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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4625234" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Convergence: Part 12 – A Misunderstanding</strong></p><p></p><p>Three decontamination suits lay tangled and untenanted in the middle of the street. Another empty suit laid half in the gutter and half on the sidewalk. Two of the helmets were cracked.</p><p></p><p>“Gone,” said Hammer. “All of them. Gone.”</p><p></p><p>Submachine guns were scattered around, and unused Molotov cocktails were lined up along the curb.</p><p></p><p>“This isn’t right,” said Jim-Bean. “How the hell do you lose an entire team?”</p><p></p><p>“The same way you lose an entire town,” said Guppy morosely. </p><p></p><p>They made their way to the convoy, walking in silence. </p><p></p><p>The convoy was abandoned. The back of the truck was open. More empty decontamination suits and submachine guns were piled in front of it. No people. The rear doors on both labs were ajar.</p><p></p><p>Hammer opened up the first lab. It was deserted. Two rumpled decon suits lay on the floor, and another was draped over a swivel chair in front of a computer terminal.</p><p></p><p>The second lab was also deserted. Two decontamination suits. Nothing else.</p><p></p><p>Down the street, near Ameley’s Goods, something monstrous appeared in the sky, skimming over the tops of the buildings, hovering for a few seconds above Skyline Road. </p><p></p><p>“It’s back!” wailed Guppy, drawing his pistol.</p><p></p><p>“Jim-Bean, you got that sniper rifle we took from the sheriff’s office?”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean reached into his duffle bag and tossed it to Hammer. It was already loaded.</p><p></p><p>Hammer took aim at the thing through the scope. Part-crustacean, part insect, its six-foot wings beat furiously upon the air. Its head glimmered with rainbow color. There were six twitching legs with pincered feet. The curled, segmented, purplish body terminated in an insect-like abdomen. It was holding a strange cylinder in its fore claws.</p><p></p><p>Hammer fired. The bullet ricocheted off the cylinder to no effect.</p><p></p><p>The bat-winged lobster thing filled his scope. “Down!” he shouted.</p><p></p><p>They all ducked as it glided overhead and into one of the trailers. A few seconds later the thing crawled out and launched itself into the night sky.</p><p></p><p>They waited. </p><p></p><p>“Is it a bomb?” asked Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>“Would have gone off by now,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“Only one way to find out.” Guppy slowly crawled into the lab. </p><p></p><p>All the ceiling lights winked out. In a second, however, light sprung up once more, although not from the ceiling bulbs; it was an unusual light, a green flash. It was only the three video display terminals, which all came on at once. Then they went off.</p><p></p><p>And came on. Off, on, off, on, off ... At first they flashed simultaneously, then in sequence, around and around. Finally they all came on and stayed on, filling the otherwise unlighted work area with an eerie glow.</p><p></p><p>Lit by the green radiance was a large, cylinder of greenish alien metal, featureless except for three network ports conforming to no human standard. The ports were connected to the computer terminals.</p><p></p><p>Six words were burned in pale green letters across a dark green background: </p><p></p><p>The other two screens bore the same words.</p><p></p><p>Blink. There were new words: </p><p></p><p>Blink. </p><p></p><p>Guppy tapped a few keys. The words “audio enabled” appeared on the screen.</p><p></p><p> came a monotone, digitized voice from the computer’s speakers.</p><p></p><p>Guppy typed back. “Who are you?”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“Oakley? Oakley, it’s me, Guppy.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“That’s not important right now. Right now what’s important is why you’re here.”</p><p></p><p>Confident that the device wasn’t a bomb, Hammer and Jim-Bean joined Guppy and listened to the exchange.</p><p></p><p></p><p>“Who? The aliens—“</p><p></p><p>Hammer grabbed Guppy’s wrist. “Don’t type that.”</p><p></p><p>Guppy deleted the phrase and retyped, “What do they want you to tell us?”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“What’s BIOSAN-4?”</p><p></p><p>One of the other screens changed to a download bar. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“And this is important because…” said Jim-Bean.</p><p></p><p>Oakley anticipated his question. </p><p></p><p>Guppy became much more animated, his differences with Hammer temporarily forgotten. “BIOSAN-4 will eat the spawn the same way that it eats oil!”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean looked at the entrance to the lab. “So the alien dogs drop off Oakley’s brain to tell us this?”