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!
Jim-Bean was part of a Creek tribe, one tribe of a far-flung people who lived and thrived throughout the woods and hills and rivers of the land. It was winter, and the tribe was worried.
People had begun to disappear. First it was thought to be but a normal part of the cold winter, but five people had vanished, and the cold nights were sometimes filled with a terrible sound, a howling like the most mournful of spirits, lost in the stars; and when that howling was loudest, some people were filled with a terrible hunger for the flesh of the dead.
The old shamans told stories of the wendigo, a giant spirit who could appear in any form, a winter spirit that hungered for human flesh. The shamans knew a way to drive off the wendigo, but it was a terrible way, a way they learned from an old and hated tribe long ago.
Jim-Bean was taken by the shamans to save his people. The shamans led him up the red earth of Blood Hill, and he lay in a stony place atop the hill. The shamans then climbed down the hill again, and from a distance they prayed, singing songs with unknown words until the night deepened and the stars gleamed in the cold black sky overhead.
Then the cold grew deeper. The gleaming stars turned from white to blue, then purple, then yellow, shifting in pastel hues and swirling, melding, knitting a beautiful mist of cold colors. The mist filled the sky.
Then came the howling, deeper, louder, filling not the sky but the soul, and black eyes peer forth from the glowing mist.
The shamans' song had stopped. Jim-Bean was cold, so cold, and he knew the wendigo by its terrible obsidian eyes, and the wendigo looked upon him with hunger.
Jim-Bean awoke in the throes of adrenaline reaction, the "fight or flight" reflex of a physical threat. He was also hungry.
He paged Hammer over his cistron. “Hammer. HAMMER! You awake?”
There was a grunt on the other side. “I am now.”
“I think we should investigate the lake.”
“What lake? Crow Lake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’ve had a weird dream. About Indians.”
“I miss Blade too.”
“Who?”
“Blade? Our deceased teammate, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
Hammer sighed on the other end. “I’ll get Howell.”
The most immediately striking feature of Crow Lake was the presence of the Crow Lake Mounds, just off-shore. These five mounds were arranged in a pentagram, each of them about twelve feet tall and thirty feet in diameter, covered in the same thick, rough grass as the rest of the ground nearby.
Howell pushed her glasses up her nose. Her skin was red and raw from the flash-freezing she suffered, but she had recovered well. “Fascinating.” She tapped some keys on her cistron.
“Indian mounds,” said Jim-Bean.
Howell shook her head. “According to newspaper reports, these mounds were built in the twentieth century, by Hiram Bates. Bates claimed he felt the touch of the "spirits" of the Shrine. He became fixated on the notion that by building a mound would somehow placate the ghosts or spirits that haunted him. When the dreams did not cease after he built the first mound, he went to work on the next one. When five mounds were built, he lost all hope; there’s a brief news report of his suicide.”
“I thought they did an aerial survey of the Lake already?” asked Hammer.
“Bimmel’s team?” Howell snorted. “Aerial surveys noted the pentagonal arrangement of the mounds, indicating intelligent construction, but they’re not interested in archaeology. Bimmel’s too busy taking broad surveys of the area and examining the corpses.”
“Got any equipment in the Humvee we can use to explore the lake?” asked Jim-Bean.
Howell nodded. “I have a fish finder. It’s not much, but when you told me to stow equipment to explore the lake I thought it might come in handy. I also brought along a submersible camera…”
“We’re going to have to go out on the ice,” said Hammer with a frown.
“I brought an ice tent and drill,” said Howell. “And two wet suits.”
“Good girl,” said Jim-Bean.
Howell blushed. “I’ll go get the equipment.”
They propped up the tent and drilled a hole in the frozen lake. The sonar detector revealed that the Lake was surprisingly deep, nearly seventy feet in some places, except for one obvious, anomalous, feature: near the shore, close to the five mounds, the lake floor rose steeply to a wide hill, some fifty feet tall and two hundred feet across. The water was only twenty feet deep over the hill; and, buried less than ten feet from its top, was a large, twisted conglomeration of metal and crystal.
Howell dropped the remote camera into the hole. The metal structure at the top of the hill had an odd spherical opening to it. Two hand indentations were on the opening.
“Looks like a way in,” said Jim-Bean. He started gearing up the wetsuit. “Coming?”
Hammer shook his head. “Oh no. Black men don’t swim.”
“What?” Jim-Bean snapped the diving goggles on. “Seriously? I could use your help.”
“There’s no reason for two of us to go down there,” said Hammer. “Seriously.”
Jim-Bean shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He tucked the thermite grenades into a waterproof satchel, strapped his pistol and knife to one leg, and pulled the breathing mask over his mouth. Then he dropped into the hole.
Jim-Bean put his hands on the indentations. They weren’t human hands – there were two few fingers in each indentation.
“This is Sprague,” came Sprague’s voice over their comms. “Tucker’s en route to your location.”
“Great,” said Jim-Bean. He twisted the two handholds and the lid shrieked open. Inside was an air bubble.
“Looks like there’s air in here!” said Jim-Bean. “Come on down!”
“I’m not going down there,” said Hammer. “You’re doing just fine.”
“Be careful Jim-Bean!” said Howell.
“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure Hammer will be forced to come after me once the screaming starts…” Then Jim-Bean plunged into the stale air.
The dome was constructed of a strange conjunction of metals and crystalline shapes. Gold and electrum was wrapped among another metal. The metals were twisted and fashioned with great precision, delicate yet unpleasant, around contorted crystalline shapes of no known mineral. The shrine depicted no specific shape or symbol, though there was no question that it was fashioned with some unknown meaning.
Jim-Bean took his breathing mask, goggles, and flippers off. He kept the flashlight on his head. The underwater camera hovered just outside the air bubble.
The temple structure was clearly of alien manufacture. While the structure was not offensive to the human eye, there was something vaguely off about it, something that indicated on a subconscious level it was not a work of man. In the center of the temple was the altar. Ominously, the altar in the center of the dome was most suggestive of a dentist's chair.
The interior has an odd smell to it. There was a pile of skulls and bones collected in one side of the temple.
Jim-Bean crept over to the bones. He snapped a flare and dropped it by the bones.
“I don’t know what these are,” he said over the comm., “but they don’t look human.” He picked some of them up and put them in an evidence bag. Then he made his way over to the altar.
Static answered him. Signals weren’t going in or out of the temple. “Great,” said Jim-Bean to nobody.
The altar was coated in frozen blood. It had two odd protrusions. The side of the altar is covered with strange designs and script. Jim-Bean snapped another flare and dropped it by the altar.
Something was pulsing in his bag. Jim-Bean pulled out the Eye of Ithaqua.
It was thrumming, like a heartbeat. He peered closer at the altar. Small, metal-like hairs swayed all along the inside of the indentations. They danced to the rhythm of the Eye’s pulsing.
A strange whispering surrounded him. A figure flashed by on the edge of the flickering light of the flares.
Jim-Bean brought up his pistol. “Who’s there?”
More whispering. The whispering echoed off the walls of the chamber. It threatened to drive him mad.
