Home: Learning the Wrong Lessons
Family Matters, even in the Delta Green RPG (Using Mythic 2e)
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Thumbnail Photo by Sindre Fs: https://www.pexels.com/photo/bar-interior-during-nighttime-1398266/
December, 2005
I flew home to Boston for the holidays after Agent Baker nagged me into taking some leave.1 I didn’t want to go, and would have been content to spend Christmas working or alone, but my Boss wasn’t the only one nagging me, so I flew out to spend Christmas with Mom. I suppose now would be as good a time as any to explain the deteriorating relationship with my mother. To make a long and irritating story short, she started dating again shortly after I joined the FBI. This isn’t unforgivable in and of itself, Dad was declared legally dead back in 2003, but the man she’s dating infuriates me. Tommy Yates is the brother of the local sheriff, and is an arrogant, misogynistic widower that I am fairly sure killed his wife back in the 90s. I used to think that because he was an asshole, and his wife just disappeared one day with a miniscule investigation before she was declared dead as soon as legally possible. Since he started dating my aged, naïve mother, I misused a small amount of my federal remit to do some snooping, and while everything I found was circumstantial, it solidified my initial first impression; he was a piece of shit, and I wanted him out of the house. He was also just generally insufferable, potential wife-killing aside.2 He had done a tour in the Gulf and talked about it constantly and he was always talking about how women in the military were destroying the war machine. Most of the arguments with my mother revolved around how he was a piece of shit and if he stepped out of line I would shoot him in his smug, arrogant little rat face, which mom always took offense to and one of us would inevitably hang up on the other.3 I knew he was going to be there for Christmas, but I went anyway. Given the state of my mental health after the last Op, it was probably a terrible idea.
I largely ignored Tommy, which my mother seemed to appreciate, and Markus’ folks came around for Christmas day, so there was someone else to put between me and him. I shared a many nice bottles of wine with mom and lied through my teeth about how work was going while she inexpertly tried to convince me to wear the dress she bought me for Christmas day. It had a modest neckline, but the shoulders were bare, and I had no intention of explaining the patchwork of scars across my upper arms and collar. I agreed to wear the positively horrific holiday sweater Aunt Jen had knitted me the year before as a compromise. I kept my cool until December 29th, my last day in Boston. The holiday had been almost pleasant but I ran into Tommy as I came out of the washroom and I wasn’t quick enough to pull down the sleeves of my shirt. His beady little eyes light up at the network of scars across my forearm, and his leer turned positively foul.
“Isla doesn’t know about those, huh.” He said smugly. “Lose a fight with a junky? I hope you didn’t bleed anywhere, I would hate for anything to be contaminated.” I didn’t know why he kept saying ‘contaminated’ with that tone of voice, like there was a little joke he was making at my expense. I looked around the hallway as he spoke, and noticing my mother’s convenient absence, I stepped into him, within his guard, uncomfortably close and tucked a finger beneath my belt, my gun making a pleasant, clink sound as it shifted.4
“1271 Bellevue Avenue. You keep a spare key in a hollow rock underneath the porch. Your computer password is Redsox69, very original, and your internet search history is, while disgusting, not currently illegal.” I looked into his eyes as I spoke, and I saw his self satisfied grin begin to fall. Whatever he saw in my face, he was taking me seriously, which was good, because I had been struggling not to murder the little cunt all week, and this was the closest thing to joy I was likely to feel for the holiday period. “My department just busted this ring of truly foul people Tommy. Do you know what that means? It means I’ve got a hard drive full of shit that would make the most depraved sexual deviant find Christ and all his Angels and beg them for forgiveness. When they find it in your in your house, hell, you might not even make it to trail.” He stepped back, and I stepped with him, not giving him any