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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4793966" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Wild Hunt: Part 12 – Apocalypse Now</strong></p><p></p><p>Located at 128 E. 98th Street and Lexington Avenue beneath the huge 55-story Teese Tissue Building, Club Apocalypse’s entrance was not marked in any way. Thirty-one steps wound down in a sharp curve leading to two large blue-steel doors, which were not visible from the top of the stairs. The Club usually opened at around ten o’clock, but the agents got there a little early.</p><p></p><p>Bouncers stood in their way.</p><p></p><p>Hammer snapped his badge. “Federal agents.”</p><p></p><p>The bouncer took a look at it. “Don’t care who you are. You’d better have a warrant if you want to get in here.”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean leaned forward. “I think you should let us in.”</p><p></p><p>The bouncer scratched his head, as if he had just remembered something. “Okay.”</p><p></p><p>As they passed in with their weapons intact, Hammer turned to Jim-Bean. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that?”</p><p></p><p>The foyer was a small, dim red-velvet cubicle that contained a few stools for the bouncers, and a small counter through which coats and other items were checked with a clerk.</p><p></p><p>Past the foyer was the main bar. This large room was classically styled in red velvet and dark earth tones. Lighting was from the ground up, and portions of the floor were actually recessed lamps. Fifteen booths occupied the wall opposite the foyer entrance and wrapped around to almost meet its door. On the open wall across from the foyer entrance was a wall of stars, a bizarre group of more than forty finely-framed photographs of dead media celebrities.</p><p></p><p>Archive waved his companions over to the wall. “Take a look at this.”</p><p></p><p>There were rock stars, movie stars, each pictured shaking hands with who he presumed was the owner of the club. In each photo he appeared identical: same suit, same unreadable expression on his face. In his collection were such famous dead stars as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Steve McQueen, Sid Vicious, Harry Nillson, Elvis, John Lennon and more recent additions such as River Phoenix, Tupac Shakur and Kurt Cobain. Each photograph was personally inscribed by the star in question, along with a date marked in the lower right-hand corner in tiny, machine-like hand. The dates were often weeks or even days before the death of the subject in the photograph.</p><p></p><p>On the opposite wall from the booths was the main bar. It was a sinuous mahogany affair with more than forty stools following its graceful curve. The back of the bar was a huge silver mirror etched with a fascinating filigreed design of questionable origin. Four bartenders staffed the bar. The hat check clerk came and went from a small door at the back of the bar.</p><p></p><p>At the end of the fifty feet of mahogany bar, directly opposite the foyer door, was a thick, curtained double door leading to the main dance floor. A bouncer stood there. On the other side of the main bar was a large set of double doors leading to the more private areas of the Club. </p><p></p><p>Music boomed. The songs include morbid lyrics from such bands as God's Lost Children, In Morto Veritas, Skinny Puppy, Bauhaus, the Rising, Charnel Dreams, and others. </p><p></p><p>The people inhabiting the labyrinth of darkness wore black flowing clothes. Their faces were white as death, and their eyes shined out from dark pits of black eye makeup. Some seemed to have fangs. Many were drinking, dancing, and doing drugs while leaning against statues. Up close, most of them seemed to be adolescents. Some anorexic females cavorted by, dressed in nothing but thin leather strips and thigh-high boots. One winked and smiled at Jim-Bean, showing a fanged mouth. </p><p></p><p>The agents spread out, mixing in amongst the crowd. Dressed in their usual work getup, they stood out like sore thumbs.</p><p></p><p>They convened at the bar. Jim-Bean had to tear himself away from a particularly sultry, undulating brunette with long hair and a nose ring. </p><p></p><p>“Well?” shouted Hammer over the noise of the club, which was now getting louder as more people arrived.</p><p></p><p>“Gregor was here,” said Jim-Bean. “Most of the Goths know of Gregor and they don’t like him much. He works in a tattoo parlor called Jesus Wept. Seems he was looking for the ‘vampire’ to make a deal with it.”</p><p></p><p>“And they think that Gregor was responsible for the drug overdoses?”</p><p></p><p>Jim-Bean nodded. “Yeah.” He took a swig of a drink the woman had given him. “I could learn to like this place!”</p><p></p><p>Hammer frowned. “Don’t get too comfortable. What did you find Archive?”</p><p></p><p>“There’s numerous rave posters about,” said Archive. “The next big rave advertised is called ‘Ghost Walk to the Lake.’ It occurs on Halloween, starting at 10 p.m. People are to gather at Columbus Circle. A route shows a path leading down Central Park West Street, up to 72nd Street, then a turn into Central Park towards the lake.” Archive had taken a picture of the poster with his cistron. He flashed the image to the other agents.