D.E.L.T.A. Report - Two
[D.E.L.T.A. Mission Report - Operation Codename: Cult of Personality]
[Operatives: O1C Jackhammer (mission leader); O3C Tracker; O4C Marten Daltrey]
[Report prepared by Marten Daltrey]
DELTA Agency received notice of a cultist uprising centralized in North Carolina. Initial reports stated there had been several missing persons, evidence of ritualistic animal sacrifice, theft, and graffiti referencing the “Butcher” and the “Beast.” We were uncertain as to the nature of this Butcher, but the Beast was rather obvious: We had some kind of a satanic cult on our hands.
Police investigations eventually managed to apprehend a member of the cult. No direct information was obtained. The captive instead burst into flame in his holding and burned to death. No evidence was found to suggest any natural means of having started this fire and spontaneous combustion was ruled out. DELTA Agency was contacted shortly thereafter.
Operative First Class ‘Jackhammer’ and I (Operative Fourth Class ‘Marten Daltrey’) were sent to the location and there met with Operative Third Class ‘Tracker’ who had already begun initial investigations of his own. Tracker’s special abilities allow him to view ghost images of a being’s previous actions within the last twenty-four hours. Using this power he was able to backtrace the deceased captive’s trail to what appeared to be a sheer cliff wall in the local forest. This ghost image revealed the use (and code) of a camouflaged keypad. This keypad opened a hidden door in the cliff, allowing us entry into a secret underground complex.
After navigating the tunnels we located a central cavern, enormous in size. A massive stone figure of a wolf-like creature rose at the rear of the chamber on a raised platform. At its feet was a large altar adorned with ritualistic markings and items. Steps descended from the wolf-beast’s stage. There extended a wide strip of stone flooring that suddenly dropped into a dark abyss. A single narrow railless bridge of rock led away from this to the rest of the cavern, where it stretched out to a multitude of various openings and passageways, including the one we had entered from.
Out on the wolf-beast’s section of the cave were several dozen robed men and women. They were all in subservient positions of worship: kneeling with foreheads to the earth. Before them at the altar stood an enormous shirtless man, at least seven feet tall and rippling with muscle, heavily tattooed in religious patterns, and adorned with numerous articles of jewelry from rings to bracelets to necklaces. Even from a distance it was obvious these were made of bone. In one hand he held a weapon nearly as large as he was: a sword with a blade shaped not unlike a gigantic butcher’s knife. The handle ran the length of the weapon, spaced channels cut into the blade to allow for handholds. This man was, obviously, the Butcher of graffiti fame.
In the Butcher’s other hand he held a woman, stripped naked and struggling against the ropes that bound her. The Butcher chanted to his followers and they echoed him. I unslung my rifle as the cult leader hoisted the woman up onto the altar. As I prepared to take a shot, end this before the girl would lose her life as some sick sacrifice, I felt the impact of some blunt object connect with the back of my head.
I awoke to a splitting headache. Gingerly I touched the tender lump at the back of my skull where I’d been struck. Swollen, but I’d heal. I groaned as I twisted my body fully into a seated position and took in my surroundings. The three of us had been locked in a pit cell somewhere within the cavern complex. The only way in or out appeared to be a barred opening in the ceiling ten feet above our heads, from where I could hear the faint cries and whimpers of other captives. I looked at my companions, Tracker just now coming around and Jackhammer pacing at the far end of the cell.
“How long have we been in here?” I asked.
Jackhammer slowed but did not stop pacing. “Only a few minutes. Already tried the bars. Electrified.”
I grunted in response.
Tracker stared up at the opening and said, “Then we fight our way out when they open it.”
“If they open it,” Jackhammer said. “No guarantee they won’t just leave us here to rot.”
I shook my head. It hurt. Felt like fireworks going off inside my skull. “I doubt it. Sacrificial cult, right? What better sacrifice to a demon than a superhero?”
No reply to that from either of them.