space and letting a wide, smug smile cross my face. “That’s just the start though Tommy. You keep the key to your gun locker on the third hook from the left on the bathroom. That bump stock Thompson may say ‘Collector’ on the barrel, but it’s still illegal.”5 I had cornered Tommy against a wall. I drew my gun, casually, and checked the chamber, continuing in a conversational tone. “In December 2004 a girl you thought was named Monica who told you she was 19 spent 3, unedifying hours in your little hovel, before leaving town. Five people witnessed her enter, but only one saw her leave. Her name wasn’t Monica, and she wasn’t 19.” I patted his face with a wide smile and returned the pistol to its holster. “I’m going to say this once, so listen well. If you ever give me a reason, if you ever say a crossword to me, if you ever mistreat my mother or pop off another sideways racist bullshit comment about Markus, your shitty little brother will never ever find your body. Your house will be condemned as the most fucking cursed location in Massachusetts once I’m done with it. You’ll be dead, and your brother will have to spend the rest of his life explaining that he couldn’t possibly have known that his older brother was such a horrific child abusing monster. Do you want that Thomas?” He slowly shook his head. “Then I suggest you keep your fucking eyes down when you’re in my home. If I hear something other than a “Yes Ma’am” when I ask you a question, then I will end your fucking life, with a bullet or a hard drive. Hell, maybe both, If I’m feeling spicy.” I moved back slightly and waited for him to collect himself. He opened his mouth to say something, probably an insult in an attempt to salvage a bit of pride and I slugged him as hard as I could in the stomach. He was a good 5 inches taller than me, and still well muscled, but I was angry, even if I was trying to play it like I didn’t give a shit and I could hear the pounding of blood in my ears. I think he saw the blow coming, but his eyes widened as he staggered and doubled over, collapsing in a heap at my feet. “Pull yourself together you pathetic piece of shit.” I said over my shoulder as I walked away.6
Tommy kept his mouth shut the rest of my stay, although I could see in his eyes that his intense dislike of me had graduated to hatred. I didn’t care. If he hurt my mother in any way, I would kill him, and dissolve him in lye in my mothers bathtub. The thought made me smile.7 Mom drove me to the airport December 30th so I could get back in time for Danielle and Markus’ respective New Years celebrations.
“Thanks for coming honey.” Mom said, giving me a long hug. She sniffed and squeezed me, and I felt a lump in my throat.
“Love you mom.” I said weakly.
“I love you too honey. Please, stay safe. And call more often. I know Tommy can be a bit much, but I hope you saw he was on his best behavior.” She smiled at me, a look so genuine and filled with warmth it made me feel a deep sense of shame and guilt. I brushed a kiss against her hair and patted her shoulder.
“I’ll call you when I get home.” I said with a forced smile.
Home Scene Random Event - NPC Action - Danielle
New year’s Eve was uneventful, which was a pleasant change of pace. Danielle had work, so we celebrated Europe’s New Years in the afternoon with a a few party poppers and a grainy video of fireworks Danielle found online, and then I went to hang out with Marcus and his bohemian friends. I drank a bit too much, while his friends joked about how they couldn’t get the real party started with a fed hanging around. All of them bar Markus and his roommate were high as a kite by the time the fireworks started, but I kept telling them that narcotics wasn’t my department, which seemed to earn a few stoned giggles every time I said it. Palmer, of all people, called me early the next day. 5 times in an hour, and then she appeared on my doorstep looking frantic. She was rambling about Clyde Baughman and said she had found something in his files, something that she couldn’t explain but made her extra twitchy and a unstable. My anger was never far these days, so we had a row because why the fuck did she have anything of Baughman’s when we had burned everything?8 She got defensive, and then I got more angry, and then she left. I called Landry straight away so he check in on her, but he was pretty tight lipped about the whole thing, and told me to contact him if I saw her again. I didn’t.