</p><p></p><p>“Good,” said Hammer. “Then it’s time to visit the tattoo parlor.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4793966, member: 3285"] [b]Wild Hunt: Part 12 – Apocalypse Now[/b] Located at 128 E. 98th Street and Lexington Avenue beneath the huge 55-story Teese Tissue Building, Club Apocalypse’s entrance was not marked in any way. Thirty-one steps wound down in a sharp curve leading to two large blue-steel doors, which were not visible from the top of the stairs. The Club usually opened at around ten o’clock, but the agents got there a little early. Bouncers stood in their way. Hammer snapped his badge. “Federal agents.” The bouncer took a look at it. “Don’t care who you are. You’d better have a warrant if you want to get in here.” Jim-Bean leaned forward. “I think you should let us in.” The bouncer scratched his head, as if he had just remembered something. “Okay.” As they passed in with their weapons intact, Hammer turned to Jim-Bean. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that?” The foyer was a small, dim red-velvet cubicle that contained a few stools for the bouncers, and a small counter through which coats and other items were checked with a clerk. Past the foyer was the main bar. This large room was classically styled in red velvet and dark earth tones. Lighting was from the ground up, and portions of the floor were actually recessed lamps. Fifteen booths occupied the wall opposite the foyer entrance and wrapped around to almost meet its door. On the open wall across from the foyer entrance was a wall of stars, a bizarre group of more than forty finely-framed photographs of dead media celebrities. Archive waved his companions over to the wall. “Take a look at this.” There were rock stars, movie stars, each pictured shaking hands with who he presumed was the owner of the club. In each photo he appeared identical: same suit, same unreadable expression on his face. In his collection were such famous dead stars as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Steve McQueen, Sid Vicious, Harry Nillson, Elvis, John Lennon and more recent additions such as River Phoenix, Tupac Shakur and Kurt Cobain. Each photograph was personally inscribed by the star in question, along with a date marked in the lower right-hand corner in tiny, machine-like hand. The dates were often weeks or even days before the death of the subject in the photograph. On the opposite wall from the booths was the main bar. It was a sinuous mahogany affair with more than forty stools following its graceful curve. The back of the bar was a huge silver mirror etched with a fascinating filigreed design of questionable origin. Four bartenders staffed the bar. The hat check clerk came and went from a small door at the back of the bar. At the end of the fifty feet of mahogany bar, directly opposite the foyer door, was a thick, curtained double door leading to the main dance floor. A bouncer stood there. On the other side of the main bar was a large set of double doors leading to the more private areas of the Club. Music boomed. The songs include morbid lyrics from such bands as God's Lost Children, In Morto Veritas, Skinny Puppy, Bauhaus, the Rising, Charnel Dreams, and others. The people inhabiting the labyrinth of darkness wore black flowing clothes. Their faces were white as death, and their eyes shined out from dark pits of black eye makeup. Some seemed to have fangs. Many were drinking, dancing, and doing drugs while leaning against statues. Up close, most of them seemed to be adolescents. Some anorexic females cavorted by, dressed in nothing but thin leather strips and thigh-high boots. One winked and smiled at Jim-Bean, showing a fanged mouth. The agents spread out, mixing in amongst the crowd. Dressed in their usual work getup, they stood out like sore thumbs. They convened at the bar. Jim-Bean had to tear himself away from a particularly sultry, undulating brunette with long hair and a nose ring. “Well?” shouted Hammer over the noise of the club, which was now getting louder as more people arrived. “Gregor was here,” said Jim-Bean. “Most of the Goths know of Gregor and they don’t like him much. He works in a tattoo parlor called Jesus Wept. Seems he was looking for the ‘vampire’ to make a deal with it.” “And they think that Gregor was responsible for the drug overdoses?” Jim-Bean nodded. “Yeah.” He took a swig of a drink the woman had given him. “I could learn to like this place!” Hammer frowned. “Don’t get too comfortable. What did you find Archive?” “There’s numerous rave posters about,” said Archive. “The next big rave advertised is called ‘Ghost Walk to the Lake.’ It occurs on Halloween, starting at 10 p.m. People are to gather at Columbus Circle. A route shows a path leading down Central Park West Street, up to 72nd Street, then a turn into Central Park towards the lake.” Archive had taken a picture of the poster with his cistron. He flashed the image to the other agents. “Good,” said Hammer. “Then it’s time to visit the tattoo parlor.” [/QUOTE]
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