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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4055415" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>The End of Paradise: Part 6 – Frank Long</strong></p><p></p><p>The Arkham property was absolutely enormous. Visitors were met by its twelve-foot high wrought iron gate above which was worked the name “Arkham Asylum.” To the right of the gate modern signage gave directions to the main facility, as well as Maxwell Gymnasium and the athletic field. Vehicles entered the facility through the gate, from the south, along a wide cobblestone driveway with two lanes that looped around in front of the asylum’s East Wing. Overgrown hedges of flowering quince speckled with bright red flowers in the spring border both sides of the driveway. The roundabout circled an old reflecting pond that was thick with algae and mud.</p><p></p><p>Throughout the day, the east, west and hospice wings of Arkham Asylum cast a long shadow over the property. Despite the renovated masonry, regular repainting and the addition of new wings, the buildings seemed menacing. </p><p></p><p>“This place creeps me out,” said Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>“We won’t be here long,” said Archive. “Try to focus on the mission.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, sure. We’re just in the world’s worst sanitarium and you’re worried about the mission.” </p><p></p><p>It was easy to see how Arkham had acquired the reputation it had, hearkening back to when it was first constructed. Beyond the hedges were large, poorly-kept lawns, terminating at the property’s walls to the east and the facility’s athletic field to the west. Structurally, the facility was a jigsaw tangle of architectural elements — from the gabled windows and stone façade work crafted in the 19th century to the poured concrete and bland architecture of the late ’60s. The main entrance, leading into the East Wing, sat directly ahead of any visitors, decorated with the images of the Six Saints of Arkham.</p><p></p><p>The interior of the East Wing was quite a contrast with its exterior. The main lobby was a blend of high-tech medical sheen and antique architecture. Throughout the entire first floor of the building, the floors were hardwood that gave way to brown marble tile in the lobby and at places where hallways intersect. Facing the entrance was a U-shaped, wooden information desk with racks of monitors, keyboards and file cabinets behind it. Above the information desk hung a massive chandelier.</p><p></p><p>The rooms where patients were housed differed little from other institutional quarters. Each room had a pair of metal-framed beds with foam mattresses, and a single window protected by simple white blinds. </p><p></p><p>The staff directed them to Frank Long’s room, a withered little man sitting alone in the chair in his room. One of the orderlies stood by, arms crossed.</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean flashed his CIFA badge. “This is government work. Why don’t you go get me a soda or something?”</p><p></p><p>The orderly’s brow furrowed. “Hey, you can’t—“</p><p></p><p>Blade intervened. “I need to interview you about Mister Long, if you don’t mind.”</p><p></p><p>The orderly muttered something but allowed Blade to lead him away out of earshot.</p><p></p><p>Archive leaned down to make eye contact with Long. “Mister Long, do you know anything about the Sound and Light Club?”</p><p></p><p>The old man suddenly became animated. “Sound and light, sound and light. That’s what movies are made of! Sound and light, yes. Movies on the screen, the silver screen, movies in your head, the silver head.”</p><p></p><p>Archive and Jim-Bean exchanged glances. </p><p></p><p>“So you were a member of the Club?” asked Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>“The club, yes, the club. Not a club. No, no. A church. Yes, a church. A church not made with hands. Look ma, no hands!” Long held up his hands and laughed.</p><p></p><p>“Do you know anything about the Club’s connection to the Paradise?” asked Archive.</p><p></p><p>“They say it’s coming, Paradise is coming,” replied Long. “I’m due. I’m owed. I paid my owes. I’m first in line. I’m last to stay. I can’t wait. Paradise is coming.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Ben twirled his index finger at his temple and mouthed “nutter” to Archive. Archive sighed.</p><p></p><p>“Mister Long, do you know anything about the Key and the Gate?”</p><p></p><p>“It’s not a rest home,” said Long, voice rising. “No rest. No rest at the gate. He’s the key and the gate, you know. The sound and the light. All in one, like my Swiss Army knife. All in one!” </p><p></p><p>“Yeah, that’s great…” Jim-Bean turned away. “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p></p><p>Long stared at Jim-Bean with suspicion. His face hardened. “Heathen! Meddler! Steal secrets from an old man? I can see through your face, your lying face!”