Operation Kerebos: Chapter Eight
Wrapping Up The Case in the Delta Green RPG, using Mythic 2E
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.
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The Foster Estate - 11PM
Moving Bosworth to a side room was simple as the man was still catatonic. I had Montford retrieve the cultist from outside and set her up in another room for questioning, before finally allowing myself to relax and take stock. The large, otherworldly corpse of the tentacle monster really threw a wrench into the otherwise successful raid. I tasked Palmer with searching through Foster’s library for anything occult and adding it to a box of items to be removed and then we got to work.1 Tracy and I cleaned any sign of black goop, blood or unnatural material from the crime scene, as well as rolling up the monstrous creature into a large, expensive rug and leaving it by the door to be taken elsewhere and burned. I left Palmer trawling through books2 and went to question the last member of the Heritage Committee. She was groggy, but I shook her awake roughly. I was feeling on edge, the wild panic having receded to be replaced with fatigued annoyance and so I didn’t really have time for any bullshit. I withdrew my pistol and pointed it at her midsection, easily visible.
“Let me paint a you a picture of the next few years.” I told her.3 I outlined a world in which she feigned ignorance of the foul goings on here, a world in which she showed up last minute and got arrested just as the raid began and that she truly had no idea how any of this happened.
“No one will believe me.” She said fearfully. I hadn’t given her any legal precedent to fall back on, and I was too bone tired to remember if there was any, so instead, I painted her a different picture. One in which I put a bullet in her gut and added her to the list of child murderers who resisted arrest.4 She fell into line pretty quickly after that so I put the gun away.
“Off the record.” I told her. “What did Foster want?”
“Immortality.” she said fidgeting. “It’s what he promised. Edgar, the man with the knife in his chest, was getting cold feet. I didn’t know he was going to kill him!” She added tearfully.
“Did you know about the boy?” I asked5 and she nodded tearfully. I shared a look with Montford by the door. “He said it was the only way.” She said fervently. “That we could live forever, and then once the creature in the lake was fully grown, it would keep us all alive. It would help us keep the town safe.” She truly seemed to believe what she was saying, which made it slightly worse. I turned to leave.
“Do we need her?” Montford growled, his eyes intent. I looked back at the old woman, whose relief at being alive seemed to dramatically outweigh any guilt she felt over Daniel.
“No. We don’t.”6
Montford placed her body with the others in the new, staged crime scene, a single bullet hole between the eyes. Letting Montford kill her had felt disgusting, but I wasn’t sure I could have stomached the alternative. I went to see the Sheriff next.7
“What happened?” he asked shakily.
“Why don’t you tell me what you remember.” I said my tone serious.8
“I remember coming here with your teammate.” he said shakily. “When we got here, there was a thing, a giant monster or something!” His voice was erratic, and he sounded on the edge of hysteria, but stopped when he saw my expression.
“You’ve been under a lot of stress, Sheriff Bosworth.” I told him sympathetically, injecting a hint of pity into my voice. “You’ve suffered a psychotic breakdown. I’ve seen it before. The pressure, the guilt of complicity, and now the violence you’ve witnessed here has clearly pushed you over the edge.” I shook my head sadly. “Obviously your position here as Sheriff will need to be reconsidered, and an extended leave is in order.” Bosworth paled with every word and then I stopped and snapped my fingers, as though suddenly remembering something. “Unless, of course, you are open to receiving some help.” I’ve practiced a variety of smiles in the mirror, everything from ‘warm and engaging’ to ‘feral and unhinged’ and so I’m pretty sure I hit the right effect when I widened my smile and showed him my teeth. I proceed to tell Bosworth the events as they happened, or at least, how the press and the Sheriff's department would be reporting it to anyone who asked. I was light handed with the threats, not seeing a need to push the man beyond breaking point.9 He nodded along. By the end of our conversation, his color has returned and he looked almost relieved. He didn’t mention a monster or anything unnatural again.
“Go get some rest, Sheriff Bosworth.” I told him as I guided him to the door. “Send a team here first thing in the morning, and we can hash out the details.” I patted his arm, and he thanked me before staggering out to his cruiser and driving off. That dog was out there again, I noticed, the Collie with the pink collar, sitting on its haunches at the end of the driveway. Its eyes followed the Sheriff's car as it pulled out, and then it returned to watching the house. When it noticed me looking back at it, she gave a single, happy bark, and then trotted off. I shrugged, and closed the door behind me, returning to work.
“Find anything relevant?” I asked Palmer after the Sherriff left.10 She had a box of books on various unsavory topics at her feet, but she reached onto the table next to her and passed me a small, pocket sized book with a strange symbol on the cover.
