"Delta Green: Dead Letter" Conversion for Review (Patreon)

Hey gang. I paused billing on this Patreon and plan to shut it down next month. I just don't have time to contribute to it like I should. It's a shame, because we have half a dozen different projects in the works even apart from Delta Green that always benefit from close attention. But we tend to hold those pretty close until they're well enough along that outside review is useful. Watch for news on those things—Godlike, Brimstone (formerly Gunslinger), Swords & Sorceries, Black Scrolls—on our social media feeds, Discord, Reddit, etc., and on Dennis's and Caleb's Patreon feeds. Thank you for your incredible support.

For now, it's Christmas. Time for a miracle in blue.

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I just wrapped up converting the scenario "Dead Letter" to Delta Green: The Role-Playing Game. I would love your help reviewing it for errors and glaring mistakes. See the images and attachments. Please email whatever you find to shane@arcdream.com by January 31.

Adam Scott Glancy's "Dead Letter" first appeared in Delta Green: Countdown in 1999. My own history with it goes back farther. I was a playtester in a game that Scott ran in an AOL chatroom in summer 1998. 

Our group was the hyper-clandestine team he talks about in the text. We were the jerks who came up with the COINTELPRO option for getting information on the reservation. I looked it up in one of the chat logs. We first approached David Bird Rattler, an elderly rancher who had secretly helped the FBI back in the Seventies.

> "Good evening, Mr. Rattler. This will only take a few minutes."

> "Be quick about it."

> "I will.  You are on the Tribal Council, I've heard.  Is that right, sir?"

> "I am."

> "Excellent. So, if we wanted to do business, you would have great influence with the tribe."

> "Maybe you ought to quit beating around the bush."

> Smile at the old man.  "Very well, Mr. Rattler.  How much influence would you have if the rest of your tribe learned of your collaboration with the FBI?"

> He looks like you punched him in the guts. "Sunnuvabitch! Who the hell are you?"

> "Easy there, Mr. Rattler.  As long as you keep quiet and do right by us, we'll do the same."

We wound up bugging and surveilling the industrial compound up and down, and came justthisclose to catching that Nazi bastard Reinhard Galt. But he jumped out of his helicopter into a lake when we weren't looking and left his followers to get shot up when they tried to transfer from helicopter to private jet. 

As the saying goes, old Nazis never die. They just go back to South America.

Happy holidays, all! If you wake up Christmas morning to find a parcel leaking some fluid of sapphire blue, do not open it. You may hear sounds inside. A scuffling of movement. Of gnawing. Do not open it. Set it aside. Tell your operations officer. Go back to your family. Wear as convincing a smile as you can manage. We will find a way to relieve you of that gift soon enough.