  He turned the sinks on in the kitchen and tossed wet cloths to the others. "Keep this over your nose!"

The gunfire stopped, interrupted by surprised shrieks.

Out of the gas strode Thredra, dressed in her pale human-leather studded with vampire fangs.  Bats swooped in behind her and transformed into beautiful, pale-skinned men and women dressed in red armor. They all struck model-like poses behind her, a veritable gothic movie poster. 

“My troops are on their way,” said Thredra.  “But we don’t have much time.  I spotted several more PISCES choppers on the way over. You need to get out of here, now.”

The danger momentarily averted, Jim-Bean's picked up the headset of the body of Agent Raphael. "This is Agent Raphael.  I need a pick up." His gaze became unfocused for a moment.  "I just hijacked us a helicopter. It'll be waiting for us outside."



Part 1 – NIGHTMARE GREEN
Mrs. Jenkins, who managed to snatch a laptop in the confusion, tapped a key. "Someone sold us out. Here's the real security feed."  

On the feed, Andy Cook was smiling and conversing with Albert.  He whispered a phrase and Albert's eyes glazed over.  He shuffled dutifully behind Albert out of view of the camera.

"I'm initiating the NIGHTMARE GREEN protocol." She looked around sadly.  "I'll miss this place." Her features darkened.  "But I'll be damned if I let those PISCES bastards take it from us."  She looked away and tapped another key.  A dour-sounding beep responds. Mrs. Jenkins opened her eyes and tapped the key a few more times.  More negative beeps. "It's not working! They're blocking the feed!" She sets her chin.  "It'll have to be manually activated.  There's no countdown that way.  I'll do it—"

VanVon, bleeding from multiple wounds, put one hand on her shoulder.  "No.  I'll do it."

"You can't!" said Mrs. Jenkins.  "I would never ask—"

“As I said before, I don’t have anything left.”  He smiled, a little sad.  “But you have to go find Alfred."  When he notices her hesitation, he resorted to pleading.  “Please. Let me go out with dignity.”

"Fine."  She took out a jump drive from a chain around her neck, stuck it into the laptop, then handed it to VanVon.  "Insert this into the computer that runs the heating system downstairs.  You'll see the USB slot.  Good luck."

VanVon nodded and ran back into the dining room towards the cellar steps.

Jim-Bean led the charge towards the helicopter.  The mind-controlled pilot landed it a few hundred feet away from the mansion on the front lawn. 

"See?" Jim-Bean shot Thredra a smirk.  "Thanks for your help but I think we have it all under-"

The helicopter exploded as a missile struck it from another chopper hovering overhead.

Jim-Bean sighed.  "They're on to us." He thrust one arm out and a rocket launcher materialized, nestled on his shoulder.  He dug in and pulled the trigger.

The missile hit the second helicopter dead-on.  It whirled past them in a ball of flames. 

"Let's go!" shouted Thredra, waving them on through the smoke and wreckage. 

They passed over a dozens of corpses at the ready, staring at Thredra expectantly.  Cornwell’s wife Kate was there, a wicked bloody grin still plastered over her slack lips. Some of the Brichester kids with bullet holes in their foreheads stood beside her. Snow Dog, his groin coiling with maggots, looked freshly unburied.  Burst worst of all was Christine Dee, whose festering wounds were a boiling mass of filth and vermin. 

They silently passed the undead troops, like captains leaving doomed men to their sinking ship.  Not one of them uttered a protest.

At a command from Thredra they shambled into action.  Spotlights flared from helicopters overhead, no longer concerned about stealth.  The net was closing.

"The Phantom's in the barn!" Hammer jogged towards the barn. 

Hammer hopped into the front seat of the Phantom, souped up from Guppy’s modifications.  There was quite a lot of sophisticated equipment in there too – enough for Guppy to escape, which raised the question as what happened to him. 

Jim-Bean jumped in the passenger side. Mrs. Jenkins, Fiona, and Archive piled into the back. The Phantom roared to life and blasted through the barn doors.

As they rocketed down the dirt road, there was an explosion further ahead.  A 4x4 was off to their right, flipped upside down and roaring with flames from its exploded gas tank.  They caught a glimpse of a large humanoid form slamming an APC to and fro.  It spun and twirled overhead -- rotating several times on its axis and close enough to hear the men’s screams inside – before it smashed down in the woods on the other side of the road.

And then were free. The video screens in the Phantom crackled to life, picking up the wireless signal that Guppy installed.  They were almost out of range as they drove.  VanVon's face, bloodied and covered with dirt, filled the screen.  

Derik VanVon, blood speckling his teeth, smiled into the grainy webcam lens. 

“Looks like this laptop has a camera,” he slicked back his comb over.  “My name is Derik VanVon and I was once a famous movie producer. Up until now I’ve been working on a film titled Silent Scream, because I thought it would redeem me.”  Gunfire rattles outside and VanVon looks over his shoulder.  “But I realize now that was foolishness.  If I’ve learned anything in prison, it’s that life is what you make of it.  I’ve been given a second chance.  And I’m not going to waste it.”

He tilted the laptop.  Visible on camera him near was what looked unmistakably like a bomb.  A yellow and black switch covered by a glass case was nearby. VanVon flipped it open.

“There’s no value in making movies anymore.  Reality is the movie.  And this one, I hope, will go viral.”  

A muffled roar rocked the room – a nearby explosion.

“So here’s something for you kids to share on YouTube. PISCES, an elite government organization dedicated to defending Britain against supernatural attacks, has been infiltrated by brain spiders.”  He taps a key and flashes of curious-looking dragonflies with far too many joints to their limbs slide by. “They can flit from brain to brain, taking you over, manipulating you.  They have been here for decades, and they have been playing you all for fools.  They are not defending you.  They are holding your country hostage.”

VanVon leaned heavily on one arm, wiping the sweat from his brow.  Blood was dripping down one of his arms. 

He pressed another key, and pictures of Hammer, Guppy, Jim-Bean, Caprice, and Archive appeared on the screen.  “Hear me, PISCES. These men are your worst nightmare.  They are officially dead.  They have nothing to lose. ”  

A soldier was silhouetted in the stairwell behind him, automatic weapon drawn. 

“And they’re coming from you.” VanVon smiled through blood-soaked teeth and pressed the button.

The feed went blank. The wireless signal cut out as they drove out of range. 

A terrific explosion engulfed the Manora a second later.  The shockwave shuddered through the trees and shook the Phantom, but they were far enough away to avoid the full force of the impact.  Two helicopters whirled crazily out of control behind them, their crash punctuated by fireballs in the darkness.

"Now what?" asked Archive.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted that Andy @$$hole," snarled Jimmy.  "Let's pay him a visit."



Part 2 – Gnome-body Knows…
The Cook residence was a small house typical of the Severnford area. There was nothing overtly unusual about the Cook residence, except for the unearthly quiet that hung over the place.   An odor lingered in the air, familiar to Hammer: the scent of a recently fired gun. Another odor hung in the air--the scent of blood. 

A streak of white-blue lightning illuminated the room for a split second, illuminating a crumpled figure on the floor in a pool of dark liquid. 

Archive checked his pulse.  "It's Cook.  He's still alive. Barely."

Andy was on his back on the floor, a pool of blood at his head. He still held a flintlock pistol in his hand. 

Jim-Bean touched the floor and focused...

As the sky darkened and the full moon rose above the horizon, three ugly gnomes began to stir. Andy commanded small, dark figures to slaughter the Cook family. He retrieved the photographs of him and his sister. Aroused, Andy brought himself to sexual climax and scrawled the cryptic message on the mirror with his semen. Seeing the bloody carnage around him, Andy fled.  He returned hours later. Filled with guilt and horror over the brutal murder of his family, he put an antique gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

Jim-Bean rubbed his templates. "Ugh.  Sorry I did that."

"Spread out, check the other rooms," ordered Hammer. 

"You'd better see this," said Fiona, standing in one room's doorway. 

John and Helen Cook were murdered in their bedroom. Blankets and sheets were soaked with blood, and more of the dried substance was spattered on walls and the floor like the work of some mad painter. Mirrors and other reflective surfaces were smashed, and seemingly-nonsensical words were scrawled on the walls in dried blood. 

Jim-Bean eyed the words.  "Xada-Hgla. I've heard that phrase before."

"That's another name for the nuclear chaos known as Azathoth," said Archive. 

Hammer bent down to investigate the blood.  "There's a small set of tracks here.  They look like...tiny footprints."

Thredra came back into the hallway.  "If you think that's bad, you should see the kid's room."

The third bedroom was obviously Andrew’s. Posters of musicians and lovely young women adorned the walls, and a weight bench cluttered one comer of the room. A collection of hand-painted toy soldiers stood on the dresser. Three ugly little stone statues sat on the floor in front of a window. 

"There are pictures under one corner of the mattress," said Jim-Bean.  "They're...not good."

"What kind of not good?" asked Fiona.

"The sexual abuse kind," he replied dourly. 

Hammer picked up one of the statues. The carved stone figure was an ugly and deformed version of the typical garden gnome; the little statue had bulging eyes, pointed teeth, and twisted, clawed fingers. The unpleasant teeth and claws of the stone figures were discolored. Something has soaked into the stone, darkening it...

"Uh..." said Jim-Bean.  "I think you might want to put that down."

Hammer flipped the gnome over.  On its foot was stamped the words: MADE IN GOATSWOOD.

Hammer yelped as the thing bit down on him.  He dropped the statue, which took off at a run.  

The other two statues bolted into motion.  One ran along the wall, another padded effortlessly up the ceiling before disappearing from sight.

"Everybody out!" shouted Hammer. 

They started for the door when one of the gnomes unleashed a gout of flames, igniting the hallway. 

Thredra spread her fingers and magical darts of energy sliced into the upside-down stone figure, still dangling from the ceiling.  It fell abruptly two stories down, the impact punctuated by a loud crack.  

"We'll leave out the back," said Fiona.  She helped Mrs. Jenkins to the bedroom window.  

Hammer fired his Glocks at another shadowy figure running along one of the walls.  He made his way down the steps as the flaming wreckage of the house seethed around him. 

"Just leave them here!" shouted Archive.  

Hammer picked up Andy Cook's unconscious body and dragged him to safety. 

"Right," said Jim-Bean.  He made his way to the front door and when Archive and Hammer were through, telekinetically tore the roof down on the remaining gnome, who was gesticulating wildly in the center of the room. 

"Goatswood gnomes," sighed Thredra, who was waiting outside for them, unscathed and unflapped by the experience.  "I hate those things."



Part 3 – Crystallizer Clear, Round One
"Only Andy knows what happened to Alfred," said Mrs. Jenkins, her lips a grim line. Hammer got the impression she would have tortured Andy for the information if she thought it would help.

"Can you pry it out of him?" asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean shook his head.  "Nothing but interference.  There's something interfering.  A loud buzzing is all I get."

Thredra perked up from the back seat of the Phantom, which was getting crowded.  "There's one way."

"Yes?" asked Jim-Bean.

"The Crystallizer of Dreams.  You'd have to retrieve it of course.  But if you can get it, it will open a doorway into Andy's mind.  You can then act as a bridge to bring your companions through."

"And you know where this Crystallizer is?" asked Archive.

"I do," said Thredra.  "But it's not going to be easy. Ursula Seton has it and she's not going to give it up without a fight."

"Nothing ever is," muttered Jim-Bean.  "Let's go."

Number 55, Lodovico Street was is an old, three story, late Victorian house in Temphill, with gaunt trees lining its overgrown garden.  Its curtains were drawn; there was newspaper over its top window. Thredra, Fiona, and Mrs. Jenkins moved Andy Cook to a safehouse where 

The first floor consisted of a living room, a kitchen, a dining room, and a large den/study in the back of the house.  On the mantelpiece of one room, a plaster saint.  In the kitchen, evidence of life. Opened tins, bread, bottles of spirits; a glass.

Upstairs was an upper landing with three bedrooms and a bathroom.  There was an open door, and through it, a makeshift bed, blankets strewn.  An open suitcase, and its contents; more liquor.

As the agents moved up a flight, they approached a room off the top landing, the door of which was also slightly ajar.  The light within swung backwards and forwards.   In the middle of the floor were several pieces of plastic tubing which were scattered.  There was also a strange construct vaguely resembling an atomic model, only infinitely more complex, and a featureless, horned skull with two melted candles perched atop it.  

"Daoloth," said Archive.  "Whoever left this will be back soon.  They're planning to summon him."

"Weren't we IN Daoloth once?" asked Hammer.

Archive nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the yellow egg shaped artifact, a foot in diameter, that sat in the center of the blood-spattered floor. As they edged closer it became clear just how an elaborate construction it was, made up of sliding panels and mysterious chambers.  It is open at present, its polished innards exposed.  Out of it came a banal melody, played on a hidden mechanism.  

Archive held the egg up. It clicked, and part of it slid open. And to accompany the revelation, there was a twinkling tune. 

Archive opened more of the egg.  The tune became more complex. Somewhere a bell started to ring.  Archive worked the final mechanism of the egg.  The light flickers and goes out.

The bell rang. Light poured out of the egg.  The light came on again.

"I don't think this is a good idea..." began Hammer. 

A very narrow doorway had simply opened in the wall. The corridor was lit brightly in some places, and was absolutely dark in others.

They stepped into the corridor.    The walls rose into darkness on either side, their surfaces like the interior of a pyramid, pitted with age, and rotting away.  The atmosphere grew denser; smoke thickened the air. Then, a light glowed at the other end of the corridor. 

The smoke cleared and the light brightened, and there was a foul smell in the air. Standing across the room, lit by strange phosphorescence that had no visible source, were four extraordinary figures. They were all dressed in red metallic robes and hoods. They each wore an odd red metallic medallion inscribed with a strange geometric glyph.  The leader was pale white, his skin devoid of any pigmentation.  He was hairless and had strange pink eyes.  The other three figures stood with heads bowed, the hoods obscuring their faces. Only the tips of crustacean-like claws protruded from the edges of their  sleeves. 

The albino gestured.  “The Crystallizer... you opened it.  We came.”

Hammer cocked his head.  "You look familiar..."

"Yes.  I am a priest of Yog-Sothoth.  You killed me, I believe."  He smiled at the incongruency of such a statement. 

"Richard.  Richard somebody," said Jim-Bean. 

“Richard Jacobs. They are the Tomb-Herd. But it matters not who we are, but what you have.” He unwound the medallion from around his neck and it lengthened, growing wicked spikes.  

"So I guess you're going to take it back, huh?"

"I already have and I already will," said Jacobs. 

Hammer drew his Glocks, but discovered he wasn't there anymore.  He was in a maze of corridors like the first one they had entered.  Hammer ran for the exit...

Jim-Bean backed up as the whirling chain snapped near his face.  Archive fired his own magical Glock at one of the crab-priests, only to discover it was an animated statue that walked like a man.  Flakes of stone broke off from the eyestalks as he fired again and again. 

Jim-Bean backed up as the whirling chain snapped at his face. He put up a telekinetic ward but Jacobs effortlessly waved it aside, pressing the advantage. 

A gun shot dropped Jacobs from behind.  He fell forward, Hammer's pistol pointed in the space where Jacobs' head had been.

"I thought you were shifted to somewhere else," said Jim-Bean, who took Hammer's hand to get back up.

"I found my way back," said Hammer. 

They turned to Archive.  The egg flared brightly and... 



