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

[talien]

Wild Hunt: Part 13 – Jesus Weeps

Gregor’s employer at Jesus Wept directed the agents to his squat. It was a crumbling old warehouse in the former downtown of old New York, located south of Canal Street, between Center and Baxter Streets.

Many walls had holes and other signs of decay. Along the outer walls were painted swastikas. Candlelight could be seen coming from the abandoned building.

Hammer kicked in the door. “Federal agents!”

People scattered. A few froze. They squatters included a few Goths, ravers, and ex-gang-type youth. A few teenage mothers with their babies hid in the adjoining rooms.

Jim-Bean collared one of squatters, a tough looking bald guy with a tattoo on one side of his face. “Not so fast.” The thug reached for a knife but Jim-Bean cocked his pistol and pointed it at his head. “Don’t even think about it.”

The thug dropped the knife.

“I’m not in the mood, so I’m going to ask you this just once. Where is Gregor?”

“F%$K YOU!” The thug spat at Jim-Bean.

Jim-Bean lowered his pistol from the thug’s forehead and fired at his calf.

The thug fell to the ground. “Ahhh!” he shrieked. “Jesus! You SHOT me! What is your F#$KING problem man!”

The other squatters fled the building, screaming into the night.

“I told you,” said Jim-Bean calmly. “Now that’s just a flesh wound, because I was feeling charitable. But so help me God, if you don’t tell me what I want to know I will kill you right here and nobody will find you. Do you understand me?” He pressed the pistol up against the thug’s forehead so hard that it left a red mark.

“Jimmy,” said Hammer nervously, “calm down.”

Jim-Bean was sweating, his pupils dilated. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “Now ANSWER ME.”

“All right, all right!” The thug clutched his leg. “Gregor hangs out with Xavier and Wolfen. They’re sicko bastards, killing stray cats and dogs and drinking their blood. They had stopped for the last couple of weeks. Gregor swore an oath that he would get revenge on all ‘No good raving scum!’”

“That’s it?” Jim-Bean’s left eye twitched. “That’s everything? Don’t lie to me!”

“That’s it, I swear!” The thug started to weep. “I swear! We told to leave them and we haven’t seen ‘em since! Please don’t kill me!”

“I SHOULD kill you,” snarled Jim-Bean, shuddering. “I should…I should…”

Archive put one hand on Jim-Bean shoulder. “Jimmy, you okay?”

“I…” Jim-Bean’s eyes rolled. “I don’t…”

Hammer gently pushed the pistol away from the thug’s forehead. “Something’s wrong.”

Archive helped Jim-Bean to his feet. He looked Jim-Bean in the eye, then put one hand to his wrist. “His pulse is racing. I think someone spiked his drink. He’s having a bad trip.”

“Great,” said Hammer. “Let’s get Jimmy to a hospital before we attract more unwanted attention.”

Jim-Bean waved them off as he stumbled out of the squat. “I’ll be…be fine…just give me water…can piss out…the toxins.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” said Archive.

“It does…with me…” gasped Jim-Bean.

 

[talien]

Wild Hunt: Part 14 – Apocalypse Remix

It was clear that not fitting in at Club Apocalypse was a liability. Jim-Bean’s drink had been spiked for precisely that reason.

Jim-Bean recovered by the time they had purchased new clothes. It was past midnight when they returned to the club.

Hammer bought himself a new tailored suit, all black. It was modern and stylish, without looking too much like a Fed. Archive wore a magical practitioner’s garb, complete with robe and wand. He looked like a cross between a grungy street preacher and a deluded Harry Potter fan. Jim-Bean wore what could only be described as a pirate costume of darkest red.

“The manager of Club Apocalypse,” said Archive, “is Robert Hubert. He’s the guy in those pictures. His background is hazy. He graduated from Bard in 1960. That’s it. There’s nothing else in Blacknet on him. Hubert’s an enigma.”

They passed through the front door of the Club as before, with Jim-Bean “persuading” them to see his way.

“The killer’s got to be Hubert,” said Jim-Bean when they were inside the main dance floor. “The owner of this place hasn’t aged, he’s been around everybody famous who has died, and the drug overdose happened here. We should just raid the place.”

“I want to talk to him first,” said Hammer. “But we’ll have to get past the bodyguards.”

“The real bodyguards,” said Jim-Bean. “Not the pretty boys at the front door.”

Jim-Bean was back to his old self, his protomatter body having processed the PCP out of his system after he gulped several glasses of water. He marched up to the private area of the club, the Green Bar. Two bouncers stood before him.

“Federal agents,” he said, flashing his badge. “I want to speak with the owner.”

“He’s not speaking with anyone he doesn’t want to speak to.” The bouncers shook their heads. “Your badge is no good here.”

“Fine,” said Jim-Bean. He squinted at them. “Let me be a little more persuasive. Why don’t you let us in?”

The bodyguard smirked. “That might work at the door, but it won’t work here.”

Jim-Bean looked puzzled for a moment. Then with an elaborate sigh, he reached for his Glock. “Fine, we’ll do this the hard—“

There was a cold, clammy grip on his shoulder, as if a coat rack had accidentally caught hold of Jim-Bean’s jacket. When he turned, the man in the photos was standing there with one hand on his arm. Only it didn’t feel like a hand, more like a dead tree branch, completely lifeless and cold.

