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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: 3997960" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Welcome to the Show: Part 4c – Hank’s Story</strong></p><p></p><p>The Van Dyson Center was a modern three-story facility in the low mountains northeast of Samson. It rested in isolation, on a large tract of tree-dotted land owned by the doctor. The Center was reached by a private road that wound through the occasional stands of trees and over shallow, usually dry, creek beds. The wilderness was a place of serenity, a place for healing, for rest.</p><p></p><p>The building was in the shape of a V, arms opening to face a small parking lot. Within the clinic’s three floors were facilities for sixteen patients, including areas for creation and visiting as well as therapy rooms, a nurse’s office, a kitchen, and various storage and maintenance rooms. </p><p></p><p>Hector shuffled Hank down the hallway from Van Dyson’s office. He hated the long walk. The rec room was at the end of the V. Hector would deposit him there while he got the new medication. Inside, patients, along with orderlies, milled about. They watched television, played checkers, stared out the window, or sometimes stared at nothing at all.</p><p></p><p>Hector left him, and a scruffy-looking young man sidled up to Hank.</p><p></p><p>“Hullo Hanky,” he sneered. </p><p></p><p>“Hi Damon,” said Hank. He disliked Damon Newcomb but had no reason to. Beyond the fact that the man called him Hanky, it was more a general vibe of hostility that Damon radiated. Damon was a failed academic and it was perhaps that fact that bound them together. </p><p></p><p>“Did you see it?”</p><p></p><p>Hank rubbed his forehead. He dreaded this part. All the patients knew he was in a session with Dr. van Dyson. And each had their own special question.</p><p></p><p>“No, Damon. I didn’t see his cane.”</p><p></p><p>Damon looked shocked and disappointed. It was a testament to his insanity that he was able to muster the emotion every single time Hank met with the doctor. </p><p></p><p>“You’re sure? You’re sure he didn’t conceal it? Like, maybe as an umbrella or something?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m not sure,” said Hank. “But it wasn’t laying around if that’s what you’re asking.”</p><p></p><p>Damon chuckled. “I like talking to you, Hanky. Your accent cheers me up.”</p><p></p><p>Hank rolled his eyes. His Indian accent wasn’t so thick that was he was incomprehensible. But then, Americans had problems with accents.</p><p></p><p>“I like yours too.”</p><p></p><p>Damon sniffed. “I don’t have an accent.”</p><p></p><p>An older man with unkempt hair interrupted them. “Stop bothering the poor boy!” he shouted at Damon. “Can’t you see he’s been through enough?”</p><p></p><p>Damon shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say, Uncle Mal.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m not your god damn uncle either!” Mal wagged a finger in Damon’s face. “Just because I’m older than you…”</p><p></p><p>One of the orderlies looked over. Mal lowered his finger. Damon just smiled at him.</p><p></p><p>Mal grabbed Hank firmly by the shoulder and steered him out of earshot. “You’ve got to get out of here, my dear boy.”</p><p></p><p>Hank rubbed his forehead. He liked Mal, but his constant paranoia was tiring. “I didn’t see any knives or forks in there either.”</p><p></p><p>Mal looked offended. “I’m not talking about Damon’s damn cane this time, Hank. I’m talking about…” he lowered his voice. “Cannibalism.”</p><p></p><p>“So you’re saying Dr. Van Dyson eats his patients?”</p><p></p><p>“Shhh!” hissed Mal.</p><p></p><p>“Like in Silence of the Lambs?”</p><p></p><p>Mal’s face twisted in aggravation. “I know how it sounds. But you know what?” He glared at Damon across the room. “I’m crazy enough to know I’m crazy. The Doc thinks he’s sane. That makes him worse.”</p><p></p><p>Hank nodded. “I’ll try to remember that.”</p><p></p><p>“They’re planning something, Hank. You mark my words.”</p><p></p><p>Hank forced a smile. Mal’s paranoia was getting worse. “I’ll try to keep an eye open.”</p><p></p><p>Mal’s face softened. “You don’t believe me.”</p><p></p><p>“No, it’s just that—“</p><p></p><p>Mal held up a hand. “That’s okay, that’s okay. You’re a good boy, Hank. You’re saner than the rest of us in here, including the Doc. You shouldn’t be here. You should be outside.”</p><p></p><p>“But…it’s so hard…”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, I know.” He patted Hank on the back. “I know it is. But life’s not like those comic books you’re so fond of. Life’s hard. Don’t worry; you’ve got skills to compensate. You’re the only one who doesn’t call me uncle in this joint, so that’s something.” He smiled.</p><p></p><p>Hector returned, interrupting the exchange. “Come with me, Hank.”</p><p></p><p>The other patients scattered like roaches at Hector’s approach.