From: tprendergast@phenomen-x.com To: dg@phenomen-x.com Subject: DG Email Intercept 002 More from the front lines of the DELTA GREEN conspiracy. This is getting freaky. If you missed the previous message, go to the forums at . We are recruiting volunteers to archive these messages on their web pages and have a couple signed up already. The more we get the harder it is for the DELTA GREEN conspiracy to suppress us! COURAGE! Thomas Prendergast Assistant Production Specialist & Webmaster Phenomen-X http://www.phenomen-x.com/ "Phenomen-X", "Watching the Watchers", and the Phenomen-X Logo are all Copyright 1990 Haley Productions. Comments made by employees in email do not necessarily represent the official statements or opinions of Haley Productions. --- From: "Agent Graham" To: "Alphonse" Received: from unknown (HELO AGr098) (216.115.141.50) Status: Content-Type: text/plain;charset="iso-8859-1" Subject: Shit, Meet Fan Date: Mon, 8 Apr 2002 06:45:12 -0500 Alphonse, This is now a full fledged Night at the Opera. Get on the horn. Get G cell in here pronto. I left Father Marks' place to the locals and rushed over to his office in Bobet Hall. His junker was parked in faculty parking. I Slim-Jim-ed the door, popped the hood and yanked the distributor cap. I knew the kiddie porn rap was bullshit, but thought he still might rabbit on me. Kiddie porn tends to make folks' brains turn off and put their emotions in overdrive. That's why it's so good for bad-jacketing a target. And if it wasn't Father Marks using the car I wanted to make sure that whoever was driving it around didn't make a quick getaway. The rent-a-cops were no problem to avoid. Physical security was a little tougher. When I got to Father Marks' office I could hear someone inside. They were quiet, so I knew they weren't cops. I screwed the suppressor onto my SOCOM .45, snapped on the laser sight and engaged the slide lock. No reason to wake the kids, right? Bear with me on this, Alphonse, okay? This is what I saw. No bull, no embellishment. What I saw coming out of the office was Father Marks dressed in a white suit, red tie, long coat. That threw me for a sec because the Father is usually all sweaters and tweed, but it was definitely him. His arms were full of books and papers. When he saw me his face looked like he'd just been caught coming out of the ladies' room. Then he smiled with relief, called my name and sputtered something about how the charges against him weren't true and that he was being set up. Then I saw it. Light from the window in his office door was throwing his shadow against the opposite wall. And his shadow wasn't human. It was something big, bigger than Father Marks; something crouched, with broad shoulders; something with a long canine muzzle. I think it smelled the rush of adrenaline through me, because it made a face with Father Marks' visage, an expression of confusion and alarm. Then it glanced at its shadow, and it knew too. What happens next was almost too fast. It threw the books and papers right at my face just as I got off a shot. I put a frangible in it just above the belt-line and blew a fist-sized chunk out of its guts. The papers and books hit me in the chest and I lost sight of it for a second as it smashed back through the office door. It was across the office, over the desk and out the window, face-first, and two stories down to the shrubbery before I could get in the office after it. By the time I got to the window, it was on its feet and running across the quad towards St. Charles Ave., holding its guts in with both hands. At that range I didn't waste a second shot. With all the noise I figured I had seconds left before the rent-a-cops turned up. I grabbed the papers and books the thing was carrying and got out of there. Don't worry, I policed my brass. Even so, the thing left a lot of blood behind, all over the office and in the hall. I don't know what the cops are going to make of it, but once the campus police report the break in, the Father's car is going to be impounded. Probably already is. I'll get on my N.O.P.D. contacts about getting a look inside it after I get a few hours of shut-eye. I'm in the French Quarter safe-house. Get G cell in here. And get us something with more punch than I found at the Green Box on Magazine Street. Glazer Safety Slugs are supposed to do the job in one shot, but that thing went out the window like Dar Robinson. And the noise it made when I shot it wasn't human. It roared like an animal. We're gonna need bigger guns. Be Seeing You, Agent Graham ---