It was Hubert. He had prominent, high cheekbones, a narrow chin, a long face, and a heavy brow. His features were distinctly Aryan, as was his tousled blond hair. He looked twenty-five, but his skin had a somewhat plastic complexion to it.

“Gentlemen, that’s not necessary. I can introduce you to the owner.”

Hammer relaxed slightly, moving his hands away from his shoulder holsters. “You mean you’re not the owner?”

“My name is Robert Hubert, but you can call me Belial.” He flashed a humorless, plastic smile that didn’t show in his eyes. “Follow me please.”

He waved them on. The bodyguards parted to allow the agents access.

Through the double doors was the Green Bar, a large, finely-decorated art-décor bar that was packed ear-to-ear with celebrities and their entourages. It had a small dance floor, a quarter the size of the main one. Belial led them past another set of double doors, which opened onto a small bar with several tables, finely but sparsely decorated, most near-empty. As soon as the doors closed, the rhythmic beats of the dance floor were instantly silenced.

An exquisitely coifed and tanned older man dressed in a white suit sat at a table in the center of the room. He sprang up as soon as he saw the agents.

“Gentlemen! Come in, come in! It’s so good to make an acquaintance of Agent Blade!”

Hammer flinched. How did he know Blade?

“Oh, that’s right, he died.” He looked sad for the briefest of moments. “But where are my manners? I’m Stephen Alzis, the owner of Club Apocalypse. Please, have a seat, drinks are on the house.”

He gestured to chairs at the table. There were precisely three empty chairs.

The agents slid into the seats.

“We’re after the SoHo Killer,” said Hammer, staring sideways at Belial.

“Oh, right, right, the incident. And you…” Alzis’ eyes widened. “Oh you don’t think…” he snickered. “You don’t think Belial here is the killer?” He laughed, shaking his head. “You Majestic-12 boys can really be quite foolish, you know that?”

Archive leaned forward. “How do you know about Majestic—“

Hammer glared daggers at Archive. Archive clamped his mouth shut.

Alzis seemed amused. “I know everything that goes on in my Club, and quite a bit more that goes beyond it. It seems we’ve got a new designer drug on the streets, a drug I didn’t authorize. It’s called Coca Loco. At first I thought it was the Tong Shugoran, but frankly not even the Tcho-Tcho are that stupid. And they can be pretty stupid.” He patted Jim-Bean on the shoulder. “Am I right?”

Jim-Bean blinked. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but he didn’t like it. “Uh…so you know who the killer is?”

Alzis smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with wholesale murder. But I do object to the massacre of my clients. I mean, I have a reputation to uphold, and these people pay good money for my protection.” Alzis seemed indignant.

“What does this have to do with the killer?” asked Archive.

“Do you have a dog, Mr. Grange?”

Hammer stared at Alzis. “No.”

“Good. I don’t like dogs. Can’t stand them. Always barking, tracking things down, eating the souls of people who look too far back in time. Terrible things, dogs. You asked me if I know who the killer is, but maybe you should be asking yourself. You know who the killer is. You met him. You saw him walk through a gate. And every time someone walks through a gate, they come out somewhere else. It just might not be where or when or where they expected.”

“Morton,” said Archive. “Dr. James Morton, the guy who walked through the gate at Centurion Computing Systems’ headquarters.”

“Bingo,” said Alzis with a smile. “The same scientist hired by Walter Morrow to stop the Tindalosians from killing him. Looks like that didn’t work out for him though, did it? I’d check with his ex-wife, Melissa Morrow.”

“Why are you helping us?” asked Hammer.

“Consider it a little exchange of favors,” said Alzis.

“Your help comes with a price,” Hammer said flatly.

“Everything comes with a price,” said Alzis. “Everything.” He stood up. “Except the drinks. They’re on me. I’d move quickly if I were you, Morton won’t wait much longer. Have a good night gentlemen and good luck in your hunt.”

And with that, Alzis stood up and walked out.

 

[talien]

Wild Hunt: Part 15 – Welcome to Partridgeville

The drive to Partridgeville took a few hours. The sleepy old colonial town was small and decaying, and had a New England air about it. There was a village green, narrow winding streets, clapboard cottages, and a white-steeple Congregational church. Out from the center of town, the streets broadened and straightened, and the yards were deep and shady. Out even further were housing developments and a shabby industrial area. Downed tree limbs and toppled telephone poles signified recent storms.

“What do we have on Morton?” Jim-Bean asked Archive.

“We’ve got a short set of notes from the director of the lab,” said Archive. “One Llewellyn Crabwell. It discusses the director's difficulty in working with Morton. He described Morton as a top man in his field, but Morton's fascination with the occult worried Crabwell enough to keep an eye on him.”

“Not very useful,” said Hammer. “Where’s Melissa Morrow?”

“In Partridgeville, just like Alzis said,” said Archive.

“That dude freaks me out,” said Jim-Bean. “Seriously, he knew way too much.”

“Speaking of which,” said Hammer, eyes still on the road, addressed Archive, “the next time you mention Majestic-12 I will shoot you.”

Archive swallowed hard and ignored the threat. “Melissa’s not listed in the telephone directory. Assuming she kept her ex-husband’s last name, there’s one candidate: M. Morrow, on 33 Sussex Drive, on the edge of town.”

