Delta Green – Last Things Last

Feb 21^st, 2021: It was a cold, chilly day in New England when “H” cell was activated. That phone ring that only sounds a dial tone. Knowledge to wait 5 seconds before entering a personalized 5-digit pin# to then hear the muffled voice on the other end, “Congratulations. You have tickets to attend ‘a night at the opera’ to be held 2pm tomorrow at 520 Washington St, Boston.” Each DG agent knew “a night at the opera” was code for activation of a mission. 

37yo Agent Heimdal (Bill) Dr. Rodney Bingham, a forensic pathologist. Short statured (5’4” 164 lbs). I was too wrapped up in work to see my own daughter slide into drug use. Till found dead in an abandoned warehouse. My wife Claire blamed me for not paying attention. Filed for divorce which only increased my drinking. Almost a year later when I read the real autopsy report. Not drugs but a cultist/mythos event. Trying to stay sober; AA member for 3 years now. DG approached me for my exposure and desire to identify such obscure threats to the world. Protect the world and my ex-wife from finding the truth. I constantly chew gun as replacement for cigarettes and drinks.

Agent Hachet (Ray): Samuel Bailey of average height/build, 155lbs usually dressed in a bad suit with scruffy hair and pale/pasty skin from being in front of a computer screen most of the day. Recruited right out of MIT's master-in-computer-science program. He had all the hallmark characteristics of a hacker: physically unremarkable, socially awkward, a wiz with computer stuff. Upon graduation he was assigned to the national security branch in Boston, where he was born-n-raised. A couple of years in, on a rare field work assignment, he saw some things that mortal eyes were never meant to see. Having showed amazing resiliency, he was approached by a Special Agent who asked if he thought he had what it took to protect the world... No friends outside of co-workers, and no family other than his soon to be retired parents, the answer was yes. A few indoctrination courses later, he was chasing after things that go bump in the night, as "Agent Hatchet", and has been doing so for several years now.

33yo Agent Hospira (Jan): Simon Philipps, an ex- Army Sgt. and now Paramedic / College-Student. 6’3” 257lbs, muscular build, fit and with a stern expression and military stride. After the loss of my Squad in Afghanistan, I was no longer the same. Usually a gregarious type, I gravitated towards solitude - the loss of those under my command - too heavy to bear. I drastically reduced the circle of my friends to a few trustees - but even then, I could not trust them with the dark secret I encountered in the ancient mountains. I kept my mouth shut, but the scars I bear are a constant reminder - of things that cannot be stopped... things that are beyond mortal understanding, and that should keep that way. DG found me and contacted me, but my eyes are open now. There is much to learn if we want to fight the evil that beckons...

Agent Hagues (Erebus): US Marshall/soldier (Special Ops). Never goes anywhere without his 45-revolver. African American with a well-developed beard. Father died, stepfather left he and his half-sister. Has daughter from his girlfriend. Now split, he cares for his daughter. His half-sister cares for her when he’s gone “to the opera.”

Preparations: Hospira (HOS) was on duty when the call came in. If you can call ‘sitting in a chair with your feet propped on the table as you read occult magazines' work. He got up and signed out, taking PTO for the next couple of days. Hatchet (HAT) was halfway thru his normal 12-15 hour shift (the man was a volunteer work-a-holic). His boss understood, “Hey boss, the Joint-Terror-Taskforce called…gotta take off.” He was already on his phone looking up the address and downloading the warehouse blueprints. Heimdal (HIM) too was on duty in the lab when called. His was a little more complicated signing out for a few days. But he too looked up the address to find it a warehouse in Boston’s old Industrial District. Hague (HAG) was on Special Ops duty in Arizona when he got the call. Wrapping up a car-jacking operation. He responded to ‘opera’ with, “I’m more into movies. Do they serve popcorn?" After hanging up, he turned to his partner, “Hey, Abe, got another one. What do you know about a Boston warehouse on Washington St?”

The Warehouse: HIM arrived 20 minutes early and parked his ‘paid by cash’ rental across the street in a blind alley. 2-feet of snow from yesterday’s storm confirmed no recent car or foot traffic in the isolated area. Only a few cars drove by. None even slowed down, except for 2 more rentals and a black SUV that parked in the shadows. While they did not know each other, they gave the proper challenge/response, “Cold isn’t it?” “Like a cat on a hot tin roof.” Each wore heavy coats and carried shoulder bags.