Part 4 – Crystallizer Clear, Round Two
A wind blew, carrying autumn leaves before it.  And on the wind, the distant pealing of bells. A woman was at the door, turning the key in the lock. Beside her was a man. She opened the door, let a man in, and closed it behind her. 

The agents entered through the back door to the house and stepped inside. 

They moved through the house, and started to climb the stairs, surrounded by a graveyard hush.

In the top floor of the house, the Pentacle of Planes was assembled. The featureless horned skull rested within the pentagram, holding a pair of lit black candles, and the Crystallizer of Dreams.  The man and woman knelt before the pentacle, chanting “Uthgos Yuggoth, Uthgos qond, Daoloth  Uthgos fhtgan, Uthgos plan ‘f Daoloth asgu’i-come O Thou who sweepest the veils of sight aside, and showest the realities beyond!”

During the chanting, the woman slammed a metal rod against the floor numerous times and then both ceased chanting.  All was quiet for a moment before the agents burst in.  

A luminous mist formed around the two people and the weird skull, and then vanished.  Seconds later, the candles flared briefly, then guttered and winked out, a black flame replacing them momentarily.  Then the room was left in total darkness.

In the darkness, a blood-curdling cacophony: the squeal of unoiled winches the rasp of hooks and razors being sharpened. 

The woman spoke. “Now, thou has tasted of our blood.  Thou knowest our intentions.  The Pentacle of Planes shall hold Thee until Thou shalt do what we desire. Prove my theories! Show us the truth! Wilt Thou show me, and thus release Thyself?”

From the din, music.  An unearthly rhythmical sound.  

The man yelled for mercy - a mixture of tears and roars of rage. By degrees, his incoherent pleas were drowned out by the surrounding tumult, until without warning, his voice pierced the confusion afresh - this time reduced to a naked scream.

Seconds later the light came on in the room. The man, or whatever was left of him, was gone.  

The woman whirled the metal baton at Hammer but it merely clanged off the wall behind him.  Jim-Bean was about to say something when the skull flew up and struck him in the face.  Stiff as a board, he hit the ground.

Archive whispered a chant, but before he could finish a dimensional crack opened behind him and swallowed him up.

Hammer fired his Glocks twice into the woman's head.  The first bullet stopped, hovering in mid-air, but the second made it through and her head bucked.  She collapsed, dead.

Hammer checked Jim-Bean's pulse.  The mask covered his face.  He was dead. Archive was missing, consumed by some extradimensional portal. 

That just left him and the egg.  He tried to remember the configuration and fiddled with the Crystallizer until it opened, light flaring... 



Part 5 – Crystallizer Clear, Round Three
They turned the corner of the street, and started down it.  The wind was strong now.  

Before Hammer could bash the door in it was suddenly opened.  The woman was standing there.

"Can I help you? It's very late."

"Are you Ursula Seton?" asked Hammer.

"Yes.  Come in." 

Seton let them in. A man was sitting at the end of the table. The light was behind him.  His features were shadowy.  He was badly bruised.

He leaned forward and into the pool of light over the table. He looked much the worse for wear.  His flesh was raw and bruised.  There was blood at his neck and hairline.

"It's good that you came.  We're finished now," he said. "The ritual won't happen, will it?"

Seton nodded.  "Ian killed her in self-defense," she said. "She tried to convince Ian that I was going to kill him." She laughed.  "Isn't that absurd?  The body's upstairs if you want to look." 

The doorway the three agents stepped through slammed behind them. The white man and his three minions were once again standing in the room, more shadow than substance.

"We want the woman who did this," said Jacobs. 

Seton backed away into Ian, who opened his arms with a feral smile. "Have you ever danced with the devil by the pale moonlight?"

Everything slowed down.  The sound of bells and the thunder filled the air. The lights in the hallway flickered and threatened to go out. Ian opened his jacket, the interior of which was blood-stained, and pulled a knife from the lining.

"You're not leaving now."

With a yelp Seton tore free of Ian's grip and fled up the steps.  

Hammer shot Ian several times while Jim-Bean and Archive engaged the other tomb-herd. 

"This is getting old," he muttered. "After her!"

They ran up the steps in time to see Seton attempting to start the ritual. Light began to pour through the walls of the room. 

Seton suddenly realized the danger she was in.  "No..." She started towards the door.  But she was too late.  The Tomb-Herd were moving through the light towards her.  One of the Tomb-Herd already stood in her way.  

Behind her, one the Tomb-Herd spoke. "Ursula."

"No!" shouted Ursula.

"You stole something that wasn't yours, Ursula.  It's time to give it back."

The pattern of light in the room became more elaborate, and the Tomb-Herd moved through it towards Seton.

Jacobs turned to the agents. "Leave.  This isn't for your eyes."

The door slammed as something heavy thuds against the door. They hurried down the stairs, the walls creaking and groaning. It was dark; the air full of groans.

As they started down the next flight of stairs one of the Tomb-Herd was on the half landing.  It started up towards them.  "No need to leave so soon." 

The sound of creaking was very loud.   There were falls of plaster dust from the ceiling.  

"The Crystallizer!" said Archive.  He caught a glimpse of it in the bedroom, where it sat on a chair beside the door, visible in a patch of moonlight. 

Archive lunged for the egg while Jim-Bean and Hammer peppered the tomb-herd with bullets.  It fell backwards, cracking like flaking masonry. 

As Archive fiddled with the egg, the tomb-herd's howl faded, as it was claimed by darkness, its image spiraling away into ether.

Another Tomb-Herd made a sound of rage, and charged up the steps, smashing the wood with each heavy footfall.   Archive pressed a button on the egg and it too was sucked away into nothingnesss, its scream fading.

More tomb-herd appeared, but suddenly the roof above it broke open and a fall of dust and filth buried the creature. The roof blew off then; was torn off, and the swirling sky above made it clear that they were not in any known reality. 



Conclusion
A creature hung in the space over the house.  It looked much like a ghostly, floating jellyfish, bobbing silently and cloudlike above the ground, long, graceful tentacles dangling from beneath a dark and stormy sack-like body. It was featureless except for a pair of yellow, catlike eyes that glowed menacingly. 

It moved towards them, its irises narrowing to slits. 

"A guardian!" gasped Archive.  He kept twisting the egg as fast as he was able.  Above it, a vortex opened, sucking everything into it.  The guardian lashed its tentacles around the moorings of the house, anchoring itself.

Hammer fired methodically at each tentacle, one after another, loosening its hold with every other shot. Thredra's magical weaponry was the only thing that made it possible to even hit the beast. It lost its grip and flailed wildly, but not before snapping a tentacle around Jim-Bean's torso.

And then it lost its anchor entirely and tumbled helplessly end over end upwards toward the vortex.

Jim-Bean telekinetically grabbed the horned skull and hurled it at the guardian.  It plunged deep into its translucent core.  He could see the blackened, flaking cancer spread from the skull, infecting the entirety of the guardian.  The tentacle that held him in a vice-like grip snapped off and he fell.

Howling its complaint, the guardian was drawn out into the darkness beyond the roof, and disappeared.  Its shrieks grew thin, and faded. Finally, silence. The house was still. The roars and creaks from the house ceased. Jim-Bean landed on his feet next to Archive.

"Is the egg still here?" He patted himself.  "Are we all still here?"

Hammer and Archive looked at each other.  "Think so."

"Good.” Jim-Bean dusted himself off. “Now let's go dumpster diving into Andy's brain."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 67: Unpleasant Dreams*

Introduction
This story hour is from "Unpleasant Dreams" by Scott David Aniolowski and Gary Sumpter. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://jeremyrobertortiz.blogspot.com)
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster

Imagine The Cell merged with Inception and you get an idea of what I was aiming for with this scenario.  Dream scenarios are difficult to pull off – they're remarkably similar to cyberspace scenarios, which is basically the same concept as they're fundamentally selfish universes influenced by will. Clever players manipulate the rules behind this kind of universe to their fullest, and Jeremy is the kind of player who knows how to leverage a universe like this to his advantage.

Unfortunately, once you figure that out, much of the game becomes rote.  We cycled through this scenario much quicker than I anticipated.  Still, the PCs played along nicely. 

Defining Moment: Jim-Bean realizes it's better to live to fight another day than take on two high priests in mortal combat. 

Relevant Media
	Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014 



Prologue
Down once more to the dungeon of my black
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!
Down that path into darkness deep as hell!
Despair!
-Andrew Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera

BRICHESTER, ENGLAND—"Ready?" asked Thredra. 

Andy was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor. The slow beeping signaled his near catatonic state. 

Archive, Hammer, and Jim-Bean were all hooked up to a device that connected them all together to the Crystallizer of Dreams at the center. 

"This kid has had a rough life," warned Hammer.  "It's not going to be a picnic inside his head."

"Ready," replied Jim-Bean and Archive.

Thredra pressed a button on the device...

They stood at the top of a huge stairway leading enticingly downwards. 

"This is the seventy steps of light slumber," said Archive, "by which you we descend to the Cavern of Flame."  Archive led the way downward. 

They were faced by two gaunt, bearded beings wearing ancient Egyptian attire denoting them as priests.

"Nasht and Kaman-Thah," said Archive out of the side of his mouth.  "The guardians of dreams."

"Halt," said Nasht.  "We recognize you!"

"You have entered the Dreamlands before, without our permission," said Kaman-Thah." You will not pass this time without being judged."

"Should you defeat us in trial by kuta," continued Nasht, "we shall let you pass with your equipment intact.  Fail and you shall be expelled."

"Ready your weapons and defenses," said Kaman-Thah. "And prepare to be judged!"

Hammer reached for his pistols and realized they had become hand crossbows.  "This is nuts."

"Technology in the dreamlands is several hundred years behind ours," said Archive.

"How are we supposed to fight them then?" snapped Hammer.

"We don't."  Jim-Bean walked up to the two Egyptian priests.  "I have no intention of fighting you." He imagined a portal. "I prefer to avoid you entirely."

The two priests exchanged a glance and then bowed. "You have passed the test.  You may proceed with your weapons intact."

They stepped through the portal...



Part 1 – Level One
They fell through a dark cavernous room resembling a mammoth hollowed-out rib cage.  Below it was a dome-like structure "growing" out of the floor, a hole in the center of its crest.  Dozens of other such domes were visible in the murky hell-hole.  Once they passed through the hole, inside the dome, they fell through what felt like water even though there was no liquid to speak of. 

Suddenly they were in a kitchen. A younger version of Andy Cook was at the sink washing dishes, an anxious eye on the clock.

As they entered the claustrophobic house, the boy hesitantly pushed a towel toward them, but didn't look.  He then tried to hand Hammer a wet plate but dropped it.  The dish slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.  

The boy's eyes filled with dread.  The kitchen clock read 5:30.  He pushed the agents toward a broom closet and shoved them inside.

With a finger to his lips, he shut the door.  From within the closet, they could see the terrified child through a crack in the door.  In the kitchen, Andy desperately tried to hide the broken plate. 

Startlingly, his father, John Cook, was already in the room; a cruel, imposing, manipulative man.

“What did you do know?” snarled John. “You make a mess?  I hate a mess.”

Andy backed into a corner, fearing what would come.

“Don't lie, now, Andy,” said John. “Remember what I said about liars?” asked John. “Liars will be punished.”

There was a scream, but scream came from the other side of the closet. They whirled, only to discover they were staring into a living room. 

Andy was forced to sit on the lap of an ugly middle-aged woman barely wearing a man's robe.  On a nearby table were whisky, tumblers, and an ashtray filled with butts.

“I got you a present, cutie-pie,” said the woman.

She gave Andy a tiny doll.  Drunk, she hugged and kissed him.  Embarrassed, the boy tried to squirm away.

“Oh no,” she said. “You're not going anywhere.”

John entered and sneered at the boy.

“Go back to bed, worm,” growled John.

“It's okay, we was just—“ began the woman.

“Shut up, bitch,” snapped John. 

The woman cowered, familiar with his violent moods.  The boy hurried to his room, but John grabbed him by the collar.

“What is that?”

He pulled the doll from the child's hands, turned to the woman, and smacked her across the face with it, gashing her cheek.

“You give him nothing.  Whore.  Are you his mother?  ARE YOU?”

Terrified, she shook her head "no."  John saw Andy quietly crawling away, hoping to escape.  He lifted the boy off the floor with one hand and held him in front of the woman.

“You see that?  SEE IT?  You slithered out one of them.  But where is she now, Andy?  As far from you as she could get, that's where.” He shoved him at the woman. “You want a mommy?  Is that what you want?”

The poor boy trembled with fear.  John noticed a puddle of urine on the floor.  He dropped the boy and laughed.

“Little worm pissed his pants.”

Humiliated, Andy covered himself and hid in a corner. 

John and the woman laughed and laughed, delighting in the boy's humiliation.

The woman spoke in an oddly metallic timbre: "I killed them, I killed them, and now I have to kill you!" 

That's when you realize the woman's face is utterly featureless. She howls and attacks! 

Hammer fired his Glocks at the thing. 

Jim-Bean watched, arms crossed.  "This is ridiculous.  We don't have to fight it.  Archive, can you use the Elder Sign on it?"

"Here?" Archive danced backwards as the thing produced a wicked knife and slashed at him.  "I don't know if it will work…"

"Sure it will work.  I'd do it, but I'm afraid it might work against me."  He coughed, uncomfortable, as Hammer backed further into the closet, peppering the thing with bullets that had no effect.

Archive pulled out his amulet.  "By the power of the Elder Gods I repel thee!"

The eye at the center of the amulet lensed open part-way, like a dreamer only partially awake.  It was enough.  The faceless thing melted into the floor. 

Andy was visible again, this time in the living room window, beckoning them inside. The door was open. 

After exchanging glances, the agents pursued Andy into the next dreamscape.



Part 2 – Level Two
A murmur of low voices was audible from the kitchen. Suddenly, the sound of a slap reverberated through the hall and a woman’s voice shouted: “How dare you accuse your father! How dare you! You selfish little pig!” More slaps were heard in rapid succession. 

In the kitchen, Andy Cook stood trembling, his face red and bruised from her blows. A woman--his mother--faced the boy, hand raised to strike him again. She glimpsed the agent of the corner of her eye, then put her arms around Andy and cradled his head against her chest. 

“There, there,” she crooned while her gaze burned hatefully at the intruders. “Mummy will take good care of you. Mummy knows what’s best.” 

Mrs. Cook instructed the boy to go to his room, but he backed away to the opposite end of the room.  She smiled at the agents. “Such a good boy, my Andrew. But such poor choice of friends.” 

The woman’s body split apart like a husk, transforming into an amorphous monstrosity with ropy pseudopods in place of arms and legs.

Jim-Bean rolled his eyes.  "Oh look, another horrifying monster from the depths of Andy's twisted imagination." He put one hand up and a cage grew around the thing.  It shrieked in frustrating, stretching its pseudopods at him.  Jim-Bean yawned and made a fist with his open hand.

The cage wrenched tightly into a ball.  Ichor and gore squirted out from between the bars. 

"I told you this wasn't going to be a cakewalk," muttered Hammer.

Jim-Bean shrugged.  "Seemed pretty easy to me." 

Before Archive could add his two cents the scene shifted again…

Part 3 – Level Three
The "floor" was covered with filth, ash, pebbles, and insects.  Water was present in many forms, puddles, moisture, dripping ceilings.

Through a crack in the "floor," they briefly catch sight of the boy on a lower level.  As he disappeared into a corridor ending in "nothing," they took in their surroundings: there was a massive pile of blocks, cubicles, crawlspace, walls, stairs, and ladders.  Leading everywhere and nowhere.

