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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: 4610797" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Convergence: Part 3 – The Sheriff's Office</strong></p><p></p><p>Hammer opened the door and stepped inside the sheriff’s office. Locating a wall switch, he snapped on the overhead lights, only to see a corpse on the floor.</p><p></p><p>Hammer read his badge. "Paul Henderson." Henderson's corpse had dark, bruised flesh. Swollen. Dead.</p><p></p><p>Guppy ran his name through the Blacknet database. "He was a Majestic-12 undercover agent."</p><p></p><p>"He's in the same condition as Hilda Beck." Every visible inch of the deputy's flesh was bruised. The body was swollen: a puffy, distorted face; the neck almost as large as the head; fingers that resemble knotted links of sausage; a distended abdomen. Yet Hammer couldn't detect even the vaguest odor of decomposition.</p><p></p><p>Guppy looked away. "I can't stare at his face. "</p><p></p><p>Unseeing eyes bulge from the mottled, storm-colored face. Those eyes, together with the gaping and twisted mouth, conveyed an unmistakable emotion: fear. Like Hilda, Paul Henderson appeared to have died suddenly—and in the powerful, icy grip of terror.</p><p></p><p>"His sidearm isn't in his holster," said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>"It's over here," said Jim-Bean. The pistol was on the floor, near the body. A .45-caliber revolver. </p><p></p><p>Hammer picked up the pistol and examined it. The cylinder had a six-round capacity, but three of the chambers were empty.</p><p></p><p>Hammer sniffed the cylinder. "It was fired today. Maybe even within the past hour."</p><p></p><p>Hammer pushed through the swinging gate in the wooden railing, moving into the area that TV cops always called the "bull pen." He walked down an aisle between facing pairs of desks, filing cabinets, and worktables. In the center of the room, he stopped to scan the pale green walls and the white acoustic-tile ceiling, looking for bullet holes. Hammer didn't find any.</p><p></p><p>Hammer turned to the desk where the gooseneck fluorescent lamp cast light on an open issue of Time. A brass nameplate read SERGEANT PAUL J. HENDERSON. This was where he was sitting, passing an apparently dull afternoon, when whatever happened had ... happened.</p><p></p><p>Along the back wall of the room, there were two bulletin boards, a photocopier, a locked gun cabinet, a police radio, and a teletype link. </p><p></p><p>Guppy tinkered with them for a minute. "Mother trucker. None of it works."</p><p></p><p>"There's a gun cabinet here," said Jim-Bean. "It's locked."</p><p></p><p>"You find any keys on the body?"</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean shook his head.</p><p></p><p>The phone rang, scaring the bejesus out of Guppy who almost fell backwards.</p><p></p><p>They stared at it for a moment while it rang. </p><p></p><p>With a trembling hand, Guppy clicked on the speakerphone. </p><p></p><p>"<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">…dealing with</span>," spoke an alien, buzzing voice. There was static and then "<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">…has been a long time and we have many things to do and you are not sure what you are doing. Stop now. Stop now.</span>”</p><p></p><p>It repeated. Guppy held up his cistron and recorded it.</p><p></p><p>The phone hung up.</p><p></p><p>"Let's keep moving," said Hammer.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4610797, member: 3285"] [b]Convergence: Part 3 – The Sheriff's Office[/b] Hammer opened the door and stepped inside the sheriff’s office. Locating a wall switch, he snapped on the overhead lights, only to see a corpse on the floor. Hammer read his badge. "Paul Henderson." Henderson's corpse had dark, bruised flesh. Swollen. Dead. Guppy ran his name through the Blacknet database. "He was a Majestic-12 undercover agent." "He's in the same condition as Hilda Beck." Every visible inch of the deputy's flesh was bruised. The body was swollen: a puffy, distorted face; the neck almost as large as the head; fingers that resemble knotted links of sausage; a distended abdomen. Yet Hammer couldn't detect even the vaguest odor of decomposition. Guppy looked away. "I can't stare at his face. " Unseeing eyes bulge from the mottled, storm-colored face. Those eyes, together with the gaping and twisted mouth, conveyed an unmistakable emotion: fear. Like Hilda, Paul Henderson appeared to have died suddenly—and in the powerful, icy grip of terror. "His sidearm isn't in his holster," said Hammer. "It's over here," said Jim-Bean. The pistol was on the floor, near the body. A .45-caliber revolver. Hammer picked up the pistol and examined it. The cylinder had a six-round capacity, but three of the chambers were empty. Hammer sniffed the cylinder. "It was fired today. Maybe even within the past hour." Hammer pushed through the swinging gate in the wooden railing, moving into the area that TV cops always called the "bull pen." He walked down an aisle between facing pairs of desks, filing cabinets, and worktables. In the center of the room, he stopped to scan the pale green walls and the white acoustic-tile ceiling, looking for bullet holes. Hammer didn't find any. Hammer turned to the desk where the gooseneck fluorescent lamp cast light on an open issue of Time. A brass nameplate read SERGEANT PAUL J. HENDERSON. This was where he was sitting, passing an apparently dull afternoon, when whatever happened had ... happened. Along the back wall of the room, there were two bulletin boards, a photocopier, a locked gun cabinet, a police radio, and a teletype link. Guppy tinkered with them for a minute. "Mother trucker. None of it works." "There's a gun cabinet here," said Jim-Bean. "It's locked." "You find any keys on the body?" Jim-Bean shook his head. The phone rang, scaring the bejesus out of Guppy who almost fell backwards. They stared at it for a moment while it rang. With a trembling hand, Guppy clicked on the speakerphone. "[FONT="Courier New"]…dealing with[/FONT]," spoke an alien, buzzing voice. There was static and then "[FONT="Courier New"]…has been a long time and we have many things to do and you are not sure what you are doing. Stop now. Stop now.[/FONT]” It repeated. Guppy held up his cistron and recorded it. The phone hung up. "Let's keep moving," said Hammer. [/QUOTE]
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