Operation Lost Herald: Chapter Seven

Reporting to the Brass in the Delta Green RPG using Mythic 2e

Jul 07, 2025

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 Julian Dahl: https://www.pexels.com/photo/neon-lit-motel-at-night-in-los-angeles-31353872/

Lost Herald Chapter One

Palmer Residence

It was the middle of the night, but I had a gut feeling Landry would be up.1 He picked up on the second ring.

“Kat?” He asked.

“And here I thought you hadn’t saved my number.” I said lightly. He snorted.

“Eidetic memory. Where are you? Agent Castor said you went into the basement, reported something vague and ominous and then disappeared as the power went out.”

“Too much to explain over the phone.” I said. “Look, are you guys still local? I’m still onsite and I have a person of interest with me.” I stressed the last part, although if Oakes was listening in she could probably infer who the PoI in question was. Still, no point making it too easy for them. I heard the sounds of bustling and rummaging on the end of the line, and then the telltale jingle of keys.

“Stay where you are, but keep out of sight. The team I mentioned earlier is likely on route, even at this time of night. I’ll be there within the hour.” and then he hung up.

“No going back now, Palmer. I trust Landry to try his best to keep you alive, given what you’ve told me. But I don’t know how much control of the situation he had before everything went sideways.” Palmer sipped her tea, winced, and poured another helping of whiskey into the mug.

“I’m tired, Kat.” She said softly. “I don’t know how long I have as myself. It’s May. The last day I fully remember was February 25th, the day I found a breakthrough with my missing persons cases, a connection between them all. After that, it’s just fragments. I can’t go back to that. Any ending, even a permanent one, is better.”2

On the road, Montana - 1AM

Landry pulled up less than an hour later, and I ushered Palmer out ahead of me.3 I loaded Palmer into the front seat with instructions to explain things as best she could to Landry, and then I loaded into the back. Montford and Tracy looked up at me, decked out in SWAT gear. Tracy sighed in relief, relaxing back into her seat, and I took a seat next to her.

“You had us worried.” She said with a grin.

“Sorry about that.” I sighed. “Been a cluster fuck of a day.”

“It’s not over yet.” Montford said, in his irritatingly ominous way.4 I could hear Palmer talking up ahead in a hushed tone, and Montford’s eyes drifted from me, to the front seat, his hand clenching around the butt of his gun.

“She’s innocent.” I said, locking eyes with him. “Something unnatural from that prison of theirs has been reaching out and trying to take over their mind.” Tracy’s eyes went wide, but I focused on Montford. I felt like if I could just convince him, then perhaps I could convince Oakes and the other ‘Director’ she had been talking to on the radio. He eyed me dispassionately.

“That won’t matter.” He said, his tone as dead as his eyes. “She was a threat. Her home had at least two entities in it that we don’t understand and she had floor plans and blueprints for one of the most secure black sites in the country.”

“None of which would be an issue if the Program wasn’t holding someone directly connected to her that was able to reach out to her and take over her mind. She has no memories from the last few months, and she’s loyal to the Program. Hell, she doesn’t even know who Oakes is. She isn’t a security threat.”5

“If she is susceptible to any form of mind control, then she is a threat, Jones. She’s already acted against the program’s interests. I’m not condemning her. I’m giving you a reality check. Oakes will kill her. Prepare yourself for that now, and start worrying about yourself.”

The rest of the journey passed largely in silence. One of the most irritating things about Montford, at least in this case, was that the fucker was right. I didn’t know enough about whatever unnatural things were going on between Palmer and her grandmother to know for certain that Palmer was safe. The possession, or control, or whatever it was, could start up again at any time. Maybe there was some sigil or something that could protect her, but maybe not. The most expedient thing to do would be to kill her. Or kill her grandmother. But why had they locked her up in the first place? Maybe they couldn’t kill her, or didn’t want to. I bounced thoughts around my head for the remainder of the trip, a feeling of uncertainty and doubt as my only companion. We pulled into the lot of a small motel, isolated and mostly run down. We loaded out, Landry dismissing the other two to bed and beckoning Palmer and I to follow him around the back of the building.