I had the dream around midnight, February 12th, 2006. I usually don’t remember my dreams well, but Jasper had been right. I knew it when I saw it. Splintered images of ancient times, of people and creatures from long lost civilizations, the scenes like shards of broken glass but with a startling amount of detail that hit all of my senses at once. I could smell the jungle, taste the blood on the air, hear the beating of the war drum, feel the long grass under my skin and see the shapes and shadows moving in the darkness. I heard names that I had never heard before, Lemuria, Leng and Mu, and I knew them as my home in the fractured memories of the people that I saw. That wasn’t quite right. Not my home. My hunting ground. The images shifted to ones of violence, of stalking through the forests and jungles of the ancient world, eliminating my prey. Sometimes my prey was a creature of monstrous size and alien proportions, tendrils flailing and jagged teeth tearing as the hunt became the death of both hunter and the hunted. Other times my prey was human, but subtly wrong, their smell alien and fetid and their flesh tasted foul. I consumed them all, sometimes alone, sometimes with a pack, but always they were like me, strong, fast and with eyes that shone like stars. The dream felt like it spanned life times, an eternity to hunt and thrill in the glory of the chase. I was hated and cast out from my home in a dozen civilizations, but I didn’t care, all that mattered was the hunt, the kill, to find Prey and drive it to the ground. I awoke covered in sweat, my heart pounding, my jaw aching as though I had been trying to chew through a steel girder. I staggered to the bathroom, my head pounding like a drum and splashed water on my face. When I looked in the mirror, I looked wrong. My brown eyes where glinting a cold, golden hue, my iris’ like slits and my teeth felt uncomfortable in my mouth, jagged and sharp with a hint of blood red at the tips. I stumbled back, a scream stuck in my throat, but as quickly as it had come on, it was gone, and my normal, exhausted face looked back at me, large brown eyes wild and manic. I spent the next 4 hours until daylight curled into my armchair, an untouched and steadily cooling mug of cocoa next to me as I stared out my window, unmoving and numb. My fingers toyed with my phone, but I couldn’t bring myself to text the number Jasper had given me. Not yet.
Jasper had been vague about the dreams, but he had indicated something bad had happened after his first one, so I was on edge for the following week. I was assigned more fieldwork at my job, which was honestly a relief after all the paperwork and desk warming I had done in the last year. I had almost fooled myself into thinking nothing of the vivid, otherworldly dream, that it was just the logical result of too much work and fucking around with the unnatural. When Danielle invited me out for drinks on a slow Friday, I said fuck it, borrowed some modest clubwear and hit the town. The bar was emptier than it should be, given its reputation, but apparently there was a big sports event across town, so they weren’t anticipating a crowd. I sat at the bar and distracted Danielle while she fed me an increasingly bizarre combination of cocktails. When the bar was closing around 2AM, I felt pleasantly buzzed as I waited outside for Danielle to finish closing up. I should have known better. She was alone, her boss having cut out earlier to spirit her coworker away for their poorly hidden affair. When her scream ripped through the air, I felt my heart freeze in my chest. I burst into the door and sprinted along the bar, miraculously managing to keep my balance in my borrowed pair of heeled boots before skidding to a stop. A man lay on the floor, big and well muscled with a kitchen knife jutting out of stomach. Danielle had pushed herself up against the wall behind the bar, a large bruise already forming around her throat where the man had grabbed her. She was trembling, her knees pulled in and arms wrapped around herself to make herself as small as possible. Her eyes and expression were blank, and I recalled the state she would get in back in fall, after she was attacked. The man was swearing to himself, and his legs bucked as he tried to get up.
“Fuck. This bitch stabbed me! You, call a fucking ambulance, I’m bleeding out here.” He had a surprising amount of energy for a man with a knife in his gut, but I had seen Danielle using that knife all night cutting fruit and the like for cocktails. It was short, nowhere near long enough for a fatal wound, unless she had nicked something important, which judging by how much he was yapping, was unlikely. Once the man got over the shock, he might find he was in better condition than he realized. My eyes raked over him. Short blonde hair, clean shaven and watery blue eyes. A powerful frame, and there, on his forearm. A tattoo of a long knife with Russian characters. I had read this man’s description when I had snooped on Danielle’s post attack report. This was her assailant, the one the police had conveniently ‘failed’ to find and charge, despite an accurate description, two witnesses and a plethora of forensic evidence. Nikolai Romonov, socialite and person of interest in half a dozen drug smuggling and human trafficking cases. The DEA and the FBI had thick folders of circumstantial evidence of his families ‘possible’ ties to organized crime dating back to the 80s, but between their extensive legal team and ties to legitimate money, they were mostly untouchable. I glanced up at the camera above the bar. The red light that had flickered all night was off. No camera footage, just like last time. No witnesses this time either, or so he had thought. I leant down next to him, the scent of expensive, slightly overpowering cologne almost hid the smell of body odor, piss and fear.
