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Story Hour
Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 3983096" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Welcome to the Show: Part 3d – Jake’s Story</strong></p><p></p><p>On the Upper East Side, at the end of a strip of yuppie shops, beneath the Teese Plaza, past a walk-down of thirty-one steps, was Club Apocalypse. The Rising was invited to play there on Wednesday night.</p><p></p><p>On the wall leading to the entrance to the dance floor, bar, and back rooms were more than forty black-and-white photographs.</p><p></p><p>Spider snorted, toting some equipment in. "That's Hubert. Robert Hubert."</p><p></p><p>"The manager?" asked Jake. He hefted a speaker in each hand.</p><p></p><p>"Yah," said Karl. "The owner. Lookit the pictures close though."</p><p></p><p>Each photo portrayed Hubert--his plain, still face giving no expression--shaking hands with a famous star: Elvis, John Lennon, Harry Nillson, Sid Vicious, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and so on. Each had a personal inscription and a date written on it. In each photo, however, Hubert appeared in exactly the same clothes and pose, and with the same expression, as if each photo was taken in rapid succession instead of years apart.</p><p></p><p>"Weird s**t, yah?" asked Dave, the Jamaican. He passed by with his bass guitar slung over his shoulder.</p><p></p><p>"Yeah," said Jake uneasily. "Weird."</p><p></p><p>"This is the big time, right?" asked Baz, the lead guitarist. He had his own guitar slung over his shoulder.</p><p></p><p>Spider ushered them in as they set up. "Damn straight. If we get invited to come back to play at Club Apocalypse a second time, a record contract isn't far behind. This is where we make it or break it. It's how Charnel Dreams did it."</p><p></p><p>"Speak of the devil," whispered Karl. "Here's the man himself."</p><p></p><p>A gaunt-looking man with distinctly Aryan features strode towards them. He looked twenty-five at most, but his skin had a somewhat plastic complexion to kit. He had prominent, high cheekbones, a narrow chin, a long face, and a heavy brow.</p><p></p><p>Spider extended one hand, but Robert just looked at it. "Hello," he said. "I'm afraid there was some misunderstanding. You're not playing here tonight."</p><p></p><p>Spider glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that Jake was nearby. "No? But our contact said..."</p><p></p><p>"No," said Robert mechanically. "You're our special guests. You're playing at the real Club Apocalypse. Follow me please."</p><p></p><p>Well away from the club proper, through a pair of unmarked but well-worn doors, lay the lower rooms. A stairwell slowly descended down three floors, each floor offering unmarked doors. The stairs spiraled in a lazy loop, in which the cheap plasterboard gave way to old stone. It looked like the stairs went much lower than three floors, but after the third a silken rope blocked the way.</p><p></p><p>Robert stopped at the second level down and walked to the middle door. It opened into an entire secondary dance floor with a bar.</p><p></p><p>"This place doesn't look like it could contain more than four dozen people at most," said Karl.</p><p></p><p>Robert nodded. "You're playing for a very special audience." He pointed a pasty finger. "Please set up."</p><p></p><p>Then he left the room and closed the door behind him.</p><p></p><p>The Rising had barely finished setting up and performing a sound check when people began filtering into the room. All were dressed to the nines, though the attire varied. Some came in suits, others in dress reminiscent of Victorian England. Still others looked like doctors, bankers, rap stars, and gang members. They all gathered around tables, each with their own posse, which made for a crowded room. Nobody was dancing.</p><p></p><p>The Rising started to play, timidly at first. The men looked on, whispering amongst themselves. Spider wisely switched gears to songs you could talk around, although they still involved a lot of screaming. It just took longer for him to reach the screaming part.</p><p></p><p>"Oh good, you're here," said a smooth voice.</p><p></p><p>Jake turned around to see a thin, fine-looking Arab staring up at him from a nearby table. He was dressed impeccably in a white suit. He indicated the only other chair at the small table. "Please, have a seat."</p><p></p><p>Jake hesitated, looking back at the band he was responsible for.</p><p></p><p>"Oh, don't worry, they're quite safe. While at Club Apocalypse, they're under my protection. Please." The man smiled again, but it was the smile of a shark. "Sit."</p><p></p><p>Jake nodded and slowly lowered himself to the table. There was a drink waiting for him.</p><p></p><p>"Having something to drink?”</p><p></p><p>Jake shook his head. </p><p></p><p>“Oh that's right, no more alcohol for you. A Coke then, hmm?"