Operation Broken Ace: Chapter Three
Desperate for Leads in the Delta Green RPG using Mythic 2e DM Emulator
Published by arrangement with the Delta Green Partnership. The intellectual property known as Delta Green is a trademark and copyright owned by the Delta Green Partnership, who has licensed its use here. The contents of this document are ©SolumProtocol, excepting those elements that are components of the Delta Green intellectual property.
Photo by Med Badr Chemmaoui on Unsplash
Jones’ Residence, Just outside Boston - 2AM
The patrol car pulled up close to 2AM. I had avoided the temptation to finish the bottle of whiskey only by an extended effort of will, but I had managed to put a dent in the pack of cigarettes.1 Two uniformed cops got out, an older man with a regimental mustache and a boxy haircut and a smaller woman around my age, maybe a bit younger, with olive skin and black hair that was tied up in a sensible tail.2
“Miss Jones?” The man said.3
“Agent Jones.” I corrected, giving him a cold look. The posturing felt easy with the whiskey in my blood, but it was completely unnecessary. I always rolled my eyes when some of the older agents got stuck up about rank and address. I needed these cops somewhere else sooner, rather than later, and the best way to do that was to give them what they expect - an asshole. The man stiffened at my tone, but nodded.
“Agent Jones. My name is Sergeant McLeod. The situation sounded serious, may we come in?” The man spoke with practiced diplomacy, and I could instantly see why they had sent him in. I nodded, stubbed out my cigarette, and lead them into the house. The young officer stiffened at the sight of the blood, but McLeod stayed clam and pulled out a notebook.
“When did you arrive?” He asked and so we started the question and answer portion of the evening. I’m a good liar, in general. Agent Baker joked it was my strongest asset as an FBI agent, but fortunately I didn’t need to feed them too much bullshit. There had been a mix up with my planes, I couldn’t get a hotel, and my cab broke down nearby. All true facts that were all verifiable.
“I searched the house, but didn’t touch anything, don’t worry. It’s a lot of blood, you understand.” I said.
“That’s understandable.” He said. I could see him trying to do some quick math. There was a gap between my arrival and discovery of the scene, and my call to the cops that was just wide enough to be suspicious, and I could see the grizzled cop weighing the decision to ask me about it.4 He clenched his jaw and pointed a this notebook.
“There’s a good chunk of time between these two events. Can you explain what it was you were doing?” He asked. I pointed towards the wall.
“How much blood can you see in that room?” I asked. He squinted, then pulled out a flashlight, taking the question seriously as he looked around the room. It was his younger partner that answered after a long silence.
“A lethal amount.” She said quietly, earning a disapproving look from McLeod.
“If it’s from one source.” He added gruffly.
“I searched the house top to bottom. If there was anyone here, I needed to know.” I pointed at the bottle of whiskey by the couch. “It’s been a long day. I had a drink, weighed my options, then called you.” I made to prod his chest without actually touching him. “I didn’t have too, you know? Half the LEA’s in the area will have a vested interest in this case, and would likely be much more amenable to me personally. But this is your jurisdiction, and I’m a professional. I called it in after that.” My father had been well respected in life and State Troopers from his old office checked in on Mom regularly and while I didn’t have any contacts in the Boston FBI office, my record was clean and I was a local, so it wouldn’t be too hard to spin this into something to drag them in and give the local PD a headache.5 I wasn’t going to, but it was always good to remind people that it was a possibility. The carrot and the stick and all that.
“Another person lives here, Tommy Yates? Could this be his blood?” McLeod asked. I shrugged and barked a laugh.
“I would feel a lot more relaxed if it was.” I said, walking back outside.
“Not a fan of Mr Yates?” McLeod pressed.
“Spend 5 minutes in his presence and you’ll see why.” I said casually. “His truck isn’t here. He has an apartment closer to the county line.” McLeod jotted that down and then fixed me with an icy glare.
“Do you have any suspects?” He asked, bluntly. I sat back down on the porch, and pulled out another cigarette.
“Mom was active in the community, had a shitty boyfriend and friends in law enforcement.” I told him after my first drag. “But no, I don’t know anyone that would want to harm her. We don’t talk much anymore.” I swallowed, as the lie became a little too real for a moment. “Wrong tense, I suppose.” I said softly, my eyes closed, the ambient sound of the quiet neighborhood almost deafening in awkward silence that followed. “Yates has a violent history, drinks too much and is just generally kind of a shit. But I doubt he’s your man.”