The boy crawled into a specific "room." Shortly after, a light came on within the cubicle.  It was like looking at a series of interlocked tenement rooms, some walls of which had been torn away to expose rooms within, rooms with no windows or doors.  

Following a path of fragile steps, they made their way to the lighted room and entered. A mottled horse stood with its head down, nose kissing the floor, allowing the boy to caress its neck.  This sweet animal was an incongruous vision in this hellish world.

"Hmph," said Archive.  "So this thing's going to sprout tentacles too?"

The frightened child retreated into a corner of the claustrophobic room, but the horse did not startle.  The horse took an affectionate step towards Hammer.  

Hammer kept his pistols out.  "It looks innocent enough…"

"Which is why this will end badly," said Jim-Bean. 

The boy reacted to an unusual sound coming from the ceiling. Very anxiously, he looked at the wall behind them. An old wind-up kitchen timer clicked down.

Hammer knew enough about timers in the real world to suspect one counting down in the dream world was also bad news.  "Back!"

He fell backwards just as eight sheets of glass dropped from the ceiling!  Like oversize razor blades, they sliced the horse into four clean sections.  They separated and compacted the quadrants until four glass-contained sections of dissected horse stood within the room.  

The boy ran and Hammer gave pursuit. The boy knew his way around the landscape, but Hammer had difficulty simply keeping him in sight.  

He heard a noise nearby and found a geared mechanism connected to some kind of shuttered door composed of an almost metallic-looking glass.   After examining the nearby walls, floor, and ceiling for any signs of "traps" akin to the glass blades and finding none, he pulled the mechanism and quickly stepped back. 

The shutter opened into a boy's bedroom, illuminated by a faint reddish glow. 

Andy cowered on a bed. He turned to Hammer and began to weep. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “They made me do it!”

A big, powerfully-built man stepped into view: John Cook again. He cursed the boy, hurling insults in a drunken rage before removing his belt. John proceeded to lash Andy wildly, striking the boy over and over again until his back was an ugly mass of raw meat. The boy's screams subsided as he passes out.

John then turned his attention to Hammer, a strange gleam in his eyes: “Meddling bastards!” he shrieked. “We’ve forgotten more about discipline than you’ll ever know!”

"I've got this one," said Hammer.  He carefully aimed his Glock at the oncoming apparition and fired.  The bullet struck John Cook between the eyes.  

Archive looked around for the boy.  "Where's the kid?"



Part 4 – Limbo
They appeared in a massive cavern.  A horrible sulfuric stench hung heavy in the air.  The young boy stared at the agents with wide-eyed shock.  In the center of the vast, ever-changing cavern, swirling mist rose from a jagged chasm of unguessable depth.  The heat was tremendous, the stench of sulfur overpowering. Nearby, a long metal ramp led to a second flight of stairs. 

A small cage hung over the chasm, dangling a small white rabbit. A plaque on the cage read: HERE LIES ALBERT JENKINS, GOATSWOOD. 

Jim-Bean snapped his fingers.  "That's it!  That's where Jenkins is!"

Hammer frowned.  "This is a little too obvious, don't you think?"

"That's assuming Andy came by this knowledge honestly."  Archive looked around.  "Why kidnap Jenkins and then try to kill himself?"

"What are you saying?" asked Hammer.

"I'm saying that it seems as if there's another force at work here, one that has other goals than Andy's miserable life…"

A terrible roar shook the cavern. Terrified, the boy searched for a place to hide. “He found me...”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the buzzing of a thousand angry flies.  A humanoid form hung in its center, but it was clear that it was no human.  

"Well now we know what that buzzing interference was," said Archive.

"Is that a…" Jim-Bean squinted at the thing. 

Hammer holstered his Glocks for once.  "Brain spider."

"Shan," corrected Archive. 

“You," the Shan inside Andy's dreamscape buzzed. "You big truzzle-mekker...” The humanoid spun in the air to face the boy. “And you.  You cumm home now, lizzle worm.  Or me gozz haffa punish you...”

Hammer walked over to Andy and knelt down. "I know you're scared. But this isn't you. This…" he pointed up at the Shan, "…thing is forcing you to do things you didn't want to do."

"I didn't."  The boy wept.  "I didn't.  He made me do it."

"I know. And he dug up some awful things from your past.  But you can stop him.  This is your mind.  Nobody can tell you what to do."

"No!" The Shan flashed past Hammer and the boy was gone.  He was trapped in the swirling mass of buzzing insects, but their silhouettes were visible inside the cloud.  It was holding Andy by the throat.

"Uh, what happens if the Shan kills him while we're in his head?" Jim-Bean asked out of the side of his mouth.

Archive swallowed hard.  "Let's not find out."

To his credit, Hammer didn't reach for his Glocks.

The cavern thumped and shuddered.  Something huge was making its way towards them. 

Two huge stone palms slapped together, instantly smashing the Shan to a red pulp.  Only the Shan's arm, still dangling Andy, protruded from between the giant fingers.  

It was one of Andy's miniature gnomes, but much, much larger – proportionate to the Shan's size as a fly. 

Hammer leaped and caught Andy as he slipped from the Shan's grip.  

Andy looked up at him, covered in welts from the stinging insects.  "Thank you," he croaked.

Hammer tried to speak, failed, tried again.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I tried to help…"

“You did help me.  More than you'll ever know.”

Then all went dark. 



Conclusion
The agents woke up to see Thredra staring worriedly at them. 

"He's in full arrest," she said

The heart monitor beat a panicked staccato. 

Archive leaned over Cook's convulsing body, but Hammer put one hand on his shoulder.  "Let him go," he said.  "He's finally found peace.  No point in dragging him back into hell with us."

Jim-Bean barked a laugh but didn't elaborate on what he found so funny.

Thredra sighed and put one hand on Cook's forehead.  He stopped convulsing and the heart monitor descended into a low wail.

Archive's hands clenched and unclenched.  He was a field surgeon – it appalled him to willingly let a man die.  "What did you do to him?"

Thredra sneered down her nose at him.  "I'm giving him peace."

Jim-Bean checked the clock.  "Six seconds."  He hopped off the cot he was laying on.  "Let's go find Jenkins."

Thedra shut the monitor off and followed Jim-Bean out the door.

"Six seconds?" asked Archive.  "Six seconds for what?"

"Regret," said Hammer grimly.  "That's how much humanity he has left."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 68: Blessed Be*

This story hour is from "Blessed Be" by Gary Sumpter. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero/Telepath) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://jeremyrobertortiz.blogspot.com)
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster

There are two scenarios where Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places seems to gets its bad rap: Gothic and Blessed Be.  Gothic worked fine in my campaign because I established vampires previously and I didn't work very hard to make the two lovers sympathetic, and instead had them in the employ of Count Nadasdy.  But Blessed Be is simply a deathtrap.

Blessed Be is inspired by The Wicker Man (the original, not the remake).  I'm not fond of the Wicker Man – it's an outdated artifact of its time and a very narrow view of religion – but it's considered a critical horror film, so it's no surprise to find a scenario inspired by it in this collection. I modified the quotes by the lead cultist to match the original script.

The scenario lures the investigators in with Jenkins as bait, which implies there's some sort of collusion between the shan and Shub-Niggurath. Once the investigators are trapped by hundreds of angry villagers and an avatar of Shub-Niggurath, there's very few ways out.  

But I liked the idea of taking on an entire village of maniacs, action horror style, so I put Jenkins in genuine danger and had the agents arrive at the climax.  Then I let all hell break loose. 

This scenario combines the shan presence in Goatwood with the shan presence in Delta Green.  The two aren't entirely compatible so I had to mess with a few elements to make it fit, but overall I was pleased with the results. 

Defining Moment: Jim-Bean comes up with a desperate plan to save Jenkins. 

Relevant Media
	Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014 



Prologue
Senses dimmed in semi-sentience,
only wheeling through this plane,
only seeing fragmented images
prematurely curtailed by the brain,
but breathing, living, knowing in some measure at least
the soul which roots the matter of both Beauty and the Beast
-Peter Hammill, “The Sleepwalkers.”

GOATSWOOD, ENGLAND—Located about half an hour out of Brichester by train, Goatswood was one of the oldest villages in the Severn Valley.  The cluster of stone buildings and thatch cottages was completely surrounded by a bleak and unwholesome woods in a sheltered valley, through which a web of twisting country lanes extended. 
The village was eerily claustrophobic, a complicated labyrinth of alleyways and cul-de-sacs. Narrow streets and crowded dull-red roofs gave Goatswood the impression of archaic furtiveness; bad times had left the place with sagging roofs and cracked walls, and a certain shabby ambience. 

The houses on the outskirts of the village were dirty, tired-looking affairs with steeply pitched gables.  Years of indifferent maintenance ran them into dilapidation and, in some cases, ruinous dereliction.  Lined with ancient oak trees and buildings of old honey-colored stone, the High Street presented a slightly brighter face, accommodating offices, department stores, public houses and even a cinema.  Many of the shops specialized in antiques, old books, and local hand-crafted items.

Outside, the villagers were gathering. 

“My friends, enough now!” shouted the high priest of Shub-Niggurath. “We shall all reassemble outside the town hall and then process through the village and the countryside, down to the hill, by the route which has become sacred to our rite. This year at the procession's end, as has already been proclaimed, a holy sacrifice will be offered up jointly to Nuada, our most sacred god of the Sun, and to Avellenau, the beloved goddess of our orchards, in order that we may furnish them with renewed power  to quicken the growth of our crops. Hail the Queen of the May!”

“Hail the Queen of the May!” the villagers shouted back. 

Dressed in colorful robes, the priest stood by the pylon and adjusts the ropes tied to the pivot; the lens and the mirror shifted, and a concentrated beam of moonlight moved up the road toward the hill. 

The priest lifted up a tankard of wine. “O god of the hill, I offer you this ale as a libation, that you may bestow upon us in the year to come the rich and diverse fruits of your kingdom. Hail, god of the hills! Accept our offering!” He poured it out onto the ground.  “And now, for our more dreadful sacrifice...you who command the fruit of the Earth.”

Albert Jenkins, restrained by two burly villagers, was near the center of the crowd.

When the beam of concentrated moonlight slid far enough up the side of the hill, a hush fell over the crowd.  In the eerie silence, a faint rumbling could be heard – as of distant thunder.  The priest turns toward Jenkins and, with a wild gesture, shouted, "We must offer to our god of the Sun and to the goddess of our orchards the most acceptable sacrifice that lies in our power. Animals are fine, but their acceptability is limited. A little child is even better, but not nearly as effective as the right kind of adult. You should be honored…you will undergo death and rebirth! You will not only have life eternal, but you will sit with the blessed among the elect. Come.  It is time to keep your appointment with the Keeper of the Moon Lens.”

Suddenly, a door which occupied the whole of the hill slid open to reveal the entrance to a cavernous passage.  Further back in the darkness, something massive shimmered and stirred in the refracted moonlight.  

The pillar of white flesh was supported on many-jointed bony legs tipped with great circular pads.  It had no arms, merely three spines which dig into the ground.  But the head was the worst—formed of thick coils of white jelly, covered with water eyes, and at the center was a huge toothed beak.  Those great yellow eyes peered in different directions, and all the coils twisted and jerked, sometimes transparent so that Jenkins could see into the head. 

The god’s yellow eyes squinted in all directions as it moved out of the doorway, creeping forward with the grotesque paddling motion of its three great spines.  The beak opened, and the thing squawked and hisseed at its worshippers. 

The crowd's jubilation was interrupted by the roaring of a car's engine. The agents' Phantom skidded into the center of town. 

Hammer gunned the Phantom and flipped open the triggers on either side of the steering wheel.  Multi-barreled machineguns popped up out of the front of the wheel wells of the Phantom.  

"Let's dance," he snarled before mashing both firing triggers on the steering wheel.



Part 1 – The Keeper of the Moon Lens
The machineguns sprayed hellfire into the crowd.  Seconds later the Phantom mowed through a wall of flesh, smashing cultists aside left and right. The Phantom careened to a stop, both front tires blown from cultist blades. 

The agents dove out of the vehicle.  The Keeper of the Moon Lens swallowed Jenkins whole, slurping him up like a butterfly licking a droplet of honey. He hung suspended in its head. It rotated on stilted legs towards the opening where it emerged.

"On it!" shouted Archive.  He chanted and extended an open palm.  The opening in the hill sealed over as it filled brick by brick with stone, the same trick Archive had used on the PISCES strike team.

The Keeper shrieked in rage as its exit was cut off.  It whirled on the tiny gnats who dared defy it.

Jim-Bean fired grenades into the crowd, tossing cultists into bloody bits of body parts. The lead cultist, Burgess, chanted and a bolt of dark energy speared into Archive.  He crumpled.

The Keeper stomped over to them and, skewering the Phantom with one pincered leg, tossed it.  The Phantom flipped end over end before exlpoding against the blocked entrance to the mound.

Hammer fired wildly.  The Keeper of the Moon Lens pinned him through the thigh with one spine.  He yelped, pinned to the ground. 

Jim-Bean levitated upwards, satchel of explosives slung over one shoulder.  "Dinner's served," he shouted, spraying a burst of gunfire at the thing's head. "Hungry?"

And with a lightning-fast snap of its maw, Jim-Bean disappeared into the thing's head.



Part 2 – Final Escape
Jim-Bean was held inside transparent walls that pulsed and gripped him firmly, but not tightly enough to injure.  

"You okay Alfred?"

Alfred, slumped against one wall inside the thing's head, nodded weakly.  "Yes, sir." He pointed at the satchel.  "Are you planning to use that in here, sir?"

Jim-bean unslung the satchel and set the detonators. "I'm going to put up a telekinetic barrier around us both. It should shield us from the blast.  You stay behind me, okay?"

"I can shape the charge sir, for maximum effectiveness. I worked with a bit of explosives myself during the War..."

The old codger was being far too modest about his skills.  Jim-Bean knew he had been Special Forces. Despite the circumstances Jim-Bean allowed himself a quick smile.  "Okay." 

Alfred arranged the charge, separating out the explosives in a line.  "Ready, sir."

"Here we go!" Jim-bean focused and a shimmering wall of telekinetic force went up between them and the explosives.

He pressed the detonator.



Conclusion
The explosives ripped outwards in a cone shape, spattering alien gelatin miles in the air.  Jim-Bean was hurled back into Alfred, who crumpled from the concussive force.

The Keeper let out a gurgling hiss as its head whipped back and forth, oozing.  Jim-Bean came to his senses quickly enough to grab hold of Albert as they were hurled out of the thing's head like a catapult.

With a loud croak, it took two steps forward, one back, releasing its grip on hammer. Just as the high priest prepared a retaliatory spell against Hammer it smashed on top of him, silencing priest and god permanently. 

Jim-Bean landed with the limp Jenkins in his arms.  "Albert.  Albert! Stay with me!"

Albert's eyes fluttered as he was placed on the ground.  "We gave them what for, eh, sir?"

"We got them Albert."  Jim-Bean sniffed.  "You got them."

"Good, good." He closed his eyes and his chest shuddered.  "It's been...a pleasure...serving you...sir..."  He let the last of his words out with a sigh.

Jim-Bean leaned over the only man he loved like a father and was still for a long time.  He only got up until Mrs. Jenkins ran over.

"So that's it then," she said softly.

Jim-Bean looked up at her. There were no words.