“Hey Nikki.” I said softly. “Does your daddy know that you're here?” I asked
“What the fuck-” He spat, but I didn’t let him finish. When Nikolai opened his mouth, I yanked the kitchen knife from his gut, gripped the back of his head and jammed it through his soft palette, and up into his brain. I regretted making it so quick, but if there was one thing working with the Program had taught me, it was that you never let an opportunity escape when it’s sitting, bleeding out on the floor in front of you. Danielle squeaked, her eyes wide as she looked from me to the corpse lying on the barroom floor. I walked over to her and pulled her into a hug, making a calming shushing noise and stroking her hair.
“It’s ok sweetie.” I murmured. “Let me take care of it, ok?” She cried softly, but wrapped her arms around me and held me tight. The lower half of the bar had a reflective surface, cleaned pristine by the team of minimum wage cleaner the owner brought in twice a week. In the warped reflection, I saw the club lights blinking slowly on the corpse behind me, and the trembling bare shoulders of my best friend while I held her. My hair had fallen into my eyes at some point from the entrance to here, but I could still see the golden, reflective eyes that stared back at me from my face in the mirror behind the bar.9
Danielle had borrowed my car to drive to work today as she had been running late, a fortuitous turn of events as it turned out.
“Jesus fucking Christ Kat.” Danielle said reproachfully. “What would you have done if I had gotten pulled over?” She looked down into my trunk and saw the combination of tarps, zip ties, rope and a pair of camping knives as well as an old but razor sharp hatchet. Wrapped in the tarp was a few gallons of cleaning alcohol and a forensics kit disguised as a First Aid Bag.
“What?” I said with a small smile. “You should see what’s underneath the bottom.” I whispered, knocking the false bottom. I had expanded it, but decided to save her the grief of showing her my off hours kit. The trunk did look a little murder-y, but it was ostensibly there as camping equipment. I told most of my colleagues at the FBI that I was big into all season solo camping, which was a lie to explain why I carried a clean up kit in my trunk and occasionally went off the radar for days at a time. I probably shouldn’t have leant Danny my car, but she hadn’t asked so much as told me she was taking it as she left the apartment. I took the tarp, rope and zip ties back into the bar and prepped the body for removal, zipping the limbs together and wrapping it in tarp and tying it firmly in place. The floor was virtually stain proof thanks to the expensive material, so cleaning the blood up would probably be the easiest part.
“Oh god.” Danielle said. Her face had already gone as pale as it could go and it was starting to look distinctly green.
“Do you want to wait in the break room, hon? I’ll be right back.” I said warmly. I was still a little buzzed, but the fuzzy feeling of alcohol induced calm had faded, and been replaced by a wild, almost giddy energy. It took ten minutes to prep the body, and another ten to drag the heavy fucker from the room, through the back room and out to the underground parking. I checked on Danielle in to the break room and gave her some bottled water before doing a peripheral scan of the bar.10 I cleaned the floor quickly, and looked it over with a critical eye. The floor had obviously been cleaned, and a sharp eyed detective would notice, but there was nothing solid left to tie any of us to the scene, so it was circumstantial at best Once I had scrubbed the main points of contact, I guided Danielle back to the car and into the driver's seat.11
“You need to drive, if we get pulled over my charm can only take us so far.” I said, nudging her with my elbow with a lazy grin.
I guided her to the Storage locker outside of town, which was thankfully unmanned. There was a police presence around town due to the sports game, but it was largely focused elsewhere, so we made it without issue. I told Danielle to stay in the car, dragged the body inside, and dumped it in the large portable freezer I had installed after the Abel case. It had been Montford’s idea, funnily enough. I made sure it was sealed, and then started making a shopping list.12
I slept over at Danielle’s, holding her tight so that she could drift off to sleep. She didn’t ask questions, not yet anyway, but I knew that they were coming down the road, so I snuck out before she woke up and left a note. I spent Saturday sourcing possible disposal sights. I could rent a boat and dump the body out at sea, but it was expensive, and the body would still turn up somewhere. I knew I would have to get dirty, unfortunately, so I donned a pair of thick rubber gloves, a butchers apron and grabbed heavy duty hacksaw and got to work. By Saturday evening I had 20 small, airtight, sealed bags of meat and bone, as well as a Tupperware with a full set of teeth.13 I dropped the parts back into the freezer and drove back to Danielle’s with a pizza and a bottle of wine.14
“What’s going on Kat?” She slurred at me as we finished the bottle. “I stabbed a man.” Her voice quavered.