“Why?” McLeod asked. I looked at him then, and allowed a small smile to flash across my features.
“Because even he isn’t that stupid.” I said. The grizzled sergeant gave me a nod of understanding and the pair asked a few more softball questions. The younger officer, Officer Simmons, took down my cell phone number and asked where I would be staying, but a black SUV pulled into the driveway and flashed its headlights at me.
“Ask me tomorrow.” I said, feeling the exhaustion double as the promise of escape arrived. “My ride's here, officers. Any further questions?”
“It’s very strange, Agent Jones.” McLeod said. “You arrive seemingly by accident the evening your mother goes missing.”
“That isn’t a question, sergeant.” I said. His eyes were piercing, but I held his gaze, and he was the one to break the eye contact.
“Ensure that you make yourself available, if we have further questions.” He grumbled.
“I will be.” I called over my shoulder as I walked away. I loaded the gun case and my backpack into the back of the car and pulled myself into the passenger seat. Jasper Westbrook looked down at me from the driver's seat.
“Where too?” He asked.
“Anywhere but here.”6
On the Road, Outside Boston May 23, 2:30AM
We drove for 15 minutes in silence while I stared out of the window. My body was numb. I wouldn’t have been able to hear anything over the sound of blood pounding in my ears regardless, but I was still thankful for the space the silence offered.
“Did you run a background check on me?”7 I asked eventually. He glanced at me and shrugged.
“Someone did.” He answered lightly. “But not me. Once I was sure you were in the Program, that was all I needed to know.” I nodded, took a deep breath, and started talking.
I told him about my father disappearance, his return as an animated corpse with little in the way of true free will, and my mother’s recent death. I told him about the fucked up planes, and the cab breaking down, and those bastards from the cult.
“Shit.” He said after it all. We had joined a highway, going exactly the speed limit on an empty road as he listened. I didn’t know where we were going, and right now, I didn’t care. I needed to sleep and regroup. I needed a lot of things, right then to be honest, none of the particularly good for me. “You’re sure it’s the Order of Midnight?” He asked.
‘That’s what it said, and I’m inclined to agree. I can’t think who else would be stupid enough and they’ve been showing up everywhere.”8
“I ran into another one, out in Oregon.” He said thoughtfully. “Back in February, there was spat of missing kids, out in the woods.” His face darkened. “They were working on some form of ritual.”
“Any idea what they were trying to achieve?” I asked. Feeling was returning to my limbs a little as we talked, the fuzzy feeling at my fingertips beginning to fade. There was something going on with this cult, and it was tied into what was happening to us, I was sure of it.
“It seemed like he was trying to transcend?” he said the last word with an up tilt, almost like a question. “It was hard to tell, he was pretty far gone, but if the ritual had succeeded it would have destroyed his body and his mind would have traveled somewhere. It wasn’t clear where.”
“Interesting.” I said, with an arched eyebrow. It wasn’t interesting at all, it sounded completely insane, but hadn’t all of the cult members so far been up to something similar? “Its hard to tell if they are up to something as a unit or if they’ve all gone mad and are just trying to grab whatever power they can.” I mused.
“I’m leaning more towards ‘Rabid Dog’ over ‘Cunning Fox’ myself.” Jasper said lightly. He looked at me seriously over the steering wheel. “What’s the play here Kat?” He asked softly. It was a good question, and one I didn’t have an answer for.
Jasper was staying at small motel another half an hour down the I90.
“What brings you out here? Are you on a mission?” I asked as we pulled into the empty lot.
“Not right now, just my day job.” He said. “I just finished up this morning, actually.”
“Convenient.” I said darkly.
“Isn’t it just.” He said. “Come on up. It’s a low traffic.” The motel room had one bed, a single, but was surprisingly clean. Jasper pulled out a small and uncomfortable chair, as well as a couple of sodas from a cooler at the end of the bed. “I know its late, but I’ll sleep better if we have something resembling a plan.” He said. I set the gun case down, and asked if he had any maps of the area.9 He shook his head.
“That will be our first port of call.”10 I said, settling on the edge of the bed. “I could smell water and bleach. The scene was cleaned with not a single bit of evidence that I could make out, so that explains the bleach, but what about the other smell?”
“What did it smell like exactly?” Jasper asked, his eyes intent.
“Drowning.” I said. He took that in with a blank expression before shrugging.
“It’s not a lot to go on.” He said cautiously. “I’ve been picking up these smells for over a year now, Kat, but it’s nebulous. Most of it only makes sense in hindsight. What does water or drowning even smell like?” I shrugged uncomfortably.
