Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
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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.
“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.”
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.
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.
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.”
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!
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.
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!"
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!"
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.
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.
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."
"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."
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!
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!
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.
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.
Quote:
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."
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…”
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."
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.
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.
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