"Get up," she said, tear-filled eyes blazing with vengeance.  "We've got killin' to do."


----------



## talien

*Chapter 69: King*

This story hour is from "King" from Cthulhu Brittannica by Mike Mason, Alan Bligh, John French, Keary Birch, and Paul Fricker. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Sebastian “Caprice” Creed (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by Bill Countiss

When Bill's work schedule changed so that he couldn't play, we considered just killing his character off.  But then I had a better idea – what if I ran a campaign by email that just dealt with what happened to him?  It wouldn't end well, of course – he still couldn't get his schedule to work – but as I discovered I've run campaigns long enough for Matt to leave for Australia and then return to the States three years later.  Never count anyone out for long!

What's fascinating about this scenario is how I was able to manipulate the tension because there were only text descriptions.  Particularly because the protagonist begins playing blind, it's very difficult to play this scenario as if the characters were blind unless you have complete control of your surroundings.  I don't know about you, but there's no way I could have an audio-silent room – be it birds outside, people in the house, or just other players making noise.  

In email, the only noise is in your head. 

Defining Moment: Caprice finally tears off his blindfold. 

Relevant Media
	Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014 



Prologue
In the kingdom of the blind, the one eyed man is king.

-Erasmus, “Adagia”

MAGONIA, ENGLAND— Caprice was lying face down on some sort of bed. His head was held up by a firm, circular cushion of some kind, while his hands were level with his head, restrained by medical restraints. Indeed, wrists, ankles and forehead were all held by Velcro restraints, ensuring that he did not move from their current position.

Caprice was laying on something soft. His eyes were closed. A faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air and he could hear a soft humming sound…perhaps of a fan. Beneath him, Caprice could feel the crispness of fresh sheets. He was comfortably warm.

He opened his eyes. Darkness. Total darkness.

There was the rattle of a trolley moving closer, a slight change in air pressure and the noise of a door being opened.

“Good morning,” came a female voice with a pleasant British accent.  She sounded youthful, yet professional. There was a smell of perfume, which was quickly overpowered by the smell of burnt toast.

“Have some breakfast,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s just the usual, orange juice and toast. You can’t have anything more substantial until the doctor gives you the once over.”

He heard the sound of furniture moving – perhaps a small table, and the squeaking of metal underneath his face. Caprice flinched as something plastic was pushed into his mouth, past his dry lips – a straw? 

Tentatively taking a sip, he felt the sweet taste of orange juice in his mouth.

The nurse went round to the other patients in the room.  Caprice gathered it was the crew.  Given their predicament he guessed none of them were his fellow agents.

"What…happened?" he croaked.  He remembered tentacles, and screaming, and free falling.  The glass of his helmet shattered, and hungry mouths…

"You've undergone eye surgery—" The noise of a door opening cut her off in midsentence.

There was another change in air pressure and Caprice heard a door open and close. A male voice, with a distinct far eastern accent could be heard.

“Good morning, everyone. I hope you had a comfortable night.”

The man seemed to shift about the room as his voice grows and diminished in volume as he moved around. He appeared to be stopping at each bed and picking up something, making “hmmm, yes,” noises –studying medical charts.

“Yes, all quite good. Each of your eye procedures has gone very well,” the man said, somewhat smugly. “Now, you need to rest for another twenty-four hours. I’m afraid we can’t have you moving around as it may cause complications, hence the restraints. Yes, face down and no exposure to light. We don’t want any of that! None of you would like to have any disastrous complications, eh?! Don’t want anybody going blind!”

"What happened?" Caprice asked again.

“You have each had your eyes rebuilt.  I then replaced the emptied eye cavity with a gas bubble. Since gas rises and the macula and retina are at the back of the eye, you must remain face down in order for the gas bubble to apply pressure to the area in need of healing. And so, allow the macula or retina to re-bond to the eye wall and a new vitreous to replace the gas bubble. Although vitrectomy has a strong, successful track record in improving vision, the recovery from it is often far more challenging as patients must put up with the discomfort of being held in a face-down, post-operative position for a further twenty four hours. As I said, we don’t want you going blind!”

After a cursory examination of each of the patients, the doctor pronounced that he was happy with everyone’s progress.

"The nurse shall return shortly, should you require anything further."

Caprice's thoughts roiled.  What happened?  He caught the British accent, but he didn't recognize the other one.  They were over the Pacific Ocean, right? What was he doing in a hospital? And what in God's name had happened to his eyes?

A terrible female scream snapped him out of his dark thoughts. It was from somewhere close to, yet outside the room, followed by the sound of someone running. It was followed by a strange, high-pitched, twittering sound that seemed to appear from nowhere.

Caprice gasped.  He knew that sound.  It was the thing…the thing in the air that was trying to – no had succeeded in – eat his eyes.

More screaming. A male voice shouted something in a foreign tongue, and more footsteps. It was followed by a sucking noise that rose in volume.

Then silence.



Part 1 – Exercising Restraint
Caprice called out. “Can anyone see?”

“That you, Caprice?” asked Agent Seabiscuit’s voice. He was the surveillance operator for the plane Caprice was on.

“Yeah, it’s him.  We’re here,” said Agent Hooch, field engineer. “And so’s Boner.  I can hear him breathing.”

“Very funny,” said the unfortunately named Agent Boner, communications. “Can any of you see?”

"No,” said Seabiscuit.  “And I can’t move either.  What the hell is going on?”

“Maybe we’re tied up to protect ourselves,” said Hooch.  “The doc said something about our eyes exploding…”

“I’m a little freaked out right now,” said Boner.  “You guys are freaking me out.”

“Calm down,” said Seabiscuit.  “We’ll figure something out.”

"Well at least we're together,” said Caprice. “Let's work on trying to get at least one hand free. Who's closest to me? Maybe we can shimmy closer and attempt to assist getting these restraints off"

Caprice attempted to shift his table to whoever was closest in an attempt to assist in the removal of restraints.

“We’re strapped down,” said Seabiscuit.  “But I think if I…unh.  No good.”

Hooch muttered. “Me neither.  I get the impression they meant to keep us in here.”

“You’re the strongest of us, Boner,” said Seabiscuit. “Give it a try.”

Boner grunted.  A second later he sighed.  “No luck chief. But…” Caprice heard a body shift and wheels creak. “Yeah! Caprice, where you at?”

Caprice called out and Boner inched closer.  It seemed to take forever, but eventually his bed bumps into Caprice’s. “Okay, I’m gonna try to reach your…” Caprice felt Boner’s fingers brush his wrist, then grab hold of the restraints. “Buckles?  Son of a…”

“We ain’t got all day here,” said Seabiscuit in irritation.  “Whatever was out there may be still lurking around.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” shouted Boner. “Don’t rush me!”

“Yeah, don’t rush him,” grumbled Hooch.  “I want to get out of here before I die of old age.”

Finally, Boner unbuckled one of Caprice’s wrists.  He was free.

Caprice kept the blindfold on and made his way over to the next guy and unbuckled his restraints. “Everyone tuck their chins and hunch over slightly if you have to. This will keep our heads in the same face down position that we were restrained in. Let's form a chain and keep your left hand on top of the left shoulder of the man in front of you. The two highest ranking form the beginning and end of our chain. Any breaks in the chain speak up. Let's get the f*&k out of here."

Caprice felt his way over to the other guys and pulled off their straps.

“Caprice…this is freaking me out,” said Boner. “Will our eyeballs fall out if we take these blindfolds off?”

“If it’s a pressure thing, we’d be bleeding already,” said Seabiscuit.  “I’m sitting up and my eyeballs haven’t exploded yet.”

“You don’t know that,” snaps Hooch.  “Could be a delayed reaction.”

“Maybe we should just take the damn bandages off,” muttered Hooch.  “I ain’t holding your hand.”

“He said shoulders, not hands, Christ!” growled Seabiscuit.  “Anything’s better than sitting in here.”

There was more shifting of movement.  Caprice could hear the pad of men getting to their feet.

“Ready!” chirped Boner.

“Fine, you lead,” said Hooch. Caprice felt a hand on your shoulder. “Hope we don’t walk into a pit…”



Part 2 – The Thing Behind the Door
The room was very cold, the concrete floor icy to the touch.  Caprice felt around for dressing gowns in bedside cabinets which provided some relief from the cold, although the lack of slippers or other footwear meant that his feet started to feel like blocks of ice. He opened the door.

Caprice could hear a woman’s voice echoing down what sounded like a hallway, tinny and electronic.  “Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

Caprice led the train of men towards the voice. "I can hear you, can you see me?” he asked. “I'm coming down the hall."

Caprice kept one hand against the wall and the other in front of him as he moved the train. They made their way way down the hall.

“Yes, I can see you! The security protocols are in effect!” said the woman. It’s clear she was communicating through a speaker.  “Whatever that…thing was, it tore out the security guard’s eyes.  I think the door’s palm activated. Can you feel around for his hand and put it up to the panel?”

As Caprice made his way to the door, he felt something cold and wet near his bare feet.  His hand brushed against a cool panel on the wall.

"Are you sh**tting me?” Caprice sighed. “Okay guys change of formation. Everyone shoulder to shoulder with me on the far left. Once we're all lined up let's get on all fours and slowly move forward, and all together maintaining shoulder contact. We're looking for human hands. Oh and Boner, if you find his dismembered penis try and resist jamming that thing in your ass until we get out of here."

Boner laughed nervously.  “Hey guys…hey.  My feet are sticky.  Why are my feet sticky?”

“Did you piss yourself again?” asked Hooch.

“Not funny man.  I think this thing on the floor—I--I think it’s a dead body.  I don’t want to touch it…Christ.”

“Fine.” There was some muttering from Seabiscuit.  “Yeah, dead body here all right.  A lot of blood near his face.”

“Are his eyes missing?” asked Boner, voice rising.  He was on the verge of hysteria.

“The f**k if I know! I’m not trying to make out with the corpse, Boner.”

“Sounds like the thing that…” Boner swallowed audibly. “We heard outside our door...”

“Caprice, grab his arm and let’s go before Boner completely snaps,” growled Hooch.

Caprice helped lift the dead guard to the security console and put his hand to the pad. He slapped the dead guard’s palm to the raised panel on the wall and let the corpse’s arm slump back to the ground.

There was a quiet hiss as a door on the far side of the wall opened.

“Hey guys,” said Boner.  “I uh…there’s another body over here.”  Caprice could hear him shuffling around in the hallway. “It’s a woman.”

“Don’t tell me…” begins Hooch.

On the far side of the door, metal bars whisked into hidden compartments. Several heavy locks clicked open, one after the other.

“…I think it’s the nurse,” finished Boner.

“Wait,” said Seabiscuit.  “If the nurse is a corpse…”

“Then who did we just let out?” finished Hooch. Alarm klaxons begin wailing all around them.

 

Part 3 – I Can See Clearly Now…
"We never actually asked who we were speaking with, so there's no way to know for sure if it was or wasn't the nurse,” said Caprice. “It could have been anyone, including the creature that may have or may not been trapped on the other side. We're not being torn to shreds at the moment so we can figure it either isn't on that side or isn't interested at the moment. Let's move forward. Now should we lock up behind us in case the creature is behind us? It's possible that whoever wanted that door open may have hid in fear that the creature would move in with us. She survived so she may have another safe area. Let's hope for that.  Okay, line up and let's bring this body with us so we have the option."

“Thank you for releasing me,” husked the woman’s voice.  It was electronically communicated through the speaker, but the sound was so close that they could hear her through the door as well.   There was a wet plopping sound from inside the room, like someone dropped a bag of meat.

“Okay, I’ve had enough!” shouts Hooch.  “I don’t care if my eyeballs fall out!”

“No, wait—“ begins Seabiscuit.

“We will be free soon, and then I shall thank you appropriately.” The response was deeper, alien.  But this time they could hear two voices, speaking in unison.

Hooch began panting hard.  He must have removed his blindfold.

“Hooch, you’re scaring me man.  What’s going on?” asked Seabiscuit.

“Did your eyes explode?” asked Boner.

“No…”

“I’m taking mine off then,” said Seabiscuit.  “…Jesus.”

There was a thump.  A wet sound, like that of a rag being slowly moved across a glass window.  It was right near Caprice’s face.

Hooch, the most sarcastic of the three, sounded distracted. “WHAT. THE F&*K. IS THAT.”

“Oh come on you guys…Fine!”  Boner yanked his blindfold off.

Then he just started screaming.



Part 4 – Patient Zero
Caprice, his bandages still on, ran back the way he came.  He tried to and find a way to lock himself in the recovery room where they all started out…

Only to slam into Boner. The two of them bounced off a wall in the confusion. Boner flailed, still screaming, and over the klaxons it was nearly impossible to get one’s bearings. If Hooch and Seabiscuit were still there, Caprice couldn’t hear them.

“Don’t leave me!” screamed Boner, clawing at Caprice. He managed to shrug him off and stumble down the hall.

Caprice’s open palm slapped against a doorframe.  After slamming into the door with his shoulder several times he burst into another room. His knee thumped into a metal chair, which he managed to pop up against the door.

As Caprice plastered himself against the wall to catch his breath, he realized the klaxons were barely audible.  The room seemed air tight. He could still, faintly, hear Boner screaming.

Then he heard the wheezing.  Slow, unsteady, deep. It was coming from the center of the room.

Caprice double-checked the security of the door and crawled over toward the center of the room.

"It's okay, you're not alone. Can you talk?” he asked. “If you can understand me but can't speak tap on the floor or something."

He felt his way to a tent at the center of the room.

The breathing stopped for a second.  A deep breath.  A dry, whispery voice said, “I want to die… Can’t take it anymore…The invisible monster!"

"What is this place?” asked Caprice. “I'm blind so visible or invisible makes no difference to me. How do we get out of here?"

"You really have no idea, do you?" He hacked out a cough.  It sounded productive, like he was spitting up phlegm...or worse. "My name's Lee.  Lee Coleman. This SHOULD be Dartmouth Prison, but they transferred me.  I am..." he coughed, "I used to lead the Army of the Third Eye. We've been fighting the ghosts from space.  They've taken over the government.  If I had my guess...we're in their secret prison, Magonia.  And nobody leaves Magonia."

Gunfire rattled the hallway behind Caprice.  He could hear men shouting orders over comms.

"So that's how you got out?" More coughing.  "You let Edith out, didn't you?" More noise came from his throat -- could be a laugh, could be another cough.  "Oh that's a great going away present."

A long pause.  If it weren't for his unsteady breathing, Caprice would have suspected that Lee had expired on the spot. The gunfire in the hallway was followed by booted footsteps.

"There's a...thing.  They call it an Ocularon.  It eats...it uses...eyeballs. It's from another dimension, a dimension opened by the Nightmare Wave.  Now the...things that have taken over the government are scared.  They're worried about losing control, that their secret plans are being disrupted by this...intrusion. It's why they fear and hate Edith. They captured the Ocularon.  They've been feeding it.  Feeding it my eyes. But I’m guessing they didn’t have as much control over it as they thought…got tired of eating the same old dish…"

Screams in the hallway.  Some human, others shrieks of pain and rage.

There was a sucking sound.  Lips pulling back from teeth.  "That's what happened to you, isn't it? That's why you're wearing that blindfold?  Did the old doc tell you the same bulls*&t about your eyes falling out?  It's a little game they play.  See, you're my replacement.  Doctor Funikoshi Tenaka is trying to create supersoldiers with nightvision, using what they've learned from the Ocularon.  He keeps regrowing eyeballs in my sockets, then lets the Ocularon tear them out."  Lee begins to sob. "There's no anesthesia in Magonia."