2pm: After a quick check of the perimeter, HOS opened the unlocked door and entered the dark expanse, dimly lit by a few flickering 40-watt lightbulbs. As their eyes adjusted, they could see the lit office in the far corner. A single set of footprints led to it. HAT’s handheld electrical box proved the area was being jammed (standard DG security). Inside, sitting at a desk with a folder spread on the table before him, was a man wearing aviator glasses, popping pills like they were jellybeans. HIM recognized the painkillers. “Welcome. Welcome to the opera. I’m agent Brooks. Let’s get to it. 4 days ago, one of our agents, Clyde Baughman, died of a heart attack down in Connecticut. His relatives are inbound. You have 48 hours to sweep his apartment and remove any DG artifacts he might have left behind. Here are burner phones and his apartment keys..”

Brooks was already halfway thru his bottle of pills as he referenced the folder, “DG used his IRS work as cover on numerous jobs in the late 60s (before we kept digital records) that involved taxation and property confiscation. He even participated in a 90s friendly op. His wife Marlene died in 2002, leaving behind a daughter and son. That’s when we unofficially retired him. The police found the body during a wellness check. The body is probably at the morgue being prepped for his coming funeral. Everything you need is in the folder. Use the burner phones to report. If you find anything, call and I’ll provide the location of a ‘GreenBox’ for disposal.”

Brooks was barely out the door when HAG was dialing. The others asked, “What are you doing? Calling the IRS? Why would they talk to you? You want them to know a US Marshall is interested in the man? Remember what Brooks said, ‘No outside help’!” HOS logged into facebook to search for the man and his family, but the postings were years old. HAT failed to hack into the site, “Damn. I was hoping to get an update on his grown kids (daughter 54 and son 47). See if they posted anything about good ole dad.”

After stocking up on energy drinks and snacks (HAG bought cleaning supplies: alcohol, gloves, trash bags, Q-tips, etc), they drove the 2-hour trip along I-95 to 108 Main St, South Bethlehem, Connecticut in 2 cars. Rundown neighborhood. Brown-stone 3-story apartment building with parking lot in the rear. They parked a couple blocks away and walked, checking for security cameras. And that’s when they heard the yapping of a poodle being walked by an elderly woman. [Alertness: HAT-00, HIM-88] Which explains why they were too late to hear the dull buzz of a drone approach. HOS looked up into its camera then split from the group and walked in the opposite direction. HAG nervously fingered his gun, about to draw and shoot it down. HIM kept his head down and followed HAT who acted normal as he continued across the street.

HOS rounded the building and spotted a kid holding a controller. With his mother looking on, HOS spoke, “Hey kid, nice drone. Where’d you learn to operate it? Smooth. Mind if I try?” [failed Persuade] And that’s when his father showed up, “Are you harassing my boy? He got it for Christmas on a Black-Friday sale. $150 bucks. No law against flying it around here.” The only thing HOS got was the model # before he left to then call the others on a secure chat. HAG suggested, “Try to buy it or have HAT hack into it to crash it to get the camera chip.” HAT reasoned, “We’re nobodies. Leave it be else we DO attract attention.”

4:30pm: HAT and HIM climbed the apartment steps and entered as if they belonged there. They took the elevator up to room 206 and were about to use the key when they heard the jingle of a dog-collar and spotted the woman climbing the stairs. “Excuse me boys but what are you doing?” HIM ran interference as HAT continued inside, “The funeral director sent us to look for family pictures to display for poor Mr. Baughman’s funeral.” Mrs. Janie Janowicz sighed, “Shame what happened. It was 3 days till they found him. My Mitzi here began barking in the hallway and at his door. Didn’t you girl! Good girl! That’s why I called for a wellness check. I’ll bring you some tea for your troubles. I insist.”

HAT found the light switch and after grabbing a 7-day old donut off the kitchen counter, began sweeping the apartment for listening devices as he worked his way to a rear bedroom. Where he found a photo on the dresser of Clyde and his wife Marlene celebrating their 50^th anniversary. The walls adorned with graduation pictures of their 2 kids and recent pictures of grandkids. Even a ceramic dish etched with ‘Cassie, age 4.’ Nothing suspicious in his search.