</p><p></p><p>“I think,” said Guppy, “they’re trying to help, somehow. I think they’ve been trying to communicate with us all this time.”</p><p></p><p>“Like the messages on the phone,” said Hammer.</p><p></p><p>The screen switched from downloading to processing. </p><p></p><p>“This is a chemical lab, so it can process BIOSAN-4 right here,” said Guppy. </p><p></p><p>“And what do we do with it once we have it?” asked Jim-Bean. “Hold its nose and force it to swallow?”</p><p></p><p>Hammer opened one closet on the wall and pulled out three tranquilizer rifles. “Or we could use these.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“How?” typed Guppy.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>“I don’t think…” Guppy started typing.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Guppy stopped typing and stared dumbly at the computer, helpless. Hammer unplugged the cables running from the cylinder to the computer and the monitor went blank, the voice silenced. </p><p></p><p>A centrifuge in another part of the lab finished spinning. A glowing blue liquid was visible in several cylinders. </p><p></p><p>“How can we be sure this is going to actually work?” asked Guppy.</p><p></p><p>“There’s no way to tell,” said Hammer. </p><p></p><p>“I think there is,” said Jim-Bean. He tied a rubber hose around forearm and pulled it tight with his teeth.</p><p></p><p>“What are you doing?” asked Guppy.</p><p></p><p>“Finding out if this crap actually works. I’m not going to trust my life to a brain in a jar.” Jim-Bean took a knife out of his boot and stuck it into the soft plastic table near him. Then he popped the cap off of one of the small glowing blue cylinders.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t think that’s such a good—“</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean poured a dot of the blue liquid onto his arm. </p><p></p><p>Almost instantaneously, his arm broke out in pustule-like sores, leaking a thin blue fluid. Jim-Bean spasmed violently. </p><p></p><p>“Jesus!” he said through gritted teeth. He reached for the knife, but the pain was so searing he had difficulty.</p><p></p><p>Additional sores opened in hideous profusion, lesions of all shapes and sizes that split and cracked and popped across Jim-Bean’s arm. </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean yanked hard on the tourniquet and stabbed the knife deep into his arm, slicing flesh off in one smooth motion. He screamed as a spray of blood shot all over the lab, tearing through skin and muscle. A six-inch length of flesh flopped off his arm onto the table. </p><p></p><p>The tissue twitched and convulsed into a lifeless pool of stinking, watery mush.</p><p></p><p>“What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Hammer. </p><p></p><p>Tears were in Jim-bean’s eyes and his nose was running. The pain was immense. Blood was everywhere and continued to pump out of his arm. </p><p></p><p>“Are you trying to kill yourself?” asked Guppy in disbelief.</p><p></p><p>The blood flow slowed. Tendrils of flesh and muscle spiraled across the raw meat and the white of Jim-Bean’s forearm. The wound stopped bleeding. </p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean let the tourniquet drop from his teeth. “Just … trying to see,” he gasped, “… if I can be.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4625234, member: 3285"] [b]Convergence: Part 12 – A Misunderstanding[/b] Three decontamination suits lay tangled and untenanted in the middle of the street. Another empty suit laid half in the gutter and half on the sidewalk. Two of the helmets were cracked. “Gone,” said Hammer. “All of them. Gone.” Submachine guns were scattered around, and unused Molotov cocktails were lined up along the curb. “This isn’t right,” said Jim-Bean. “How the hell do you lose an entire team?” “The same way you lose an entire town,” said Guppy morosely. They made their way to the convoy, walking in silence. The convoy was abandoned. The back of the truck was open. More empty decontamination suits and submachine guns were piled in front of it. No people. The rear doors on both labs were ajar. Hammer opened up the first lab. It was deserted. Two rumpled decon suits lay on the floor, and another was draped over a swivel chair in front of a computer terminal. The second lab was also deserted. Two decontamination suits. Nothing else. Down the street, near Ameley’s Goods, something monstrous appeared in the sky, skimming over the tops of the buildings, hovering for a few seconds above Skyline Road. “It’s back!” wailed Guppy, drawing his pistol. “Jim-Bean, you got that sniper rifle we took from the sheriff’s office?” Jim-Bean reached into his duffle bag and tossed it to Hammer. It was already loaded. Hammer took aim at the thing through the scope. Part-crustacean, part insect, its six-foot wings beat furiously upon the air. Its head glimmered with rainbow color. There were six twitching legs with pincered feet. The curled, segmented, purplish body terminated in an insect-like abdomen. It was holding a