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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: 4528531" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>The Fortress: Part 2 – La Fortaleza</strong></p><p></p><p>Entry into La Fortaleza was via two large gates. Inside, there were four lookouts, one at each corner of the building. In the main courtyard, customers walked around in a daze, warmed their hands on flaming garbage cans, and were patted down for weapons by guards. It was as much an insane asylum as it was a careful screening tactic to weed out undercover cops. </p><p></p><p>Archive joined them as Father Archive, part of the entourage. His presence in a bright white suit seemed to make him nearly invisible to the guards, who regarded “spiritual advisors” the same way they viewed prostitutes – relatively harmless but necessary. The vice agents, also part of the entourage, were allowed as far as the gate. Caprice dismissed them to the car, a stretch limousine/SUV.</p><p></p><p>Hammer carefully concealed one of his Glocks. Sluggy Two-Dogs didn’t find the gun with his sloppy pat down. The others relinquished their weapons. Hammer wondered where Janky was.</p><p></p><p>So far, their plan had worked. Their carefully constructed backgrounds had been checked, along with their bank accounts. Now it was time to meet the man himself.</p><p></p><p>“Welcome!” said a dark-skinned Asian man. He was thin and wiry with an odd bowl haircut. Dressed in a purple suit that looked a size too big, he welcomed them with a wide grin that displayed his gold grill. A gold-hilted blade hung in a sheath from his waist. Machete.</p><p></p><p>“Welcome to tha FORTRESS!” He said dramatically. His voice was high pitched and squeaky, always on the border of hysteria. “Janky tells me you gentlemen are businessmen like me. You check out.”</p><p></p><p>Machete offered them drinks, drugs, and women. The agents took the drinks. “Let me take you on the tour of our little operation.”</p><p></p><p>Beyond the entryway, things turned very professional. “My employees and customers are issued membership cards that they flash to enter the building.” Machete snapped a card out of his suit pocket and slid it through the reader. The light over the door went from red to green. </p><p></p><p>They climbed to the second floor. “Then you buzz in with a code. The code determines what and how much product you receive.” Machete punched a code and a few seconds later a pneumatic tube thumped in front of him. Machete grabbed the tube and, holding it triumphantly overhead, opened it. A plastic bag containing an eyedropper bottle fell into his open palm. Blink. </p><p></p><p>“And if you want to…” Jim-Bean searched for the word. “…use your product?”</p><p></p><p>“That’s Blissland, baby, “said Machete with a sly smile. “Down there.” He gestured down the hallway. “I didn’t fix you for a user.”</p><p></p><p>“We need to know what we’re investing in,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“And I need to know what I’M investing in,” said Machete. “You boys seem all right. But I need details. I need numbers.”</p><p></p><p>They passed a room where people were mixing Blink. There was another ingredient—something else was being added. Hammer noted that there manufacturing room where it was being mixed was filled with dust-covered workers who were naked except for a towel. Machete didn’t trust his own people. </p><p></p><p>“Our operation is solid,” said Jim-Bean. “Our distribution network and contacts spans all of California. “</p><p></p><p>“Network, huh? Why ain’t I heard of you?”</p><p></p><p>“Because we got raided,” said Hammer with a frown. “We had the cops under control and then there was a sting by the Feds…”</p><p></p><p>Machete muttered a curse about Feds.</p><p></p><p>“Lots of gang leaders went down,” continued Hammer. “We’re the next wave.” </p><p></p><p>“No you ain’t,” said Machete. “This is the next wave, right here.” He encompassed the drug manufacturing plant with a sweep of one arm. “But you know, this ain’t a partnership at thirty percent.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean frowned. “What do you mean?”</p><p></p><p>“I mean partners is equals. And that’s fifty percent.”</p><p></p><p>They made their way over to a lounge filled with garish velour couches. Machete flopped down.</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean shrugged. “We don’t know you. Your operation seems sound, but we need to know more about it. Like who supplies your drugs.”</p><p></p><p>Machete barked out a laugh, a cackle that would have offended a hyena. “And put me out of business? I ain’t stupid, yo.”</p><p></p><p>“Neither are we,” said Caprice tersely. “But trust has gotta start somewhere, G. And if it’s gonna start, it has to start here.”</p><p></p><p>Machete pondered that. “I hear ya.” He leaned forward and yanked the gold grill off his front teeth, revealing a mouthful of carefully filed and sharpened incisors. It was like staring into the maw of a shark. “Let’s just say we keep it in the family, dig?”</p><p></p><p>Hammer didn’t know what he meant. Before he could ask, gunfire went off in the courtyard. A second later a shrieking alarm went off.</p><p></p><p>Machete swore a vile oath. He hopped to his feet. “You bring cops here?”</p><p></p><p>“What?” snarled Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“This seems like the sort of problem that would really destroy our confidence in your operation,” said Jim-Bean archly. They started backing up as Machete advanced.</p><p></p><p>Dealers, Fortaleza staff, and criminals of all stripes milled about in confusion, some running, others staring blankly at the flashing red lights. In the fracas, Jim-Bean typed a query to Trouville. The raid wasn’t supposed to happen for another day. What the hell was going on?</p><p></p><p>“We gotta get out of here,” said Machete. “Sluggy, show the men out.”