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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: 4060046" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>The End of Paradise: Part 9 – Opening Night</strong></p><p></p><p>All the Metro volunteers and staff were assembled, as well as several hundred prominent citizens of Arkham. The festivities had begun with a party in the lobby; the jazz trio was just winding down and the crowd moving into the theater as Hammer exited from behind the curtains. </p><p></p><p>Guppy hobbled in. “Hammer! I’ve been trying to call you all day?”</p><p></p><p>Hammer blinked. “What? All day…?”</p><p></p><p>He caught sight of Archive and the rest of the team. “What the hell is going on?”</p><p></p><p>“I think we just experienced some lost time,” said Archive with a frown.</p><p></p><p> “Guys, I wanted to tell you!” said Guppy. “There’s something new in the lobby. The wall is now decorated with vintage photographs of the Paradise…” He clicked a button, and photos of all three of the pictures were transmitted to their Cistrons. “Take a look!”</p><p></p><p>There were images of three generations of Allen family patriarchs. Max Allen, Frederick Allen, and George Allen. Although taken decades apart, all three were done the same way: a man standing on the upper balcony of the Paradise looked down at the photographer, who used a wide-angle lens to capture the beauty of the room. </p><p></p><p>There was a flash of a camera overhead. They saw a photographer standing just inside the doors, aiming upward. On the balcony overheard stood Richard Jacobs smiling, in the same pose as that of the Allen men. He was an aging but dignified man wearing an expensive suit.</p><p></p><p>“Oh this is bad,” said Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>The theater’s sound system began playing “Carmina Burana.” </p><p></p><p>“We’ve got to stop that projector,” said Archive. “I’ll stay here in front. Shut that thing down!”</p><p></p><p>The music wound down, the lights went out, and the projector whirred up. A beam of light cut through the darkness and filled the screen. The opening credits to Rules of the Game rolled and there was brief applause. Archive took his seat towards the front near the screen.</p><p></p><p>The rest of the team took the steps two at a time. They tried to get into the projection room but the door was locked.</p><p></p><p>Blade slammed into it a few times. “Sturdy door,” said the big man.</p><p></p><p>“I got it,” said Guppy. He pulled out a lock-picking device.</p><p></p><p>“They let you have that?” asked Hammer in disbelief.</p><p></p><p>Guppy nodded. “Sure! Didn’t you ask for one?”</p><p></p><p>The lock clicked and the door opened.</p><p></p><p>In the theater, the film started to stutter. The image rolled and jumped, going in and out of focus. The images of the film changed to the footage from the basement, of men in suits and faceless masks. There was a grinding sound from the projection booth.</p><p></p><p>The image was jumping so much it was hard to make out. Good-natured calls of “Focus!” came from the boisterous crowd. Then the image steadied, the men took off their masks, and a blinding light filled the room. </p><p></p><p>The projector was unmanned. Hammer kicked over the projector, but the light continued to beam from somewhere. </p><p></p><p>“There’s no film in the projector!” shouted Guppy in horror.</p><p></p><p>And yet the tremendous light that beamed from the front of the projection booth began to strobe. There was a crashing sound and screams erupted from the rear of the theater. </p><p></p><p>In between flashes, Archive was able to make out that the back third of the theater had collapsed into another subterranean chamber. Theater patrons, many still in their seats, fell through the breaking timbers, screaming. They landed in a dark mass. </p><p></p><p>It was nitrate movie film stock, an early film format long since abandoned because it was highly flammable. In moments, the film ignited and the back third of the theater erupted in flames. The burning film writhed up and out of the chasm as if alive, snatching nearby patrons and yanking them into the fire.</p><p></p><p>“Vual,” whispered Archive.</p><p></p><p>Richard Jacobs emerged, lifted up by the tendrils of film. He was burning and laughing at the same time, the nitrate tentacles lifting him higher and higher towards the trap door in the ceiling.</p><p></p><p>Archive ushered people out the emergency exits. “Don’t let him reach the ceiling!” he shouted to his comrades.</p><p></p><p>The team needed no further encouragement. Drawing their pistols, they opened fire through the projection glass.</p><p></p><p>A bullet grazed Jacobs. He whirled, an inverted marionette on burning strings, and pointed at Blade, the biggest target. “<span style="font-family: 'Impact'">Zyweso, wecato, keoso, Xunewe-rurom Xeverator</span>!”</p><p></p><p>Tentacles snapped up and through the window, wrapping Blade up like a mummy.</p><p></p><p>Archive caught sight of Sara. “Why aren’t the sprinklers working?” he shouted.</p><p></p><p>She was stunned, staring up at the writhing flames. “We…rushed the opening…”</p><p></p><p>Guppy, despite his bruises, dove into action. He scrambled for a fire extinguisher from the lobby and turned it on Blade, extinguishing the flames</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean drew his knife and slashed the tentacle of film. It whipped backwards as if in agony.