“I’m confident.” Was all I said. “If we can find a waterway nearby, we might be able to pick up a trail. If the library was open now, I would say let’s get going while the trail is hot.”
“Are there no other leads?” Jasper said.11 I closed my eyes and tried to think. There were no street side cameras, it was a low traffic neighborhood. But Mom had said something earlier in the year, about one of the neighbors….
“One of the neighbors might have security.” I said. “Ms Donaldson had a break-in earlier in the year. I’m not sure if there are any pointed towards the house, but we could check.”
“Slim pickings, then.” He said with a hum.
“We should keep a low profile. The BPD sergeant they sent was sharp. I imagine this will be chalked up to a missing persons case and there’s isn’t much evidence to go on, but any clues we find through mundane avenues means he can find too.”
“Are we covering up your Mother’s murder?” Jasper asked cautiously. I felt my shoulders slump, suddenly just so, extremely exhausted.
“If we have to.” I said quietly.12
Donaldson Residence, Boston Outskirts - 8AM
Jasper was kind enough to let me have the bed while he slept curled up on the floor with a bunch of cheap blankets. I didn’t sleep well regardless, plagued by dreams like the ones I had before flying out of Montana. Hunting, mostly, but sometimes Mom was there, the back of her head open and bloody while her glassy eyes stared up at me. Sometimes Dad was there, withered face and dead teeth bared in a grin, or was it a grimace? It was too brief to really tell. I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding and feeling like absolute garbage. The motel room had cheap instant coffee, which I drank far too much of before we set out. Jasper dropped me off on my families street before heading out to the local library. I could tell he was skeptical about the ‘follow your nose’ strategy, but I was learning to trust my instincts, especially when it came to Program related issues. I knocked at Ms Donaldson’s door and waited. It was early, but Ms Donaldson was a perpetual curtain twitcher and so I trusted her to have been up at the crack of dawn at the merest hint of neighborhood drama. The cordoned off police tape surrounding my old family home would surely qualify.13 The door opened, revealing a tall woman, broad shouldered with hair trending towards grey and an open and friendly face. Ms Donaldson was a robust woman, but her early retirement had caused her to lose a bit of muscle and she had started to stoop slightly since I had last seen her.14 She looked at me for a long moment, then her eyes twitched to the police tape behind me.
“Katherine, I didn’t know you were back in town.”15 She said warmly. I plastered a smile onto my face and glanced behind me.
“I wish it was for better circumstances.” I said quietly. News wouldn’t have traveled through the neighborhood yet, and I suspected that if I drip fed this woman the right gossip, she might just let me fiddle around with her security system, a thought that made me feel slightly sick. She invited me in, and I accepted a mug of tea.16 Glancing out the rear window, I had to school my features as a figure moved along the back of Ms Donaldson’s yard, a figure in a familiar wide brimmed hat and long coat.17 Ms Donaldson was oblivious to the abomination skulking around her shrubbery, but I struggled not to stare. What the hell was he still doing here? We chatted amicably for a few minutes over tea, she trying visibly not to ask me about my mother while I dotted in ominous phrases and emotionally weighted statements. Eventually, I allowed her to think that she teased the truth from me and I confessed that my mother was missing.
“I can’t investigate it officially, of course, it would be against protocol. But I know the BPD has no leads and I just wish there was a way I could see what happened last night.” I said, with a quiet sigh. Ms Donaldson looked at me kindly, patting my hand. I waited, patiently, until eventually she snapped her fingers.
“You know, I was just telling poor Isla about the security cameras I had installed, I picked up some of her property and I was asking if it bothered her. Do you think it could have spotted something?” I forced my face to brighten.
