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!
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!
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.
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.”
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.”
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!”
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.
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.
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.”
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.”
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!”
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.”
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?”
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.”
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!
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!
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
Linear Mode
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