Out of the darkness came Hodges, emaciated and frozen, an elongated husk of a corpse with hollow eyes, a long trailing tongue, and burnt stubs for feet. He floated a few feet above the floor of the temple.
“YOU WILL MAKE A GRAND SACRIFICE,” whispered Hodges’ rasp. “GIVE ME THE EYE.”
Jim-Bean lowered his pistol as his posture sagged in protest. “Not this again. Fine. You want it…” He shrugged off his duffel bag and shoved the Eye into it. “Go get it!”
Jim-Bean threw the duffel bag into the air and dove for the opening.
Hodges shrieked in rage, rushing forward to catch the bag.
Jim-Bean reached through the water and yanked the underwater camera into the air. “Hammer, it’s Hodges! He’s down here!”
“Well, well, well. Where’s your playmate?” He asked Hammer, ignoring Howell.
“Down there,” said Jim-Bean. “He’s investigating a shrine.”
“A shrine?” Six other armed men were stationed outside the tent. Tucker was already wearing a wet suit. The other men were still gearing up. “A shrine to what?”
“Ithaqua,” said Hammer. “He’s bad news. I’d be careful out there, we set some bear traps out too.”
“Bear traps? Out here on the ice?”
Hammer shrugged. “You never know.”
“Yeah, right. What did you find down--”
Jim-Bean’s voice shrieked over the comm. “Hammer, it’s Hodges! He’s down here!”
The ice shuddered beneath them, nearly knocking Tucker off balance. “What the hell?”
“Oh that can’t be good,” said Hammer.
Tucker ordered two of his men into the tent. “You and you. Keep an eye on these two. If they try to do something stupid, you have orders to shoot. Understood?”
Both men saluted. “Yes sir!”
“I’m going in to investigate this myself. “ He stepped out of the tent. “You four, you’re with me. Let’s go.”
They dove into the water and entered through the opening into the temple.
Jim-Bean was backed against one wall, coughing. He managed to get his breathing mask to his face.
The explosion had sucked the air out of the room. The air in the temple was replaced with dangerous carbon monoxide. With comms not working, they had to shout through their masks.
“Hammer!” shouted Jim-Bean. “There’s something with the altar. It’s got some kind of…” his words were muffled by the mask, “…sit in it!”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Good try.” He shouted back through his own mask. “What is that pulsing in your hand?”
Jim-Bean looked down at the Eye of Ithaqua. He had tricked Hodges into going for the grenades instead. He didn’t respond, but just tapped his ear as if he couldn’t understand.
Frustrated, Tucker flopped his way over to the altar, peering at it. Burning ashes were sprinkled all over it. “It’d be just like you to try to lure me into a trap.”
“What?” shouted Jim-Bean through his breathing mask, backing away.
“I said,” said Tucker, turning to face him, “it’d be just like you to try to lure me into a tr—AAGGGH!” Copper-looking filaments speared outwards from the chair, wrapping around his arms and legs.
The other men immediately went for their knives, ignoring Jim-Bean. They started hacking at the filaments, but they were incredibly solid.
“Jesus!” Jim-Bean backed towards the entrance. He had hoped to distract Tucker, not feed him to the damn altar.
The entire temple shuddered like a bell. Jim-Bean dove through the opening just as it lensed shut, sealing Tucker and his men inside.
The shuddering of the temple below sent shockwaves through the ice. The whole tent shook from the violence of the vibration.
Hammer reached for his pistols. One of the guards held his own pistol up. "Don't even think about it."
Hammer slowly but his hands back up. "I think we have bigger problems." The ground was trembling.
Between the guard's legs, a hairline crack traced its way towards Howell. The guard didn't notice.
There was a horrendous crunch as the shockwave shattered the ice, sending one piece of ice higher along the fracture. The guard yelped as he slid backwards as the tent started to slide into the freezing water.
Hammer grabbed Howell and lifted her up, settling her on a more stable piece of ice on the opposite side of the crack. He hopped the widening distance.
The first guard scrambled at the edge of the ice, trying to maintain his grip. Then the tent slammed into him and he went under, disappearing beneath the churning surf.
The second guard, seeing the rift cracking towards him, turned and ran. He was making good headway when he suddenly fell screaming to the snap of metal jaws. Red splotches of blood and flesh were everywhere.
The guard clawed at his leg, bent at a horrible angle from the jaws of the bear trap. He screamed as the piece of ice he was on pitched forward, helpless to save himself. His scream was cut off as the ice flipped over and slammed his head beneath the freezing water.
"It's a shockwave!" shouted Howell over the ringing. "See how the ice is cracking in circles?"
Hammer didn't have time to confirm her theory. Their own patch of ice was becoming dangerously unstable.
"Go! GO!" Pushing Howell ahead of him, he turned and started running.
The cracking expanded in great furrows around them. Larger cracks appeared in concentric circles around the center of the lake, and smaller hairline cracks branched between them. Hammer hurled Howell across a widening gap, and then jumped…
He scrabbled onto the edge, almost losing his grip. Clambering to his feet, the ringing still in his ears from the temple below the water, Hammer saw that they were almost home free. The concentric cracks stopped closer to the edge of the lake.
Hammer kept jogging. They were going to make it. He could only hope Jim-Bean was able to swim his way out of this mess—
The ice cracked beneath him and his feet gave way.
The water was so cold, so hungry for his body heat that it felt as if he had been set on fire. He instantly lost all feeling in his lower extremities, replace by a burning sensation that encompassed all of his lower torso. It was as if he had no legs, just the pain of a thousand needles piercing his flesh.
Hammer could only let out a gasp. Howell spun around and, quickly taking stock of his dire situation, flattened to the ground. She grabbed Hammer by his jacket and started pulling.
Hammer tried to help. But he was shivering uncontrollably. He didn't even dare say anything, because he was afraid he would bite off his tongue. He kept reflexively trying to curl into a ball, but that made things worse, because he needed his legs straight to get out of the hole.
Howell grunted in exertion as she dragged Hammer out of the water a couple of inches. He slipped back again.
"This isn't going to work." Shaking her head, she got a firm grip on both of Hammer's shoulders. "We have to wait.
Wait? Hammer couldn't say anything, but he imagined his eyes conveyed his desperation. Wait for what?
There was another reverberation and the ice around Hammer cracked. With a yell, Howell used the opportunity to pull him forward with all her might. The big man flopped onto the ice and slid to the shore.
Howell joined him a few seconds afterward. She threw her coat over him and hugged him close to try to keep him from going into shock with her meager body heat.
Jim-Bean flopped out of the water a few minutes later. Dumping the flippers, he didn't even bother to peel off his wetsuit.
Howell got up. "Keep him warm. I'll drive."
Jim-Bean looked back and forth between Hammer and Howell, stunned by the transformation that seemed to have overcome her in a crisis.
Then he caught sight of the night sky.
The pastel aurora faded as a massive, impossible figure swayed overhead in the snow-stained black air, silhouetted against the hard and distant stars. It had to be hundreds of feet tall.
A gigantic talon-like claw clenched. Snow gathered wispily around the air, pushed ahead of the massive splayed feet of the Wind-Walker and billowing in his endless horrid howl.