About an hour passed in silence down in that dark hollow before we heard the click of the bars being unlocked. A ladder slid down and a voice called in to tell us to come up one at a time and slowly. Jackhammer took the lead, followed by Tracker and then myself. We emerged into the electric light of a large chamber, its floor dotted with more caged openings. Five robed guards stood around us, all armed with what I recognized as PR-S-6 energy rifles, an experimental weapon series using plasma based technology. Highly illegal. I saw the look of recognition in Jackhammer’s eyes and knew he understood their purpose: his bulletproof body wouldn't stand up to what those things fired and my own talents couldn't make any special use of them.
We were ushered forward into the cavern labyrinth, eventually emerging into the great ritual chamber. We were met with a mob of robed cultists gathered in a half-circle around their wolf-beast idol. The Butcher stood at the front of his flock and motioned for us to be brought forward to the altar. Once there he raised his enormous sword overhead to sound of a thunderous roar of approval from the cultists.
“See before you three men who would seek to prevent us from achieving our purpose!”
“WE SEE!”
“See before you three men who would seek to prevent the birth of the great Beast unto our world!”
“WE SEE!”
“See their blood! See it spill to appease our lord! See it call to the Beast!”
“WE SEE!”
“See the one who leads them! See him brought low by the Beast’s power!”
“WE SEE!” The crowd roared as the Butcher took hold of Jackhammer and shoved him onto the altar. Jackhammer struggled and pushed back, but as he did I saw fear fill his eyes. He knew, knew all too well, that even his super-human strength was no match for the Butcher’s own. The bastard pushed Jackhammer back as if he were a child, held him there with one foot. The enormous blade rose again. Fell.
The crowd exploded into cheers as Jackhammer’s head rolled down the steps.
Tracker was screaming. I was too stunned to do anything but stare at the headless corpse before us. In my shock I was unable to act when the Butcher reached forward and grabbed Tracker. He pulled him forward and spun him around to face out toward the cultists. I could see the darkening patch on the crotch of the agent’s pants.
“See before you the one who led them to our temple! See his sight taken by the power of the Beast!”
“WE SEE!”
The Butcher drove his sword into the stone floor and wrapped both of his massive hands around Tracker’s head. He hoisted him up into the air with ease despite Tracker’s wild flailing and terrified screams. The Butcher’s fingers pressed against Tracker’s eyes and applied pressure. I could hear as the pressure turned his eyes to jelly, hear the creaking as Tracker’s skull cracked under the force. His screams turned to a shrill shriek, inhuman, before he was finally released. He writhed on the ground at the Butcher’s feet, hands clawing madly at bloody sockets. His body trembling, he tried to rise to his feet, managed to at least get to his knees, and then the Butcher’s foot made contact. Tracker fell backwards and toppled over the edge of the platform, falling into the black abyss.
I was vaguely aware of the vomit that now stained the front of my shirt. The Butcher was turning toward me. My heart was racing. My death was upon me and my panic infused mind was filled with internal laughing and the crazed thought of “This is Sparta!” He pulled me forward before the crowd and reclaimed his sword.
“See before you the one who--”
The Butcher and and his mad followers fell quiet as the sound of laughter filled the chamber. Wild, psychotic laughter. It took myself a moment to realize I was the source. My fear induced panic had driven me to madness. I doubled over as I laughed, hands clutching at my belly. A guard stepped forward, to shut me up I imagine, and was not prepared for what came next.
I rose up fast, one arm coming away from side to deliver a sharp elbow to the guard’s jaw. I felt bone and cartilage crunch beneath my elbow. Turning on my heel I grasped at the guard’s energy rifle and wrenched it from his grip. I let my other arm swing around to wrap around the guard’s throat, pulling him close to serve as a human shield.
There would be no walking out of here, and I knew it. I didn’t use the man to help cover an escape, I used him to help cover the barrage of energy blasts I let loose from the rifle. The other guards fell one by one, charred holes burned into their flesh with every pinpoint fatal shot. I mean, guns you know? It’s what I do.