“Did you convince him?” I whispered to Palmer as we walked shoulder to shoulder. She nodded.

“I think so. He didn’t seem surprised, at least.6 I think they had worked out I wasn’t myself. He was pretty closed off, but he made that humming noise when something clicks for him, you know the one.”

“The ‘auom’ one?’ I asked, mimicking the sound as best I could. She stifled a snort.

“That’s the one. I think you’re right. Landry is on our side.” She said softly. I nodded. He was walking in front of us, stiff backed and eyes warily checking the shadows. The motel was alone on the side of the road, with no other structures or street lights visible for miles. I wasn’t sure if I found the fact comforting, or foreboding.

Landry lead us away from the main building, to the small subset of rooms opposite a depressing and ill maintained swimming pool. Two of the fire team I had seen earlier that day stood outside, balaclavas removed, revealing hard faced men in their late middle years, eye’s steely and unsympathetic. Their eyes took us in, and they nodded and opened the door. A hand stopped me from following, and the door closed, shielding the other two from my view.

“The automatic.” The man growled, eyes like ice as he stared down at me. I unslung the MP5 off my back and handed it to him, but left my pistol visible on my belt. He ignored it, removing his hand to take the gun and waving me in. Katherine Oakes sat behind a cheap vinyl table, methodically cleaning a revolver of such a ludicrous caliber, I had the intrusive image of trying to fit my whole hand in the barrel. Landry and Palmer were nowhere to be seen.

“Take a seat Jones.” The Director of Security said. I sat. I can be a smart ass sometimes, and I knew I pushed the line frequently with Landry, but I had been a field agent long enough now to know the brush of a blade against my neck, even if it was purely theoretical. Oakes flicked on an old cassette recorder.

“Statement of Special Agent Katherine Jones, May 22nd 2006.” She said. She looked at me with flinty eyes. She had a fresh cut on her chin, and I could see a bandage under the collar of her shirt. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Answer them plainly, with no embellishment.”

“I understand.”7

“Where did you find Helene Palmer?”

“Inside a painting on the wall of the basement.” I said, as directly as possible. I winced internally at her stony reaction, but it was the truth.

“Describe this painting.” She asked, so I did. I could still remember it with vivid detail, the perfect, life like lines burned into my memory.8 Oakes sat there, her face a mask, until I finished.

“I believe you, before you start to worry.” She said plainly. I obviously failed to hide my surprise. “I saw the painting you described. What's more, I saw you in it.”

“That makes sense.” I said.

“In what way?” Oakes asked casually, taking a brush and cleaning the ridiculously large barrel of her revolver.

“I saw Palmer there, before I went in.” I said.9

“The painting disappeared, before my eyes.” She said. “How did you return with our erstwhile Professor?” I hesitated. It wasn’t just Palmer’s life on the line here, it was my own too. My instinct was to lie, but there was too much to hide. I decided to be honest, hiding some of the more damning aspects behind half truths and omission, but keeping the bones of the story there.

“I killed something when we arrived. Palmer was being pursued. It was human, but wrong. Once I had killed it, Palmer passed out, I think from exhaustion. Someone approached while we made camp. He offered me a deal.”10

“Bao.” She said, looking at me expectantly.

“Yes.” I answered, nonplused. How the fuck did she know that?

“Tell me about the deal, Jones.” She said, her tone still neutral.

“Life for Life, as he phrased it. He sent me somewhere. Upstate New York, he said, but I have no idea where it was. There was a cultist with the soul of something extremely dangerous. If I killed it, he would send us both home.”

“And did you?” She asked. “Kill it?” I nodded.11

“And this Tcho-Tcho sorcerer. He sent you both home, just like that?”

“Yes.” I said.12 She looked at me a long moment. She pulled out a small manila folder and placed it in front of me.

“Do you know what this is?” She asked. It was plain, and blank and while I worked with a lot of manila folders in my day job, I had not yet acquired the skill to identify the contents of one from the front page alone. I shook my head.

“It’s the file HQ has assembled on you.” She said and I felt my muscles tighten. “Obviously we keep tabs on all of our agents, but to have your own file, and so soon? Concerning, yes?”