Jim-Bean shoved Hammer into the Humvee. "Drive!" he shouted to Howell. "Drive!"
One of the reconnaissance helicopters caught sight of Ithaqua's form more clearly in a cloud of ice and snow. His boundless black eyes were filled with stars, his face, inhuman but grotesquely reminiscent of humanity, twisted in savagery and misery, all before a gust of wind rose like a destructive wall and flung the puny aircraft like toys out of the sky.
"Drive!" shouted Jim-Bean from the back seat.
"I am!" Howell shouted back. But she didn't see what Jim-Bean saw loping out of the forest.
The howling reached a terrible crescendo, deafening, before the wind lifted, rising upward as if from the earth into the sky, drawing leaves and dead brown pine straws and flakes of ice with it.
Still half-frozen, wild-eyed and crusted with frozen saliva and blood, wild dogs, cats, house pets, and deer stumbled toward the nearest living things for the warmth of their meat and blood.
A pack of starved wolves, frozen to death where they fell in the forest, kept pace with the Humvee. Howell was still driving through rough terrain, struggling to avoid rocks, snow banks, and trees. Two of the wolves scrabbled onto the Humvee. One smashed its ice-hard snout right through the window.
Hammer, still shivering, put his Glocks to the gnashing jaws and fired. The wolf yelped, ice chipping off of its snout, but it lurched forward, struggling with its forepaws to get into the Humvee.
Hammer unloaded the entire pistol into the wolf-thing's face. It shattered into chunks, and the headless body flopped off the side of the Humvee.
"There were two…" said Jim-Bean.
With a terrible wrenching sound, wolf jaws tore through the top of the Humvee. Hammer turned his remaining pistol on the wolf's jaws. It bit down over his pistol.
"Guys!" shouted Howell.
He held the trigger down. Crusted blood and ice erupted in a shower through the hole. The wolf's body thumped its way along the top of the vehicle and off it.
"GUYS!"
Jim-Bean leaned forward to look at what Howell was screaming about. A huge bear rose up in the Humvee’s headlights, its body encrusted with ice and snow, roaring.
Howell jerked the wheel hard and the Humvee skidded sideways. The side of the Humvee slammed into the bear.
Gripping the sides of the vehicle with both paws, it roared, jaws tearing through the opening that the wolf had made.
"Thermite!" shouted Jim-Bean. "You took one of my grenades before, right?"
Hammer nodded. He fumbled in his pockets, trying to pull one of the two grenades out. The whole Humvee was threatening to shake apart from the bear's attack. Howell screamed.
The drooling jaws came closer. Hammer got one out, but dropped it out the window as the bear shook the Humvee violently. He grabbed for the second grenade and this time shoved into the bear’s open mouth. Teeth clamped down.
Hammer pulled the pin.
The bear let go of the Humvee and it lurched back onto all four wheels. It clawed helplessly at its mouth, eyes rolling.
The grenade's effect was instantaneous. The head of the bear was incinerated. The headless form slouched to the ground as Howell drove away.
The voice of the captain on their cistrons was desperate. "Report!"
"We've got multiple hostiles, sir!" Gunfire crackled over the comm. "They're everywhere. The corpses from the locker room just got up…"
There was more gunfire and screams. "Fall back, fall back!"
Desperate commands and garbled pleas for new orders went back and forth across the comm. as Howell drove into Willis.
Lurching, frozen forms milled about, hungry for warm flesh. She kicked the vehicle into reverse, turning back into the forest to avoid the hungry mob.
"BLUE FLY command," shouted Lewis into the comm., his voice cracking and frantic: "JERICHO! PURGATORY! PURGATORY PURGATORY PURGATORY! God help us all!"
"Oh no," said Howell.
"What?" asked Jim-Bean. "What now?"
"JERICHO is a codeword that will scramble four stealth bombers in the MJ base at Redstone Arsenal near Huntsville, vehicles enhanced with alien-derived stealth equipment and loaded with advanced firepower," said Howell. "The second half of the command is PURGATORY, which will order the gunships to cleanse the area of every living thing. We're screwed."
"Then drive us out of here!"
Howell shook her head. She pulled the Humvee to a stop in the woods, letting it idle. "No good. We'll never get out of range of the gunships in time. They use a battery of energy weapons, not conventional projectiles: an electromagnetic pulse cannon can disable power sources and communications; alternating-phase particle beam lasers can punch through intervening clouds or smoke and destroy hard targets or vehicles; sonics can take out personnel; very low-frequency sonic generators can rupture soft tissue and MASER beams cook objects across a tremendous area of effect."
The forest suddenly went silent. Every living thing cringed as a strange energy field passed over the area, gripped by sudden anxiety.
"That's the Jericho jets," said Howell grimly. "The Grey technology that powers the stealth bombers emits energy fields with a range of about a half mile. They're here."
The forest crunched overhead. Jim-Bean caught sight of a huge claw tearing through the trees. "GO! GO!"
Howell gunned the Humvee. "Is that thing CHASING us?"
Jim-Bean looked down at the Eye of Ithaqua, glowing in his bag. "I think we're a threat…"
"A threat? That lava lamp is a threat?"
"This is JERICHO ONE, target acquired," said one of the pilot's voices over the comm.
"JERICHO TWO—tzshhhhhhhhhhhrk—we are experiencing RADAR interference. Unable to lock on target—"
"JERICHO THREE, closing to visual range."
The trees above them were uprooted as Ithaqua swept a huge claw in their direction. The huge black pits for eyes stared down at them, filled with rage.
The jets, invisible high up in the sky, suddenly appeared around Ithaqua. For a moment the Great Old One was distracted. It turned to swat at one of the jets as it roared past.
There was a high-pitched whine in the air as holes appeared in Ithaqua's face and shoulders. With a roar, it lashed out at the jets.
"Yes!" shouted Howell. "They're using the MASERs! That should warm things up!"
"JERICHO FOUR, we—tshzzzzzk—losing altitude! Total systems collapse! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!"
One jet exploded into flames as Ithaqua connected. The swirling winds and snow, along with the extradimensional energies of the Wind-Walker shorted out complex circuitry at a quantum level. Another jet spiraled to the earth, pluming trails of smoke and fire.
Howell drove erratically, trying to get as far away from the thing as she could, but Ithaqua's size was such that it seemed like they never gained any ground.
Jim-Bean caught sight of one of the Jericho jets. The pilot had ejected and was floating down to earth, jerked here and there by the shrieking wind. The jet was flying right towards them.
Howell pulled the wheel hard just as the jet impacted ahead of them. The shockwave from the explosion tore up trees and earth. For a second the Humvee was airborne as it flipped over and over on its side. It finally stopped rolling.
They struggled out of the Humvee. The forest was burnt all around them, but the incredible cold kept the fire from spreading very far.
Jim-Bean helped Hammer to his feet. Howell was unconscious. He pulled her out of the Humvee.
Hammer looked up. "Look!"
"I know," said Jim-Bean. "They don't have a chance."
The Jericho jets circled Ithaqua, firing again and again, but it seemed to only enrage the thing.
"No, there!" Hammer pointed to the colorful parachute of the downed pilot. He was hanging just above ground level.