“A bad man.” I said firmly, reaching over the table to give her hand a squeez. She didn’t seem reassured.
“I killed him.” She said blankly.
“No. You didn’t. I did.” I pulled her hands into mine and tilted her head up. “Danny, look at me. I’ve seen Nik’s file. Even just the stuff that was on the first page was enough to make my hair curl. He was evil, and he was going to hurt you, and if he was alive, he would never have let you rest. He’s gone now, and you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” I smiled, and she looked at me hopefully and I gave her another hug.
“You’ve done this before.” She said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. It wasn’t a question. I shrugged and let out a light laugh.
“You know how it is, big scary government agent. They teach us all sorts of shit at Quantico.”
I found an incinerator with a terrible reputation and a no questions asked policy. They had been downright secretive and obstructive when the FBI had come knocking on their door last year, so you can imagine my irritation when they started asking me a lot of questions, despite the duffel bag of money I had scoured from my own account.15 The bribe I had to deliver for silence was extortionate, and out of my budget, which meant I would have to call in a favor or two, but they gave me unmonitored access to the incinerator, long enough to turn Nikolai’s various dismembered blood and bones into ash. I just had to hope I hadn’t left enough of a trail to follow.16
Kat was busy over the holiday period. I would have appreciated more from the home activity, 2 to a bond is not ideal, but it is better than nothing. Winter Strain was a bit of a turning point, and due to the nature of this game, it as not a good one. Kat’s feeling a little untouchable right now, so I wanted to reflect that in how she’s acting in her personal life. We will see if her actions have consequences (With that many failed rolls, chances are good that they will!). Let me know how you feel about this one in the comments, it was a bit more of a creative writing project than my usual work!
My next post will be the opening of the next mission, Operation Lost Herald. It will be shorter than Winter Strain, but hopefully with some enjoyable twists and turns that I’m looking forward to sharing with you. Thanks for reading!
Home Event - Fulfil Relationship (Increase Bond with Mother. Sanity Test 21/49. Increase by d6 = 2 0_0
Out of character, I actually don’t think Tommy killed his wife, although I would have to investigate to know for sure…..
She held this opinion before she was adapted to violence, btw, just so you understand how annoying this man is.
My original threat was a little more direct and crude, and I told myself I would workshop it a bit in the editing stage haha.
I think submachines guns are illegal in Massachusetts in 2006…….
Starting to see why people like writing people and characters who aren’t very nice, that was kind of fun!
Don’t know what I was channeling for Kat’s rage in these scenes, but you know what? Good for her.
I had projected on by Bond with Palmer during the last mission
Undecided if this Russian Mob is related to the Russians in Arizona. Not all Russians in this story are criminals I swear.
Skill: Forensics 13/60 (I haven't done skill checks in a home scene before, but Kat did a pretty crazy thing here and I want to see if it will have consequences)
Insert any crime scene clean up things here, Kat is smarter than me and got a good roll, so I would assume she cleaned the scene well enough.
Skill: Criminology - 85/70 (To Dispose of body safely)
Adapted to violence. And she doesn’t like him. So no SAN Loss!
Skill: Persuade - 69/90 (To retain bond score)
Skill: Accounting 72/60 - (For bribe - Failure ups this to a standard expense, so no surprise purchases next mission)
This hasn’t gone well as cover ups go with 2 failed rolls to one success, so I’m going to wrap it up with a straight 50/50 Luck roll. 96. Well Shit.
Wow!! That was an unexpectedly exciting home session.
Reading that interaction with mom’s boyfriend was soooooo satisfying… and the punch was topped by the “Pull yourself together” comment as she walked away. Damn.
And then a a straight up murder!!
Excellent read!
I love a good "Girl With the Dragon Tattoo" style justice.