A few minutes later Hammer pulled up to a small white bungalow. The lawn was perfectly cut. A strange looking weather vane, shaped like a crescent-moon with a lens in its middle, waggled on the roof.

Hammer led the other agents to the door.

An older woman answered his knock.

“Miss Morrow?”

“Yes?”

Hammer shoved open the door. “I’m Agent Hammer, with the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency. We’re here to talk to you about your ex-husband.”

“Oh, my!” She looked flustered as they filed into her small home. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“When did you finalize your divorce?”

Melissa frowned. “We never did. We separated, but he never would sign the papers.” She sat down on her sofa. “Can I offer you a spot of tea?”

Jim-Bean flashed a dazzling white smile. “That’d be wonderful.”

They all sat down as Melissa puttered in the kitchen.

“Before he became CEO of Centurion Computer Systems, Walter was a contributor to Weird Tales and other classic pulp magazines.” She brought out some yellowing original issues for all to read, along with tea and cookies. “All of his tales were stories about things called ‘The Dark Beasts,’ strange creatures of darkness that hide in forests. These creatures can only be driven off by bright light, or by not letting their image take form in the viewer's mind; they are creatures of the imagination, and by shutting one's eyes tightly and not believing in their existence, one can make them vanish.”

She sighed and sat down.

“Did he ever speak about his work?”

Melissa shook her head. “No. That’s why I asked for a divorce. He valued his work more than me.”

“Can you remember anything, Ms. Morrow?” asked Jim-Bean, sipping his tea. “Anything at all?”

Melissa thought hard. “One time, in a fit of drunken depression, William mentioned he had ‘looked too far back,’ and that something came back with him. He then said, ‘Beware gazing into the abyss, for if you gaze too long, it shall gaze into you.’ That’s what killed him in the end, I suppose."

“In a manner of speaking,” said Archive.

“I do remember an old chest in the basement that is filled with his belongings. Do you think that might be helpful?”

Hammer tried to remain calm. “Yes, that’d be very helpful.”

After nearly an hour of shifting broken furniture and wooden packing cases, the agents uncovered the chest. Inside were odds and ends-silver candlesticks, good china plates, a gold watch, and so on. Two interesting items turned up—a leather-bound book, filled with odd scribbling, and a small Chinese puzzle box.

Hammer handed both items to Archive.

Scrawled in almost unreadable English, the leather binding of the book was burned and discolored.

Archive flipped through the pages. . It was filled with strange geometric diagrams, mathematical equations, and chemical formulas.

“This is Morrow’s diary,” said Archive. “It describes in detail his research in transcendental time travel.” He paged through it. “The stuff we already know: his addiction to Coca Loco, the Hounds passing through angular space and…wait a minute.”

“What?” asked Jim-Bean.

“The journal ends with Morrow working on a complex equation he dubbed the ‘Einstein Formula’,” said Archive,” but he never had a chance to perform it. One of the freelancers he hired to repel the hounds gave it to him.”

“A spell, like the one that took out that animated statue,” said Hammer.

“What statue?” asked Jim-Bean.

“Different mission,” said Hammer. He turned back to Archive. “Can you learn it?”

Archive’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I think so. It involves hyperdimensional physics, which is extremely dangerous.”

Hammer checked his watch and then started climbing the steps. “Study up,” he said over his shoulder. “The Rave starts in a few hours. You’ll need to learn it before then.”

 

[talien]

Wild Hunt: Part 16 – Happy Halloween!

It was Halloween. Ravers and their friends and acquaintances were ready to partake of a night of drug-filled, music-blasting fun. They began to gather at Columbus Circle at 9 p.m. Hammer, Jim-Bean and Archive wore their Goth outfits and joined the procession.

Whenever around twenty people showed up, half of them begin walking the route. This prevented the police from noticing a large mass of people. Around two hundred people went to the rave in this manner.

At the beginning of the procession, a number of ravers drank a large amount of alcohol, and smoked some marijuana.

The route headed past the "haunted" apartment building of the film Ghostbusters, at 55 Central Park West and 66th street. Male ravers shouted things like "I am Vince Clortho, Keymaster of Gozer!" while females yelled "I am Zul, the Gate Keeper!" and engaged in provocative hugs and caresses. The ravers started to use ecstasy, crystal, GHB, LSD, and ketamine.

The route continued north to stop in front of the stately Dakota building, on 72nd street. One of the first fashionable West Side apartment buildings, the relatively squat building was better known as the place where Rosemary's Baby was filmed, and where John Lennon was shot. Ravers made various Satanic salutes and said things like "He has his father's eyes!" and "All them witches!" Ravers who had not yet used the typical raver drugs started to take them. Mushroom and PCP use started.

The ravers then headed over to the park itself, and traveled over the hilly stretch of parkland designated Strawberry Fields in the memory of John Lennon. Ravers mockingly sang Beatles tunes. Some ravers actually thought they were seeing John Lennon's ghost. Most ravers were actively using drugs and alcohol. They proceeded along a path toward the north side of the lake, toward the Ramble.

“Give me your pistols,” said Archive.

Hammer and Jim-Bean slipped him their weapons, and received them back a minute later after he had inscribed the Elder Sign on each weapon’s handle with a piece of chalk.