</p><p></p><p>Jake looked down. He took an experimental sip. Yep, it was a Coke.</p><p></p><p>"My name is Stephen. Stephen Alzis. I own the Apocalypse Club."</p><p></p><p>"Nice to meet you, Mister Alzis. I'm..."</p><p></p><p>"I know who you are, Jacob." Stephen smiled. "Please, call me Stephen." He took a sip of his drink. It was a bright green concoction with a little colorful umbrella sticking out of it. "How are you enjoying my Club?"</p><p></p><p>"It's nice," said Jake. He got the impression he was in the presence of an important person, but he didn't feel flattered.</p><p></p><p>Stephen chuckled. "A man of few words. That's good." He took another sip. "I'll get right to the point. Have you seen your son lately?"</p><p></p><p>Jake straightened. "Excuse me?"</p><p></p><p>"Don't be offended. I have very extensive contacts all over the world." Stephen chuckled good-naturedly. "You don't get to live as long as I have without those kinds of connections."</p><p></p><p>Jake took a sip of his coke. He wasn't sure how to respond to this man.</p><p></p><p>"Alex is a very special child, Jacob. But you haven't been a very good father, have you? His mother doesn't let you see him."</p><p></p><p>Jake's eyes narrowed. "Did you get that from one of Christine's lawyers?"</p><p></p><p>Stephen waved him off. "Connections, remember?" He sighed. "I said I'd get right to the point but I didn't. You've made a liar out of me, Jacob, and that never happens. This whole business, it's really very upsetting to me. And I haven't been upset in a few centuries."</p><p></p><p>Jake laughed nervously. Stephen wasn't laughing.</p><p></p><p>"Take care of your boy, Jacob." He leaned forward. "That's not a threat. That's fatherly advice. Alex and I...we have a lot in common. And I think you can tell by the company I keep that you don't want your boy growing up to be like me, do you?"</p><p></p><p>Jake was careful not to respond to the verbal trap.</p><p></p><p>"No, you don't," Stephen finished for him. He fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table. "Take this, as a gift from me. Quit this crazy business and go home."</p><p></p><p>Jake picked up the paper. Sure enough, it was a one-way ticket to Arizona airport. When he looked up, Stephen was gone and The Rising had just finished their set.</p><p></p><p>Spider was staring at Jake. "F**king hell, that was Stephen Alzis you were just talking to!"</p><p></p><p>Jake nodded. "Yeah. So?"</p><p></p><p>Karl rubbed his forehead. "You didn't take anything from him, did you?" His gaze wandered to the ticket in Jake's hand. "Ah Christ, you did! Did you accept it?"</p><p></p><p>"I think so."</p><p></p><p>Baz shook his head. "Poor bastard."</p><p></p><p>"What?" Jake got to his feet. "What?"</p><p></p><p>"Alzis never gives anything for free," said Dave. "You just made a deal with the devil."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 3983096, member: 3285"] [b]Welcome to the Show: Part 3d – Jake’s Story[/b] On the Upper East Side, at the end of a strip of yuppie shops, beneath the Teese Plaza, past a walk-down of thirty-one steps, was Club Apocalypse. The Rising was invited to play there on Wednesday night. On the wall leading to the entrance to the dance floor, bar, and back rooms were more than forty black-and-white photographs. Spider snorted, toting some equipment in. "That's Hubert. Robert Hubert." "The manager?" asked Jake. He hefted a speaker in each hand. "Yah," said Karl. "The owner. Lookit the pictures close though." Each photo portrayed Hubert--his plain, still face giving no expression--shaking hands with a famous star: Elvis, John Lennon, Harry Nillson, Sid Vicious, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, and so on. Each had a personal inscription and a date written on it. In each photo, however, Hubert appeared in exactly the same clothes and pose, and with the same expression, as if each photo was taken in rapid succession instead of years apart. "Weird s**t, yah?" asked Dave, the Jamaican. He passed by with his bass guitar slung over his shoulder. "Yeah," said Jake uneasily. "Weird." "This is the big time, right?" asked Baz, the lead guitarist. He had his own guitar slung over his shoulder. Spider ushered them in as they set up. "Damn straight. If we get invited to come back to play at Club Apocalypse a second time, a record contract isn't far behind. This is where we make it or break it. It's how Charnel Dreams did it." "Speak of the devil," whispered Karl. "Here's the man himself." A gaunt-looking man with distinctly Aryan features strode towards them. He looked twenty-five at most, but his skin had a somewhat plastic complexion to kit. He had prominent, high cheekbones, a narrow chin, a long face, and a heavy brow. Spider extended one hand, but Robert just looked at it. "Hello," he said. "I'm afraid there was some misunderstanding. You're not playing here tonight." Spider glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that