HIM entered and turned toward a bathroom looking for the police outline where the body was found. No outline but the busted towel rack and that lingering faint smell of death told him this must have been where Clyde died. He searched the medicine cabinet for possible heart-attack meds but only found multiple bottles of pain killers. He spoke to no one in particular, “Clyde and Brooks must use the same pharmacy.”

HAT was already back at the box of donuts when HOS and HAG finally arrived, “You can check the back room again. No electronic bugs.” HAG soon found an 18” bowie hunting knife in the bedroom nightstand. As he bagged it, he pondered, “He was an agent; you’d think he’d use a gun for protection.” HOS searched the kitchen frig finding the expected spoiled food and half a 6-pack. Standard cans and boxes of groceries in the cupboards. Half-eaten takeout boxes littered the table. 

But the corkboard caught his eye, “Here’s some keys and a picture from his granddaughter Cassie. Queer how he defaced Jesus in this Christmas program. See how he puts pins in the eyes and ears. And scratched out ‘the greatest Man who ever lived’ with ‘greatest LIE.’”

Glint from a vent grate caught HOS’ eye: paint scrapped off 2 screws with the other 2 missing. Not even secure, the grate came off. On his knees, HOS saw the butt-end of a pistol, “Here you go HAG, his 9mm-Berreta. Serial # scrapped off.”

HAT looked at the keys, “One’s a car key. Honda. Another belongs to a ‘Liberty’ brand gun-safe. This one matches the apartment key design: storage room. This smaller one… no label.”

The final bedroom proved to be an office. Lined with wall-to-wall stacks of boxes crammed with papers. “The man worked for the IRS. Years’ worth of tax returns! It’ll take 12 hours to search thru all these!” HAT was disappointed there was no computer, “The man was a dinosaur, working with pencil!”

6pm: And that’s when they heard the knock at the door. HIM looked thru the peephole and whispered, “Janie brought cookies and tea”. He stepped out to greet her as he closed the door behind himself and escorted her back to her apartment. [Persuade-12, Charm] “This is SO nice of you, you shouldn’t have. You probably provided for Clyde too. All those boxes of takeout, the man probably no longer drove.” Janie corrected, “Oh, he has an older maroon Honda still out in the parking lot. Made trips now and then. He’d be gone for a day or more. Probably visited his kids.” After gingerly shaking Mitzi off his pant legs, HIM promised to bring the tray and cups back.

Back in #206, he offered the cookies, “Clyde’s car is out back. I’ll check it out if you guys want to get started on that stack.” HAG was suspicious of the cookies and abstained, “Maybe later.” He grabbed the key to the storage. Where he found multiple bottles of cleaning chemicals and a 20-lb bag of lye. “What the hell? Unless he did part-time janitorial work, what would he need with these?! Enough lye to dissolve a body!”

HIM found the 1990 maroon Honda snowed in. He unlocked the door and checked under the driver seat before climbing in. Shocked to find an old WWII teargas cannister under the seat. The agency may have thought him retired, but Clyde apparently thought himself on-duty! The rest of the inside was clear. But inside the trunk, he found a new blue tarp held down with the tire iron. He called the others on his phone, “Maybe he intended to cover the car before the snowstorm.” HAG chimed in, “Blue tarp. Cleaning chemicals and lye. The man was ready to dispose of a body!”

HOS and HAT plowed thru the stacks of IRS boxes while the others were busy outside the apartment. They had made some progress at least identifying Clyde's filing system with the stacks organized by the decades. Hours till HAT announced, “Bingo! Here’s Clyde’s purchase bill for a cabin up in the Vermont mountains. A stack of Easy-Pass toll receipts shows he made numerous trips. No pattern. Probably the trips Mrs. Janowicz mentioned. Last one was a couple months ago. Looks like a 4-hour drive to Loring, Vermont. Here’s the address.”

8:30pm: After loading their finds into the cars and googling a non-toll route to avoid toll cameras, they piled into both cars and took off. It was proving to be a long day without sleep, only relying on their energy drinks. Which probably explained their hyper reactions. And the numerous piss-stops they had to make alongside the road. Which only heightened HAG’s growing paranoia as the hours stacked on. Over the phone, “Are we there yet?!”

5am: At least the primary roads had been plowed. But they had to slow as they turned onto the mountain road that seemed little used. HAT’s SUV became their snowplow leading the way. Finally, they rounded the climbing drive and came upon the 1-story log cabin tucked in a clearing of tall snow-capped evergreens. They verified no other car tracks rutted the foot deep snow. Only a few deer tracks.

