DELTA GREEN // CHOPSTICK HEADCOUNT (Part 1)

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// CHOPSTICK HEADCOUNT //


Authored By: Special Agent Susan Fields (code name HARKONEN)

Date: 12th March 2019

Special Agent Nick Daniels (HEFFALUMP), Lilia Fox (HORUS) and myself were briefed in New York by our usual contact, Supervisory Special Agent Marcus Neil on operation CHOPSTICK HEADCOUNT.


This operation had come out of FBI investigations into the involvement of foreign powers into our voting system. Suspicious packages have been sent via the US postal service to a PO Box belonging to a former member of a group of occult criminals known as Fate. Fate is thought to have been shutdown by 2003 or so, but some of its old members are still Persons Of Interest.


The packages were metal cubes, similar to a puzzle box that opens into two halves, with a spherical space within about large enough to hold a bowling ball. Unfortunately, the people who intercepted these boxes only examined them briefly before allowing them to be sent on to their destination, so we didn’t have full details of exactly what they were made of, or of the actual composition of the organic residue that was found inside. Only some basic photos of the items.


The recipient XXXXX XXXXXXX has been recently hosting parties for wealthy and privileged members of US real estate businesses. Though the FBI did not find anything suspicious about these boxes (as far as we have been told), Delta Green is interested due to her previous involvement with Fate and the unusual nature of the boxes.


The parties are generally exclusive to a small set of people, and their location is not published ahead of time, but Delta Green had obtained an invitation which could potentially be used to gain access to one that will be held in three days.


    You have been invited to partake in the Wisdom of the Alzabo
    At 8 PM, 03/15/2019, be at the intersection of Nassau and Pine
    Street on Manhattan Island.


    Have this card with you.


    Do not bring weapons or electronic devices


We decided to go as a single group, with myself posing as an estate agent from Oxford named Felicity Redfoot. Fox took the cover of a Tamara Smalls (a baker of cakes), and Daniels took the identity of Marcus Crowe, the owner of dog kennels. Both Fox and Daniels were very keen for us to be in a ‘non-traditional’ relationship as part of our cover identity, and I am somewhat concerned at how quickly and enthusiastically they fell into the role.


15th March, 8pm


We were standing at the junction of Nassau and Pine, dressed for a party and myself carrying an old style cheap Kodak film camera in my purse. At 8pm, a black limousine turned up and on presentation of the invitation card we were allowed in. The tinting on the windows of the limo were probably illegal, but the mini bar was well stocked with champagne and spirits.


After about twenty minutes the car stopped in a multi-story car park, where a second limo was waiting, as well as a man with a wand for checking us for electronic devices and guns. They did not notice the camera, and we were ushered into the second car and driven off, for about an hour.


Our final destination turned out to be a rather expensive house on (as we managed to determine later) Lake Avenue in Greenwich. There were a number of other cars parked there, which I took details of, and there were five others waiting inside, with no sign of any staff.


I introduced myself and my partners to those present, using my upper class English accent, and took notes of their names. One was a retired military officer from Westpoint, the others were mostly real estate agents. 


One thing we did notice about the house was that there were no signs of electronic devices – no TVs, phones or other items.


Our hostess then arrived, and invited us to have dinner. The first (and as it turned out, only) course was a greyish looking risotto, along with a clear drink of unknown type. We were informed that the way to consume it was to down the drink, then eat the food.


Since others appeared to be doing it, myself and Fox downed the drink and ate the food. Almost immediately there was a rush of thoughts – as if the memories of another person were filling my head.


As the outside thoughts stabilised, I got the feeling that they belonged to a biologist called Dr Scott Craken. There were memories of a crater in Topeka Kansas, where something fell, still alive and screaming as it was investigated.


There were images of a seed, which hatched into an inky black tree that towered over the landscape and blossomed with strange red flowers. And finally a feeling of waking up from a nightmare, and that the terrors were all a dream that never happened.


When the memories passed, I was left with a feeling that there was something I had missed, that I had failed to understand. There were fading memories of dreams about a song that promised fecundity and endless burgeoning life. I only assume that the memories came from the food that we ate, which were possibly the brains of this biologist.


One final word that I remember is Majestic, a word that was mentioned previously by the retired FBI agent we spoke to during operation SHALE OIL.


After dinner there was coffee and tea outside. Most of the others talked about the experience, and it seems like this is not the first time they have done something like this. I noticed a strange similarity in the way they moved and acted after the event.


I took the opportunity to explore a bit of the house, but it seemed not to be lived in, possibly a show house. In one cupboard in the kitchen was a metal box which looked identical to those we had pictures of.


Within the box was some grey matter, similar to that which we had eaten. I took a sample and closed and replaced the box. Out of the three of us, only Special Agent Daniels had avoided eating and drinking, but he had a sample of the drink.


We were returned back to New York by Limo, where we need to perform some tests on the samples we have, and look up details on the other guests before we decide how to progress on this. I do not look forward to sleep tonight.

Samuel Penn

Samuel Penn