strange cylinder in its fore claws. Hammer fired. The bullet ricocheted off the cylinder to no effect. The bat-winged lobster thing filled his scope. “Down!” he shouted. They all ducked as it glided overhead and into one of the trailers. A few seconds later the thing crawled out and launched itself into the night sky. They waited. “Is it a bomb?” asked Jim-Bean. “Would have gone off by now,” said Hammer. “Only one way to find out.” Guppy slowly crawled into the lab. All the ceiling lights winked out. In a second, however, light sprung up once more, although not from the ceiling bulbs; it was an unusual light, a green flash. It was only the three video display terminals, which all came on at once. Then they went off. And came on. Off, on, off, on, off ... At first they flashed simultaneously, then in sequence, around and around. Finally they all came on and stayed on, filling the otherwise unlighted work area with an eerie glow. Lit by the green radiance was a large, cylinder of greenish alien metal, featureless except for three network ports conforming to no human standard. The ports were connected to the computer terminals. Six words were burned in pale green letters across a dark green background: The other two screens bore the same words. Blink. There were new words: Blink. Guppy tapped a few keys. The words “audio enabled” appeared on the screen. came a monotone, digitized voice from the computer’s speakers. Guppy typed back. “Who are you?” “Oakley? Oakley, it’s me, Guppy.” “That’s not important right now. Right now what’s important is why you’re here.” Confident that the device wasn’t a bomb, Hammer and Jim-Bean joined Guppy and listened to the exchange. “Who? The aliens—“ Hammer grabbed Guppy’s wrist. “Don’t type that.” Guppy deleted the phrase and retyped, “What do they want you to tell us?” “What’s BIOSAN-4?” One of the other screens changed to a download bar. “And this is important because…” said Jim-Bean. Oakley anticipated his question. Guppy became much more animated, his differences with Hammer temporarily forgotten. “BIOSAN-4 will eat the spawn the same way that it eats oil!” Jim-Bean looked at the entrance to the lab. “So the alien dogs drop off Oakley’s brain to tell us this?” “I think,” said Guppy, “they’re trying to help, somehow. I think they’ve been trying to communicate with us all this time.” “Like the messages on the phone,” said Hammer. The screen switched from downloading to processing. “This is a chemical lab, so it can process BIOSAN-4 right here,” said Guppy. “And what do we do with it once we have it?” asked Jim-Bean. “Hold its nose and force it to swallow?” Hammer opened one closet on the wall and pulled out three tranquilizer rifles. “Or we could use these.” “How?” typed Guppy. “I don’t think…” Guppy started typing. Guppy stopped typing and stared dumbly at the computer, helpless. Hammer unplugged the cables running from the cylinder to the computer and the monitor went blank, the voice silenced. A centrifuge in another part of the lab finished spinning. A glowing blue liquid was visible in several cylinders. “How can we be sure this is going to actually work?” asked Guppy. “There’s no way to tell,” said Hammer. “I think there is,” said Jim-Bean. He tied a rubber hose around forearm and pulled it tight with his teeth. “What are you doing?” asked Guppy. “Finding out if this crap actually works. I’m not going to trust my life to a brain in a jar.” Jim-Bean took a knife out of his boot and stuck it into the soft plastic table near him. Then he popped the cap off of one of the small glowing blue cylinders. “I don’t think that’s such a good—“ Jim-Bean poured a dot of the blue liquid onto his arm. Almost instantaneously, his arm broke out in pustule-like sores, leaking a thin blue fluid. Jim-Bean spasmed violently. “Jesus!” he said through gritted teeth. He reached for the knife, but the pain was so searing he had difficulty. Additional sores opened in hideous profusion, lesions of all shapes and sizes that split and cracked and popped across Jim-Bean’s arm. Jim-Bean yanked hard on the tourniquet and stabbed the knife deep into his arm, slicing flesh off in one smooth motion. He screamed as a spray of blood shot all over the lab, tearing through skin and muscle. A six-inch length of flesh flopped off his arm onto the table. The tissue twitched and convulsed into a lifeless pool of stinking, watery mush. “What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Hammer. Tears were in Jim-bean’s eyes and his nose was running. The pain was immense. Blood was everywhere and continued to pump out of his arm. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” asked Guppy in disbelief. The blood flow slowed. Tendrils of flesh and muscle spiraled across the raw meat and the white of Jim-Bean’s forearm. The wound stopped bleeding. Jim-Bean let the tourniquet drop from his teeth. “Just … trying to see,” he gasped, “… if I can be.” [/QUOTE]
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