A few torch poles were planted around a small clearing. The stage and speakers were set up in a circle around the dance area. Large water bins were placed around for the ravers to keep drinking so they didn’t dehydrate.

The party began. The agents spread out amongst the crowd, staying in touch via their cistrons. The rest of the partygoers arrived throughout the night, about ten at a time.

“Now what?” shouted Archive into his comm, trying to look everywhere at once.

“Now, we wait,” said Hammer.

Hundreds gyrated to the music blaring from super-woofers, the light from the burning torches, and the drug-induced exhilaration. They dressed in a variety of ways—snug, geek, porn star, Goth. Near the stereo system, people took turns being DJ. Drugs were handed about like candy. Synthetic heroin, crystal-meth, Special K, GHB, PCP, marijuana, alcohol, and more were being used with wild abandon. The party was getting started.

Suddenly, the expressions of numerous people went blank.

“This is a wild trip!’ shouted one woman dressed like a witch near Jim-Bean. “I can see through the past…I’m heading back, BACK!”

Other ravers fell to the ground, screaming and clutching their heads.

“It’s going down!” shouted Jim-Bean.

The air began to shimmer as if heat was rising from the ground. A hazy image appeared, superimposed over the area. The strange dark corkscrew towers of a city were framed by a sky of pitch-blackness. From the windows of the towers could be seen red blazing eyes. The image grew more and more substantial.

“That’s Tindalos!” shouted Archive.

Hammer drew his pistols. “Start the spell!”

Archive drew a circle with chalk on the ground. He stood inside the circle, then concentrated on specific numerical formulas concerning extrapolations of spheres and spherical sections in various hyperdimensions.

Howls echoed all around them.

“Tell me I’m not the only one who can hear that!” shouted Jim-Bean, his Glock out.

The ravers didn’t notice the armed agents amongst them, too busy helping screaming friends to think much about it. However, their general incapacitation from drug use was beginning to freak them out. Morbid fear grew within them, transfixing them in fright.

Within the Einstein Circle, Archive felt a pull to release his life force.

“I hear it,” said Hammer. “Where’s Morton?”

Jim-Bean pointed. “There!”

The black-garbed figure of Morton stood at the center of the distortion, indifferent to the pandemonium surrounding him. The howling moved closer.

Forces were unleashed around Archive that tore about the area. Multi-colored spheres of various sizes, including colors never before seen in this dimension, began to bubble out of the ether around him. Archive was filled with the sensation of incredible forces transcending space-time.

Hammer shoved a raver out of the way and then unleashed both Glocks on Morton.

Morton’s body jerked from the impact of the Elder Sign-infused bullets, surprised by their effect.

Suddenly a sharp, piercing pain rent through Hammer’s torso. He whirled to find Gregor snarling against him, a knife buried to the hilt in Hammer’s abdomen.

Jim-Bean fired at Morton, but this time he was ready. Morton’s form shuttered left and then right, like a stuttering film reel. The shots went wide.

Archive concentrated, forming a sphere of chronal energy around himself. As he concentrated, the chalk circle rose into the air and spun around him at an ever-increasing rate of speed like a gyroscopic hula-hoop, forming a chronal energy sphere.

Morton’s huge maw opened and Jim-Bean got a close-up look at what he had seen only in visions. A whip-like tongue snaked towards his head. He ducked.

The tentacle-tongue snapped past his face and only too late did Jim-Bean realize Morton wasn’t trying to skewer him. The tongue whipped around him several times, binding his arms to his sides and hoisting him into the air.

The howling became unbearably loud. The image of Tindalos became crystal clear, as packs of hounds arrived.

Hammer turned and, pressing both pistols to Gregor’s forehead, pulled the triggers. Gregor was still screaming when Hammer blew his head off.

Jim-Bean was suspended in the shimmering air. Morton’s huge maw opened wide beneath him.

Just then, Archive’s Einstein Sphere collided with Morton. He was slammed sideways from the impact and the tongue went slack, dropping Jim-Bean to the ground.

“The key!” gasped Archive, eyes glowing with raw power. “Destroy the key!”

“Key?” shouted Jim-Bean, looking around. Then he saw the spherical gemstone, about the size of a softball, sitting at the center of the disturbance.

Morton flashed in front of Jim-Bean and the Crystal Key, blocking his path. Then he whirled as Hammer peppered Morton with gunfire.

The hounds were everywhere, tearing the reeling ravers apart. One lunged towards Hammer.

Archive’s whistling sphere flashed forward, intercepting the Hound in mid-leap. It flashed out of existence with a yelp.

A pair of jaws the size of a truck began to materialize over the carnage. Blazing red eyes opened above it.

“What the hell is that?” asked Jim-Bean, agape.

The jaws rained blue ichor upon the bloody scene below. Triangular crystal segments formed, the gigantic head of a wolf-like entity slowly manifesting around the jaws and eyes.

Morton stutter-stepped to Hammer, grabbing him by the throat. Hammer unleashed the entire clip of both pistols into Morton’s torso and he finally released his grip, falling backwards, tongue flailing in agony.

Hammer took careful aim at the key.

Click. He was out of bullets.

A Hound slammed into him, knocking him down. Archive slammed into the Hound, knocking it off Hammer. As it touched Archive’s sphere, the hound flashed out of existence.

“I can’t…control the spell!” shrieked Archive.