They ran over to him.
The pilot was flash-frozen from Ithaqua's presence. His lips were moving slightly.
"What's he saying?" asked Jim-Bean.
"Fingerprints…" said Hammer, listening closely. The pilot lifted one finger and pointed at the location of his crashed jet. He looked into the pilot's eyes and nodded. He knew what he had to do.
"We have to cut him down," said Jim-Bean.
"No time." Hammer drew a knife from its holster around his ankle. "He's a dead man."
"Wait, what are you doing?"
Hammer hacked into the pilot's wrist, just below his open palm. It snapped off easily with minimal blood loss. The pilot's eyes fluttered and then stayed closed.
"He said fingerprints." Hammer took off at a run. An explosion overhead indicated another Jericho jet had gone down. "These jets must use biometrics."
He ran over to the jet, which was still smoldering, belly up. A strange multi-pronged weapon that looked like a toy ray gun jutted from its undercarriage.
Hammer put the frozen hand to a flat panel. "Access granted," husked a pleasant-sounding female voice.
Outside, the last Jericho jet went down in flames. Ithaqua turned back towards them.
Inside, the pilot's cockpit was undamaged. A womb of glowing green panels surrounded the vacant spot where the pilot once sat.
"Target acquired," husked the voice. Several targeting points appeared on the huge form of Ithaqua. "Awaiting permission to fire."
On the view screen, the awful expression twisted in fury as it realized what was happening. A claw reached out for them…
Hammer slapped the frozen hand on another panel near what looked like a weapons array. "FIRE, BITCH!"
The effect was instantaneous. A "WOOM-WOOM-WOOM" sound shook the craft as incredible heat pulsed from the weapon on the undercarriage. The beam sheared towards Ithaqua’s face, incinerating one of its hands as it lifted it to ward off the attack. The huge claw burst into a puff of mist.
Ithaqua's scream nearly deafened them.
Outside, Jim-Bean ran over to Howell and slapped her awake. "Wake up!" He shouted. "We need your help!"
Howell's eyes fluttered open. She smiled up at him. "Hi…" Her expression darkened when she looked past him. "Oh no."
Jim-Bean looked over his shoulder. All around them were frozen corpses filing out of the forest with a burning hunger in their eyes.
Hammer crawled out of the Jericho jet, pistols at the ready. Despite his hypothermia, despite the car crash, despite everything, he was ready to go down fighting….
Until he cleared the lip of the crash site and saw how many of the frozen corpses there were. It had to be almost a thousand, with some of Warner's soldiers amongst their ranks.
Hammer lowered his pistols and waited.
Ithaqua turned his terrible gaze upon them. Rearing back for a final strike, his frozen children watched silently.
Jim-Bean grabbed the Eye of Ithaqua and held it aloft. In a sudden moment of clarity he remembered his dream, what the shaman had said:
"Ia! Ia! Ia!—Ai! Ai!—Hgu!"
Ithaqua paused. Something wasn't right. Out on Crow Lake, the water bubbled.
"Ithaqua fhtgan!"
The huge monstrosity clutched its eye as a beam of red light began to pulse out of it, matching the rhythm of the artifact in Jim-Bean's outstretched hand.
Blasting out of the ice and water was the cylinder where Tucker was trapped. It slowly opened to the night air.
"Ce-fyak vulg-t'uhm—"
A great moan went up from the hundreds of cold corpses around them. They too, clutched their faces.
Tucker was wrapped in wiring that ran the length of his body. Wires held his eyes open wide. He strained feebly at his bonds in the face of the horrible sight of Ithaqua.
"Ia! Ia! Ia!--Ithaqua!" shouted Jim-Bean. Beams of light sheared from the Eye of Ithaqua, firing towards the mounds.
Each of the mounds reflected the beam to another mound, until they created a full circle. Then all of the mounds sizzled towards where Tucker was strapped to the altar.
"Ai! Ai!--Ithaqua! Ithaqua!"
All sounds ceased for a heart-stopping second. Then a beam as bright as the sun sheared towards Ithaqua's head from the mound holding Tucker, engulfing him.
In a burst of thunder and ice, the entire form of Ithaqua collapsed into icicles. The Eye of Ithaqua crumbled to powder in Jim-Bean's palm.
"Back into the jet!" shouted Hammer.
Small icicles sheared through corpses and trees. One by one the dead bodies collapsed. One huge icicle the size of a bus speared through the Humvee.
They dove inside and closed the door. The palm was still on the panel.
"It doesn't matter," said Howell. "They'll send more jets…"
"Then we have to convince them to stop," said Hammer. "Open comms," he shouted at the onboard computer.
"Secure channel open," replied the voice.
Jim-Bean leaned forward. "This is Agents Jim-Bean and Hammer! Target eliminated. Repeat, TARGET ELIMINATED."
There was nothing but static on the other line.
"I repeat, TARGET ELIMINATED. ALL HOSTILES have been destroyed. The perimeter has NOT been breached. Quarantine contained! Repeat, TARGET ELIMINATED…"
Jim-Bean's voice was hoarse from all the screaming. He sat back, listening.
"This is Major Sprague. How did you get on this channel?"
"We are in a downed Jericho, sir," said Jim-Bean. The roar of a jet engine rumbled overhead. "All…" he hesitated, "zombies have been—"
"You saying there are NO reanimated hostiles left?" said Sprague.
"No…reanimated hostiles left, sir," said Jim-Bean weakly.
More static. Lewis' voice came a few seconds later.
"PURGATORY cancelled."
With a cheer, Howell grabbed Jim-Bean and kissed him on the lips.
Jim-Bean, Hammer, and Howell were seated before an impromptu inquisition, in Lewis' tent. Sprague sat on one side, Warner on the other.
"Let me get this straight," said Sprague. "You believe an alien civilization visited this area a millennia ago and set up a—"
"Resonance field," said Jim-Bean. Howell had him well rehearsed. "Using the five mounds—"
Sprague looked down at his notes. "Using the five mounds to create a harmonic vibration that destroyed the Russian device?"
"Well it all starts with Ithaqua. Philip Hodges summoned him out at Exit 23. We stopped him by cracking the Eye of Ithaqua—"
Sprague rubbed his forehead. "Not this demon $#!t again. I thought I told you about backing your findings up with real science." He turned to Lewis, embarrassed. "I'm sorry sir, there's clearly a misunderstanding—"
"If I may, sir?" Howell stepped forward. "We believe the Russian Informatsionno-Psikhologicheskoye Division produced a flying holographic bomb, capable of inducing hallucinations in humans and animals. This series of holographic patterns is so powerful as to cause the body to involuntarily shut down, causing instant hypothermia. In conjunction with electromagnetic interference, this would account for why the Jericho jets were brought down. It was also responsible for the bizarre weather patterns."
"There's nothing on God's green earth that could penetrate the shielding of those jets," said Warner. "And you want us to believe the Russians just invented something that got around it?"
"Depending on the nature of the attack, the weapon might not need to get around it, sir," said Howell without skipping a beat. "A pilot would only need to see the hologram to be affected by it and believe his jet was going down..."