</p><p></p><p>Jacobs turned and carefully aimed a Colt Delta Elite pistol.</p><p></p><p>Hammer drew his Glock and fired.</p><p></p><p>A red blot appeared in Jacobs’ forehead. The film suddenly went limp. His body collapsed into the boiling film stock below, instantly incinerated.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4060046, member: 3285"] [b]The End of Paradise: Part 9 – Opening Night[/b] All the Metro volunteers and staff were assembled, as well as several hundred prominent citizens of Arkham. The festivities had begun with a party in the lobby; the jazz trio was just winding down and the crowd moving into the theater as Hammer exited from behind the curtains. Guppy hobbled in. “Hammer! I’ve been trying to call you all day?” Hammer blinked. “What? All day…?” He caught sight of Archive and the rest of the team. “What the hell is going on?” “I think we just experienced some lost time,” said Archive with a frown. “Guys, I wanted to tell you!” said Guppy. “There’s something new in the lobby. The wall is now decorated with vintage photographs of the Paradise…” He clicked a button, and photos of all three of the pictures were transmitted to their Cistrons. “Take a look!” There were images of three generations of Allen family patriarchs. Max Allen, Frederick Allen, and George Allen. Although taken decades apart, all three were done the same way: a man standing on the upper balcony of the Paradise looked down at the photographer, who used a wide-angle lens to capture the beauty of the room. There was a flash of a camera overhead. They saw a photographer standing just inside the doors, aiming upward. On the balcony overheard stood Richard Jacobs smiling, in the same pose as that of the Allen men. He was an aging but dignified man wearing an expensive suit. “Oh this is bad,” said Jim-Bean. The theater’s sound system began playing “Carmina Burana.” “We’ve got to stop that projector,” said Archive. “I’ll stay here in front. Shut that thing down!” The music wound down, the lights went out, and the projector whirred up. A beam of light cut through the darkness and filled the screen. The opening credits to Rules of the Game rolled and there was brief applause. Archive took his seat towards the front near the screen. The rest of the team took the steps two at a time. They tried to get into the projection room but the door was locked. Blade slammed into it a few times. “Sturdy door,” said the big man. “I got it,” said Guppy. He pulled out a lock-picking device. “They let you have that?” asked Hammer in disbelief. Guppy nodded. “Sure! Didn’t you ask for one?” The lock clicked and the door opened. In the theater, the film started to stutter. The image rolled and jumped, going in and out of focus. The images of the film changed to the footage from the basement, of men in suits and faceless masks. There was a grinding sound from the projection booth. The image was jumping so much it was hard to make out. Good-natured calls of “Focus!” came from the boisterous crowd. Then the image steadied, the men took off their masks, and a blinding light filled the room. The projector was unmanned. Hammer kicked over the projector, but the light continued to beam from somewhere. “There’s no film in the projector!” shouted Guppy in horror. And yet the tremendous light that beamed from the front of the projection booth began to strobe. There was a crashing sound and screams erupted from the rear of the theater. In between flashes, Archive was able to make out that the back third of the theater had collapsed into another subterranean chamber. Theater patrons, many still in their seats, fell through the breaking timbers, screaming. They landed in a dark mass. It was nitrate movie film stock, an early film format long since abandoned because it was highly flammable. In moments, the film ignited and the back third of the theater erupted in flames. The burning film writhed up and out of the chasm as if alive, snatching nearby patrons and yanking them into the fire. “Vual,” whispered Archive. Richard Jacobs emerged, lifted up by the tendrils of film. He was burning and laughing at the same time, the nitrate tentacles lifting him higher and higher towards the trap door in the ceiling. Archive ushered people out the emergency exits. “Don’t let him reach the ceiling!” he shouted to his comrades. The team needed no further encouragement. Drawing their pistols, they opened fire through the projection glass. A bullet grazed Jacobs. He whirled, an inverted marionette on burning strings, and pointed at Blade, the biggest target. “[FONT=Impact]Zyweso, wecato, keoso, Xunewe-rurom Xeverator[/FONT]!” Tentacles snapped up and through the window, wrapping Blade up like a mummy. Archive caught sight of Sara. “Why aren’t the sprinklers working?” he shouted. She was stunned, staring up at the writhing flames. “We…rushed the opening…” Guppy, despite his bruises, dove into action. He scrambled for a fire extinguisher from the lobby and turned it on Blade, extinguishing the flames Jim-Bean drew his knife and slashed the tentacle of film. It whipped backwards as if in agony. Jacobs turned and carefully aimed a Colt Delta Elite pistol. Hammer drew his Glock and fired. A red blot appeared in Jacobs’ forehead. The film suddenly went limp. His body collapsed into the boiling film stock below, instantly incinerated. [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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