</p><p></p><p>Sluggy began pushing them out. Machete backed up, hand on the hilt of his blade, eyeing the main hallway.</p><p></p><p>There was a shudder, like the sound of a battering ram. More gunfire echoed outside.</p><p></p><p>A second later Jim-Bean’s cistron beeped. It was Trouville. He had typed just two words, all in caps:</p><p></p><p>“WHAT RAID?!!!”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4528531, member: 3285"] [b]The Fortress: Part 2 – La Fortaleza[/b] Entry into La Fortaleza was via two large gates. Inside, there were four lookouts, one at each corner of the building. In the main courtyard, customers walked around in a daze, warmed their hands on flaming garbage cans, and were patted down for weapons by guards. It was as much an insane asylum as it was a careful screening tactic to weed out undercover cops. Archive joined them as Father Archive, part of the entourage. His presence in a bright white suit seemed to make him nearly invisible to the guards, who regarded “spiritual advisors” the same way they viewed prostitutes – relatively harmless but necessary. The vice agents, also part of the entourage, were allowed as far as the gate. Caprice dismissed them to the car, a stretch limousine/SUV. Hammer carefully concealed one of his Glocks. Sluggy Two-Dogs didn’t find the gun with his sloppy pat down. The others relinquished their weapons. Hammer wondered where Janky was. So far, their plan had worked. Their carefully constructed backgrounds had been checked, along with their bank accounts. Now it was time to meet the man himself. “Welcome!” said a dark-skinned Asian man. He was thin and wiry with an odd bowl haircut. Dressed in a purple suit that looked a size too big, he welcomed them with a wide grin that displayed his gold grill. A gold-hilted blade hung in a sheath from his waist. Machete. “Welcome to tha FORTRESS!” He said dramatically. His voice was high pitched and squeaky, always on the border of hysteria. “Janky tells me you gentlemen are businessmen like me. You check out.” Machete offered them drinks, drugs, and women. The agents took the drinks. “Let me take you on the tour of our little operation.” Beyond the entryway, things turned very professional. “My employees and customers are issued membership cards that they flash to enter the building.” Machete snapped a card out of his suit pocket and slid it through the reader. The light over the door went from red to green. They climbed to the second floor. “Then you buzz in with a code. The code determines what and how much product you receive.” Machete punched a code and a few seconds later a pneumatic tube thumped in front of him. Machete grabbed the tube and, holding it triumphantly overhead, opened it. A plastic bag containing an eyedropper bottle fell into his open palm. Blink. “And if you want to…” Jim-Bean searched for the word. “…use your product?” “That’s Blissland, baby, “said Machete with a sly smile. “Down there.” He gestured down the hallway. “I didn’t fix you for a user.” “We need to know what we’re investing in,” said Hammer. “And I need to know what I’M investing in,” said Machete. “You boys seem all right. But I need details. I need numbers.” They passed a room where people were mixing Blink. There was another ingredient—something else was being added. Hammer noted that there manufacturing room where it was being mixed was filled with dust-covered workers who were naked except for a towel. Machete didn’t trust his own people. “Our operation is solid,” said Jim-Bean. “Our distribution network and contacts spans all of California. “ “Network, huh? Why ain’t I heard of you?” “Because we got raided,” said Hammer with a frown. “We had the cops under control and then there was a sting by the Feds…” Machete muttered a curse about Feds. “Lots of gang leaders went down,” continued Hammer. “We’re the next wave.” “No you ain’t,” said Machete. “This is the next wave, right here.” He encompassed the drug manufacturing plant with a sweep of one arm. “But you know, this ain’t a partnership at thirty percent.” Jim-Bean frowned. “What do you mean?” “I mean partners is equals. And that’s fifty percent.” They made their way over to a lounge filled with garish velour couches. Machete flopped down. Jim-Bean shrugged. “We don’t know you. Your operation seems sound, but we need to know more about it. Like who supplies your drugs.” Machete barked out a laugh, a cackle that would have offended a hyena. “And put me out of business? I ain’t stupid, yo.” “Neither are we,” said Caprice tersely. “But trust has gotta start somewhere, G. And if it’s gonna start, it has to start here.” Machete pondered that. “I hear ya.” He leaned forward and yanked the gold grill off his front teeth, revealing a mouthful of carefully filed and sharpened incisors. It was like staring into the maw of a shark. “Let’s just say we keep it in the family, dig?” Hammer didn’t know what he meant. Before he could ask, gunfire went off in the courtyard. A second later a shrieking alarm went off. Machete swore a vile oath. He hopped to his feet. “You bring cops here?” “What?” snarled Hammer. “This seems like the sort of problem that would really destroy our confidence in your operation,” said Jim-Bean archly. They started backing up as Machete advanced. Dealers, Fortaleza staff, and criminals of all stripes milled about in confusion, some running, others staring blankly at the flashing red lights. In the fracas, Jim-Bean typed a query to Trouville. The raid wasn’t supposed to happen for another day. What the hell was going on? “We gotta get out of here,” said Machete. “Sluggy, show the men out.” Sluggy began pushing them out. Machete backed up, hand on the hilt of his blade, eyeing the main hallway. There was a shudder, like the sound of a battering ram. More gunfire echoed outside. A second later Jim-Bean’s cistron beeped. It was Trouville. He had typed just two words, all in caps: “WHAT RAID?!!!” [/QUOTE]
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