The gunfire stutters, then stopped.  Something heavy slams against the door.  Gibbering.  Then heavy footsteps slid down the hall.  Doors were torn from their hinges.  Something fantastically strong was ripping the place apart.

"Director Hampton!" shouted the singsong, husky voice Caprice heard earlier. "We'd like to speak with you!"

Lee stopped weeping.  "Listen.  Listen to me."  He wheezed.  "You've got to get out of here.  The Ocularon must have caused this.  It eats eyeballs..."

Something clawed at Caprice-- not quite a hand, but perhaps a finger, confined beneath a sheet. It brushed his face.

"And for Christ's sake take that damn blindfold off..." Another fit of awful coughing.  "You're going to need to see...just don't read whatever Edith...writes..." This time the breathing stopped entirely.  The hallway was silent.  The room was silent.

The silence was interrupted by the door being shoved open, knocking the chair to the ground. "Caprice?" asked Seabiscuit. "You okay?"



Part 5 – Animal Farm
"F*&k no I'm not okay!” shouted Caprice. “I just found out we're being farmed for eyeballs for that thing!" He tore his blindfold off. "Let's gets out of here. Who's still alive?"

As he tore the bandage off, Caprice felt it squirm in his hand.  When he looked down with his newfound sight, which was crystal clear (better, he realized, than it ever was – he used to wear contacts) he saw a squirming mass of tiny purple worms on the inside of the bandage.

Seabiscuit saw it too.  “What the F*&K?!”  He looked from the bandage to Caprice.  “Jesus, you’ve got…”

Caprice could can feel them.  Squirming.  Writhing.  They were nested there, dormant, under his eyelids.  Now you he could feel them, like ants marching across his eyeballs and for a second he seriously consider tearing his new eyes out. He screamed and clutched his face as one wiggles across his iris…

Then it stopped.  When Caprice open his eyes again they were gone.  There was just a greasy smear on his palms, and the bandages.

“I don’t…” Seabiscuit shook his head slowly.  “I don’t think we had those under our bandages, but…maybe.  I didn’t look.  I was too freaked out by what I saw in that room.”  He shuddered and then noticed the sheet.

Now that Caprice could take in the room he could see that he wasn’t missing much.  It was bare, except for the chair and the bed, which was covered by a containment tent.  The tent had collapsed somewhat, pressing itself against a tiny form.  Perhaps that of a child – but Caprice knew it was a man, which meant beneath was just half a man, his legs missing.  A slow, red stain spread from where the shape of a nose might be.

"Guess he’s not coming with us,” said Seabiscuit slowly.  Recovering from his shock, he ducked his head out into the hallway again.  “It’s all clear, Hooch!” he whispered.  Seabiscuit turned back to Caprice. “Whatever that thing was tore the guards apart.  There’s nothing but stains everywhere.  Hooch hid in what I think was the operating theater for this place.  And I found…” he hesitated.  “It’s better if you see for yourself.”

Hooch entered with Boner in tow.  “Look who I found,” he said with a grimace.

Appraising Boner, Caprice could see why.  He looked dazed, disheveled in his hospital gown.  But it was the bite marks on his shoulders that draw Caprice’s attention.

The sleeves of his gown were torn off. There were two gouges, as if something – certainly not human – bit into his shoulders, deep.  Bruises from big, meaty fingers left ugly marks on Boner.  “She must have grabbed him by the shoulders,” said Hooch.  “That’s when they bit him.”

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding. There’s gauze in the storage room.  Come on.”  Seabiscuit stealthily padded out of the hallway.

All Caprice could think of was: how did “she” and “they” grab Boner and bite him at the same time?



Part 6 – Tag, You're It
"Well I'm officially freaked out,” said Caprice. “Any objections for getting the hell out of here? Let's get a move on before that thing has another bowl of eyeball soup."

He crossed the hallway.  With blood spattering the walls and limbs torn, half-eaten bodies kicked into the corners like so much refuse, what was once a creepy hallway now seemed like a gateway to hell.  At the far end was the end of the hallway, which terminated in an elevator shaft.  The doors were wrenched open by something, something big enough to gnaw on the doors as it tore them free.  The alarm lights still flickeed a fiendish yellow, painting the blood in an odd green light.

But their destination was across the hall. Once inside, Caprice discovered a storeroom of sorts, containing two medium-sized industrial refrigerators and three tall cupboards – all of which were unlocked.  In the cupboards were surgical tools, including scalpels, bone saws and the like, as well as towels, spare scrubs, linen and bandages.

“We ducked into this room when the s*&t went down,” said Seabiscuit.  He fished out bandages from the cupboard and tossed them to Hooch.  Hooch began binding Boner’s shoulders with pad and gauze. “They brought some serious firepower down here against that thing we let out of the room.”

At the mention the thing, Boner started trembling.  He was still in shock.

“Can we not talk about it right now?” snapped Hooch.

Seabiscuit frowned.  “Why don’t you take Boomer into the bathroom, clean his wounds out.  I saw a restroom down the hall.”

Hooch nodded and shuffled the still-sniffling Boner out of the room.

“This is what I wanted to show you.” When they were gone, Seabiscuit opened a refrigerator door.

Caprice looked inside. The inside of the refrigerator looked back at him.

It contained a number of specimen bottles of varying sizes, each containing an eyeball. Dozens of eyeballs, different colors.  Blue, hazel, green, brown.  They floated, socketless, bereft of a skull to hold them. If they ever belonged in a skull at all. In the back were other organs, also bottled. Each bottle was labeled with a bar code. A number of blood pouches, each labeled by type, were piled next to a carton of orange juice.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked Seabiscuit.

"We got the munchies but our good guests don't have anything worth snacking on,” said Caprice. “I'm guessing after they farmed a new pair of eyes they would scoop out whatever the creature didn't want and store it for later.  Maybe it was backup for when that guy in the tent died in case they didn't have a new group to harvest from.  You know, insurance.  Let's each of us take a jar in case we run into that thing, it might buy us some time as it scoops up the tossed eyeballs. "

He toss the orange juice to Seabiscuit. "Here. Just in case we are wrong and all the damn thing wants is some
vitamin C."

Seabiscuit looks askance at the bottle Caprice called orange juice.  “I wouldn’t drink this for breakfast…” He shrugged and places the bottle on a table. “Unless you’re planning to shove these bottles up your ass we’re gonna need to change.”  He tossed Caprice some purple scrubs.  “Found these too.”

Hooch returned with Boner in tow.  He was carrying an armful of blood-spattered guns.  “We might want to carry these with us while we’re at it.”

They all changed into scrubs.  Boner did too, though he was strangely mute through the whole experience.  It’s then that caprice notice something, but kept it to himself, hoping Boner wouldn’t notice.

In purple scrubs and packing a pistol, Seabiscuit looked like some kind of deranged orderly.  “We’d better go, those guards will be back with reinforcements.” After checking the hallway again, he ducked out.

“The elevator’s open, but we’re gonna have to climb it,” said Hooch.

Prodded by Hooch, Boner followed a little less enthusiastically.  But before he Caprice heard him mutter something about barcodes.

And he knew Boner was right.  There were bar codes on each of their wrist tags too.



Part 7 – Shafted
Caprice checked his weapon and made my way into the elevator shaft to climb down with the others

Below was a yawning abyss, dimly lit by strange violet rays at the bottom of the shaft.  It's clear the elevator snapped, or blew open, or was torn open.  Judging from the bloody tooth marks on the edges of the elevator doors that lay in the hallway, something terrifically strong ripped them off their hinges.

"It's pitch black down there," said Seabiscuit mournfully.

"Whoever Edith is, she is one pissed off bitch," said Hooch, shaking his head. "We don't have any flashlights, so I'm not sure how we can get down there without breaking our necks."

Caprice looked back down the elevator shaft.  The shaft was hardly what he’d call dark.  In fact, it was illuminated by a purplish glow.

That's when he caught Boner's gaze of horror.  "His eyes! Look at his eyes!" He pointed an accusing finger at Caprice.

"Hey guys, don't freak out, but I can see perfectly,” said Caprice. “Let's get through this and then we can scoop my eyeballs out if it freaks you out too much. This must have been what that guy in the tent was talking about. They were trying to grow special eyes for their soldiers. I guess this one worked. They must have done something different with mine."

"Yeah, maybe you can see in the dark," said Seabiscuit, "but you don't know what you look like. Let me show you."

He ducked back out of the hallway into the storage closet and returned with a small mirror.  "Now look."

At first Caprice couldn’t make much out in the dim light of the hallway.  But when he stuck his head back into the shaft and checked the mirror again he was startled by two pinpoints of yellow glaring back at him. His eyes. 

His iris was a ridged five-pointed star of a pale yellow color. It looks a lot like the symbol Archive always carried with him.

Shaking off the fact that he now had eyes shining in the darkness like a cat, he looked back down the shaft.  He could still see just fine, but it's apparent that the illumination wasn’t really there -- EVERYTHING was limned in a purplish glow.

Caprice could see an elevator cable dangling down the length of the shaft. "Well at least I'll save some money on the energy bill when I get home. Okay, guys let's make our way down."

Steeling himself, Caprice took a running jump and crossed the gap to one of the dangling cables.  To his relief, it held.

For once Caprice was glad he was the only one who can see in the dark – the others were edgy enough without seeing him freak out. He waited a moment until his nerves finally calm down, then begin swinging over so the other guys could grab hold of the cable.

Somebody chuckled up above but he was too busy concentrating on not slipping to his death to look. Good, everyone’s staying cool. Caprice began humming the theme song to “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” as he inched his way down the cable.  He hummed the tune, G, A, F, (octave lower) F, C so that the other could gauge his distance from them. 

“What the hell do you think that thing was?” came Hooch’s voice, oddly distant in the echoes of the elevator shaft.

“The eyeball thing?” asked Seabiscuit.

“No, you know…the big mother…”

Caprice hummed the first three bars: G. A. F…

“I don’t know, Hooch.  I don’t think I wanna know.” 

F. C.

“Where is she? She tore the elevator apart.  Took those guys out with guns…”

G. A. F. He was almost at the bottom.

“I don’t know man.”

F. C.

“Can we NOT talk about this now?” whined Boner.

“Sorry Boner,” muttered Hooch.  

Caprice never heard Hooch apologize to anybody.  The experience had changed them all. 

He could see the cable stoped a few feet above the top of the elevator.  Caprice hopped the short distance and clamber down into the elevator proper.

G…

The first thing he noticed was the ammunition.  Someone expended a lot of bullets.  Shell casings were everywhere.

A…

The second thing he noticed was the blood.  There wasn’t a lot of it, unlike the hallway.  It was rough, violent blood spatter – someone strong struck with something sharp.  Brutal.  Messy.

F…

Then Caprice looked out beyond the wrecked elevator doors.  He was sorry he did.

F…

Stretched before him was a rocky, rough-hewn tunnel. The area carried a strong, earthy smell and was illuminated by two large open fires set in the middle of the cavern. Around the fire pits were rough, woven straw mats. Also arrayed around were numerous tools including mops, buckets, wrenches and spears. In the far left corner, beyond the sleeping mats, was a heap of rubbish.

C.

Bodies.  Dozens of them. Small dark-skinned males.  Caprice couldn’t tell their race because none of them hadfaces.  Every single one of them had their face chewed off with horrible, lamprey-like efficiency, like their faces were torn off as easily as Halloween masks.  They faceless bodies were blessedly in the shadows beyond the reach of the fires’ glow.

Boner landed behind him first.  “Whoa,” he whispered.  “What do you see?”



Part 8 – What's for Dinner?
"It looks like a mass grave, all dark-skinned individuals with their faces munched off,” said Caprice, trying to make light of the situation without freaking Boner out. “Well, you know what they say....once you go black... There is lots of blood down here, but not all of it appears human. I can't see to the end of the cavern, but I can't imagine it being any prettier.  Should we go back?"

Seabiscuit and Hooch landed shortly after Boner. Seabiscuit looks back up the shaft.  “Go back where?  I’m not climbing up there again.”

“Screw that,” said Boner, suddenly decisive. “I’m starving!”

He made his way over to one of the fires.  It was the main cookery area, complete with roasting spit, chopping boards, large evil-looking knives and bottles of barbecue flavored sauce. Meat roasted on the spit.

Caprice’s stomach rumbled in response.

Boner took a hunk and tore into it.  “Pork!” he said around a mouthful.

Caprice slapped the meat out of his hands. "Are you insane?! That is probably a human chicken wing you're eating! Why are their spears on the ground? Everyone here has machine guns, and there are spears on the ground."

Boner’s eyes glazed as he looks down at what he was eating in the flickering firelight.

“Oh Jesus!”  He wailed, tossing the meat to the ground, and then stumbled into the shadows, heaving in the direction of the tunnel. Caprice noted that at the far end there was a slight glow – that of an elevator button perhaps on the far side of the cavern.

Caprice immediately regretted his crystal clear vision in the flickering darkness. There was a wrinkled tattoo visible on the hunk of meat. He could make out a buxom woman astride a phallic-like rocket.

“What the hell is wrong with you Boner!” Hooch snatched up the meat and held it up to the firelight. Then he saw that tattoo too. “Oh God…”

He staggered backward, hands to his mouth, tears in his eyes.  Caprice had never seen him like this..

“That tattoo,” whispered Seabiscuit, who saw it too. “That was Rocket’s.”

Rocket was one of the pilots on the plane.  Caprice had wondered if he survived. Now he knew for sure.

Their morbid thoughts were interrupted by a familiar clicking and high-pitched twittering sound behind them.



Part 9 – Boned
"I guess back isn't an option, RUN!" shouted Caprice.  He darted ahead into the unknown. 

Hooch turned to run but it was too late.  Shimmering tentacle-blades snakeed lightning fast towards Hooch’s face.  Caprice didn’t stick around to watch but his screams painted the picture.  It was taking his eyes.

Caprice booked towards the far hall.  There was an elevator, but there was no way everyone would make it.

Boner wailed, scrambling on hands and knees towards Caprice.  “It wants our eyes!” he screamed.  “IT WANTS OUR EEEEEEYYYYYEEESSS!”

Seabiscuit began to run but he fell face first with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him.  The eye-thing was about to claim its next victim. “Caprice!” Seabiscuit shouted.  “God damn it help me!”

Caprice fired at the tentacles below where they had him as to avoid hitting Seabiscuit with tons of hot lead. "Break free!!!"

He sprayed bullets into the thing, but they just punched through it as if it were cotton candy.  Hooch was hoisted in the air like a puppet, dangling helplessly by his eye sockets as he was tossed back and forth by the flailing tentacles.

Tentacles snapped forward to encircle Seabiscuit, who crawled toward Caprice. “Throw the jar you f*&king idi-iccKKKHHHHH!”  One tentacle snapped around his neck and yanked him backwards.

Unnoticed, at least for the moment, Boner fast-crawled towards Caprice.

"Hey!! Try these tasty treats!” Caprice threw the jar of eyes at the foot of the beast. Boner crawled past him and began pounding on the elevator button.

The eyeballs sloshed around crazily, gazing every which way, as the jar tumbled end over end towards the thing.  For a split second Caprice thought the beast might not even notice.

But then, like a football player chasing a Hail Mary, every tentacle released its prey to catch it.  Seabiscuit, eyes still intact, stumbled forward, practically body-slamming Caprice into the elevator doors just as they closed.  It whispered shut with a pleasant DING!



