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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: 4694093" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>No Man's Land: Part 1 – Which Whitcher?</strong></p><p></p><p>Hammer took photos of everything and uploaded them to the Blacknet database. Caprice, back at their temporary headquarters in New York, fed them data on the drive down.</p><p></p><p>“You’re sure this isn’t a joke, right?” asked Caprice, on speakerphone over the cistron.</p><p></p><p>“It’s not a joke, Hot Pants,” said Hammer tersely, speeding through traffic. “What did you find?”</p><p></p><p>“The social security number you gave me is the most misused number of all time,” explained Caprice. “In 1938, wallet manufacturer the E. H. Ferree Company in Lockport, New York decided to promote its product by showing how a Social Security card would fit into its wallets. A sample card, used for display purposes, was inserted in each wallet. Company VP and Treasurer Douglas Patterson thought it would be a clever idea to use the actual SSN of his secretary, Mrs. Hilda Schrader Whitcher.”</p><p></p><p>“Great, Whitcher’s not even real,” said Jim-Bean in the driver’s seat.</p><p></p><p>“I wouldn’t say that,” replied Caprice. “For someone who isn’t real we’ve got quite a bit of information on him.”</p><p></p><p>“Like?”</p><p></p><p>“First of all, the H stands for Howard. Howard had three residential addresses in the last eight years, including a current one; two are in nearby states, one is on the other side of the country. Whitcher has a supposedly unlisted phone number for the current address.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean dialed the number, then hung up. “Answering machine.”</p><p></p><p>“He went to college and high school info from institutions on the west coast; an MBA degree with minors in math and law. No criminal history and a decent credit score,” said Caprice. “Whitcher’s unmarried, an only child, with no surviving parents or grandparents. He has some unusually uneventful medical records. Whitcher filed tax returns going back to his late teens.”</p><p></p><p>“Real enough to do his taxes,” said Archive.</p><p></p><p>“I was able to pull up his driver’s license. There’s a match with his current residential address and the physical description you gave me.”</p><p></p><p>“Pull it up,” said Hammer.</p><p></p><p>The picture loaded on their cistrons. Howard Scott Whitcher had a light complexion, clean shaven, with long blond hair. </p><p></p><p>“Now we know what he looks like. Thanks Hot Pants, we’ll check in when we get there.”</p><p></p><p>“Roger that,” said Caprice. He hung up.</p><p></p><p>“What do we have on this museum?” Hammer said over his shoulder to Archive.</p><p></p><p>“The new exhibit is intended to give visitors the merest taste of what it might have been like to serve on the Western Front in World War II.” Archive read from his cistron. “The exhibit has been especially popular because it features an actual British trench, dug out of the ground and preserved for this display. The soil is the very earth on which thousands of soldiers died. It is an exhibit designed to leave even the most jaded visitor shaken and keenly aware of the fragility and sanctity of life.”</p><p></p><p>“Don’t tell me: that’s going to give our Nazi necromancer a distinct advantage.”</p><p></p><p>“Definitely. It may be why you sent this back.” Archive held up the piece of leather with the Elder Sign on it. “You don’t send an Elder Sign like this unless you’re expecting trouble with the supernatural.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean plucked the leather from Archive. “Let me see …”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean tossed the leather back to Archive.</p><p></p><p>“Well?” asked Archive.</p><p></p><p>“You can keep it.” Jim-Bean tossed the leather back to Archive. “And keep it far away from me.”</p><p></p><p>“We’re here,” said Hammer.</p><p></p><p>They pulled in front of the museum just in time to see Whitcher in front of the World War II Museum. Almost as if he sensed Hammer’s gaze. He turned and ran into the museum.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4694093, member: 3285"] [b]No Man's Land: Part 1 – Which Whitcher?[/b] Hammer took photos of everything and uploaded them to the Blacknet database. Caprice, back at their temporary headquarters in New York, fed them data on the drive down. “You’re sure this isn’t a joke, right?” asked Caprice, on speakerphone over the cistron. “It’s not a joke, Hot Pants,” said Hammer tersely, speeding through traffic. “What did you find?” “The social security number you gave me is the most misused number of all time,” explained Caprice. “In 1938, wallet manufacturer the E. H. Ferree Company in Lockport, New York decided to promote its product by showing how a Social Security card would fit into its wallets. A sample card, used for display purposes, was inserted in each wallet. Company VP and Treasurer Douglas Patterson thought it would be a clever idea to use the actual SSN of his secretary, Mrs. Hilda Schrader Whitcher.” “Great, Whitcher’s not even real,” said Jim-Bean in the driver’s seat. “I wouldn’t say that,” replied Caprice. “For someone who isn’t real we’ve got quite a bit of information on him.” “Like?” “First of all, the H stands for Howard. Howard had three residential addresses in the last eight years, including a current one; two are in nearby states, one is on the other side of the country. Whitcher has a supposedly unlisted phone number for the current address.” Jim-Bean dialed the number, then hung up. “Answering machine.” “He went to college and high school info from institutions on the west coast; an MBA degree with minors in math and law. No criminal history and a decent credit score,” said Caprice. “Whitcher’s unmarried, an only child, with no surviving parents or grandparents. He has some unusually uneventful medical records. Whitcher filed tax returns going back to his late teens.” “Real enough to do his taxes,” said Archive. “I was able to pull up his driver’s license. There’s a match with his current residential address and the physical description you gave me.” “Pull it up,” said Hammer. The picture loaded on their cistrons. Howard Scott Whitcher had a light complexion, clean shaven, with long blond hair. “Now we know what he looks like. Thanks Hot Pants, we’ll check in when we get there.” “Roger that,” said Caprice. He hung up. “What do we have on this museum?” Hammer said over his shoulder to Archive. “The new exhibit is intended to give visitors the merest taste of what it might have been like to serve on the Western Front in World War II.” Archive read from his cistron. “The exhibit has been especially popular because it features an actual British trench, dug out of the ground and preserved for this display. The soil is the very earth on which thousands of soldiers died. It is an exhibit designed to leave even the most jaded visitor shaken and keenly aware of the fragility and sanctity of life.” “Don’t tell me: that’s going to give our Nazi necromancer a distinct advantage.” “Definitely. It may be why you sent this back.” Archive held up the piece of leather with the Elder Sign on it. “You don’t send an Elder Sign like this unless you’re expecting trouble with the supernatural.” Jim-Bean plucked the leather from Archive. “Let me see …” Jim-Bean tossed the leather back to Archive. “Well?” asked Archive. “You can keep it.” Jim-Bean tossed the leather back to Archive. “And keep it far away from me.” “We’re here,” said Hammer. They pulled in front of the museum just in time to see Whitcher in front of the World War II Museum. Almost as if he sensed Hammer’s gaze. He turned and ran into the museum. [/QUOTE]
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