"Putin's boys are better than we thought," muttered Lewis.
"So the pilots crash their own jets," said Sprague, starting to buy into the argument. "And they're all raving about zombies, giant demons, and God knows what else."
"That's our theory anyway, sir."
Warner looked back at his notes. "According to Dr. Bimmel, the frozen organic material wasn't thawing until the Russian weapon was neutralized. He cited quantum mechanics. How do you explain that?"
Howell spread her hands. "We don't have an explanation, sir. Given that the corpses did eventually thaw," she sneered, "perhaps Dr. Bimmel's findings were inaccurate."
“And the…reanimated tissue?” asked Lewis.
“We believe the holographic weapon was capable of putting certain beings into hibernation until called, whereupon they were awoken by subsonic vibrations.”
"Agent Jim-Bean," said Warner, changing tactics. "There was evidence that Agent Tucker was used as a trigger for the alien countermeasures."
"Yes sir." Jim-Bean handed over a bag full of the bones he had collected. "We believe these are bones from the aliens discovered in the Temple. It was powered by bioenergetics and thus required a single focal point to be powered on. That focal point was Agent Tucker."
"And would you saw Agent Tucker should be accorded full honors as a result of his sacrifice in neutralizing the Russian attack?"
"Certainly, sir," said Jim-Bean. "When we discovered the controlling chair, I offered to sit in it but Agent Tucker insisted he handle it himself."
"Then you won't mind joining us for another inquest when we compare your report to Tucker's," said Warner with a deadly glint in his eyes. "He suffered third degree burns over ninety eight percent of his body, but Tucker's alive."
Jim-Bean managed to keep the shock off his face. There was no way anyone could survive what Tucker went through. Unless Tucker was just like him.
"Good job, team," said Sprague. "Dismissed."
They marched out of the tent as Warner leaned over to whisper into Lewis' ear.
When they were well beyond the tent, Howell went back to base. The agents were free to go, for now.
"Oh yeah," said Hammer. "Howell wanted me to give you this note. She told me not to give it to you until after the mission was over…if we survived it."
Jim-Bean smirked. He took the note from Hammer, scanned it, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
"Well?" asked Hammer.
Jim-Bean shrugged. "Looks like I've got a contact in the Aquarius division of Majestic-12."
This scenario is a combination of “Operation Ravenheart” from Pyramid Magazine by C.A. Johnson and “Far Voices” by Rich Redman. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!
The campaign is starting to take on a life of its own. Drawing from the protagonists that appeared in previous scenarios and the general course of events, I’ve started to come up with natural connections that help suggest new scenarios. For example, Operation Ravenheart is about a company agent pursuing the CEO of a toy company, and in Far Voices a certain person is looking for the toy. By combining the two scenarios, it gave me the opportunity to wrap up Agent Tucker's personal history, as well as provide a warning to Jim-Bean as to what could happen to him if he's not careful. After all, in the last scenario, Tucker should have been dead, but he wasn't. There's a price for that kind of power, and its name is PROJECT RECOIL.
Because this scenario takes place in a toy warehouse, I tried to maximize the tension. In the original scenario, the bad guy is after a specific toy, and "by now, all the customers that wanted [the toy] have one. So the tired, frustrated, angry people have already left." Boring! I preferred instead to have the agents deal with an angry mob of soccer moms battling it out while the two opposing teams of agents try to out maneuver each other without hurting innocent civilians. As inspiration, I used the scene from A Galaxy Far, Far Away, where a seething crowd struggles to catch one Star Wars figures in a toy store.
The second half of this scenario then takes place in the CEO's mansion (and the original target of the first team). Operation Ravenheart doesn't go into much detail here other than to indicate that the house has been modified by Greys to be “a gauntlet.” Cue my opportunity to put the agents into a death trap, as the two rival teams hunt the poor CEO (who at this point must be wondering why he ever got into the toy business) in a series of shifting rooms filled with traps. That's right, this is my opportunity to use the traps from Cube Zero!
The players were a bit confused as to what was going on, so I tried to sprinkle in some clues, such as the CEO dropping his day planner. I played Willy Wonka music every time a trap was activated, which had the suitable effect of making the scenario both wacky and violent. And of course, this scenario ends with a big bang, the kind we haven't seen since poor Blade…
Incidentally, Far Voices was originally going to be the first scenario we played. As you can imagine, it would have set a very different tone for the campaign. Although I didn't originally intend it to work out this way, the scenario pretty much played out like a battle against the Joker in one of his funhouses.
Defining Moment: Caprice, battling Bill in hand-to-hand combat, drops his pants. It only makes things much, much worse.
He's modest, clever, and so smart,
He can barely restrain it.
With so much generosity,
There is no way to contain it...
To contain...to contain...to contain...to contain.
-Wonka's Welcome Song by Danny Elfman
ST. LOUIS, MO—They all took their seats in the cramped trailer turned meeting room, Sprague's mobile base of operations. Looking briefly at each of the agents, the grim-faced Sprague reached into a drawer, pulled out a set of colored, unmarked file folders, and handed them out. "I don't need to tell you that this information doesn't leave this facility," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll check those folders at the door before you leave."
The acknowledgment was universal and automatic as they opened the files and scanned the summary page. It was Warner's team. Sprague's rivalry with Warner was legendary. Unearthing dirt on the rival team would satisfy Sprague to no end, although he'd never let it show.
"We may have a problem with an ongoing mission," Sprague stated. "A number of bodies have turned up in an Illinois suburb. There is no known link between the victims. Cause of death has been murder, but the method varied in each case. You have summaries of the police reports in your files. There are two things that really concern us here. First, there's the frequency of the attacks. Statistically, the murder rate in that area has trebled in the last month. Secondly, in each case, the attack has been quick, brutal, professional, and had a near total absence of evidence left behind. Remind you of something?"
"A clean-up," said Hammer.
"No, this isn’t a clean-up. However, in no case can Majestic-12 trace any leaks to these individuals, even in our most paranoid projections." That raised a few eyebrows in the room. The personnel at Majestic made paranoia their stock and trade. They were, like all departments of Majestic-12, obscenely good at their jobs. "Ordinarily, we'd chalk this up to a fluke, or some clever serial killer, and leave it to the authorities to handle . . ."
It was an op against Centurion Computing Systems and Walter Morrow. The same group that had used technology from a crashed UFO to code a Navi chip that was more powerful than Majestic-12's own alien-fueled systems. Despite the disaster at their corporate headquarters, Morrow survived and CCS was stronger than ever. They were planning to release a new system, the PlayPal. Early reports indicated the PlayPal's chip made the Navi look slow; only this time, it was hard-wired to NOT work fast. As if it were intentionally underperforming until called upon at a later date.
"Majestic-12 has a long-term surveillance in progress in that area. You have the mission briefing, all relevant reports, and the squad portfolios in your mission packets. Department-specific information has been provided where appropriate."