“Foster’s journal.” She said. Her mouth twisted in distaste. “He was an extremely unpleasant man. I would advise against reading it here, or at all.”
“Did you read it?” I asked.
“Just the first page.” She said, returning to scouring the bookshelves. “Daniel Martinez is not the first child he has killed. And he wouldn’t have been the last.” I pocketed the journal and took her advice. The last thing I needed right now was the words of an egotistical madman running through my head, but it might be useful later.11 I joined Palmer searching the man’s study but didn’t turn up anything else.12 The only trace left of the unnatural or occult left after we ditched the books was the knife. I knew that a naked man with a ritualistic dagger in his chest was a problem that could attract a lot of attention, but I struggled to come up with a logical story to replace it. In the end, I removed the dagger, plucking the sheathe from Foster’s belt and stashing it away, out of sight. The medical examiner in Spokane seemed thorough, but hopefully the story we built here would hold up enough to withstand scrutiny.13
Debrief Diner, Seattle - September 30, 2005 - 10 AM
I drove the rental back to Seattle with a few items that I wouldn’t want to take on a plane. The two knives, and a few of the books Palmer had said could be useful to an agent in the future. We returned the firearms to Tracy, and spent the rest of the week putting the case to rest.14 Bosworth was happy with the narrative we built, and the bodies went in and out of the MEs office in record time. On paper, Daniel Martinez’ body was stolen and disposed of by Aaron Foster during a brief time when the camera’s went out at the morgue.15 Daniel’s parents were obviously very upset by this, and started the arduous process of lodging a complaint with both the Medical Examiner and the FBI. I went to their house on the last day, before anything was official, and talked them down. They were still furious, of course, but I directed them that anger towards the man that had killed their son, and they pulled back on the complaint. I told Tracy that someone from the organization would be in touch, and to try to just keep working as usual. The people of Summercrest all knew her name and face now, which she didn’t appreciate, but I doubted she would have to pay for a coffee or beer again anytime soon. At the end of the week, I dropped Palmer and Montford off at the airport. I wasn’t sure what Montford’s plan was, his bag was packed full of items I was sure were illegal, but he just smiled and waved goodbye before walking off with Palmer. The drive back to Seattle was uneventful. I took the back roads, largely so I could space out for long periods of time.16 I got pulled over once, for failing to realize the empty stretch of road in front of me had a different speed limit to the several hours of road behind me.17 Cheeky fucker gave me a ticket, even after I flashed my badge. He didn’t bother to check the back, content with giving me a dressing down, which was lucky because I was having trouble focusing. I felt like my mind was about a mile behind my body, still driving on the road.18 The whole time I was talking to him, my eyes kept drifting past his shoulder. Out in the canopy of trees, I could have sworn I saw another Border Collie, off leash and looking down at me. But it couldn’t have been in the same one. Summercrest was hours behind me, and besides, I was in the middle of nowhere, getting dressed down by a State Trooper with a hot sauce stain on his uniform and the world's most unkempt moustache. It couldn’t be the same dog. Could it?
Nolan Landry looked like shit. He had a black eye and looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He poked at his sunny side eggs without enthusiasm, and was largely mute as I gave quick report.
“I’ll have our analysts monitor this Sheriff.” He said in a slight monotone. “If he breaks, we’ll have to move quickly to get him sectioned or sanctioned, or he could fuck the whole thing up.” I nodded in agreement and took a long sip of my diet cola. We sat in silence for a while before my curiosity got the better of me.
“So, what happened to you?” I said, pointing at his bruise.
“A story for another day.” He said with a belabored sigh. He flashed a grin at me a moment later, but without his usual spark.
“Interdepartmental relations are such a pain, Katherine. Be grateful that you are a small fish in an increasingly large pond.” I nodded, not comforted in the least, but sure that was the closest to an answer I was likely to get. He placed his fork down and grimaced before returning his full attention to me. “Tracy Caster will need watching as well. She’s seen too much to be left alone. Reading her in on your own initiative was not advisable, and I would suggest that you never do it again, but circumstances are what they are. What is your read of her?” I took the rebuke with a bow of my head and took a moment to think before responding.
“She was useful” I said honestly. “And she seemed to understand the mission. But she was half mad when we found her, and I think she needed something to grab onto. She’s honest, but I don’t think that will help her in this line of work. We could use her, but I don’t know if she’ll ever want to do field work again.” Landry nodded.
“Alright Agent Jones, thank you for your report. Agent Baker is waiting at the forward office for the ‘Official’ report, and then I suggest you get some rest. You look like shit.” I flashed him a grin as I stood to leave.