I expected the hesitation from the guards to give me that chance. The Butcher, however, was certainly more willing to sacrifice his own people. I saw him bring the massive sword around and I quickly pushed my shield away as I leaped back, landing far too close to the edge of the pit for my comfort. The blade sheared through the guard’s torso with ease, spraying up a fan of blood. I fired back, violet light flashing, beams of energy splashing against the Butcher’s body. I could smell the burning flesh of every impact, but the Butcher continued forward as though the energy was nothing more than a handful of thrown pebbles. He brought the sword down again and I barely managed to sidestep the attack. I drove the stock of the rifle into the back of the Butcher’s knee and, surprisingly, watched as he stumbled forward. The bulk of his body threw him off balance and he fell forward toward the pit. My moment of triumph was cut short when he twisted around at the last moment, reached out, and dragged me down with him into the dark.
The darkness gave way to blinding light that faded to a blue sky. I was lying on my back, staring upward, every bone in my body screaming in agony. I had expected Heaven to be less painful, and I only expected this to be Heaven because I doubted that Hell would actually have a view of the sky. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up to my hands and knees.
That was when I got my first glimpse of it. The thing. The Beast itself, here in the flesh. It towered over me, a creature of claws and fangs and eyes that raged like a living inferno. In one hand it held the shredded remains of the man formerly known as Tracker. The rest of him was a bloody smear across the thing’s lips and teeth. It watched me as I knelt there frozen in terror. Then it’s attention was suddenly snapped away and it turned to look beside me.
There stood the Butcher, arms stretched wide, tears streaming from his eyes. “Mordja!” he cried in a voice of divine ecstasy. Here was his god, delivered to him at last (or maybe him to it), and all he had ever needed to do was simply jump into the abyss.
I looked behind us and saw a rectangular opening, a perfect doorway hovering several inches above the ground. It was attached to nothing and only darkness existed within. Screams echoed from beyond the opening and, suddenly, a dozen or more robed cultists spilled out of it into the grassy field. Lemmings following their leader into death. They looked around, surprised at having not died, and then saw the Beast. They immediately went to their knees, foreheads to the earth.
The Butcher was, meanwhile, walking forward. He approached the Beast fearlessly. “Mordja! Mordja, my lord, my greatest dream! At last, I have come before you as your humble servant!”
The Beast’s voice was a deep growl that I could feel reverberating through my bones. “You,” it said. “I heard you. Calling.”
“Yes!” cried the Butcher.
“Incessant calling. You irritate me.”
Before the Butcher could express his surprise the Beast lunged forward. It happened too fast to see, so I can only describe what remained. The Butcher’s body had been transformed into a tattered resemblance of something that may have once been human. His face was a mass of pulp. His chest and abdomen were torn open, ribs shattered and guts exposed. His limbs were shredded into many strands of flesh and muscle and bone. The Butcher, a man with superior strength to the great super powered Jackhammer, had been obliterated by the thing he had worshiped as a god. And yet he lived. His heart, visible within the cavity of his chest, was beating rapidly. A single eye still alive in the mass of tissue rolled wildly.
The Beast, this thing the Butcher called Mordja, stared down at its work, snorted, and turned away. The cultists watched it go and, as one, rose and went to surround their fallen leader. They lifted him, gently, and without even a glance in my direction they carried him away into the nearby woods.
I remained there for several minutes, trying to organize everything that had happened. I finally rose to my feet and, shakily, stepped through the still open doorway into what I hoped would lead back home.
We were brought before the altar. The Butcher went to work immediately to the cries of the crowd of fellow cultists. He beheaded Jackhammer with his giant sword. He gouged out Tracker’s eyes and then flung him into the pit before the altar. When he came for me I was able to break free and steal one of the guard’s rifles. During the brief firefight I managed to knock the Butcher into the pit where he fell to his death. Several of his followers leapt to their own deaths of their own free will.
After having defeated the cult leader I was able to apprehend the remaining cultists and make contact with local authorities to have them taken away. All still living captives were recovered from their cells.
DELTA Agency successfully ended the kidnappings and killings done by the Butcher’s cult.
DELTA Agency regrets to report both Operative First Class Jackhammer and Operative Third Class Tracker as Killed In Action.