HAG checked the perimeter, “Shed and outhouse out back.” HAT reported, “The shed has the expected tools and snow shovels. Along with four 5-gallon cans of gasoline. Which is strange considering that over there is a diesel generator! And I didn’t find any snowmobile or equipment warranting that much gas.” HIM added his own report, “I checked the outhouse. Best hiding place is where no-one would look. But I didn’t find anything other than crap inside the shitter hole. But I did add to it.” HOS checked for an outside firepit (burn pit to eliminate evidence) but didn’t find one. He did notice the powerline wired to the roof, “It should have electricity. So again, why that much gas?”

They peeked thru the windows to verify no “isolated cabin shotgun security” was setup to greet anyone entering the door. As expected, the one key unlocked the door. Flipping the switch, the lights slowly buzzed to life. Wood paneling and flooring with a throw-rug, gun-safe, and supply closest.

HOS kicked the rug aside to get at the gun-safe (with its key) where he found a 1970s model sub-machinegun with its serial #s filed off with one magazine clip installed and another on an inside shelf. HOS upgraded his own weaponry.

HIM used his cane to tap the floor, listening for a hollow echo. Where the throw-rug had been, “Bingo!” He easily found loose boards to gain access. “A military grade footlocker. I think we found what that smaller key fits.” Enough space to unlock it in its hidey-hole. “Jackpot!” They found: an envelope sealed with a melted green-wax stamp, a man’s suit- bloodied, a circular canister that proved to be an old-style reel-to-reel tape, 2 more teargas cannisters, a large iron knife with a bone handle, and a glass sphere 3-inch diameter.

Sun Rise: The orange hue of the sun climbing the mountains peeked thru the curtains as HOS held up his phone checking for reception. He heard Brooks' voice on the other line and the unmistakable “crunch” sound of him popping pills. “The apartment is clean. Items removed and in our cars. We are currently at another location where we’ve found more artifacts. Your agent did hold out on the company. We’ll provide you a list once we inventory. I’ll code you our coordinates for you to provide a GreenBox location.”

HAG studied the knife, “Clean and polished blade. Definitely human bone handle. Femur. From its thickness, I’d guess male. I can’t read this gibberish etchings. Definitely an artifact!” HIM [Biology] guessed the bone 100+ years old. HOS picked up the glass cylinder to inspect it and was shocked to find it magnetized as it slapped against his wristwatch. “Glass isn’t supposed to be magnetized. Another artifact.”

HAT already had the letter in hand and had broken the seal, “To whom it may concern… he confesses the need for all that gas to burn something inside a septic tank buried outside. Warns not to look and to keep it a secret from his kids. Finished with ‘God please forgive me.’ What did he do with that ceremonial knife?!”

Realizing no projector was found, HIM held the reel-to-reel tape up to the window light to view the individual frames in the middle of the tape. HAT looked over his shoulder. HAG complained, “Didn’t you listen?! The man said burn it. We don’t need to see what he did. Just burn it and let’s get out of here!” But the others ignored him as they were transfixed watching the series of frames that portrayed a snake-charmer in action. Someone dragged in front of the snake and bitten as others just stood around and chanted with their arms occasional rising as if calling forth something. From the length of tape they viewed, it must have taken hours for the man to finally stop withering and die. “The snake-charmer isn’t Clyde. Did he try to enact the ceremony himself?”

HIM remembered a mound he’d stumbled on as he had walked to the outhouse. The buried septic tank. HAT and HIM had to look inside. The others protested. HOS insisted HAT give him the keys to the SUV where he grabbed HAT's shotgun, “I warned you. If whatever inside gets out, I’m blasting no matter who is in the way!” HAG stood ready with the bowie knife, ‘Close range, a knife is faster than a gun.” HIM positioned 2 of the gas cans to be ready, “Just in case. I’ll throw in one of the teargas cannisters if needed.”

With a roadside flare wedged in his belt, HAT straddled the tank and began twisting the hatch handle. And that’s when they all heard the soft moan from inside, “Help me.” [Sanity check- HIM failed, losing 5pts; using his Bond to focus resolve against a Bout-of-Madness]

HIM fingered the AA coin in his pocket as his thoughts immediately envisioned his deceased daughter inside. The victim of another cultist ceremony. “I pray my sponsor can get me thru this!” He stepped closer as he began to lift the 5-gallon can nearer to the hatch. But HAG pushed him aside to get closer himself as he called to HOS, “Get the lye and be ready.” All the while hearing more crying pleas, “I’ve been down here forever. My husband was a sick man. Help me.”