“Right back at you boss.”19
Home in Seattle: September 30 - November 30, 2005
I didn’t get to see Danielle until the weekend20. She was in the hospital, and had been since just after our phone call. Someone spiked her drink after work and between that and the alcohol she was touch and go for 24 hours. She wouldn’t tell me what happened. Or, a more precise statement was that she couldn’t. As soon as she got close to the missing time, tears would start to run down her face and she would breakdown. I comforted as best I could. When she got out of the hospital I stayed at her place for a few days, spending the weekend watching movies and pretending I was a normal human being with a normal human friend who needed me. I made the extra effort for her the following month. We met up, always at her house, for movies and good food. Unless she wanted me to cook the food, then we watched reruns and ate overcooked food instead. While I made the extra effort for her, it wasn’t exactly selfless. I felt out of kilter since getting back from Summercrest, and not just the usual, ‘wake up screaming in the middle of the night’ way I was starting to get used to. I spent hours after work feeling like I was piloting my body from the outside, numb finger tips bumping through channels that I was barely watching only to turn the TV off and sit alone, staring into space and losing time. I missed so many texts and calls that eventually my cousin Marcus came by my house and chewed into me for an hour. I think he was expecting me to flare up like last time, or cry or react in some way, but the entire time he was talking I could feel the numbness spread up my back and into my brain and face and hands, so I just stood there and agreed with him. He left looking more disturbed than angry. I snapped out of it after a few weeks. Danielle was feeling better, and work had been quiet so I swung by the Greenbox21 on the way home one Friday evening. A scruffy man with a beard filled with last night’s dinner was trying to clear out a locker and I managed to score a comfy arm chair for a fistful of dollars. I sat in it that Friday night, feeling the familiar numbness until I flipped open Aaron Fosters journal. Palmer had been right, the man had been disgusting. Arrogant and almost gleeful in the way he killed and escaped justice for decades. I skimmed it, searching for one thing and I found it around half way through. The Order of Midnight. Foster had nothing kind to say about the Order, but it was clear from his tone and descriptions that he had been a member, at least until a recent disagreement. Skimming Roth’s journal found similar results; a dissatisfaction with the leadership, and striking out on their own. Roth seems to have remained in the fold until his death, but he had been planning to cut and run, while Foster had seemingly been kicked out and was full of righteous fury about it. My blood was pounding so hard I could almost smell it and I felt more present and focused than I had since returning from Summercrest. I was gearing up for a full review of both books, but before I could start, my phone buzzed. A text from Danielle and not the first. My eyes flickered between the phone and the journal. With a sigh, I snapped the book closed and left the locker. Confirming the connection between the two would have to be enough for now.
November was a strange month. I was behind a desk long enough that I began to wonder if I had pissed off my coworkers again, but eventually Jack Baker called me into his office to give a half hearted explanation.
“You’re city bound for now.” He said bluntly. “Fucking interdepartmental politics. Don’t worry about it. Someone will come by today, grill you for a bit, strut around the office, then leave and we can all go back to pretending the CIA doesn’t exist.”
“The CIA?” I asked, confused. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Baker said, with a light tone I was finding hard to appreciate. “Lines between us and them have gotten….blurry, since 9/11. Trust me, this is normal. Just answer their questions with short precise statements and keep your poker face on. We’ll get you back in the field, preferably out of state, once whoever they send finishes swinging their dick around” I stared at him in mild shock trying to subdue a tremor of anger that was starting to form somewhere around the base of my skull. He shuffled some papers awkwardly before shimmying me out the door to sit at my desk in muted, angry silence. I didn’t have to wait long.
The put me an interrogation room, which stung a little. They even left me for a solid 30 minutes, to make me sweat which was disrespectful to me and the tax payer because I sure as hell wasn’t taking it out my lunch break. The suit that walked in with folder tucked under his arm and an expensive watch was the kind of guy your eyes just slid off if you saw him in a crowd. Black hair styled back, average height, average build, a symmetrical if unremarkable face. If it weren’t for the small, razor thin scar that ran the length of his jaw down beneath his collar, he would be the most forgettable man I’ve ever seen. Working in intelligence, that was likely a big advantage. He sat opposite me, checked his watch and then began the questions. All very standard, delivered in a slightly judgmental and condescending monotone. I tried to find my center of calm as I rattled off the case facts, many of which had the benefit of being true, before he checked his watch again. His fingers thrummed a quick staccato on the table before the questions took that critical turn Baker had alluded to. The thread seemed to be ‘was there anything other than your incompetence that stopped you taking a 60 year old man in alive?’ But I was too distracted by his hands to be offended. He had angled one hand close to his chest, hidden from the camera and angled low, towards the table. He flashed 5 fingers, then 4, 3 2 1. When he lowered the last finger, the lights flickered, then went out. The CIA agent leant back and let out a long sigh. He still hadn’t told me his name, and his badge had been flashed in front of me so quickly I barely took in the filigree. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then looked at me.