Part 10 – Revelations
In the elevator they were treated to Seabiscuit’s panting, Boner’s sobbing, and the soothing sounds of “Girl from Ipanema” playing softly over the elevator’s speakers.

DING! The elevator opened into a wood-lined corridor that went on for twenty feet and ended in a wood-paneled door.

Klaxons were no longer wailing but yellow and red lights spun a silent testament to whatever took place.  There was gore spattered all across the hallway.

The carnage was even worse than the hospital corridor.  It looked like whoever ran the facility made their stand here.

Their efforts were not in vain. The corpse of an obese, naked woman lay face down on the floor.  Caprice could only tell that it was a woman because of her flaccid, massive breasts – there was no head. One arm was a stump.

Seabiscuit didn’t wait.  He shoves his way past them down the corridor and opened the door. Beyond were two more doors: one with a frosted glass window on the left, and a plain wooden door to the right. He yanked open the door on the right and peered inside.  “Our stuff!”

Boner fumbled with the door on the left, hands shaking, but managed  to get it open.  He stood, agog, bathed in the light of a flickering monitor in the dark room.

“That’s her,” he whispered like an abandoned child.

"What are you talking about?” asked Caprice. “Where?" He moved past Boner for a better position to view the monitor. "Who's that?"

Seabiscuit handed Caprice his stuff as they took in the other room. The office beyond the door is well maintained, modern and very tidy. A large oak desk dominated the room, behind which were plate glass windows. To the left hand side of the desk was a tall metal filing cabinet. Opposite the door from which they entered was another wood paneled-door.

Atop the desk was a reading light, a collection of neatly arranged stationery and a name plaque for a “Doctor Funikoshi”.  A monitor has been turned to show a video footage from a security camera playing over and over.  Caprice recognized the hallway, the room, the door.

“Thank you for releasing me,” husked the woman’s voice. The camera panned from caprice, blindfolded, his head near the doorway.  And then seconds before the door whisked open, he see what was inside.  What killed all those men.  What lay headless now in the hallway.

Edith Hammond. The video clip shivered and repeated, over and over and over.

Caprice could make out writing scrawled along the back walls of Edith's chamber, in blood and feces.  He could almost read it...

"Hey, any of you guys computer savvy?” asked Caprice. “We need to zoom in over here" He pointed on the screen to the writing on the wall. He was able to make out a few sentences: When his name is spoken or read he comes forth to be worshipped or to feed and take on the shape and soul of those he feeds upon. For those who read of evil and search for its form within their minds call forth evil, and so may Y’golonac return to walk among men…

Before he could finish, Caprice noticed a presence standing very still next to him.  It was Boner. He was looking behind Caprice, at Seabiscuit.  “You read it,” his gaze unwavering.  “You read it…like I did…”

“That’s quite enough,” said an accented voice.

Dr, Funikoshi held a .22 to Seabiscuit’s head.  “Your little adventure ends now.”



Part 11 – End Game
Caprice flicked the monitor off, aiming his weapon at Dr. Funikoshi.  "For such a smart guy you're not very clever,” he said. “You're outnumbered. Now drop the guy before I drop your ass and serve you up as fresh sushi to that thing."

It wasn’t completely dark as Caprice had hoped. The glass windows behind him opened into a lit hallway illuminated by sunlight, and possibly escape.

Funikoshi’s calm demeanor begins to crack as he looked past Caprice. “Outnumbered?  Oh I’m afraid we’re all outnumbered here.”

He took a step back, dragging Seabiscuit with him, eyes wide, hand shaking.  Funikoshi turned the pistol on something above and behind Caprice. “No!  We killed you.  Edith Hammond is dead!”

Behind Caprice was the sound of wet flesh on bone.  Boner’s shadow loomed large over him, stretching and pulling. He was growing, growing, growing in blubbery folds.  Two voices from opposite sides of the room boom in chorus, “Dr. Funikoshi, we never die.  But we feel pain.  Oh yes.  And now you will too…”

The floor shuddered with the rapid thuds of something heavy as a rhinoceros barreling towards Caprice’s back.

Caprice dove to the side, hoping to avoid certain death. "Get the hell out guys!"

He whirled as the massive bulk springs.  If the horror before him was once Boner, there was no way to tell – he was now a buffalo-sized headless mountain of fat, the remains of Boner’s clothing hanging in loops around its trunk-like legs.  But the part that burned in Caprice’s memory forever were its hands, the hands that were formerly spread wide and talking from each palm.

There, nestled in a place where no mouth ought to be, were fanged maws.  The creased palms open wide with teeth like a shark, bloodless lips, and a long, prehensile tongue.  The twin throats – where did they lead? – opened into darkness as if there were far more space within the thing’s wrists than any humanoid form could contain.

It cleared the distance to Funikoshi in three steps, but before it could reach him the doctor kicked Seabiscuit straight into the thing’s waiting arms.

Caprice sprayed gunfire into the back of the thing as it begins feasting noisily on Seabiscuit’s face.  Temporarily preoccupied, Funikoshi crawled over to his desk and hit a red button beneath it.

The klaxons that were whirling yellow and white, turned blue.  New warning sounds, more urgent, began blaring.

One hand interrupted the thing’s eating, still punctuated by Seabiscuit’s horrible screams, to face Funikoshi.  “Flooding Magonia will not stop me from feasting on your loins,” it hissed.

Funikoshi paled.  “You’re right.”  He pulled out a yellow-and-black striped device from the desk.  Taking a key from around his neck, he inserted it into the device.  The glass top popped up, and Caprice could see it was a bright red button. “But this will.”  He pressed it and the light died in his eyes. Funikoshi had just signed his own death warrant.

The lights changed to green.  A countdown began on the device. Five minutes.  Not enough time to escape.  Not enough time to do anything but die.

Funikoshi remembered the pistol in his other hand.  He pointed it at Caprice. “I’m afraid this facility has been compromised.  Nobody leaves.  Magonia will be flooded with seawater in the next minute and minutes after that a thermonuclear device will destroy this entire island.”

The faceless hole that was Seabiscuit’s head lolled to the side as the thing tossed him to turn, leisurely, towards Funikoshi.  “I’ve still enough time to taste your suffering, good doctor.” It took a lumbering step forward.

Funikoshi put the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger, but Caprice was already at the door on the other side of the room before he hit the floor.

The two mouths in the thing-that-was-Boner’s hands screeched in rage at having lost their quarry.  But it had other prey. It turned, unhurriedly, to face Caprice.

He tore open the door just in time to see a wave of seawater blasting books, shelves, and furniture down the hallway.  You slammed the door shut, but it was a futile gesture.  The ocean would not be denied.

Caprice turned to face certain death, sandwiched between a literal rock and a hard place.  This was it.

But what was Boner stopped in its tracks.  The two gibbering mouths paused. They stretched into awful, terrible smiles.  The hands waved goodbye.

And then the seawater splintered through the door.  



Conclusion
Caprice was propelled forward from the crushing force as the room filled with water.  The gasp of air he took before the wave hit was lost as the force of the water battered the air from his lungs.  Verging on the gray border of unconsciousness, Caprice could taste the salt of the water in your mouth. It tasted like freedom.

He opened his eyes.  He was underwater, in another world where gravity was meaningless.  Pens and paper floated aimlessly.  Funikoshi’s corpse made a beautiful pirouette. Chunks of trailing red gore, probably Seabiscuit, bobbed aimlessly.  

Caprice struggled towards the doorway even though it was hopeless.  He could never hold his breath long enough to make it.  He wasn’t even sure which way was out.  But the opening seemed like a good place to start, and Caprice was’ot willing to give up just yet.

Unfortunately, nobody told Caprice’s lungs about the importance of his mission.  Animal instincts took over and he clawed at the ceiling and then, as the interminable seconds tick by, at his own throat.  He was an ant covered in a teardrop of water.  He was nothing.  Caprice curled up to die.

And then he took a gasping, deep breath.  He was alive.  What the hell?

He was breathing seawater.  That wily bastard Funikoshi did more than replace his eyes.  Caprice could see that now as he looked down at himself in wonder.  His ribcage flutters with huge gills.  He was sure he would have noticed that when he changed clothes.  His body was…adapting?

The glowing red timer bobs unhurriedly into view.  Four minutes.

When Caprice heard a tittering screech behind him, he suddenly realized he wasn’t the only one who could breathe water.

Caprice kicked off my shoes to ditch the extra weight and started swimming away from the creature as fast as possible.

He dove like a fish towards the opening.  Caprice had no idea how fast the gas bag of a beast moved, but he got a good idea as he caught sight of its reflection behind him.  The answer: damn fast.

It swam like a squid, eye-tentacles darting behind it as it moved in a languid spiral towards him.

Then the water current changed.  Suddenly Caprice wasn’t swimming, he was being sucked faster and faster down the hallway.  He was dragged through hallways and meeting rooms, to some unseen source.  The water lowered enough that he could catch air, which he gasped reflexively.  Above water, he could hear the klaxons still wailing.

The safety doors began closing automatically.  As Caprice bounced and tumbled through the water, he caught sight of the Ocularon in pursuit.  It wasn’t giving up, and even as one door nearly sliced it in half it squeezed through the few inches before the doors sluice closed.

This thing was going to follow Caprice right outside into the ocean, and then it was going to eat his eyes.

Funikoshi’s dead body bounced right along with Caprice.  The safety door ahead of him was closing fast and the Ocularon was hot on Caprice’s tail…

Caprice grabbed hold of Funikoshi’s dead body, the bullet hole in his skull still blossoming blood and brains.  Maybe there was still one last use for the good doctor.

He could see daylight through the narrowing doorway.  Caprice was almost out. There was just one more doorway to pass through after this one.

How much time did he have?  Minutes?  Seconds?

Funikoshi’s body was surprisingly heavy in the water.  Caprice managed to get it between him and the Ocularon.  He slipped through the door and realized that Funikoshi wouldn’t make it.

The doors snapped shut, stuck on Funikoshi’s neck.  It was a second’s hesitation but enough for the Ocularon to slide through.  Tentacles probed the opening and it thrust itself through the slit as Funikoshi’s neck gave way.

SNIKT!  The head spun freely on Caprice’s side of the door as it sprayed blood behind it in circles.

Just one more door…

Caprice dove into the last door, every muscle pumping for all its worth.  Then a tentacle grabbed his ankle and pulled.

That split-second hesitation jammed Caprice in the doorway.  Tentacles curled around his wrists and elbows.  He splayed his legs and arms in the door frame and held on tight as the doors begin to close.

Caprice was far stronger than he remembered.  The fact he could hold open emergency doors was amazing unto itself – the pull of the current to the outside was in your favor, but soon all the water would flood out of Magonia and then he would lose the tug of war with the even stronger thing trying to eat him.

Caprice was screwed – either the door was going to cut him in two or the Ocularon was going to eat his eyes and then the nuke would go off.

And yet what a way to go.  Beyond was the roaring ocean, the blazing sun, the fluffy clouds.  Caprice could see the world for miles beyond and it was just blue and yellow and white. If he was going to go, Caprice would die with freedom in his lungs.

Funikoshi’s head bumped Caprice shoulder as it was about to be sucked into the ocean.  It looked with an accusing gaze, as if to say – “I may be dead but at least I still have my eyes.”

And that gives Caprice an idea.

Two of the Ocularon’s tentacles reared like serpents poised to strike. They were so close Caprice could see the flexing pincers. And he could see every detail because the pincers were perfectly positioned to scoop out his eyeballs.

Caprice’s arms and legs were occupied so he could use the only tool left – his teeth.  He bit down on Funikoshi’s hair and, snapping his head back, flipped up the sopping head out of the water. It wasn’t a second too late as the tentacles plunged deep into Funikoshi’s skull.

Caprice let the head go as the tentacles dug deep.  Convinced it had fresh dinner in its clutches, the Ocularon let go.

Caprice had been holding himself rigid between the closing doors with his arms and legs while water tore at him with the strength of the receding ocean. The only thing keeping him there was the Ocularon.  When its grip abruptly released him, Caprice was catapulted like a slingshot through a drain.

He flailed as he sailed end over end.  If Caprice weren’t capable of breathing water he would have surely have drowned by now. He sailed towards a rusty barred grate…

And SLAMMED into it hard.  Caprice’s ribs cracked from the impact but the grate gave way and spun into the ocean with him.

Caprice could tell he was sailing away from Magonia as the water became colder and sunlight streamed down from above.  He could do this forever, just float in the peace of the ocean.

A fish darted past.  First one. Then five.  Then a school.  Then a swarm. They blast past him, fish of all sizes, rushing heedlessly past from an unseen threat.

The nuclear explosion reminded him.  The shockwave pounded through the water with eardrum shattering force.  Caprice’s ears were filled with a high-pitched ringing as he got a glimpse of the bottom of the ocean.  He had a first-person view as he rode a tidal wave that sucked the sea clean in its fury.

Caprice blacked out before it crashed back down…


----------



## talien

*Chapter 70: Third Time's the Charm*

Introduction
This story hour is from "Third Time's the Charm" from Cthulhu Brittannica Steve Spisak. You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Sebastian “Caprice” Creed (Fast/Smart Hero/Techie) played by Bill Countiss

When Bill's work schedule changed so that he couldn't play, we considered just killing his character off.  But then I had a better idea – what if I ran a campaign by email that just dealt with what happened to him?  It wouldn't end well, of course – he still couldn't get his schedule to work – but as I discovered I've run campaigns long enough for Matt to leave for Australia and then return to the States three years later.  Never count anyone out for long!

What's fascinating about this scenario is how I was able to manipulate the tension because there was only text descriptions.  Particularly because the protagonist begins playing blind, it's very difficult to play this scenario as if the characters were blind unless you have complete control of your surroundings.  I don't know about you, but there's no way I could have an audio-silent room – be it birds outside, people in the house, or just other players making noise.  

In email, the only noise is in your head. 

Defining Moment: Caprice finally tears off his blindfold. 

Relevant Media
	Ramsey Campbell's Goatswood and Less Pleasant Places: http://rpg.drivethrustuff.com/product_info.php?products_id=24385&it=1&affiliate_id=34014 



Prologue

BRICHESTER, ENGLAND— The meager offices of SANE (Students Against Nuclear Energy) were located in a seedy part of downtown Brichester. The small office was manned by a handful of young men and women of college or university age, and was well-stocked with boxes of flyers, buttons, pamphlets, and various anti-nuclear paraphernalia. 

Fiona paced like a general commanding her troops at the SANE office. "This is Tim.  He'll give us the technological skills we need to get in."

At first Hammer thought she was pointing at a tall, lanky guy with glasses.  But then he stepped aside to make way for a precocious fourteen year-old.  "Whasssup?" he says, peering at them through hair that concealed his eyes.  

“This kid?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean ruffled Tim’s hair.  “You can’t just be Tim.  We’re going to need to give you a code name so you can be a secret agent like us.”

“We’re not even secret agents anymore,” Archive corrected him. 

Fiona snorted.  "He don't look like much, but he's a crack hacker.  We just need to get Tim into here."  She pointed to a map on the wall of a manor hour and its surroundings.  "This is Kilmaur Manor.  It's officially held by the Gaelic Landmark Trust on sixty-seven acres of land.  We've tracked the CEO Walter Cargill to here.  It's his home." She tapped several black-and-white pictures of Cargill entering the manor house.  "But here's the thing – he never leaves it.  We have confirmed reports of him entering the manor and appearing within an hour at the Berkeley Nuclear Reactor.  It's simply not possible he drove there, and no vehicles – including aircraft – exited his home."

