logo


Commercial Fever

Categories: Section Eight

Subj:	 Delta Green Commercials
Date:	99-01-22 18:37:50 EST
From:	msb216@is7.nyu.edu (Michael Beck)

        It was too late, he thought as the waves twisted and warped,
falling *downwards* even in the middle of the sea.  Three centuries and
more Delta Green had battled the forces of darkness, sometimes winning,
sometimes not.  But in the end, even when they lost it hadn't mattered.
People died and nations fell, but humanity had gone on.
        But not this time.  As he picked himself off the deck, he could
see Stephen Alzis laughing his head off as he stood on the water as if
it were land.  It wasn't a pretty laugh, it was the laugh of the
villians on the holoes.  Or rather, what the programmers strived for.  A
laugh that chilled the bone, that ate the soul.  The situation was made
even worse by the fact that the setting was beautiful.  A warm August
day in the middle of the ocean, even though too polluted to swim in the
sea reflected the white sun's rays, unblocked by ozone, magnificently.
        The hole in the ocean widened, and from it tentacles rose, in
numbers beyond counting..  No, not tentacles.  *Cilia*.  Now a real
tentacle came out, and it was horrible beyond words.  And through it
all, the same silence, with only Alzis breaking it.
        "I have done as you asked!" he screamed.  "I have freed you,
Great Cthulhu.  Now, grant me my wish.  Make me immortal, make me live
forever."
        I WILL GRANT YOUR WISH, YOUR *TRUE* WISH.  YOU WISH  TO ESCAPE
FEAR OF DEATH.  AND SUCH WILL I DO.
        A tentacle came down, and crushed the sorcerer where he stood.
        There was only one thing left to do.  The agent fingered the
item in his pocket.  It was an unornamented bar made of some material he
couldn't identify, and was his only hope.  One of a kind, battle.Delta
Green had discovered it, in 2035 and put it into a stasis field, waiting
for the final He threw it into the pit, in the way a dying man on Mars
might struggle to suck on a bit of oxygen.
        Now there was a scream, one on a million frequences, one within
the mind itself.
        NO!!  THIS CANNOT BE.  THIS ISN'T THE WAY ITS **SUPPOSED** TO
HAPPEN!!  The rate of closure began to slow, as Cthulhu fought the power
of the item.  But it did not stop.  Any Mythos creature hated the Elder
Sign, and the item he had thrown in was the ultimate Elder Sign.  A
manufacturing error had created it, produced a material which by pure
chance had a unique molecule which repeated the Elder Sign over and
over, tens of millions of times.  And every one of them was affecting
Cthulhu.
        The scream did not die away, but was cut off as if with a
switch.  But the Agent knew he would remember that scream for the rest
of his life.
        Slowly he picked himself up, walked past the bodies of the rest
of his Cell, went to the quantaphone.  He punched a number, and a face
came up.
        "Since we're not all did, I presume you were successful."
Alphonse replied.
        "Yeah.  But can I ask a question?"
        "Depends on what it it."
        "That item, what *were* they manufacturing, when they produced
it by accident?"
        "There's no harm in telling you.  They were trying to produce
cheese."

        BEHOLD THE POWER OF CHEESE
        Agent Elena looked through the window.  No sign of the hostages
yet, they'd only be brought out at the height of the ceremony.  Which
meant she would have to wait till then.  She brought out her automatic
and checked it for the umpteenth time.  She didn't expect it to have
changed, but it was a habit she had no intention of breaking.
        Below, the chant was beginning.  "We call upon you, our Great
Lord.  We call thee by thy first name.  And this name is
Rikkophuwmijughfouscadymladniaentaldnelthalkdkcieu
ujauatiasudakntiandiutantidsuidy."
        Elena's eyes bulged.  He could *remember* that?  True, the
cultists were dumb enough to think they could call up an Outer God that
was going to behave, but they had just gone up a notch in her
estimation.
           "For thou hast ten thousand names, each longer than the one
before.  And the second of these name is . . ."

NOT GOING ANYWHERE FOR A WHILE?  GRAB A SNICKERS
A radar station spins around, then suddenly points in a specific direction.

RADAR DISK, PART OF A SECRET NATIONWIDE NETWORK.   COLLECTIVELY, 2.3
BILLION DOLLARS

In a underground command center, an operator points to a screen.

PROJECT POUNCE C&C, 800 MILLION DOLLARS

In a locker room, an alarm sounds. Extremely strong looking people grab guns and helmets and run towards the door.

NRO DELTA ENHANCED PERSONNEL, 1.8 MILLION DOLLARS

We see strangely triangular planes being prepped for takeoff.

AURORA INTERCEPTORS WITH ELECTROGRAVITIC PROPULSION, 9 BILLION DOLLARS

A technician eats pretzels.

PRETZELS, 1.49

A secret door opens up in the desert ground.

HIDDEN UNDERGROUND RUNWAY, 119 MILLION DOLLARS

The Auroras fly through the air. Suddenly they release a barrage of missiles.

AIR-TO-AIR MISSILES WITH NEUTRINO TARGETING, 1.1 MILLION DOLLARS EACH

The missiles impact on a *shape*. No other description is possible as it shares nothing in common with that which is built by human hands or conceived with human minds.

ALIEN "SPACECRAFT," COST NOT MEASUREABLE IN HUMAN TERMS

SOME THINGS IN LIFE MONEY CAN'T BUY.  FOR EVERYHING ELSE, THERE'S
MASTERCARD.
Shane Ivey runs Arc Dream Publishing and is the lead editor of the newest Delta Green projects.

Leave a Reply