Jim-Bean scanned the names. Bill, Larry, Sarah, Morgana…he recognized Morgana. She was responsible for seducing Morrow. Larry fabricated evidence of corporate espionage and handed it off to Morgana, who planted it. The subsequent dismissal gave Sarah the opening she needed to be placed on the engineering staff. Bill was in charge of surveillance. That left the muscle, the guy who ensured nobody else but Sarah applied for the position. And that guy was Agent Tucker.
Jim-Bean's blood froze. Tucker, the man who had put two bullets in Jim-Bean’s kneecaps and left him to die. Tucker, who had served as a sacrifice to Ithaqua and was hospitalized with third degree burns over ninety-eight percent of his body. Tucker, who two weeks later was performing missions when no human being on Earth could have possibly survived the damage. Except maybe Jim-Bean.
The first murder took place two months into the mission. Since that time, a new murder occurred at a frequency of not less than one per week, with five reported in the third week. The precise whereabouts of every squad member could not be ascertained during the times of the killings.
Jim-Bean stopped reading. He knew who it was.
"Our worst-case scenario is that one of our operatives has cracked. Best case is that serial killer I mentioned earlier. I'm not going to lie to you, people. This is the most dangerous type of Pounce mission there is. You're going undercover against our own. If there is a secret here to be found, there is no one on this planet better trained to keep it and eliminate the individuals trying to ferret it out. If our worst fears are realized, your orders are to neutralize the threat without jeopardizing the existing mission or the conspiracy. You have the authority to abort that mission should you see a need, but you better have a damned good reason if you do abort. The reports were just starting to show progress. If we had to back out now, it would take months to get back into the position we're in now. Given our position in this war, it may be months we can't spare.
"Jim-Bean, you're mission leader. I want a mission synopsis on my desk in seventy-two hours. You have ninety-six hours after that to requisition your equipment. From that point on, I expect nothing other than results. Is that clear?"
"Clear," they said in unison. Then Hammer, Jim-Bean, Guppy, and Caprice filed out of the conference room.
"It's Tucker," said Jim-Bean as he hopped out of the trailer.
Operation Tucker: Part 1a – The Ointment-Coated Fly
Jim-Bean placed Tucker under long-term surveillance. It didn't take long to figure out where the team was.
The St. Louis Mills Mall had over 175 brand name stores and outlets, entertainment and great dining. Sequestered in the northern center of the Mall was the PBS Kids Backyard, a confluence of kid-centric stores that was conveniently located next to the Food Court. Foremost amongst the stores at the Backyard was Wee Bee Toys.
A national toy store chain, Wee Bee Toys was a division of Centurion Computer Systems. Each location was a small warehouse full of toys, puzzles, and games. The company used a happy, child-friendly, little bee as its icon and spokesman. Customers bought toys in public spaces that were bright, well lit, and cheerful. Little did they know that several trained killers were stalking the aisles.
It was Black Friday, the Friday after Thanksgiving in the United States and the beginning of the traditional Christmas shopping season. The lines in the mall spiraled around the entire length of the mall and throughout the parking lot. The human crush threatened to overwhelm everything: the displays in the mall, the playground for the kids in the center of the Backyard, and certainly the food courts. They had opened early to cater to the shoppers who weren't even in the mall yet. Every store in the mall was on full alert, eagerly hiring temporary staff to handle the huge demand. It provided the perfect cover for Majestic-12, for both Sprague's and Warner's teams.
Guppy was undercover as a barista at Starbucks. When Guppy proposed that he walk the line waiting outside of Wee Bee Toys, serving coffee with his cart, the manager declared him a problem solver, adding "no wonder you people handle tech calls!" and enthusiastically endorsed the idea. Guppy kept his mouth shut. He used his cistron and a facial recognition program to snap pictures of the faces of people online, checking to see if any of them were Warner's agents.
Hammer and Jim-Bean took up a position outside of the warehouse. They couldn't go inside and risk Tucker identifying them.
As the one agent Tucker hadn’t met, Caprice had a position within Wee Bee Toys itself. Dressed as a gaming geek with a Legend of Zelda t-shirt underneath his black-and-yellow Wee Bee shirt, he stood in line with his other fellow temporary employees.
"This is show time, people," said the manager, a brusque retiree in a Wee Bee Toys yellow-and-black striped shirt. It made him look like some kind of deranged prison escapee. "The animals outside that door are going to come in here and tear this place apart. You're job is to make sure they tear it up in an orderly fashion. Some of you are baggers, some run the registers, some are warehouse runners, and some of you are going to be handing those things out." He nodded in Caprice's direction. "God help you boys, because you'll be on the front line." The manager took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. The customer line outside seemed to stretch to infinity. "We went over this a dozen times, but one more time won't hurt: we've already handed customers a number for the PlayPal. One number per person. They're going to wave those tags at you. Each one of these boxes has a number. In a perfect world you patiently review the number and hand the customer over a PlayPal box. But this ain't a perfect world."
Caprice looked around. Tucker would be easy to spot: he was a strapping, handsome African-American man—distinct enough that Caprice could easily identify him in a crowd. But he didn't see any of Warner's team, Tucker included.
The manager pointed at a big red electronic ticker that hung on the wall over the entrance. "The numbers appear there. Hands will go up. Your job," he pointed at Caprice's team, "is to get those boxes out. You're going stand atop the displays, with a fence around you so customers can't just grab the PlayPal boxes. Your job is to get the box to the customer. We call you folks Throwers. You're not supposed to throw it, but you're not gonna have a choice when the savages get going. So you do what you have to. Just don't let anybody get hurt. And if they do get hurt, blow your whistle," they all had whistles around their necks. "That's a call for help. You blow that whistle, I'll call mall security. Hopefully it won't be like last year." The manager shuddered. Caprice figured it must have been a bad time.
"Oh yeah, one more thing. May as well tell you this now..." The manager hitched up his belt over his considerable gut. "We told everyone that the PlayPal was being shipped in today. That's not true. It's already here. We had a problem with UPS guys stealing these things off the rack before they even arrived, so we learned our lesson."
Caprice cursed under his breath. Jim-Bean and Hammer were planning to intercept the delivery. "Guys, it's Caprice, I—"
"Hey!" shouted the manager, pointing at Caprice. "I thought I told you no phones! Take that thing off!"
Caprice frowned and yanked the earpiece out of his ear.
"All right, everybody ready?" The manager looked around. The temps were nervous. "Good. Positions!"
They jogged off to their positions. Caprice clambered up his caged mountain of PlayPals. The fence that ringed the bottom of it wouldn’t hold off an angry customer for long.
"Everybody smile!" The manager retreated to his office, which had a glass window overlooking the floor. His voice floated over the speakers. Insanely happy music started up, cheering the wonders of Wee Bee Toys. A giant bee character started rotating at the center of the store. "And here! We! Go!"
Caprice caught a glimpse of one of the Throwers across the floor crossing himself. Then a buzzing sound signaled the opening of Wee Bee Toys as the glass doors whisked open.
Operation Tucker: Part 1b – The Ointment-Coated Fly
Guppy's cistron flashed face after face as the facial recognition software went to work. No luck.
"Hey!" said a pudgy guy with an "I See Fragged People" t-shirt.
Guppy wheeled his cart over.
"You sell food?"