“To put it mildly.”

“Do you know what I see when I look through this file?” She said, flipping it open.

“Only good things, I hope.” I said lightly. I couldn’t make out the writing, it was in Landry’s tight, incomprehensible scrawl, and what little was typed was in small font that was hard to read upside down. She flipped the page over, showing my a spread of notes and photos. Familiar Photos. Lester Roth. Aaron Foster and his cultists. Some before, but mostly crime scene photos copied form FBI case reports.

“A Killer.” She said blandly. I couldn’t tell what stung more, the words or the almost imperceptible tone of approval in her voice. “I know about Bao and I’ve no reason to disbelieve the offer he made you. He is a known vector and evil, but he’s closer to human than most of his cult. He’s got dreams of being a big player, and honetly, he has the skills and history to back it up. If you had lied to me about that, well," She pulled a silenced .22 pistol from underneath the table and placed it next to her cleaning kit. “You and your team will live.” She said, ignoring the blatant threat she had just made. “I know Montford had his doubts, because he’s a paranoid piece of shit, but the three of you are assets. You didn’t lie to me, and you do good work. You, more than the others, I can use. So tell me honestly, Jones. Why didn’t you kill Dr. Palmer? I know that you could, and I’m trying to figure out why you didn’t. Explain it to me.” My mouth felt dry, but this was likely my only chance to speak on behalf of someone I considered a friend, or at least, friend adjacent and I would be damned if I wasn’t going to take it.

“Because she isn’t a threat. She can still be useful.” Oakes' eyes hardened and I hurried to clarify. “I don’t pretend to know why her grandmother is still alive. Palmer is coherent, and currently herself and I truly believe she is true to the cause. Whatever the Program wants from her, or her family, is not my business. But I can vouch her loyalty, whatever that’s worth.”13 Oakes looked at me hard.

“Loyalty.” She mused. “Loyalty is very important. For the Program, yes, but our security officers have to be implicitly loyal to the chain of command and the mission. The mission comes above everything. ” She pushed the pistol across to me. “Are you loyal, Agent Jones?” Hesitantly, I reached forward and took the pistol.

“Yes.”

Palmer was led in by Landry a moment later, and seated where I had been. Oakes had pulled out a rifle, disassembled it and begun to clean it as she asked Palmer a series of probing questions. Some of it I had heard before, about the beginning of her investigation. When it came to some of the harder questions, like 'Where did you find these blueprints?’ and questions about the monsters in her house, the invisible stalkers and something called a ‘K’y-nanian’, Palmer was only able to say.

“I don’t know.”

Oakes’ expression remained unreadable, but she continued with the questions.

“Can you hear your grandmother’s voice now?” Oakes asked eventually. The rifle in her hands had mostly been reassembled, and she was polishing the barrel so that shined under the shitty motel lights.14Palmer closed her eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Yes.” She said softly.15

“Is she trying to get in?” Oakes asked, with apparent disinterest.

“Yes.” Palmer admitted again. “But I wont let her.”

“Do you have a choice?” Oakes asked.

“There’s always a choice” Palmer whispered. “My mind is sharper now than it has been in months, but when I sleep, she’ll be there. She will try to take my mind constantly, incessantly, like last time.”

“And what will happen then?”

“I’ll either find a way to keep her out, now that I know what she wants, or I’ll die.” Palmer said.16 Oakes gave Palmer a long look.

“You know I can’t let you out of my sight now.” Oakes said, almost apologetically. She gave me a look. It was tinged with compassion, but the major flavor of her gaze was one of expectation.

Are you Loyal, Agent Jones?

I looked down at the silenced .22 in my hand, and at the perfectly still profile of my friend and fellow agent. For the first time in my life, I longed for the comforting numbness of an episode, to take a quick break from reality.17 But there was just me. And I had lost too much of myself to be anything but a loyal agent.18

Katherine Oakes is a fucking psychopath.

The Broken Spoke Motel 3 AM

The gun was cocked, but unloaded. If I’d had my wits about me, I’d have known by the weight of the damn thing, but I had been distracted. It had been a test of loyalty. Fucking hell. I’ll see look in Palmer’s eyes for the rest of my fucking life. The betrayal and the fear was bad, but it was the understanding that felt like it would break me.

