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Deception is a right. Truth is a privilege. Innocence is a luxury. Born of the U.S. government’s 1928 raid on the degenerate coastal town of Innsmouth, Massachusetts, the covert agency known as Delta Green spent four decades opposing the forces of darkness with honor, but without glory. Stripped of sanction after a disastrous 1969 operation in Cambodia, Delta Green’s leaders made a secret pact: to continue their work without authority, without support, and without fear. Delta Green agents slip through the system, manipulating the federal bureaucracy while pushing the darkness back for another day — but often at a shattering personal cost.

Operational Intelligence

Punks…

Chicago, Illinois. An individual known as Raven Derleth has rose ranks among the cities Persons Of Special Interests… at one time he was a sort of informant to a team of Delta Green operatives in the investigation of disappearances in children that were occuring several years ag
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The Last Equation

A Delta Green investigation by Dennis Detwiller, © 2010 Brussels-born mathematician, sage and astronomer Fascius Claudan (1535-1561) was responsible for many minor breakthroughs in science and technology during his short but broadly travelled life. Between journeys to Egypt, Persia, c
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Music From a Darkened Room

A Delta Green Investigation for One to Four Agents By Dennis Detwiller, © 2005  Places, like people, sometimes go wrong. They turn off the path and head into the shadows, becoming something other than normal. Black places filled with blank rooms, closed doors and empty hallways lined
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Philosophy

By Dennis Detwiller, © 2011 He sits in a green jumpsuit, looking wasted and thin and gray like cardboard. He has a cigarette unlit in his right hand, which is pulled up to his face, scratching his temple with his thumb. He scratches too long. His eyes are lost behind a spray of white-
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Intelligences

By Dennis Detwiller, © 2011 Albert Syme is an odd sort who keeps to himself. Floppy and dire, he looks like a clerk, and that’s what he is; one of the thousands that haunt the lunch carts on Washington Avenue at noon. Syme’s glasses hang on the end of his nose like a man poised at the
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