Jake was nearby. "No? But our contact said..." "No," said Robert mechanically. "You're our special guests. You're playing at the real Club Apocalypse. Follow me please." Well away from the club proper, through a pair of unmarked but well-worn doors, lay the lower rooms. A stairwell slowly descended down three floors, each floor offering unmarked doors. The stairs spiraled in a lazy loop, in which the cheap plasterboard gave way to old stone. It looked like the stairs went much lower than three floors, but after the third a silken rope blocked the way. Robert stopped at the second level down and walked to the middle door. It opened into an entire secondary dance floor with a bar. "This place doesn't look like it could contain more than four dozen people at most," said Karl. Robert nodded. "You're playing for a very special audience." He pointed a pasty finger. "Please set up." Then he left the room and closed the door behind him. The Rising had barely finished setting up and performing a sound check when people began filtering into the room. All were dressed to the nines, though the attire varied. Some came in suits, others in dress reminiscent of Victorian England. Still others looked like doctors, bankers, rap stars, and gang members. They all gathered around tables, each with their own posse, which made for a crowded room. Nobody was dancing. The Rising started to play, timidly at first. The men looked on, whispering amongst themselves. Spider wisely switched gears to songs you could talk around, although they still involved a lot of screaming. It just took longer for him to reach the screaming part. "Oh good, you're here," said a smooth voice. Jake turned around to see a thin, fine-looking Arab staring up at him from a nearby table. He was dressed impeccably in a white suit. He indicated the only other chair at the small table. "Please, have a seat." Jake hesitated, looking back at the band he was responsible for. "Oh, don't worry, they're quite safe. While at Club Apocalypse, they're under my protection. Please." The man smiled again, but it was the smile of a shark. "Sit." Jake nodded and slowly lowered himself to the table. There was a drink waiting for him. "Having something to drink?” Jake shook his head. “Oh that's right, no more alcohol for you. A Coke then, hmm?" Jake looked down. He took an experimental sip. Yep, it was a Coke. "My name is Stephen. Stephen Alzis. I own the Apocalypse Club." "Nice to meet you, Mister Alzis. I'm..." "I know who you are, Jacob." Stephen smiled. "Please, call me Stephen." He took a sip of his drink. It was a bright green concoction with a little colorful umbrella sticking out of it. "How are you enjoying my Club?" "It's nice," said Jake. He got the impression he was in the presence of an important person, but he didn't feel flattered. Stephen chuckled. "A man of few words. That's good." He took another sip. "I'll get right to the point. Have you seen your son lately?" Jake straightened. "Excuse me?" "Don't be offended. I have very extensive contacts all over the world." Stephen chuckled good-naturedly. "You don't get to live as long as I have without those kinds of connections." Jake took a sip of his coke. He wasn't sure how to respond to this man. "Alex is a very special child, Jacob. But you haven't been a very good father, have you? His mother doesn't let you see him." Jake's eyes narrowed. "Did you get that from one of Christine's lawyers?" Stephen waved him off. "Connections, remember?" He sighed. "I said I'd get right to the point but I didn't. You've made a liar out of me, Jacob, and that never happens. This whole business, it's really very upsetting to me. And I haven't been upset in a few centuries." Jake laughed nervously. Stephen wasn't laughing. "Take care of your boy, Jacob." He leaned forward. "That's not a threat. That's fatherly advice. Alex and I...we have a lot in common. And I think you can tell by the company I keep that you don't want your boy growing up to be like me, do you?" Jake was careful not to respond to the verbal trap. "No, you don't," Stephen finished for him. He fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table. "Take this, as a gift from me. Quit this crazy business and go home." Jake picked up the paper. Sure enough, it was a one-way ticket to Arizona airport. When he looked up, Stephen was gone and The Rising had just finished their set. Spider was staring at Jake. "F**king hell, that was Stephen Alzis you were just talking to!" Jake nodded. "Yeah. So?" Karl rubbed his forehead. "You didn't take anything from him, did you?" His gaze wandered to the ticket in Jake's hand. "Ah Christ, you did! Did you accept it?" "I think so." Baz shook his head. "Poor bastard." "What?" Jake got to his feet. "What?" "Alzis never gives anything for free," said Dave. "You just made a deal with the devil." [/QUOTE]
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