The beds at the Broken Spoke Motel were uncomfortable, the bathroom was filthy and I saw at least 7 cockroaches crawling around and the rear facing wall. Worst of all, at least for me at this moment, there was nowhere to get alcohol. I felt terrible. Worse. I felt hungry. I found a vending machine and grabbed a can of coke and a cheap, store brand candy bar, but I knew it wasn’t going to be enough. Sleep was a long time coming, and I wasn’t surprised when the dreams came.19

Drums. My bare feet hit the ground to the beat of drums as I stalked through an ancient forest. The dream flashed ahead, to me and another hunter wrestling a creature to the ground, it’s scales rough beneath my hands as it’s writhing tentacles tried to strike and bind me, but we drove our daggers into its chest. Removed the heart. A feast. A blissful, temporary cessation of hunger. The dream shifted around me, and suddenly I was in my family home, sitting at the dinner table, my mother on my left, and, to my surprise, my father on the right. I could feel blood still running down my chin as I took in the scene. Mom looked old, and worn, tears of blood leaving ruby lines down her face.20 My father was only recognizable because his stupid, too large state trooper hat and Lone Star cowboy cufflinks. The rest of him looked like parchment paper drawn tight over bone. He held out a hand towards me, and turned it upwards, revealing a dagger, a simple combat knife that seemed to thrum with energy. I looked at it, and then at him, and he grinned a toothless, feral grin before the dream shifted again. I was still in my parents house, but the living room this time. Both my parents lay on the floor, hands bound together in silk or some other soft fabric, the deep scarlet of fresh blood. Gore covered the walls around them. The drums started again, pounding in my ears and my heart rate quickened as though I was in the middle of a firefight. I could smell Death, Tabaco and Gravedirt. The smell almost overwhelmed me. I screamed. It sounded more like a howl.

I was drenched in sweat when I woke up the next day, drums still pounding in my ears and I felt pure, unadulterated fear pound through my veins.

End of Operation: Lost Herald

So, Lost Herald is complete. It was a little shorter this time, but I forgot how many moving parts I ended up throwing in there due to prompts and generally not knowing what the hell was happening. I’d love to hear what people thought of the interaction between Kat and Oakes, simulating a conversation is hard, but It felt important so I wanted to put some of it up to chance. I’m not sure what’s in store for Palmer, but Oakes has some plans for both her and Kat, that much I can say for certain. I’ll be getting a Post-Script out for my next post, but I’d love to hear how people are finding the story so far. Drop me a DM or leave a comment. Thanks for reading!

Oracle: Is he? Almost certain 33 Yes - Random Event. Close a thread (find the team)

End Scene. Chaos factor 3. Test Scene - 4 Scene as expected

Oracle: Is Landry alone? Likely - 93 Extreme no. Trap? Likely - 39 No.

Oracle: Anything happen on the drive to the hotel? 78 No. Palmer Stat: CHA X 5 56/75 (Do a few test for Palmer to handwave the story telling. I’m not sure if these will have any bearing on the outcome, but lets see)

Skill: (Persuade): 95/91 (good god, Kat. 0_0)

Oracle: Did they know she was being possessed? Likely - 25 Yes

Oracle: does she ask what was the monster? Likely - 63 No. Where was Palmer? Likely -25 Yes. (Roll on ‘Conversation’ table: Mature Interesting)

Oracle: Interest in the location? 50/50 40 No.

Oracle: Does she ask How did I get back? Likely - 12 Yes

Oracle: Reaction? Glad. Why? Does she know Bao? 50/50 18 Yes.

Oracle: Does she ask how? 50/50 89 Extreme no (That’s fucking lucky haha)

Skill: Persuade(-20% Because Oakes is inherently suspicious) 07/72.

Skill: Persuade(-40% because Palmer really fucked up) 51/52

Oracle: Can she hear her grandmother? 50/50 24 Yes.

Palmer: POW X 5 - 10/50

Palmer Skill: CHA X 5 (-20% to afore mention issues with Oakes’ personality) 45/55