“The Key!” Hammer shouted to Jim-Bean. “Throw it to Archive!”

Jim-Bean snapped out of it. He outstretched his free hand towards the Crystal Key and concentrated.

The crystal floated into the air. All the hounds stopped what they were doing and turned as one, heads pivoting to focus on the source of psychic energy nearby.

Jim-Bean flicked his finger towards Archive and the crystal obeyed. The Crystal Key whistled towards Archive’s sphere just as the hounds turned to pounce on Jim-Bean.

The Key exploded as it impacted the edge of the Einstein Sphere. The entire radius around the Key was swept with interdimensional forces.

Morton was swept away through the vortex into the realm of Tindalos. The huge wolf-like head recoiled with an unearthly howl. The Hounds of Tindalos all flashed out of existence.

Hammer and Jim-Bean dove to the ground. The Tindalosian dimension had disappeared, but the fabric of reality continued to warp.

Archive rose up into the air, the wind whistling around him, cackling madly. “You are all insects! I will crush you like eggshells!"

“He’s going to blow!” shouted Hammer. “Run for it!” Hammer took off at a jog.

Jim-Bean aimed his pistol. “Not this time.” He squeezed the trigger…

 

[talien]

Wild Hunt: Conclusion

“Good morning,” said Nina Juarez to the screen. “I’m outside Central Park, the site of a terrorist attack on a rave this past Halloween. Early reports indicate that the terrorists spiked the water supply, causing several ravers to hallucinate. We have a witness here with us. Sir, can you tell us what you saw?”

“Wolves,” said a wide-eyed Goth. “Wolves man. All over. And then this one giant wolf. It was huge, man, HUGE!”

“Huge wolves. I know Central Park can be pretty wild, but I don’t think we have any resident wolves,” joke Juarez.

“And there was this huge glowing guy in a sphere! And he was all like: I will crush you like ants! And we were all like: AAHH! And then he exploded.”

“Exploded?”

“After the wolves left.”

Juarez turned back to the camera. “Clearly, something happened to disrupt the festivities. The government has cordoned off the site, but from what we were able to see with our cameras, it appears that there was a disturbance in the Ramble area. Whether or not this was due to drug-addled ravers or a bomb of sorts is unclear. Government officials assure us that no dirty bomb was used and there is no imminent danger to the citizens of New York City. We have also received reports that the SoHo Killer was shot dead in a standoff with government agents. What’s that?“

Juarez put her finger to one ear. “I’m just getting a report that a Father Voineskos of the Greek Orthodox Church of the Savior was founded beheaded in an alley. He had a crucifix and some holy water on him. So it looks like there was one final victim of the SoHo Killer—wait, here comes another witness now…”

Archive, his clothes in tatters, stumbled dazedly onto the screen.

“Sir? Sir! You look you had a rough night. Can you tell us what happened?”

Archive blinked at the camera. “It was…” he said with a slow smile, “enlightening.” Archive was hustled off screen by a government agent.

Then a hand pushed the camera away.

 

[talien]

Chapter 39: Dead Letter - Introduction

This story hour is a combination of “Dead Letter” by Adam Scott Glancy from Delta Green: Countdown and “Come for the Reaping” by Rich Redman. You can read more about Delta Green at Delta Green. Please note: This story hour contains spoilers!

Our cast of characters includes:

• Game Master: Michael Tresca
• Kurtis "Hammer" Grange (Fast Hero/Gunslinger) played by George Webster
• Hank “Guppy” Gupta (Smart Hero/Field Scientist) played by Joseph Tresca (Free Video Training for Photoshop, 3ds Max, Flash, After Effects an more)
• Joseph “Archive” Fontaine (Dedicated Hero/Acolyte) played by Joe Lalumia
• Jim “Jim-Bean” Baxter (Charismatic Hero) played by Jeremy Ortiz (Jeremy Robert Ortiz)
  

When I first started this campaign, my original promise was to deliver a game filled with zombies. It took nearly 40 sessions to finally deliver on that promise.

My primary issue with Dead Letter was that it provided a host of details without a clear plot to follow. It’s entirely possible to conduct a raid without encountering any zombies whatsoever (a crying shame!) or the Karotechia. So I of course manipulated the plot to ensure both Reinhard Galt, the Neo-Nazi cannibal, released the Sapphire pathogen just as the agents arrived, ensuring zombies of all types. What I didn’t plan on was the forethought of the players, who so energized the plot with their role-playing that they convinced Fiona Lin-Wei, an irritating hippy activist and one-note NPC, into a full-blown radical eco-terrorist. She became far more important than I ever imagined, and suddenly the entire campaign revolved around her: Hammer’s relationship with her, Archive’s Elder Sign, and the very future itself.

The only thing more shocking thing than delightful turn of events was how close this scenario mirrored the plot of the new Terminator movie. We all went to see it afterwards, and the similarities are eerie: the protagonist meets an exotic woman of mixed Asian/European descent and teams up with her, special forces raid a processing plant, encounter mindless humanoid killing machines, and finally a heavily accented and indestructible Austrian stalks our hero through a dangerous industrial site.

Defining Moment: When Galt is temporarily incapacitated by Archive’s spell, the agents have seconds to take him out. Jim-Bean knows just the solution.