“Could I take a look? It’s only for a small amount of time.” I said. She said yes and ushered me into a small, cluttered office with a small computer. The desktop was empty apart from a small application called ‘CAMERAS’. I opened it and it showed a live feed of the cameras in several small windows. One faced the rear garden, two faced the street from different angles and one on each side. The lower camera showed the edge of Mom’s property line and part of the driveway, but I wasn’t sure if it would have capture anything useful.18 The user interface was more friendly than some camera systems I had worked with and so I asked Ms Donaldson if I could have another cup of tea and got to work. She patted me on the shoulder and I navigated to last night. I had arrived around 1AM. Judging by the blood and the state of the body, I would guess that there was less than an hour between her death and my arrival, not counting for any clean up time. It was a struggle to keep my mind objective as I started skipping through the recording of the previous day.19 I saw headlights at 12:03 and shadows moving towards the house. I played it frame by frame but couldn’t see them, so I continued.20 At 12:49 the shadows returned. I caught a glimpse of one of the figures, a man in dress trousers, shirt and suspenders. The outfit was something my partner at the bureau called ‘federal chic’, but only if he had been drinking. I couldn’t see his face, but something in his gait, the way he carried himself was slightly off, as though he was carrying something heavy. I paused the camera on the shot that showed most of his body.21 He had a holstered pistol and a thin bladed knife on his hip. I recognized the style. I had a pair of identical ones in a storage locker just outside Seattle. There was no blood spatter on any part of his clothes that I could see, although I noticed he was wearing medical gloves and a surgical mask. There was another shadow, thicker set, almost twice the girth of the cultist in the frame. It was hard to tell if it was the position of the light, but judging by the squat, domed head in the shadow and my gauge of his proportions I guessed I would be able to pick him out of a crowd. I cycled through the rest of the video but there was no clear or partial shot of the accomplice.22 The car pulled out fast but playing it frame-by-frame, I managed to get a partial plate. The car was a black ford sedan with tinted windows. I copied down the partial and pocketed the notebook. Ms Donaldson had returned my tea while I had been staring fixedly at the screen and I had barely noticed. I returned the cameras to their default and considered deleting the footage to keep the police guessing, but then decided against it. I didn’t have the tech skills to cover that shit up anyway. The screen showed the live feed of all cameras, and I stopped just short of standing up. Dad was still out there, an ominous shadow on the edge of the frame. What could he be doing? I bit my lip and followed a hunch, cycling the camera back to the previous night. This camera offered a view of the garden.23 Lights flickered on as I ran the recording forward and I realized the camera had a pretty good view of the road behind the house. I cycled it forward to 12:49, then let it play.24 At almost exactly 1AM, the moment my taxi broke down outside my moms place, a black sedan drive past the rear of the house. Towards Boston. I jotted that down, and closed the application. I downed the cold tea, and bid farewell to Ms Donaldson. The pounding of the blood in my ears sounded like the beating of a wardrum.25
Tenuous leads, but isn’t that what Mythic is all about? I’m playing with a concept from Delta Green called Synchronicity, so if things feel oddly convenient, it is a feature of the horror, as well as a nice crutch for my inexperience. I’ll explain more in my Post-Script. Thanks for reading!
UNE and Name Tables 1. Defiant Champion. (SGT Steven McLeaod) 2. Solemn Vicar (Officer Constance Simmons)
Tone: Cautious. Respectful? No.
Oracle: Can I make out his name and rank in the dark? Likely - 93 No.
Oracle: Does he? 50/50 02 Extreme yes
Crimes against federal employees are usually under the jurisdiction of the FBI, according to their website.
End Scene. Chaos Factor 5. Test Scene - 6 Scene as expected.
Oracle: Did he? 50/50 97 Extreme no,
Oracle: Has Jasper had more contact with Order of Midnight? Very Likely 57 Yes.
Oracle: Does he? 50/50 69 No.
Oracle: Are there any main waterways near my house? Unlikely - 64 No.
Oracle: Are there any other leads? Unlikely - 09 - Yes. Cameras? Unlikely - 33 Yes and Random Event.
End Scene. Chaos Factor 5 Test 3 - Altered Scene. Add Character - Father.
Oracle: Does she answer? Likely 52 Yes. (NPC Mythic: Lazy Jack-of-all-trades)
Oracle: Does she recognize me? Very likely 31 Yes.
Mood? Sociable.
Oracle: Father watching outside? 06 Extreme Yes.
Oracle: Ms Donaldson noticed? 50/50 60 No.
Oracle: User friendly interface? Likely - 47 Yes.
Oracle: Can I See the people? 50/50 42 Yes. 2 People? Likely - 47 Yes.
Oracle: Half an hour? 87 No. Less? No. (Mythic NPC Table: Attractive Familiar)
Oracle: Athame? Likely - 49 Yes.
Oracle: Full License plate? 50/50 58 No - Partial plate. City? 50/50 87 No.
Oracle: Is there a Road? 28 Yes,
Oracle: Car view at 1AM? 16 Yes.
End Scene Chaos Factor 4 Test Scene - 6 As expected.
Creepy, captivating and mysterious.
Loving this horror/noir atmosphere, and the balance of surveillance and instinct. And damn, the detail of the drowning smell is just so compelling to me. It’s unsettling and evocative.