</p><p></p><p>He leaped out of his chair, tackling Jim-Bean. </p><p></p><p>“Christ, the nutter’s gone barmy!” shouted Jim-Bean, struggling to keep the old man from clawing off his face.</p><p></p><p>The orderly rushed over. “I think you better leave.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4055415, member: 3285"] [b]The End of Paradise: Part 6 – Frank Long[/b] The Arkham property was absolutely enormous. Visitors were met by its twelve-foot high wrought iron gate above which was worked the name “Arkham Asylum.” To the right of the gate modern signage gave directions to the main facility, as well as Maxwell Gymnasium and the athletic field. Vehicles entered the facility through the gate, from the south, along a wide cobblestone driveway with two lanes that looped around in front of the asylum’s East Wing. Overgrown hedges of flowering quince speckled with bright red flowers in the spring border both sides of the driveway. The roundabout circled an old reflecting pond that was thick with algae and mud. Throughout the day, the east, west and hospice wings of Arkham Asylum cast a long shadow over the property. Despite the renovated masonry, regular repainting and the addition of new wings, the buildings seemed menacing. “This place creeps me out,” said Jim-Bean. “We won’t be here long,” said Archive. “Try to focus on the mission.” “Yeah, sure. We’re just in the world’s worst sanitarium and you’re worried about the mission.” It was easy to see how Arkham had acquired the reputation it had, hearkening back to when it was first constructed. Beyond the hedges were large, poorly-kept lawns, terminating at the property’s walls to the east and the facility’s athletic field to the west. Structurally, the facility was a jigsaw tangle of architectural elements — from the gabled windows and stone façade work crafted in the 19th century to the poured concrete and bland architecture of the late ’60s. The main entrance, leading into the East Wing, sat directly ahead of any visitors, decorated with the images of the Six Saints of Arkham. The interior of the East Wing was quite a contrast with its exterior. The main lobby was a blend of high-tech medical sheen and antique architecture. Throughout the entire first floor of the building, the floors were hardwood that gave way to brown marble tile in the lobby and at places where hallways intersect. Facing the entrance was a U-shaped, wooden information desk with racks of monitors, keyboards and file cabinets behind it. Above the information desk hung a massive chandelier. The rooms where patients were housed differed little from other institutional quarters. Each room had a pair of metal-framed beds with foam mattresses, and a single window protected by simple white blinds. The staff directed them to Frank Long’s room, a withered little man sitting alone in the chair in his room. One of the orderlies stood by, arms crossed. Jim-Bean flashed his CIFA badge. “This is government work. Why don’t you go get me a soda or something?” The orderly’s brow furrowed. “Hey, you can’t—“ Blade intervened. “I need to interview you about Mister Long, if you don’t mind.” The orderly muttered something but allowed Blade to lead him away out of earshot. Archive leaned down to make eye contact with Long. “Mister Long, do you know anything about the Sound and Light Club?” The old man suddenly became animated. “Sound and light, sound and light. That’s what movies are made of! Sound and light, yes. Movies on the screen, the silver screen, movies in your head, the silver head.” Archive and Jim-Bean exchanged glances. “So you were a member of the Club?” asked Jim-Bean. “The club, yes, the club. Not a club. No, no. A church. Yes, a church. A church not made with hands. Look ma, no hands!” Long held up his hands and laughed. “Do you know anything about the Club’s connection to the Paradise?” asked Archive. “They say it’s coming, Paradise is coming,” replied Long. “I’m due. I’m owed. I paid my owes. I’m first in line. I’m last to stay. I can’t wait. Paradise is coming.” Jim-Ben twirled his index finger at his temple and mouthed “nutter” to Archive. Archive sighed. “Mister Long, do you know anything about the Key and the Gate?” “It’s not a rest home,” said Long, voice rising. “No rest. No rest at the gate. He’s the key and the gate, you know. The sound and the light. All in one, like my Swiss Army knife. All in one!” “Yeah, that’s great…” Jim-Bean turned away. “Let’s get out of here.” Long stared at Jim-Bean with suspicion. His face hardened. “Heathen! Meddler! Steal secrets from an old man? I can see through your face, your lying face!” He leaped out of his chair, tackling Jim-Bean. “Christ, the nutter’s gone barmy!” shouted Jim-Bean, struggling to keep the old man from clawing off his face. The orderly rushed over. “I think you better leave.” [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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