Relevant Media

• RE: Your Brains: By Jonathan Coulton
• Delta Green: Countdown: Source of the scenario Dead Letter.
• Come for the Reaping: I promised my brother a scenario with zombies. It only took thirty-nine chapters to get around to it.

 

[talien]

Dead Letter: Prologue

Heya Tom, it’s Bob from the office down the hall
Good to see you buddy, how’ve you been?
Thing have been OK for me except that I’m a zombie now
I really wish you’d let us in​

--RE: Your Brains by Jonathan Coulton​

Hammer hung suspended over Jason Jawolalski’s impounded car in a full body harness, suspended in space by a truss that kept him from contaminating the crime scene. A pair of goggles provided a zoom function to scan every square inch of the car.

He thought he caught a hint of white sticking out of the inside of the door frame. Hammer pulled out a pair of tweezers from one of the many pockets of his overalls and leaned forward to get a closer look.

The intercom crackled. “Could you give it a wash too when you’re done?” It was Jim-Bean, watching from the observation room above him.

“Very funny,” said Hammer. “Sprague ordered me to give Jawolalski’s car the once over.”

“Didn’t Warner’s team already look at it?”

Hammer didn’t answer. They both knew that it in was Warner’s best interest to overlook any evidence that would help Sprague’s team.

Yep, there was definitely something sticking out of the door. Hammer wiggled the tweezers into the gap.

“I don’t know why I’m here, anyway.”

“You’re with me,” muttered Hammer.

“We’re on a date now?”

“I’m assigned to watch you,” said Hammer.

“Archive went completely bonkers and they assign you to watch ME? How come nobody’s watching HIM?”

“Because,” grunted Hammer, “he actually went crazy for a reason. The psych eval said he’s fine, except for a phobia of spheres. You on the other hand…you’re a tool of MJ-12. I’m your keeper. That’s how PROJECT RECOIL works, you know that.”

“And what are you supposed to watch me do, exactly?” Jim-Bean snorted over the intercom. “Watch me go crazy?”

“Then I will end you,” said Hammer. The white corner was a piece of paper. Hammer got hold of it with the tweezers.

“As if you could,” said Jim-Bean. “Nobody can.”

“There’s always BIOSAN-5.”

“Or BIOSAN-6,” said Jim-Bean. “But using that would be worse than…wait, you don’t carry any BIOSAN with you, do you?”

Hammer didn’t answer. He tugged, and the paper came free. “Got it!”

“Got what?”

“Our next mission,” said Hammer. It read: FIONA AT THE ECOTOPIAN.

 

[talien]

Dead Letter: Part 1 – Finding Fiona

Hammer pulled up the briefing file on his cistron. Agents Archive, Guppy, and of course Jim-Bean were all present. Nobody mentioned Archive’s recent breakdown. He seemed all right after the explosion, which was good enough for the mental health review—barring the fact that he now had a phobia of spheres of all types, of course. But that was best left unmentioned…they all had their own personal hang-ups.

“What have we got?”

Guppy pulled up a web site. “The Ecotopian is a professional produced magazine printed on newsprint, running thirty-two pages an issue. It is a bi-monthly magazine devoted to environmental activism, published by Full Wilderness. Here’s the web site.”

The most recent issue had a cover story on a legal whale hunt undertaken by the Makah tribe of Washington State, a hunt opposed and occasionally intercepted by activists from the Full Wilderness organization.

Guppy continued. “CIFA believes that The Ecotopian has a radical, criminal agenda. The Ecotopian’s staff includes members of Earth First, PETA, ALF, and of course Full Wilderness.”

“Full Wilderness?” asked Hammer. “They’re out in the woods somewhere?”

Archive chuckled. “Full Wilderness is a non-profit organization that espouses the extinction of the human race through one hundred-percent birth control.”

Jim-Bean looked up from his reading. It was a long flight to Samson, California from the East Coast. “Full Wilderness’ program is unremarkably preservationist, advocating world-wide rescue of and protection of ecosystems, and of the abolition of industrial poisons.”

“What are you reading?” asked Hammer.

“One of Jatik’s books,” said Jim-Bean. “It’s very educational. The last book of his I read, A Task Received, summarized and viewed with alarm the state of the planetary environment; this book, Hard Lessons, summarizes the greenhouse crisis and outlines several dozens of procedures and actions designed to buy time for humanity to successfully adapt to lessened industrialism and lowered population. Jatik's books present the hypothesized crisis totally in positive terms: not only will planetary life survive and prevail, but the essence of human life will have improved when his program is carried out.”

“So Jatik leads Full Wilderness,” said Guppy. He brought up an article about Full Wilderness from Harper’s magazine.

“Jatik's title, council head, corresponds to president or chief executive officer,” said Archive. “Jatik pretends that the Full Wilderness organization is a tribe, and that all decisions are communal. Functions across the Full Wilderness year correspond to ceremonies one tribe or another of Native Americans practiced.”

“That’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Hammer.

“It’s pretty lucrative,” said Guppy. “Full Wilderness does as well as for-profit corporations.”

“Hippies,” muttered Hammer. “What does Fiona have to do with this?”

“She’s the editor-in-chief of the Ecotopian,” said Archive. Fiona’s file popped up on their screens.

Born August 3, 1971, Fiona Lin-Wei was of Scottish-Chinese descent.