In the background, HOS could hear her pleas. [Sanity- failed, lost 5pts; used his hunting buddies as his Bond to focus resolve against a Bout-of-Madness] He raised the shotgun and braced to fire as soon as needed.

The hatch opened, and HAG looked in. [Sanity check- 91 failed, lost 8pts; Bout-of-Madness] He burst into maniacal laughter at the sight of the misshapen woman with her hair torn out in bloody patches, her bloody fingers raw to the bone from trying to claw her way out, her feet and lower body swollen from immersion in the watery slush inside the tank all those years. Yet she still lives! Fight or Flight? HAG stood his ground.

With a horrific scream, she leapt from the tank and grabbed a surprised HAG who tried to fight back. [Critical] But she brushed aside his knife as she slashed his chest (10 pts). HIM was in the act of pouring gas into the open tank when she emerged. He tried splashing gas on her and managed to splash her, HAG, and himself in the panicked effort. All the while yelling at HAT, “Light her up. BURN her!” He was too panicked to notice or care he was soaked in gas along with one of his team members. Did it matter?

HAT grabbed the flare and ripped off the striking cap as he threw… [failed] it sailed over her head, into the woods. HOS steadied his aim and pulled the trigger. He swore he hit her, but the shotgun pellets seemed to sink in without damage. Some pellets even bounded off which made him think her skin armored. Which scared him even more. Again, she slashed at HAG who tried to fight back [fail 76]. Unhinging her jaw, she sunk her jagged teeth into his throat and ripped out his vocal cords! HAG slumped into a growing pool of blood which soaked his uneaten chocolate-chip cookie still in his pants pocket. She looked up at HOS with a blood-dripping grim as if to say, “You’re next.”

HIM swore at the fact he’d given up smoking and no longer had a lighter. He rushed to the cabin in hopes of finding something. From behind, HAT grabbed the demon and (03) wrestled her into the tank again. HOS rushed forward to help slam the hatch on her hand trying to pull herself out. They smashed her fingers holding onto the rim as they added their combined weight trying to lock the hatch. Her howling and clawing from inside intensified their efforts.

Soon, HIM returned with a box of ‘ready-strike’ matches. As he ran, for every match he grabbed from the box, he dropped 3 more. Just enough opening to shove a match into the tank. Mindless his gas-soaked clothing could easily catch fire too. [Luck- 03] After breaking the first match in a panicked strike, he lit the next match and pushed it into the opening. “WOOSH!” The plume of flames inside became a jet torch out of the slim opening. While HIM had falling away, HOS faced the inferno. He lost his eyebrows. HAT, also gas soaked, was luckily standing behind the hatch hinges and thus out of the line of flames. Within a few minutes, her screams from inside waned and finally stopped. They slumped against the tank, exhausted from the rush of adrenaline that now subsided.

HOS was the first to notice HAG’s body move. “Oh, my God!” HAG It tried to talk… with its throat ripped out, it only came out as a bloody gurgle. It rose and began to move quickly towards the woods. HOS raised the shotgun and pumped another blast into its kneecap. It was now easy for all to gather round and pummel the creature to death. To then soak it in gas and light it on fire. And for added measure afterwards, douse it with lye to dissolve any remains. Once they regained their composure, they opened the septic tank to douse any remains with the remaining lye.

Wrap-up: HOS called Brooks to make their final report, “We’re on our way to the GreenBox. All secure although we lost Hagues. We’ve covered our tracks.” Brooks signed off, “Consider the opera over. Hope you enjoyed the show.” 

BEHIND THE SCENES: Clyde had performed numerous jobs for the agency. Nothing to show for it other than his waning sanity. Thus, on one mission, he kept something for himself. The cultist tape and ceremonial knife. Which came in handy when his wife passed away in 2002. His desire to raise her from the dead. His ritual gone wrong. Which forced him to trap her, whatever IT was, inside the tank. For years he just couldn’t gather the courage and will to put her out of her misery. He had all the necessary gear. But just when he was ready to follow thru, damn his luck, a real widow-maker heart attack came calling.