</p><p></p><p>They made their way out of the rec room towards Hank’s room.</p><p></p><p>Hector sighed. “Damon still nattering on about that cane, huh?”</p><p></p><p>Hank nodded. “Still.”</p><p></p><p>“We’re going to summon the Daemon Sultan!” shouted Damon at Hector, as if he had been insulted. “Just you wait!”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 3997960, member: 3285"] [b]Welcome to the Show: Part 4c – Hank’s Story[/b] The Van Dyson Center was a modern three-story facility in the low mountains northeast of Samson. It rested in isolation, on a large tract of tree-dotted land owned by the doctor. The Center was reached by a private road that wound through the occasional stands of trees and over shallow, usually dry, creek beds. The wilderness was a place of serenity, a place for healing, for rest. The building was in the shape of a V, arms opening to face a small parking lot. Within the clinic’s three floors were facilities for sixteen patients, including areas for creation and visiting as well as therapy rooms, a nurse’s office, a kitchen, and various storage and maintenance rooms. Hector shuffled Hank down the hallway from Van Dyson’s office. He hated the long walk. The rec room was at the end of the V. Hector would deposit him there while he got the new medication. Inside, patients, along with orderlies, milled about. They watched television, played checkers, stared out the window, or sometimes stared at nothing at all. Hector left him, and a scruffy-looking young man sidled up to Hank. “Hullo Hanky,” he sneered. “Hi Damon,” said Hank. He disliked Damon Newcomb but had no reason to. Beyond the fact that the man called him Hanky, it was more a general vibe of hostility that Damon radiated. Damon was a failed academic and it was perhaps that fact that bound them together. “Did you see it?” Hank rubbed his forehead. He dreaded this part. All the patients knew he was in a session with Dr. van Dyson. And each had their own special question. “No, Damon. I didn’t see his cane.” Damon looked shocked and disappointed. It was a testament to his insanity that he was able to muster the emotion every single time Hank met with the doctor. “You’re sure? You’re sure he didn’t conceal it? Like, maybe as an umbrella or something?” “I’m not sure,” said Hank. “But it wasn’t laying around if that’s what you’re asking.” Damon chuckled. “I like talking to you, Hanky. Your accent cheers me up.” Hank rolled his eyes. His Indian accent wasn’t so thick that was he was incomprehensible. But then, Americans had problems with accents. “I like yours too.” Damon sniffed. “I don’t have an accent.” An older man with unkempt hair interrupted them. “Stop bothering the poor boy!” he shouted at Damon. “Can’t you see he’s been through enough?” Damon shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say, Uncle Mal.” “I’m not your god damn uncle either!” Mal wagged a finger in Damon’s face. “Just because I’m older than you…” One of the orderlies looked over. Mal lowered his finger. Damon just smiled at him. Mal grabbed Hank firmly by the shoulder and steered him out of earshot. “You’ve got to get out of here, my dear boy.” Hank rubbed his forehead. He liked Mal, but his constant paranoia was tiring. “I didn’t see any knives or forks in there either.” Mal looked offended. “I’m not talking about Damon’s damn cane this time, Hank. I’m talking about…” he lowered his voice. “Cannibalism.” “So you’re saying Dr. Van Dyson eats his patients?” “Shhh!” hissed Mal. “Like in Silence of the Lambs?” Mal’s face twisted in aggravation. “I know how it sounds. But you know what?” He glared at Damon across the room. “I’m crazy enough to know I’m crazy. The Doc thinks he’s sane. That makes him worse.” Hank nodded. “I’ll try to remember that.” “They’re planning something, Hank. You mark my words.” Hank forced a smile. Mal’s paranoia was getting worse. “I’ll try to keep an eye open.” Mal’s face softened. “You don’t believe me.” “No, it’s just that—“ Mal held up a hand. “That’s okay, that’s okay. You’re a good boy, Hank. You’re saner than the rest of us in here, including the Doc. You shouldn’t be here. You should be outside.” “But…it’s so hard…” “Oh, I know.” He patted Hank on the back. “I know it is. But life’s not like those comic books you’re so fond of. Life’s hard. Don’t worry; you’ve got skills to compensate. You’re the only one who doesn’t call me uncle in this joint, so that’s something.” He smiled. Hector returned, interrupting the exchange. “Come with me, Hank.” The other patients scattered like roaches at Hector’s approach. They made their way out of the rec room towards Hank’s room. Hector sighed. “Damon still nattering on about that cane, huh?” Hank nodded. “Still.” “We’re going to summon the Daemon Sultan!” shouted Damon at Hector, as if he had been insulted. “Just you wait!” [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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