Tim coughed.  "Yeah, so uh, we think he's got a portal or something."

Fiona frowned at Tim.  "He's right.  It's got to be some kind of magic. We consider Cargill a primary target. It's also the last place Guppy was seen.  If we get him, we'll find Guppy."

"Thing is," said Tim, "we'll have under five minutes after you enter the manor before security shows up.  Everyone there carries a gun.  Even the gardener."

"The only way out," said Fiona, "is through the portal – assuming it exists.  Or else…" she drew her pistol and checked the chamber.  "We shoot our way out."

“You sure you’re up for this Mrs. Jenkins?” asked Jim-Bean. “This could get messy.”

Mrs. Jenkins hefted a submachine gun, loaded it, and cocked it.  “You better believe it.”
 
Satisfied, Jim-Bean turned to Tim. “How about you? Got a handle?” 

Tim shot him a broad smile.  “Sexwax69, dude!”

Jim-Bean stifled a laugh.  “Sexwax it is!”



Part 1 – Kilmaur Manor
There were no books about Kilmaur Manor itself, but William Thomas Sangster’s Notes on Witchcraft in Monmouthshire, Gloucester- shire and the Berkeley Region-available at many libraries or certain used book stores-contained a relevant passage that Archive dug up. 

Kilmaur Manor was officially held by the Gaelic Landmark Trust as a historic landmark, but it was not open to the public. The Trust received almost 95 percent of its funding from Severn Aerospace, which declared the trust as a charitable tax deduction. 

The manor was set in the middle of sixty-seven acres of land and could not be seen from the driveway that approached the front gate. 

Kilmaur Manor stood alone. There were no farms nearby, nor were there any other homes. The manor was set a half mile back from the main road amid wooded grounds, barely visible from the road. A graveled drive led to the manor. 

Though the building was repaired and updated in the last year, it still showed its age. A balcony ran the length of the roof on one side, and a gravel path led from a modern garage to the double doors of the home.

The manor was updated with all the modern conveniences, but a painstaking restoration ensured that the building retained much of its original appearance, both inside and out. Cargill tried not to upset the simple elegance of the house with such items as big-screen television sets and digital clocks, preferring instead more traditional furnishings.

Archive, Hammer, Jim-Bean, Fiona, Mrs. Jenkins and Sexwax snuck up to the brush. A security vehicle with two armed guards rumbled past.   They had deactivated the electrified fence, sniffed out the booby traps, and had the surveillance on a perpetual loop. 

“On my mark¬—“ began Hammer.

“Go!” shouted Jim-Bean.  He sprinted towards the manor.

“What the…” Hammer swore and followed after the obvious trail of people sprinting from the brush.

“What?” Jim-Bean shouted over his shoulder. “The coast is clear!”

Just then a branch smashed just behind Jim-Bean. 

On closer inspection it wasn’t a branch at all but a tall, ropy thing that was roughly in the shape of a tree.  It roared in frustration at having missed its prey, and more tentacles from the writhing top of it swung down to try again.  This time they smashed through the glass windows in front of the manor.

Shrugging as if to say, “See?” Jim-bean dove through the broken glass.  The others followed soon  after. 

The main hallway was unusually wide and two stories high; a balcony overlooked the hall. The hardwood floor shined as though recently polished. At the far end was a double staircase, one flight leading up to the left and the other to the right. Various paintings hang upon the walls. There were also various items of archaeological interest here: Egyptian vases, Greek pottery shards, Roman coins, and African fetishes. The chandeliers that hung from the upper ceiling used conventional incandescent bulbs, but the fixtures have been crafted to resemble authentic seventeenth century pieces.
Closer examination revealed that the paintings were Kilmaur family portraits-Theodore, Emerson, Emily, along with some aunts and uncles-as well as Cargill’s family. 

Writhing tentacles smashed their way through windows and burst open doors.  The thing was doing more damage to the manor than they were. 

“Basement!” shouted Jim-Bean. 

The basement floor was a mixture of concrete and flagstones. This room had a few pieces of broken furniture lying about that couldn’t be restored.

Suddenly, Agent Raphael appeared, sword in hand. "Wait," he said, his other fist clutching a Hand of Glory.  "I want to make a deal."

Jim-Bean pulled up short.  “Since when you do want to talk?”

Hammer didn’t lower his Glocks.  “Talk fast.  That thing outside is going to tear this place apart looking for us.”

"The Shaggai have been on this planet for centuries; we are not guests but prisoners, trapped here by the Earth’s unusually high levels of ozone. Only the destruction of the ozone layer will allow us to escape; twice in recent years, at Three Mile Island and at Chernobyl, we have attempted to punch a hole in the ozone layer by causing a full-scale nuclear disaster. On both occasions, however, something went awry and we failed to open the hole. Now a third attempt is about to be made, in the Severn Valley." 
“So you’re trying to set off a nuclear meltdown?” asked Archive.

"Cargill purchased the decommissioned Berkeley nuclear power facility. Using L‘gy’hxians to work on the reactor and Xiclotlans as guards, Cargill invited other Shaggai to help complete the project. They were brought together under the guise of the Berkeley Revitalization Conference, in London. His team assembled, Cargill has been modifying the plant. He plans to create an explosive reaction when an Xada-Hagla is summoned into the reactor core. The explosion will allow our temple ship to escape the Earth once and for all."

“So Cargill is one of those brain-spiders,” said Hammer. 

"Cargill is one of the Elders,” corrected Raphael. “I am not.  The earthborn Shan plan to stay and fight to protect our home. I will tune the teleporter in the next room to the reactor if you give me back the three enchanted blades you have in your possession.  They are critical in our war against PISCES.  If not…" He gestures with the mechanistic hand in his grip, "There are many other JAGUAR strike teams converging on here any moment.  They're led by Sarah Moore.  She was from our psychic class, you'll recall. She was the most powerful of all – more powerful than you, than me, than Knightsbridge. You'll never make it out alive."

“I remember her,” said Jim-Bean.  “Lots of fire.  Bad news.”

“He just wants his blade back,” said Archive, who happened to wield the enchanted cross-blade he found in the cultist mansion when they encountered Eihort.  “I don’t trust him.”

“We don’t have a lot of time here,” said Raphael.  “Make your choice.”

“Fine.”  Jim-Bean threw Knightbridge’s sword to Raphael, who deftly snatched it out of the air. 

Hammer frowned and threw Raphael back his own sword.

Archive hesitated. 

“Archive…” said Jim-Bean.

With a sigh Archive handed the cross-bladed sword over to Raphael too. 

“Follow me.  We’ve wasted enough time already.”

They entered a modem furnace room that hummed away in one corner.  Raphael searched the ground until he found an uneven flagstone. He pried it up, revealing a switch.  He flicked the switch and the adjacent flagstones depressed and shifted, revealing an opening. 

The passage, while manmade, was not made with the same tools or materials as the basement, and was much older.  A slippery flight of steps was cut out of the natural rock; the passage wound down and opened up into a roughly circular room with an odd silvery disk situated on the floor. The disk was four feet across, and sat within a pentacle carved into the rock. At each point of the pentacle was a pedestal, almost three feet tall. The top surface of each pedestal was made of the same silvery material from which the disk was made. 

“This is a shan teleportation device,” said Raphael.  He stood at the center of the disk and stepped on a symbol. An electronic keypad snaked up.  “Put your hands on the pedestals.”

 “I’m tuning it to the coordinates.” Raphael tapped several keys, all of them in an alien language.  The sound of radio chatter echoed down the passage.  “They’re coming.”  He turned and drew Knightsbridge’s sword and his own.  “Go.  I’ll try to buy you some time.”

“You’d better pay attention,” Hammer told Sexwax.  “Because you’re going to need to reverse this to get us out.”

“Uh…” was all Sexwas squeaked out before they were teleported into the Berkeley nuclear reactor. 



Part 2 – Berkeley Reactor
They appeared in a flash inside a small room.  Hammer pointed at the intricate symbols on a keyboard identical to the one Raphael had used.  “Get acquainted” he said to Sexwax.  There was a rack of NBC suits nearby.  “Everyone else, suit up.”

Klaxons and lights whirled around them.  Mrs. Jenkins shrugged on a NBC suit.  Then she glanced up at the black-and-white monitor.   “Oh dear…”

An odd, multi-limbed, squat humanoid was walking in and out of the reactor core, its body glowing with radioactive energy.  

“They’ve already started.” Fiona pointed at another monitor. Four people in radiation suits stood high above the reactor itself, raising their arms and lowering them in a ritualistic fashion.  Their faces were concealed behind masks.  

Across all the monitors was a reactor core meltdown warning.  Seconds clicked down from five minutes.

“We’re going to have to lower the fuel rods manually.”  Fiona smashed safety glass where an axe was stored.  “If we can cut the ropes holding the cooling rods over the reactor I think we can stop it.”

“Okay.  We’ll try to give you cover.” She pressed the access button and entered the reactor room, h separated area behind radiation-proof glass and metal.  Red flashing lights and an iridescent blue glowed within.

The first airlock door opened, admitting them¸ and then closed behind them as the second door opened.  Inside blue crackling energy flickered below.  In a gas-cooled reactor like Berkeley’s, gas was normally pumped through the reactor and became hot; that gas in turn heated water which boiled into steam. The steam drove the turbines, which produced electricity. The gas returned to the reactor, cooler than it left, and was reheated, so that the cycle continued. The water was pumped to and from the local waterways, and was never in direct contact with the core. Now that the plant was not producing electricity, the turbines lay idle. The Shan were perverting the energy for other purposes.

Before they could make their way across the scaffolding, a square, squat thing clambered up the sheer surface of the interior of the reactor and onto the scaffolding.  Hammer didn’t dare try to use his Glocks and they were tucked inside his suit anyway. He doubted bullets could penetrate its metallic hide.  It was all blade and claws with no discernible face. 

“Archive!” shouted Hammer. 

“On it.”  Archive stepped forward and presented the Elder Sign, or tried to anyway.  He couldn’t lift the amulet outside of the NBC suit and feared irradiating it.  So instead he recited the ritual and hoped for the best. 

The glowing red spot on Archive’s chest flared to life.  The thing reacted instantly, scuttling back down into the reactor like a chastised crab. 

Fiona ran over to the multitudinous ropes supporting the graphite rods above and began hacking away. 

Jim-Bean concentrated and one of the cultists flew off the balcony to his doom. Hammer charged another and knocked him to the ground.  They were swinging what looked like graphite rods as weapons, and he rolled backwards just as one of the rod nearly clocked him in the head.

Cargill rose up in the air, levitating, and pointed at Jim-Bean.  Jim-Bean rose up too, his psychic match…then they both collapsed onto the scaffolding, their energies spent.

Hammer kicked the cultist who was struggling to his feet and knocked him over the ledge. He went down screaming.

“You’re too late!” shouted Cargill, clinging to the edge of the scaffolding.  “Xada-Hagla needs sacrifices!”  Cackling madly, he let go of the railing and disappeared into the flashing mists below.

“There!” Mrs. Jenkins pointed at the ceiling.  The graphite rods were supported by dozens of ropes.  Far too many for Fiona to cut down in time.

“I’ve got this,” said Jim-Bean.  But the structure was massive and even his formidable telekinesis would be sorely tested. He began to concentrate.

Then something clambered up from below, much bigger than the alien guardian Archive had turned.  It was an enormous clam shell, scuttling on dozens of chitinous legs. 

Mrs. Jenkins picked up the graphite rods dropped by the three cultists.  “Go!” she shouted.  “I’ll teach this bastard not to mess with the Jenkins!”

The others needed no further encouragement.  They knew she had come to this place to die, one way or the other.

The graphite rods above shuddered as Jim-Bean’s telekinetic grip snapped rope after rope. 

The clam shell started to open.

Hammer, Archive, and Fiona ran for the door.  Hammer mashed the button. The airlock sequence took time to open.

The shell opened enough that a glowing green light emanated from it.  What look like malevolent eyes at first soon uncoiled as long, sticky tentacles.  Some reached for Mrs. Jenkins, others reached for Jim-Bean.

“Come on!” shouted Mrs. Jenkins.  She batted at one of the tentacles as it reached past her for Jim-Bean.  It reacted like a snake, whipping around her and lifting her up.  She screamed. 

The other tentacles continued to snake towards Jim-Bean as the control rods shuddered above.  Despite the pain, Mrs. Jenkins managed to lift the three graphite rods and hurled them into the clam shell, straight into the malevolent face. 

The reaction was instantaneous.  All the tentacles jerked backwards, mere feet from Jim-Bean.  He walked backwards as he stretched out one hand, giving the control rods above one final push.  Then he turned and ran.

Inside the airlock, he smashed the button.  It winched closed just as the spiny structure of control rods fell into the open shell.  

The door on the other side opened. Jim-Bean joined the others.  “I hope that portal is ready!” he tore off his helmet as he ran.

Sexwax looked uncertain, which didn’t encourage him.  “I think I’ve got it working right.”  

They all reached the pedestals as the reactor behind them glowed unbearably bright. 

“You think?” shouted Jim-Bean.  It was the last word he got out before the portal activated. 



Conclusion
Fiona went through first, then Jim-Bean, then Hammer.  Sexwax, by necessity of his role as navigator, was last. 

The portal opened a second too late.  He hadn’t been wearing a NBC suit and wouldn’t have been able to tap the keys if he had.  Blinded, flesh melting, he collapsed.  

“Made it,” he gasped.

Fiona sobbed.  “Oh Tim.  I’m so sorry.”

“I’m a secret agent…now?” he croaked, unable to see whom he was talking to.

“Sure kid,” said Hammer mournfully.  “One of the best.”

“Awe…” he coughed up blood.  “Awesome.”  Then he expired. 

“Where are we?” asked Archive.

“Pagamos,” said Fiona, looking around.  “Shan Central.”


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## talien

*Chapter 71: Brood of the Beetle*

Introduction
You can read more about Delta Green at http://www.delta-green.com. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

•	Game Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
•	Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
•	Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://jeremyrobertortiz.blogspot.com)
•	Hank “Guppy” Gupta (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by Joseph Tresca (http://www.eyeballistic.com) 
•	Kurtis “Hammer” Grange (Fast/Dedicated Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster



Prologue
PAGAMOS— The small Mediterranean island of Pagamos was hilly, almost mountainous, and everything seemed to be covered with thick endless woods through which the roads cut narrow trails. There were very few clearings in the woods, but the views from the hills were very good.  They caught an impressive sight of wooded slopes snuggling together all around, between sometimes gentle, sometimes deeply cut valleys through which narrow brooks rushed.  It was summery warm, with bees and other insects humming around everywhere. There was an intense feeling of nature.  Everything pulsed with a vitality that was lacking in the big cities.  The animals were big and well-nourished, the plants tall and intensely green.

They passed a sign that indicated a town known as Stantonville was three miles off the main road.  It was in an enclosed hollow, surrounded by thick green woods that stretched out over the high hills that loomed above the town and surround it.  A little river flowed through the town, which apparently made its living from forestry.  Slightly outside the town proper, directly along the river sat a sawmill, the largest building in town, with "ATKINS LUMBER, STANTONVILLE, PAGAMOS" painted on its side. 

“Why would he send us here?” asked Archive.