"Uh, not really, I just have lattes and…"
"Dude!" The fat guy was sweating. "I will give you FIVE BUCKS for a cookie. A bagel. Anything!"
"I'm not sure—"
"Do you know how long I've been on this line?" Guppy tried not to get too close. He could smell how long the guy had been on line. "Two days man! TWO DAYS! You gotta get me some—"
The bell rang and suddenly Guppy was forgotten. He yanked the cart backwards to avoid being crushed.
Guppy tried to get on the line but he was shoved out of the way. "Get to the back of the line!" someone shouted at him.
He settled instead for photographing customers through the glass doors. Several other people were doing the same with their camera phones, undoubtedly hoping to catch a moment of consumerism at its worst.
Inside, Caprice slung the earpiece back over his ear.
"…don't see the truck," said Hammer.
"I know, I was trying to tell you guys!" Caprice had to shout over the noise of the crowd. "There's no truck, the PlayPals are already here!"
He handed three of them off to the customers waving the first three ticket stubs. A sea of arms went up, even as the big red ticker on the wall clicked through the first ten.
An alert went off on their cistrons. Caprice couldn't look down at the cistron at his belt, busy lifting and tossing the PlayPals to the ravenous crowd.
"I've got a match!" said Guppy. "It's Tucker!"
Caprice looked around. "Where?"
"Far back, middle row."
Caprice squinted. He could make out a tall black man in a trench coat. It had to be Tucker. There was only one way to find out.
Caprice wound up and tossed a PlayPal at him.
Tucker caught it easily. The customers spun in outrage to a chorus of "Hey!" and "Wait, I have the next ticket!"
Tucker used his cistron to scan the PlayPal box, and then as an angry customer struggled frantically to get to him, handed it over.
"He's scanning the boxes," said Caprice. "He must be looking for something."
"Throw one to me!" Guppy made his way, finally, inside the Wee Bee Toys store.
"Guppy, I'm not sure that's a good idea…"
"Just do it!"
Caprice wound up and tossed a PlayPal to Guppy.
The crowd went nuts. "Is that one of his buddies?" and "He just got here!" reverberated from the crowd.
Guppy tried to scan the box but someone yanked on his arm. Before he could finish scanning it, another person tackled him, grabbing the PlayPal out of his hand. A large woman body checked the assailant out of the way and grabbed the PlayPal box. The crowd was devolving into a brawl.
"You threw that to him on purpose!" shouted someone near Caprice's feet. He didn't get a chance to see who it was, but someone yanked on his foot. He lost his footing and slid down the hill of boxes. PlayPals tumbled everywhere.
The crowd roared as a free-for-all broke out. Soccer moms shoved teenage boys. Grandmas beat on fat geeks. All over the PlayPal.
Guppy managed to crawl towards the entrance. "I…" he was panting, "…just saw Tucker. He's leaving the mall!"
"This job sucks!" shouted Caprice. "I quit!" He tore off his black-and-yellow striped shirt and threw it to the ground.
Guppy dove into the Honda Civic, the world's most anonymous vehicle, as Tucker's Mustang peeled off. Hammer sped after him.
"He's in an awful rush," said Jim-Bean from the passenger seat
"Think he spotted Caprice?" asked Guppy.
Jim-Bean shrugged. "I don't know. Tucker's pretty efficient. If he felt Caprice was a threat I think he'd be dead by now."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," said Caprice over the comm. "I just hot-wired a car. I'll catch up."
Suddenly Tucker's vehicle sped up. Hammer slammed on the gas to keep pace.
On the expressway, another Honda Civic pulled alongside their vehicle.
"Hey look," said Guppy. "Looks like this car really is common after all…"
The passenger window rolled down and a Beretta pointed in Jim-Bean's face.
"That's no ordinary car!" shouted Hammer. He slammed on the brakes.
The gunshot went wide, ricocheting off the pavement. Horns wailed behind them and tires screeched as cars and trucks crashed into each other. Ironically, none of the vehicles hit their Civic.
Hammer slapped the dashboard. "Damn! That was Warner's team. We lost him."
"Not necessarily," said Jim-Bean. He punched the keys of his cistron. "SINNER, dear? We need your help."
"You think that's actually going to work?" asked Hammer. "SINNER isn't just at our every beck and—"
"Hello Agent Jim-Bean," the red pig-tailed image of SINNER as a pre-teen girl appeared on his screen. "How can I help you?"
Jim-Bean grinned at Hammer. "We're trying to trace Agent Tucker. He's heading west on 370. Do you have any likely destinations?"
"That would be the mansion of Walter Morrow, CEO of Central Computing Systems. Downloading directions now."
Hammer threw the Civic into gear.
"We've got a new route," said Jim-Bean into his cistron. "Can you catch up?"
"I got tangled up in an accident," replied Caprice.
"Huh," said Jim-Bean. "Weird. Well, if you can find a car—"
There was shouting in the background. Caprice replied. "I just…borrowed a car. I'll be right behind you."
Hammer pulled through the gates of the Morrow estate. They had been smashed open by a vehicle.
The smoking radiator of Tucker's Mustang hissed in front of the mansion's double doors, which were still open.
"He must have driven right up to the front doors,” said Hammer.
Jim-Bean and Hammer slipped through the double doors into the mansion, pistols at the ready. Guppy trailed behind them.
"Nothing here," said Guppy. "Where'd he go?"
Hammer pointed at the ground. A butler lay on the ground, jaw slack, a red bullet hole in his head. "Just follow the bodies."
The trail of servants littered several rooms. Most were caught unawares, shot from the front, although a few were face down, killed as they were fleeing. None of them were Morrow.
The trail went cold near a storage closet. Hammer leveled his pistols at the opening as Jim-Bean threw open the door.
The doors opened to reveal sliding panels with a keypad. Guppy hooked his cistron up to it and began hacking the code.
"The team was here," said Hammer.
"But Tucker got here first." Jim-Bean bent down to pick up a day planner.
"Funny," said Hammer. "This guy runs a high-tech company and he writes down his daily schedule by hand."
"Sometimes that's the only way to keep things secret," said Jim-Bean.
Hammer flipped to the current day. “Morrow was scheduled to appear at the St. Louis Mall for the PlayPal unveiling. Guess he backed out at the last minute.”
“Trust me,” said Guppy. “You don’t want to be there.” He finished tapping keys and stood up.
The panel flashed green and the doors whisked open. Simultaneously, an alarm rang out throughout the mansion. Security doors slammed shut around windows and entrances.
"Well I guess there's only way to go from here," said Jim-Bean.
They were facing an elevator. And it only went one way: down.
The elevator opened into a twenty-foot by twenty-foot box, with doors in each wall. The room was harshly lit from within the wall itself in all directions.
"You know what this looks like?" asked Hammer to no one in particular.
"A ship," said Guppy, his voice cracking. "An alien ship."
"We're in an alien ship?" asked Jim-Bean. "Really? Doesn't look like much."
Music started playing. It was the Wee Bee theme song and it reverberated from every corner of the room.
"What is going on?" shouted Guppy, holding his ears.
Long poles slowly stretched out of the ceiling.
"What the hell is that?" asked Jim-Bean.