[Report End]
[Operatives: O1C Jackhammer (mission leader); O3C Tracker; O4C Marten Daltrey]
[Report prepared by Marten Daltrey]
DELTA Agency received notice of a cultist uprising centralized in North Carolina. Initial reports stated there had been several missing persons, evidence of ritualistic animal sacrifice, theft, and graffiti referencing the “Butcher” and the “Beast.” We were uncertain as to the nature of this Butcher, but the Beast was rather obvious: We had some kind of a satanic cult on our hands.
Police investigations eventually managed to apprehend a member of the cult. No direct information was obtained. The captive instead burst into flame in his holding and burned to death. No evidence was found to suggest any natural means of having started this fire and spontaneous combustion was ruled out. DELTA Agency was contacted shortly thereafter.
Operative First Class ‘Jackhammer’ and I (Operative Fourth Class ‘Marten Daltrey’) were sent to the location and there met with Operative Third Class ‘Tracker’ who had already begun initial investigations of his own. Tracker’s special abilities allow him to view ghost images of a being’s previous actions within the last twenty-four hours. Using this power he was able to backtrace the deceased captive’s trail to what appeared to be a sheer cliff wall in the local forest. This ghost image revealed the use (and code) of a camouflaged keypad. This keypad opened a hidden door in the cliff, allowing us entry into a secret underground complex.
After navigating the tunnels we located a central cavern, enormous in size. A massive stone figure of a wolf-like creature rose at the rear of the chamber on a raised platform. At its feet was a large altar adorned with ritualistic markings and items. Steps descended from the wolf-beast’s stage. There extended a wide strip of stone flooring that suddenly dropped into a dark abyss. A single narrow railless bridge of rock led away from this to the rest of the cavern, where it stretched out to a multitude of various openings and passageways, including the one we had entered from.
Out on the wolf-beast’s section of the cave were several dozen robed men and women. They were all in subservient positions of worship: kneeling with foreheads to the earth. Before them at the altar stood an enormous shirtless man, at least seven feet tall and rippling with muscle, heavily tattooed in religious patterns, and adorned with numerous articles of jewelry from rings to bracelets to necklaces. Even from a distance it was obvious these were made of bone. In one hand he held a weapon nearly as large as he was: a sword with a blade shaped not unlike a gigantic butcher’s knife. The handle ran the length of the weapon, spaced channels cut into the blade to allow for handholds. This man was, obviously, the Butcher of graffiti fame.
In the Butcher’s other hand he held a woman, stripped naked and struggling against the ropes that bound her. The Butcher chanted to his followers and they echoed him. I unslung my rifle as the cult leader hoisted the woman up onto the altar. As I prepared to take a shot, end this before the girl would lose her life as some sick sacrifice, I felt the impact of some blunt object connect with the back of my head.
I awoke to a splitting headache. Gingerly I touched the tender lump at the back of my skull where I’d been struck. Swollen, but I’d heal. I groaned as I twisted my body fully into a seated position and took in my surroundings. The three of us had been locked in a pit cell somewhere within the cavern complex. The only way in or out appeared to be a barred opening in the ceiling ten feet above our heads, from where I could hear the faint cries and whimpers of other captives. I looked at my companions, Tracker just now coming around and Jackhammer pacing at the far end of the cell.
“How long have we been in here?” I asked.
Jackhammer slowed but did not stop pacing. “Only a few minutes. Already tried the bars. Electrified.”
I grunted in response.
Tracker stared up at the opening and said, “Then we fight our way out when they open it.”
“If they open it,” Jackhammer said. “No guarantee they won’t just leave us here to rot.”
I shook my head. It hurt. Felt like fireworks going off inside my skull. “I doubt it. Sacrificial cult, right? What better sacrifice to a demon than a superhero?”
No reply to that from either of them.