“She’s a firecracker, this one,” said Hammer. “She’s been arrested for battery twice, using pepper spray on men she said assaulted her.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jim-Bean. “Burglary, grand theft, felony criminal mischief…all to release a bunch of monkeys in a lab. Listen to this, from her psych file: ‘Ms. Lin-Wei has a serious anger control problem. She is extremely insecure, both physically and intellectually. This insecurity often manifests itself in an aggressive confrontational stance. When her intellectual positions or moral beliefs are challenged, Ms. Lin-Wei will often resort to physical intimidation. Attempts to match her physical intimidation will characteristically results in a violent response.”

“She hates government types,” said Hammer. “This is going to be tough.”

“Not as tough as you might think,” said Jim-Bean with a twinkle in his eye.

“What do you have in mind?” asked Hammer.

“Let’s just say I learned from my mistakes in New York City,” said Jim-Bean. “We’ve got some shopping to do in Samson.”

 

[talien]

Dead Letter: Part 2 – Lost in the Wilderness

After an uneventful night, ground transportation awaited them at Eastwood International. Hammer and Archive had reserved a gas guzzling black Ford Expedition truck, while Jim-Bean and Guppy were in a green Prius. Though it was early in the day, the air was warm and close, and there was a feeling of cool relief when the agents moved through the doors of the building's main entrance.

As they waited for an elevator, there was a slight stirring sound, and then the door shifted perceptibly. Overhead the lobby's grand chandelier swayed softly.

“Uh, what’s that?” asked Guppy.

There was silence for a moment, then door and chandelier stopped moving, and the sound died. Replacing the sound was nervous laughter and comments:

“That was a mild earthquake,” said Archive, “the sort that residents have long grown used to.”

Guppy clicked through on his cistron as the elevator arrived.

“The Daily Samson reported a Richter 3.1 magnitude earthquake centered 14 miles east of town.”

Jim-Bean and Guppy were dressed in tie-dye shirts, jeans, and no socks. Jim-Bean wore round glasses with green tints.

“This is where we split up,” said Hammer as they arrived at the vehicles. “Keep in touch and call us when you’re ready.”

They drove off in their respective vehicles.

Full Wilderness’ headquarters was located in the Bridgestone Building. The Bridgestone Building was packed with prosperous corporate and professional offices: it stood at the edge of Samson's financial district.

Beyond the humble pose of its non-profit corporation tax status, Full Wilderness occupied the whole of the thirteenth and fourteenth stories of the Bridgestone Building. Views, dramatic lighting, fine rugs, luminous wood inlays, photo landscapes (always without human form or participation), and excellent sculptures of whales, grizzly bears, porpoises, and other wilderness creatures decorated a long two-story high reception hall.

The lavish reception area was intended to impresses every visitor. The reception hall looked very much like a shared tribal space, where everyone sat around the camp fire. A stone fire ring actually existed, with stones of polished marble and quartz, and artfully asymmetric magnetite veins. The name at the center of the fire ring, FULL WILDERNESS, burned blue from bottled propane hidden in the base of the sculpture. Recorded bird calls and the sounds of water rippling over rocks occasionally came from hidden speakers.

“It’s like Disney-land meets PETA,” said Jim-Bean breathlessly, taking it all in. “This is great!”

The Full Wilderness staff, passing constantly across the tribal space, dressed well and stylishly in natural fibers and leather (though no furs). Gold watches, gold rings, gold bracelets, gold brooches, and fine-water diamonds flashed persistently. Favored jewelry designs were derived from Native American, Bengali, and Celtic originals.

“Looks like the article in Harper's was correct,” said Guppy. “Those connected with Full Wilderness are doing as well financially as Jatik's books would have them doing spiritually.”

The reception hall bisected the two floors of offices into four differing sections. Approaching the reception desk, the inner and outer executive offices and conference rooms, including Jatik’s, were found to the left. To the right from the reception desk were rooms filled with computers, phone solicitors, and supplies, a day-care center, gymnasium, and droves of scurrying support staff.

Upstairs right was the editorial, advertising, and design offices for Full Wilderness’ high-circulation magazine, the Ecotopian. That was their destination.

“This has to be the busiest workplace I’ve ever seen,” whispered Guppy. Not once do they pass anyone idly talking on the phone, playing a computer game, or staring out the window.

They made their way to the Ecotopian’s offices.

The cluttered interiors of the office were well-lit by large banks of windows and a skylight. The work area was one large open suite, its wall lined with filing cabinets and the floor filled by a half-dozen desks piled high with computers, bric-a-brac, and loose paperwork. The walls were plastered with Greenpeace and Earth First posters. Plants adorned the desks and filing cabinets.

The desk nearest the stairs acted as a kind of reception. A bespectacled and bearded young man greeted them. “How can I help you?”

Jim-Bean leaned forward. “I’m looking for Ms. Fiona Lin-Wei.”

The man arched an eyebrow. “About?”

Jim-Bean exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Guppy. “I have a submission.”

“I’m afraid Ms. Lin-Wei doesn’t meet with people over submissions,” the young man sneered, whose nametag labeled him as Dwight Jenkins. “You can submit documents via our web site…”

“No!” said Jim-Bean urgently. “This is important. I can’t transmit any files over the Internet. The government is watching us!”