Hammer shoved Guppy through a door into the next room. The room was exactly the same as the first one.
Jim-Bean ran after them, but he was a second too late. A spray of clear liquid showered the room. His clothing began to smoke. "Acid!"
The flesh on Jim-Bean's back bubbled and seethed as the acid ate through his clothing. Guppy started to tear Jim-Bean’s shirt off.
"It's all right! I'm all right!" said Jim-Bean, wincing.
"But the acid…it's all over you!"
Jim-Bean shook his head. "Just barely got me."
Guppy put one of his fingers through the hole in Jim-Bean's shirt. "That's not what it looks like to me."
Before they could argue further, the Wee Bee song started up again.
"Oh man," said Guppy. "I've got a bad feeling about this…"
Electricity crackled, causing hairs to stand on end. A series of lightning beams crisscrossed the room.
"What kind of basement is this?" shouted Jim-Bean, forced to contort into an awkward position around the beams.
Hammer craned his neck, carefully stepping underneath one beam and over another. Guppy followed suit. Jim-Bean joined them on the other side of the room after several near missteps.
The door on the other side of the identical room whisked open just as the agents entered. It was Warner's team.
"Down on the ground," shouted Larry, the leader, pistol at the ready. "Now!" Backing him up were Sarah and Morgana, their own pistols out.
"You put your weapons down!" shouted Hammer. Jim-Bean and Guppy backed him up.
"I am not going to ask you again!" shouted Larry.
"This is your last chance!" Hammer shouted back.
The Wee Bee song started up again. Larry and Hammer watched as two poles slowly extended into the center of the room…
Caprice pulled up to the mansion in his stolen vehicle. It was locked down tight, with safety shades pulled down over every entrance.
He tried to raise the other agents but had no luck. That meant they were inside. Which could be good or bad, depending on what they found there.
Caprice made his way to the keypad at the front door. He popped the panel off and hooked his cistron to the board beneath it.
With a little time, he could hack his way into the system. While Caprice wasn't quite as good at hacking as Guppy, he was still pretty formidable with code cracking, a skill acquired from his days in aeronautics programming. Code scrolled on the cistron's screen as it clicked away at the firewall—
SPTANG! A bullet ricocheted right near Caprice's head. He ducked and rolled, hands up.
"Down on the ground! DOWN ON THE GROUND!" shouted Bill, from Warner's team. He looked like a geek who didn't know how to wield the shaking pistol in both hands.
Caprice put his hands up. "Easy, easy. Are you trying to mug me? I can give you my wallet…"
"I don't want to mug you, I want you to GET ON THE GROUND!"
"Okay, okay!" Caprice slowly got down to his knees. "Look…I don't live here, okay? I don't have any money…"
"I just said I am not trying to mug you!" Bill inched over to him and pulled out a zip tie from his belt.
"Wait, you're tying me up? What for?"
"I don't know who you are or why you're here," he glanced over at the code flickering on the security panel. "But you're no common thief, that's for sure."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Bill started to put the ties on Caprice's wrists when the security panel beeped. The code had been hacked.
It was all the distraction Caprice needed. He spun on Bill and grabbed the pistol.
For a few desperate moments they huffed in silence. Bill tried to kick Caprice off of him, but only succeeded in hooking his foot in Caprice's belt. He managed to nearly shove the other agent's pants off.
They separated, gasping for air. Caprice growled. "Fine, let's do this." He dropped his pants completely so they wouldn’t tangle up his ankles…
Bill's eyes went wide. "You will not rape me!" He squeezed off a shot.
The bullet grazed Caprice's arm. "Ouch, damn it!" He rolled towards the door and snatched up his cistron. The doors were unlocked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Larry tended to Sarah and Morgana. Hammer looked after Guppy. They were all burned from the gout of flames that jetted from the cylinders.
"Ready to call a truce?" asked Hammer. "Your team's a mess."
"So is yours," said Larry.
"Not as bad as you might think," said Hammer. "We're Sprague's team."
Hammer knew better than to worry about Jim-Bean. A few seconds later, Jim-Bean's eyes flicked open, despite the fact that his face was blackened to a crisp. He wiped one hand over his features and the dead skin fell off, flaking away like so much dandruff.
"Great," said Larry. "Sprague's team huh?" He held up his cistron. Hammer held up his own cistron and the two exchanged virtual identification. They both checked out. "Why didn't you say so?"
"You didn't give us a chance. Can you tell us what the hell is going on in here?"
Larry shook his head. "Tucker's job was to intercept the modified PlayPal before it was released to the general public. At least, that's what we thought the plan was."
Jim-Bean continued to brush off burned flesh. "Don't tell me, Tucker changed plans."
Larry nodded. "Made a bee-line for Morrow's mansion. He didn't return any of our inquiries. We followed him to the mansion, saw you following him, and then became convinced that Tucker's cover was blown, which is why he was in such a rush."
"But he wasn't running, was he?" asked Jim-Bean. "He's after Morrow."
"I don't know," said Larry. Sarah and Morgana were badly burned. He had pumped them both full of painkillers, but they were going to need to be hospitalized.
Jim-Bean put one palm to the floor and focused. "I know where he is," he said.
"How?" asked Larry.
"Stay here with them," said Hammer. "We'll leave a trail behind us and try to set off as many traps as we—"
Their conversation was cut off by a scream a few rooms away.
The crack of a pistol echoed in the empty mansion. Bill finally had to reload.
"All right, enough!" shouted Caprice. He stood up from behind a plush red chair, still in his underwear. "This is ridiculous."
Bill fumbled loading his pistol. He obviously wasn't accustomed to combat. "You're…" he was torn between reloading and eyeballing Caprice. "Who are you?"
"I think we're on the same side," muttered Caprice. "You're with Warner's team, right?"
Bill squinted at him. "Who wants to know?"
"Look." Caprice held up his cistron. "See? Check me out, you'll see I'm legit. I'm with Sprague's team."
Bill held up his cistron. Sure enough, they both checked out. "Well, that's a relief."
"What happened here?"
Bill shrugged. "Tucker's gone nuts. Killing everybody." He looked down at one of the dead maids and blanched. "I think he's after Morrow."
"And where's Morrow?"
"We're in his mansion. But my guess is he has a panic room."
Caprice looked around. A closet door was open, and the dim glow of a screen pulsed within. "There."
They both peered into the closet. It was the front of an elevator with an access pad. Bill hooked up his cistron to the system. "Looks like some kind of giant Rubik's cube. Take a look."
He tapped a key and a floor plan of the basement appeared in glowing green lines. It was a massive structure that didn't look man-made.
"Who builds this kind of thing under their mansion?"
"Besides Batman?" asked Bill. "Crazy CEOs who are being influenced by the Greys."
"You think Greys did this?"
Bill nodded. "The PlayPal CCS is producing is too sophisticated. It's better than the stuff Majestic’s got."
"I think I can override the security protocols," said Caprice. He pressed a button on his cistron and was connected wirelessly through Bill's cistron. "It's just a matter of resetting the system."
Bill cleared his throat. "Yeah. Okay. So uhm…before you do that…"
Linear Mode
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