About an hour passed in silence down in that dark hollow before we heard the click of the bars being unlocked. A ladder slid down and a voice called in to tell us to come up one at a time and slowly. Jackhammer took the lead, followed by Tracker and then myself. We emerged into the electric light of a large chamber, its floor dotted with more caged openings. Five robed guards stood around us, all armed with what I recognized as PR-S-6 energy rifles, an experimental weapon series using plasma based technology. Highly illegal. I saw the look of recognition in Jackhammer’s eyes and knew he understood their purpose: his bulletproof body wouldn't stand up to what those things fired and my own talents couldn't make any special use of them.
We were ushered forward into the cavern labyrinth, eventually emerging into the great ritual chamber. We were met with a mob of robed cultists gathered in a half-circle around their wolf-beast idol. The Butcher stood at the front of his flock and motioned for us to be brought forward to the altar. Once there he raised his enormous sword overhead to sound of a thunderous roar of approval from the cultists.
“See before you three men who would seek to prevent us from achieving our purpose!”
“WE SEE!”
“See before you three men who would seek to prevent the birth of the great Beast unto our world!”
“WE SEE!”
“See their blood! See it spill to appease our lord! See it call to the Beast!”
“WE SEE!”
“See the one who leads them! See him brought low by the Beast’s power!”
“WE SEE!” The crowd roared as the Butcher took hold of Jackhammer and shoved him onto the altar. Jackhammer struggled and pushed back, but as he did I saw fear fill his eyes. He knew, knew all too well, that even his super-human strength was no match for the Butcher’s own. The bastard pushed Jackhammer back as if he were a child, held him there with one foot. The enormous blade rose again. Fell.
The crowd exploded into cheers as Jackhammer’s head rolled down the steps.
Tracker was screaming. I was too stunned to do anything but stare at the headless corpse before us. In my shock I was unable to act when the Butcher reached forward and grabbed Tracker. He pulled him forward and spun him around to face out toward the cultists. I could see the darkening patch on the crotch of the agent’s pants.
“See before you the one who led them to our temple! See his sight taken by the power of the Beast!”
“WE SEE!”
The Butcher drove his sword into the stone floor and wrapped both of his massive hands around Tracker’s head. He hoisted him up into the air with ease despite Tracker’s wild flailing and terrified screams. The Butcher’s fingers pressed against Tracker’s eyes and applied pressure. I could hear as the pressure turned his eyes to jelly, hear the creaking as Tracker’s skull cracked under the force. His screams turned to a shrill shriek, inhuman, before he was finally released. He writhed on the ground at the Butcher’s feet, hands clawing madly at bloody sockets. His body trembling, he tried to rise to his feet, managed to at least get to his knees, and then the Butcher’s foot made contact. Tracker fell backwards and toppled over the edge of the platform, falling into the black abyss.
I was vaguely aware of the vomit that now stained the front of my shirt. The Butcher was turning toward me. My heart was racing. My death was upon me and my panic infused mind was filled with internal laughing and the crazed thought of “This is Sparta!” He pulled me forward before the crowd and reclaimed his sword.
“See before you the one who--”
The Butcher and and his mad followers fell quiet as the sound of laughter filled the chamber. Wild, psychotic laughter. It took myself a moment to realize I was the source. My fear induced panic had driven me to madness. I doubled over as I laughed, hands clutching at my belly. A guard stepped forward, to shut me up I imagine, and was not prepared for what came next.
I rose up fast, one arm coming away from side to deliver a sharp elbow to the guard’s jaw. I felt bone and cartilage crunch beneath my elbow. Turning on my heel I grasped at the guard’s energy rifle and wrenched it from his grip. I let my other arm swing around to wrap around the guard’s throat, pulling him close to serve as a human shield.
There would be no walking out of here, and I knew it. I didn’t use the man to help cover an escape, I used him to help cover the barrage of energy blasts I let loose from the rifle. The other guards fell one by one, charred holes burned into their flesh with every pinpoint fatal shot. I mean, guns you know? It’s what I do.