Dwight blinked. “Uh, oookaaaay,” he said slowly. “Listen, perhaps if you drop the document off with me—“

“I knew this would happen!” shouted Guppy, at the top of his lungs. The buzz of the office stopped as everyone turned to look at him. “This is just another corporate arm of the Man! Our article is too radical for this place! Let’s go!” He began tugging on Jim-Bean.

“Wait,” said a female voice with a Scottish brogue. “I’ll meet with them.”

Dwight shrugged. “You can speak with Fiona at her desk,” he said, as if willing them to leave him alone.

Jim-Bean and Guppy hustled over to her. “My name is Jimmy,” he said, pumping the petite Asian woman’s hand. “This is Guppy.” She had a feral, exotic look to her; like a coiled wildcat, all stringy muscle on her compact frame with large, intelligent eyes. Jim-Bean liked her immediately.

“Please, have a seat,” said Fiona. “What’s this all about?”

Jim-Bean smiled. “I’ve read your work in the Ecotopian. I really admire what you’ve done so far, and,” he leaned forward, “what you did. It’s why I’m here. You’re a true believer.”

“I don’t know, Jimmy,” said Guppy suspiciously. “Just because she believes in Mother Gaia doesn’t mean—“

“So you’re familiar with the Gaia Hypothesis,” said Fiona. “Good. What is this article you were ranting about?”

“Human civilization is a cancer upon the Earth,” began Jim-Bean. “Humanity has overforaged and ruined its natural ranges.”

“The tribes of man are one with the beasts of the forests,” babbled Guppy, “all must be culled when their numbers grow too great! Mother Gaia has yet to cull humankind, for they have grown clever, but she will. Oh yes,” his eyes rolled madly, “she will!”

“What my colleague and I are proposing is that for nature to rebound, humanity must be in parity with the rest of nature. Left to its own base nature, humanity will continue to punish us. What we propose is to save the Earth before Mother Gaia punishes us once and for all.”

“And that is?” asked Fiona.

“The solution is simple,” gasped Guppy, “a few insightful humans of great determination must sponsor or precipitate a limited disaster in order to prevent the apocalypse.”

“We call these people Gardeners,” said Jim-Bean. They were rehearsing the script of a book titled Ending History, by Robert Jatik. Jim-Bean knew that Fiona hadn’t read it, but that she largely subscribed its ethos, at least in a spiritual sense. “They will then linger on as guardians to prevent man from regaining his Bad Old Ways…”

Fiona was about to say something when the phone rang.

“Excuse me,” said Fiona. She picked up the receiver and listened. “Yes.”

Jim-Bean and Guppy exchanged looks.

“Yes. Yes. No, I can handle it. Yes. Okay. I will.” She hung up the phone.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” said Fiona. “Listen, it isn’t safe to discuss this here. We should go off premises.” She stood up. “Follow me please.”

 

[talien]

Dead Letter: Part 3 – When the Man Comes Around

Hammer and Archive entered Full Wilderness’ lobby just fifteen minutes after Jim-Bean and Guppy. They asked to see Robert Jatik.

They were taken into Jatik's inner office, a large room with only narrow windows high up the wall. With the cool grays, buffs, and blacks of the furnishings, and only the sky visible, Jatik's office became a cave or a fort, perhaps a kiva perched on a canyon wall. The resulting privacy was partly welcome, partly intimidating as the morning light glinted away from Jatik’s silver hair and cast his halo into the surrounding air.

Robert Jatik was white-haired, blue-eyed, with a full trim beard and the deep tan and facial lines of an outdoorsman. He was about sixty, an intelligent-looking man. In keeping with his outdoorsman image he wore a wool plaid shirt open at the neck, along with well-cut dark linen trousers and expensive Italian shoes.

“We’re with the Counter-Intelligence Field Agency,” said Hammer, flashing his badge imperiously. “We’d like to speak with you about an urgent matter.”

“Gentlemen, please sit.” Jatik pointed at the two seats in front of his desk, then sat behind it. “What can I do for you?”

“We believe that a known terrorist is on your premises.”

“Oh my,” said Jatik, bushy eyebrows rising in concern. “Not one of my staff, certainly!”

Hammer shook his head. “Not unless you hire eco-terrorists.” He tossed a picture onto Jatik’s desk. “This is Jimmy Baxter. We’ve been monitoring him for weeks and believe he came here with an accomplice to try to convince the Ecotopian editors to print his anti-government screed.”

“Well we can’t have that,” said Jatik. “You believe he’s here, now?”

Hammer nodded.

Jatik buzzed his secretary. “Get Fiona on the line. It’s urgent.”

Jatik switched the headset to speakerphone. Another beep and Fiona answered. “Hello?”

“Fiona, it’s Robert. Listen to me carefully: I want you to only answer yes or no. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a person with you named Jim Baxter?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, keep him there until security arrives.”

“No, I can handle it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good, bring them to the lobby. We’ll meet you halfway. I don’t want them endangering any of our staff.”

“Okay.”

“And Fiona? Be careful.”

“I will.” She hung up.

After another call to security, Jatik turned to the agents. “She’ll bring them to the lobby.”

“You’re sure?” asked Hammer. “An untrained civilian shouldn’t try to take on a known terrorist.”

“You don’t know Fiona,” said Jatik with a smirk. “She can take care of herself.”