“We’re looking for Guppy,” said Fiona.  “Sexwax – I mean Tim – wouldn’t have sent us here if he otherwise.  He must have discovered his location.”

“In brain spider central?” Jim-Bean shuddered. 

“Looks like the Shan civil war has reached Stantonville,” said Hammer.  He pointed in the direction of the town. It was on fire. 



Part 1 – Into the Woods
The woods north of Stantonville were healthy and streaming with vitality.  The vegetation was very robust, with plentiful green foliage.  Birds could be heard, but there didn’t seem to be many other animals.  

The varieties of plants were barely recognizable.  The condition of extreme growth was inexplicable.  Leaves were of an almost black-green color, gleaming like polished wax in the sunlight that dropped sparsely through the branches.  Barely a single beam of light could penetrate the thick branches.  The ground seemed to be moist and a bit squishy.  It smelled strongly of earth, but also of something else that wasn’t easy to place.  It was almost like a prehistoric primeval rainforest.

A clearing reveals two high stone crags that rose up over the treetops.  They forrned a sort of natural entrance.  There was a green tent set up, just big enough for one person.  In a ring of stones, someone set a campfire some time ago. 

“You sure this is the place?” asked Hammer.

Jim-Bean nodded.  “Yep, he was here.”

Hammer sifted through the ashes.  “The ashes are old.” 

“What was he doing out here?” asked Archive.

“He must have escaped,” said Fiona.  “Looks like he was trying to survive out here in the wilderness on his own.”

Hammer frowned.  “If the tent’s any indication, they caught up with him.”

In the tent itself, chaos reigned.  Even the canned food was partially opened by deft mandibles.  

“Look at this drawing,” said Archive.  He held it up for the others to see.  “Guppy took notes.  Called this thing a scorpiopede.” 

Jim-Bean glanced over at the drawing.  “Looks big.”

“He didn’t draw it to scale,” said Archive, staring down at the drawing.  

Fiona looked up at the huge stinger that loomed out of the muck. “Uh…Archive? I think it’s bigger than we thought.”

Archive was snatched up by the pincers of a scorpion-0like stinger.  Claws snapped at Hammer and Fiona.

The tail explodes in a spatter of black ichor from a grenade blast.  Archive fell to the ground.  The thing squealed, the stump of its tail flailing, and then it burrowed back down into the muck beneath the tent. 

Jim-Bean cocked the grenade launcher attachment.  “We really don’t have time for this.”

Archive stood up, glaring.  “You could have killed me!”

Jim-Bean shrugged.  “But I didn’t.  Let’s go, Guppy’s close.”

Archive wiped off globs of the Scorpiopede’s ichor off his shoulder and followed after him in disgust.



Part 2 – Carson’s Creek
They reached Carson's Creek, a crevice cut into the Black Hills by a brook, with steep cliffs on the sides.  The valley around the creek itself was washed out flat, covered with grass and bushes.  Further back at the northern end of the ravine, it was apparent that a piece of a cliff had fallen off from the cliff foot right into the creek in a sort of frozen avalanche of rubble.

The ground in the valley next to the creek was soft and swampy. It stank, although less of decomposition than of something rotting.  A sweet stink filled the whole valley and seemed to affect the senses.  There was a sort of black, jelly-like mass mixed in with the riverbank mud and drifting clotted clumps in standing water, a bit like oil washed up on land after a tanker accident. 

“This runoff is teeming with life!” exclaimed Archive.  A fly lay her eggs on one clump, while unbelievably fat, white maggots were crawling around in another. A little bit further off, one of the clumps burst open and a mature beetle of astonishing size crawled out.  

“Gross,” said Fiona. 

As they got closer it was clear the entire cliff wall collapsed near the northern entrance to the ravine and an avalanche of rubble covered half the valley.  Plants had already grown up through the rubble.  The collapse was obviously some time ago. 

“The psychic trail leads here,” said Jim-bean.  He had discovered an opening quite high up on the rubble heap. It opened into a cave.

At the far end of the cave was a metallic wall. 

Archive touched the wall. “I’ve never seen this before.” 

The metal, of an unknown composition, felt unsettlingly warm and had a dull gray sheen. The round hatch, about 30 inches in diameter, admitted entry into a metal wall that extended down below the rubble.  The hatch was unadorned, made of the same metal as the wall, and was open. 

“I’ll sniff Guppy out, give me a tick.” Jim-Bean laid both hands flat on the wall, closed his eyes, and…

He woke up to Hammer, Fiona, and Archive staring worriedly down at him.

“What happened?”

“You went into convulsions.” 

Jim-Bean felt something wet on his lip. He wiped blood from his nose. “Wow, that’s some bad mojo.”

“Did you get anything?” asked Hammer. 

“Nothing but buzzing.”  Jim-Bean slowly got to his feet.  “And one mother of a hangover.” 

Hammer frowned.  “We’re going in blind, then.”

“Or what normal people call every day.” Fiona checked her pistols.  “Or what normal people call every day.”



Part 3 – The Pyramid Ship
They entered a tube-like hallway with a quite low clearance.  It went up and down. They followed tube down, and it branched out into a hall.  After a whole series of twists in the hall, they reached the next branching off.  The tube that branched off the descending tunnel was a short passage that ended in a large portal.  The entire arch around the portal was decorated with intertwined maws, tentacles, and ugly heads, all of the same gray metal.  In the middle of the door was a triangular slab of green stone, the borders of which were engraved with artistic carvings. They showed an unknown species of insects flying along the sides of the slab in tiny, stylized form. 

“Shan,” said Archive. 

“Brain-spiders,” grunted Hammer.

Archive touched the middle slab and the whole portal slid silently into the floor, opening the way to the Temple Hall. 
 
Their lights illuminated the enormous hall behind it insufficiently.  It was at least twenty feet high.  In the background, the metal wall was dented inward and ruptured, with some rocks lying on the smooth metal floor.  But it was impossible to look away from the statue that dominated the entire hall.  It was an idol at least fifteen feet high.  It looked like a slightly-opened clam resting on countless elastic legs.  Out of the opening, which was oriented towards the entrance, protruded a cylinder of sorts, on the end of which was a cluster of polyps.  It was made entirely of gray metal. At the foot of the idol sat several pointed metal rods about a foot long. 

“Xada-Hagla,” said Archive.  “If these rods are anything like what we saw at the Berkeley reactor, they might be useful.” He collected the graphite rods.

“We’ve made his acquaintance,” said Fiona grimly. 

“What about these reliefs?” asked Hammer.   The walls were adorned with metal reliefs all around.

“They depict the history of the Shan – the Insects of Shaggai.”  Archive pointed to each relief in turn.  At first they showed Shaggai with its countless temple-pyramids, scenes of the Insects' existence there, and their enormous ocean of primordial slime in which they developed.  There were bloated, beetle-like beings laying eggs in the slime.  Then these images were interrupted by the appearance of a one-eyed planet in the sky.  

“Ghroth,” said Jim-Bean. 

The ocean of primordial slime began to boil and the Insects began to die off.  The Insects were forced to leave their uninhabitable home planet in their pyramids.  Scenes of space follow, depicting the countless planets to which the Insects scattered and encounters with extremely strange alien beings. 

“Come on, let’s go.”  Hammer led them on a tube wining downward. 

As they came around a corner something about the size of a pigeon came rushing at him.  It was an insect with pulsating feelers, ten tentacle-bedecked legs, scaly wings, and three mouths. 

Hammer fired two quick shots in succession, ready for anything.  The thing buzzed so quickly it was a blur, dodging the first bullet, but the second grazed it.  It spun crazily and Archive finished it off. 

It plopped to the ground, dissolving into goo. 

“Brain-spiders,” said Hammer.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” said Jim-Bean. 



Part 4 – The Breeding Chamber
The passageway kept twisting downward.  They faced a round door in which there were four small openings.  

Archive nodded.  “The four rods need to be inserted.”  He handed out a graphite rod to Fiona, Hammer, and Jim-Bean.  “On my mark.  Ready?  One, two, three…go.”

They all inserted the rods into the four holes simultaneously.   Once all the rods were in place the round door swung inward.  Immediately, they were struck by a monstrous stench.  

The room they entered was the only one in the ship that was illuminated a little.  The light emanated from reddish panels in the ceiling, which glowed weakly and gave the whole room a bloody complexion.  Just a few steps into the room, the floor was covered with black slime.  

It got deeper as they waded in further until were almost knee-deep in the disgusting broth.  By crossing through the nauseating slime it became clear that the rear wall of the chamber was buckled, torn open, and crushed inward.  Bare earth was visible behind it.  The stinking broth was up to their waists.  

The view of the wall was partially obscured by a gigantic thing.  When standing upright, it was vaguely bipedal in form, with a skeletal, biomechanical appearance in muted shades of black. A segmented, blade-tipped tail twitched back and forth. It skulls was elongated and cylindrical, with no visible eyes. It stood nearly twenty-feet tall, with two pairs of arms, one larger and one smaller. The head is protected by a large, flat crest, like a crown. It rests upon an immense ovipositor beneath its lower torso, similar to a queen termite's. It was connected to an ovipositor and supported by what looked like a biomechanical throne made of a lattice of struts resembling massive insect legs.

Standing in a row in front of the thing were ten people.  There were more of them collapsed, half-skeletonized, staring out of the nutrient liquid in various stages of decomposition.  The ten men were of different ages, who stood before the black thing facing you.  Some of them wore normal clothing, others wore shrouds.  In the middle stood Guppy. All their eyes were closed and their skin is drained of color.  Their hair hung flat and soaked with sweat over their heads.  But it wasn’t hair; just glistening black bundles of tiny tentacles draped over their heads like hair, linked back to the throne upon which the queen sat. 

With a giant slurp, the ancient Mother-Being monstrosity rose from the nutrient broth, and the red light clearly illuminated the steady flow of nutrient liquid from the egg sac through which shimmering eggs were visible.  

“Light ‘em up!” shouted Hammer, pistols out.  A swarm of Shan phased out of the eggs and into the muck, followed a second later by biomechanical forms suited for combat to defend the queen. 

Hammer and Fiona picked their targets and started firing.  The drones were unhindered by the muck, advancing heedless of the withering gunfire.  

Archive started to chant, holding the Elder Sign before him.  The Queen began keening loudly in response.

Archive shook his head to clear the cowwebs. “There’s…some kind of disruption field…” He wiped his eyes and kept chanting. 

Hammer and Fiona split up, dodging gobs of acid spat by the drones.  “Do something Jimmy!”

“I’m…” Jim-Bean was concentrating.  “…trying…”

Guppy’s eyes fluttered.  Inside, his will had been hollowed out, replace by the Queen’s.  He was biomechanically hooked into a computer responsible for Pagamos, but connected much broader to a network of shan all across the globe.  Guppy was her hacker, getting the Shan into places they could never have reached before.  Jim-Bean could see, through a backdoor in Guppy’s psyche, the terror that gripped the Insects from Shaggai.  The Elders were doing their best to leave before Ghroth’s arrival and had bent all their resources to that end, infiltrating government and space agencies worldwide.  

“Guppy,” Jim-Bean thought at his friend.  “It’s me man.  Snap out of it.”

But there was nobody home.  

“Fine, if you’re not going to help me you can at least be useful.” He tinkered in the cavernous space that was Guppy’s mind.  “Let’s send something back up the pipes to the Queen, shall we?”  Jim-Bean gave Guppy a mental shove.

The Queen shrieked and the drones collapsed from the psychic feedback.  Rearing up, she detached herself from the ovipositor. 

“I think ye made her really angry!” said Fiona.

Free of distraction, Archive completed his chant and flames blasted down upon the Queen.  She kept coming, tearing rubble out of her way to reach Hammer.

The Queen lifted up Hammer with one of its smaller claws and Fiona with its other. The great mantled head swung close…

“Go for the eggs!” shouted Jim-Bean.  He turned and fired his grenade launcher at a cluster of eggs on the far side of the room. 

With a shriek, the Queen dropped the two humans, shaking its head back and forth. 

Hammer and Fiona tore off in different directions, firing at eggs as they went. 

The Queen bellowed in inchoate rage.  

“Don’t like that, hmm? We’ll how about this!” Jim-Bean telekinetically snatched the ovipositor and hurled it into the Queen’s face.

Archive called down another gout of flames just as the eggs hit, igniting Queen and her brood in an unholy conflagration. 

The Queen lay in its last death throes, thrashing around, spraying its slime wildly. But then it was finally over. 
The moment the Queen breathed its last, the remaining men screamed, pressing hands to ears.  

Guppy screamed and screamed and screamed and simply wouldn’t stop.  His eyes rolled back in his head so that only the whites were visible.  A semi-substantial, dead Insect from Shaggai emerged from his head, fell out, twitched once, and then dissolved into a 
puddle of green goo.



Conclusion
Archive stood up from Guppy’s corpse.  “He’s dead.”

“Oh, no,” said Fiona.  “Poor Guppy.”

Jim-Bean was solemn.  “He may have been a brain-spider slave in the end but he gave me some really useful info. I know the coordinates of their satellite station.  They’re planning to beam instructions using the Pagamos signal array. They’ve got some kind of device…it involves harmonics. It’s complicated.”

Hammer reached down to pull Guppy’s corpse out of the muck.  “We should give him a proper burial.”

Jim-Bean put one hand out.  “I’ve got a better idea.”  

He loaded the grenade launcher and took aim at the buckled wall.  The explosion caused the wall to burst open like a fetid wound, gushing the vile liquid and corpses of drone and man alike.  Guppy’s body was unceremoniously dumped into the valley below. 

When they finally located his corpse, they created a small cairn of rocks over it. It was the best they could do on short notice.

“For Guppy,” said Hammer, Fiona, and Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean’s jaw was set. “Now let’s go squash some brain-spiders.”


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## talien

*The End of the Beginning*

It's been bugging me for years that I never finished this story hour after I finished my last one.  The campaign went on for over another 30 chapters, concluding in chapter 104. It concluded with the Mi-Go bringing Ghroth to Earth, our heroes infiltrating Enolsis to reach a series of interplanetary gateways, and ended with a battle on Ghroth itself.  Hank discovered his father had mutated into some kind of hybrid creature and was forced to face him down on Ghroth's surface -- and then they were back on Earth, discovering that the final plan was really just to fuel Nyarlathotep's return.  He had been manipulating the Mi-Go all along into bringing Ghroth nearby, knowing (or perhaps hoping) it would fail, and used the power to bring one of his 1,000 faces to full avatar form. What the agents misunderstood was that all along the other agents were actually one of the 1,000 faces (which explains a lot -- from their mysterious resilience to the frequent Mythos appearances they encountered).  Sacrifices were necessary to achieve godhood, even if that included Alzis sacrificing himself.  And oh yeah, it all happened on December 21, 2012 -- and yes, Ghroth was the fated planet of destruction, Nibiru. See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nibiru_cataclysm for more details.

So the agents sacrificed themselves, using a guided laser, to destroy the final avatar of Nyarlathotep -- Jim-Bean.  The end. 

The players were unhappy with the conclusion and the campaign overall, which pretty much ended my in-person gaming.  For a full summary of what happened out of the game, please see here: http://www.rpg.net/columns/thehorror/thehorror53.phtml

If you have any questions, you can follow me at:


http://www.twitter.com/dreadspace
http://www.facebook.com/dredspace
http://michael.tresca.net
http://plus.google.com/+MichaelTresca
http://www.pinterest.com/talien79

Thank you for reading!


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