“We have about 5 minutes, so let’s go through this quickly.” He said with feeling. It was the most emotion he had shown since arriving, so I nodded. “Your supervisor probably gave you break down of what this whole pissing content is about so I’m not going to waste either of our times anymore than I have to. I saw the Foster file about 5 seconds before my boss. It had a familiar smell, ya know?” He said, tapping his nose and shooting me a smile that was all teeth. “We work for the same people, Agent Jones. I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it, but compartmentalization is more important to them than operational fucking intel.” He tapped his watch and clicked his tongue, causing a fascinating tic along the length of his facial scar. “Five fucking minutes.” He muttered. His face was remarkably expressive once the mask dropped. “If you run into a man like Foster again, a rich fuck who knows too much, a monster in human form, be very careful. Especially if they are from New York City.” He held my gaze, his eyes like two, intense black holes, and I held back a derisive laugh
“Not kill them, you mean?” I said with an insolent grin. The agent tilted his head, and something halfway between a smile and a snarl flashed across his face. He pressed a hand into the table, and for a split second, he looked positively feral.
“By all means kill them.” He said quietly. “In fact, I insist that you kill them as quickly as possible. Just make sure that you cut their body into tiny pieces and dump them in the nearest incinerator.” He leaned back, and the mask returned, the wild look in his eyes swept away as though it had never been there. “Don’t attract attention like this again. The Agency has their own incredibly misguided and possibly corrupt task force dedicated to child murdering occultists, and the last thing you want to be is on their radar.” He collected himself, and resumed the façade of a nondescript agency man with a shuffle of his collar and a brisk run of his hand through his hair. He gestured for me to do the same and I realized I had been leaning forward, tense and on the edge of my seat. I leaned back as he started talking, resuming my air of vaguely offended indifference
“I assure you, Special Agent Jones, that is not a route you want us to take.” He said sternly as the lights flickered back on. I stifled a smile. The guy was good. He had the time down to the second. He talked at me for a few more minutes, earning an impatient knock at the door before he wrapped it up. He stuck around the office, his CIA badge on full display before leaving in an oversized black SUV. That was my first meeting with Agent Jasper Westbrook.
Some themes and characters I had in the back of my mind are starting to make their appearance! I’ll be releasing a debrief of Operation Kerebos next, talking about Mythic with Delta Green and a few of the facets of the system that will be coming into play. Let me know what you thought in a comment or message!
Skill: Forensic - 64/58. 0_0 Tracy Skill: Forensic - 02/50
Palmer Skill: Occult - 35/80
Skill: Law 93/30. This is supposed to be the easy part.
Skill: Persuade 66/91 - Critical Success
Oracle: Did they know about the sacrifice? 50/50 57 - Yes
Sanity(Violence): 68/48. -3 Sanity
Oracle: Is the Sherriff Still out of it? 50/50 - 81 No
Oracle: Does he remember everything? Unlikely 22 - Yes.
Skill: Persuade - 22/91 Critical Success
Oracle: Did Palmer find anything? Likely 11 - Yes. Random Event Current Context ‘Increase surprise’
Skill: Search: 81/76
Skill: Criminology: 79/59
End Scene. Chaos Factor 5. Test Scene Altered Scene - Reduce Activity
No Short term issues with case? Likely 26 - Yes
Skill: Bureaucracy - 85/56 0_0
Skill: Drive: 84/50
Skill: Persuade 94/91 I need to stop rolling this skill haha
Kat hit her breaking point and will now have a ‘disorder’. This will effect her both in the fiction, and mechanically, usually when she loses Sanity or is in a stressful situation. I’ll expand more on it in my debrief.
Operation Kerebos: End. Chaos Factor 5. Home Scene Random Event - New NPC.
Home Scene - Fulfill responsibilities - Danielle - Bond increased by 6.
Not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but ‘Greenbox’ is the catch all term for a Delta Green cache. Kat’s been making her own at the Lock n Store outside Seattle (not a real place)
I have to admit, I was very surprised when Kat agreed to let Montford kill that person. I was expecting some sort of Delta Green jail or something. So cold - and so awesome that the sanity mechanic dealt with that choice. Delta Green as an agency (or whatever it is) seems crazy to work for. That last scene made me think like you cannot fully trust anyone. This was incredibly well written and I am eagerly awaiting the debrief of Operation Kerebos.
Poor Danielle, but I love how Kat spending time with her, makes her feel so much more human. I’m curious to learn more about that CIA agent and to read your debrief of the story.