Delta Green: Jack Frost -- Text for Playtesting (Patreon)

If you have time during the busy month of December, I would love to get your feedback on "Jack Frost." It's a scenario about Delta Green agents infiltrating a deadly MAJESTIC operation in 1998, before the MAJESTIC war went hot and before the schism split Delta Green apart. Those were the days of old! The Twin Towers still stood, personal video required a camcorder, and no phone was smart. 

You can download "Jack Frost" below, along with a map for the Handler and one for the Agents. The final version of "Jack Frost" will be published in PDF and paperback. The final PDF will go free to backers of Delta Green's 2015 Kickstarter project.

I wrote this scenario 20 years ago (!) for Steve Jackson Games' now-defunct Pyramid Online. It really showed its age in the truly vast amount of editing I had to do, but I'm pleased with how the new edition turned out. Give it a shot and tell me how it goes. I need feedback no later than December 31st.

The cover illustration is by Dennis Detwiller, © 2019.

INTRODUCTION 

The road sign is painted in cursive letters on a white background: “Willis, Ala.,” it reads, “Pop. 119.” State Highway 19 runs past the sign through deep forest and high hills. A long, narrow bridge stretches across an expanse of swampy water. Always a land of endless natural waterways, the region was inundated with new lakes and streams after the Tennessee Valley Authority began damming up the rivers during the Great Depression. A sliver of December moon is hidden, high overhead, beyond thick clouds, and the swamp and the hills and the trees are barely visible in its ghostly light.

The hills flatten out, slowly, gradually, and the forest thins to either side. Then, ahead, comes a yellow glow blinking in the air. A street light signals caution. Other lamps shine beyond it, silvery-pink and constant, illuminating the shop fronts of a few two-story shops. Christmas lights blink cheerfully in red and green in several windows and the limbs of trees.

Silhouettes stand within a cafe near the road. “Hank’s House,” proclaims the shingle. A few locals had gathered for a nightcap. There is no movement to be seen in Hank’s House or in the streets, nowhere but for the swaying yellow light. But on the covered sidewalk leading to Hank’s, someone waits.

Closer.

It is a middle-aged man, heavy-jowled, wearing worn denim overalls and a thick fleece coat. He does not look as you approach. No fog of breath billows. His eyes stare, watching, empty, dry. A strand of ice hangs unattended from his mouth.

The other men and women can be seen more clearly in Hank’s House. They sit with drinks long gone cold they lie on the floor in strange positions, as if caught in the moment of a footstep and then fallen in that same pose to the ground. Outside, a dog lies on its side, legs stiff and straight. Feathery clumps lie where birds fell in mid-flight to the earth. All are dead with a cold that will not go away.

Looks like Jack Frost came down to town again.