I expected the hesitation from the guards to give me that chance. The Butcher, however, was certainly more willing to sacrifice his own people. I saw him bring the massive sword around and I quickly pushed my shield away as I leaped back, landing far too close to the edge of the pit for my comfort. The blade sheared through the guard’s torso with ease, spraying up a fan of blood. I fired back, violet light flashing, beams of energy splashing against the Butcher’s body. I could smell the burning flesh of every impact, but the Butcher continued forward as though the energy was nothing more than a handful of thrown pebbles. He brought the sword down again and I barely managed to sidestep the attack. I drove the stock of the rifle into the back of the Butcher’s knee and, surprisingly, watched as he stumbled forward. The bulk of his body threw him off balance and he fell forward toward the pit. My moment of triumph was cut short when he twisted around at the last moment, reached out, and dragged me down with him into the dark.
The darkness gave way to blinding light that faded to a blue sky. I was lying on my back, staring upward, every bone in my body screaming in agony. I had expected Heaven to be less painful, and I only expected this to be Heaven because I doubted that Hell would actually have a view of the sky. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up to my hands and knees.
That was when I got my first glimpse of it. The thing. The Beast itself, here in the flesh. It towered over me, a creature of claws and fangs and eyes that raged like a living inferno. In one hand it held the shredded remains of the man formerly known as Tracker. The rest of him was a bloody smear across the thing’s lips and teeth. It watched me as I knelt there frozen in terror. Then it’s attention was suddenly snapped away and it turned to look beside me.
There stood the Butcher, arms stretched wide, tears streaming from his eyes. “Mordja!” he cried in a voice of divine ecstasy. Here was his god, delivered to him at last (or maybe him to it), and all he had ever needed to do was simply jump into the abyss.
I looked behind us and saw a rectangular opening, a perfect doorway hovering several inches above the ground. It was attached to nothing and only darkness existed within. Screams echoed from beyond the opening and, suddenly, a dozen or more robed cultists spilled out of it into the grassy field. Lemmings following their leader into death. They looked around, surprised at having not died, and then saw the Beast. They immediately went to their knees, foreheads to the earth.
The Butcher was, meanwhile, walking forward. He approached the Beast fearlessly. “Mordja! Mordja, my lord, my greatest dream! At last, I have come before you as your humble servant!”
The Beast’s voice was a deep growl that I could feel reverberating through my bones. “You,” it said. “I heard you. Calling.”
“Yes!” cried the Butcher.
“Incessant calling. You irritate me.”
Before the Butcher could express his surprise the Beast lunged forward. It happened too fast to see, so I can only describe what remained. The Butcher’s body had been transformed into a tattered resemblance of something that may have once been human. His face was a mass of pulp. His chest and abdomen were torn open, ribs shattered and guts exposed. His limbs were shredded into many strands of flesh and muscle and bone. The Butcher, a man with superior strength to the great super powered Jackhammer, had been obliterated by the thing he had worshiped as a god. And yet he lived. His heart, visible within the cavity of his chest, was beating rapidly. A single eye still alive in the mass of tissue rolled wildly.
The Beast, this thing the Butcher called Mordja, stared down at its work, snorted, and turned away. The cultists watched it go and, as one, rose and went to surround their fallen leader. They lifted him, gently, and without even a glance in my direction they carried him away into the nearby woods.
I remained there for several minutes, trying to organize everything that had happened. I finally rose to my feet and, shakily, stepped through the still open doorway into what I hoped would lead back home.
We were brought before the altar. The Butcher went to work immediately to the cries of the crowd of fellow cultists. He beheaded Jackhammer with his giant sword. He gouged out Tracker’s eyes and then flung him into the pit before the altar. When he came for me I was able to break free and steal one of the guard’s rifles. During the brief firefight I managed to knock the Butcher into the pit where he fell to his death. Several of his followers leapt to their own deaths of their own free will.
After having defeated the cult leader I was able to apprehend the remaining cultists and make contact with local authorities to have them taken away. All still living captives were recovered from their cells.
DELTA Agency successfully ended the kidnappings and killings done by the Butcher’s cult.
DELTA Agency regrets to report both Operative First Class Jackhammer and Operative Third Class Tracker as Killed In Action.
[Report End]